Echan, a 21-year-old member of the Meitei community in Manipur — a state in northeastern India that has been embroiled in ethnic conflict since 2023 — sat in a “village volunteer” camp, gripping an AK-47 fitted with an under-barrel grenade launcher in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other. These camps, which sprang up across the state soon after violence broke out, house civilians who have taken up arms amid the ongoing conflict. Echan, who shared only her first name to protect her identity, remained alert, constantly scanning her surroundings. “I take no chances,” she told New Lines. “In Manipur, nothing is certain anymore.”
Before the violence, she said, her closest friend was a Kuki girl she went to school with. “But now, I will never speak to any Kukis again. They killed our people mercilessly — without reason. We’ve all seen the videos of how they butchered us.”
The Kuki, a predominantly Christian tribal community, and the Meiteis, who are mostly Hindu and form the region’s majority, have been locked in a violent conflict for two years. The violence was triggered by a court ruling in April 2023, when the Manipur High Court recommended granting Scheduled Tribe (ST) status — a form of constitutional protection — to the Meiteis. The Kukis, who already held this status, protested, as they feared it would threaten their land rights and political safeguards.
But what began as peaceful demonstrations quickly escalated into deadly clashes, widespread arson and mass displacement. More than 260 people have been killed and over 65,000 displaced. Over 250 places of worship have been burned down across the state and at least 20 villages completely wiped out. Many abandoned homes have either been taken over by militant groups or have been torched and bulldozed. Thousands remain in the more than 350 relief camps across Manipur — or have fled altogether. Livelihoods have been destroyed, and access to health care remains severely disrupted.
Ethnic polarization within the local police force turned it into a Meitei body, while the central government proved ineffective in quelling the violence because the Indian army and the Assam Rifles, the paramilitary force that guards the India-Myanmar border, were given a limited mandate. Several top security officials deployed in the region have quietly admitted that, had they been given a “free hand,” this level of destruction could have been avoided. But political interference and a lack of clear direction from the government left the forces on the ground paralyzed, they told New Lines.
Meanwhile, the state has unofficially been divided into two parts, separated by a buffer zone. On one side lies the Meitei-dominated Imphal Valley and on the other the Kuki-dominated hill districts. Though Indian authorities refrain from calling the division permanent, the reality is that, with armed checkpoints, ethnic segregation and parallel administrations, it may not disappear anytime soon.
The most alarming aspect of this conflict, however, has been the emergence of an entirely new generation of militants trained in the use of sophisticated assault weapons and heavy weaponry. Civilians — including children as young as 16 — who once led ordinary lives have been thrust into combat. Their days now follow a grim rhythm: picking up weapons, defending their communities and simply surviving another night.
Looted armories, illegal arms smuggled from across the borders in Myanmar and Bangladesh and locally assembled explosives have transformed civilian groups into heavily armed militias. For instance, in the village of Kangvai, a high school student stood at the edge of the Kuki border, fighting to protect her home. When I met her in August 2023, she was still training with dummy AK-47s and Indian-made rifles. Weeks later, she was handed real, more sophisticated weapons. Stories like hers and the chilling aftermath of atrocities — from the mutilated body of a 10-month-old baby to the bullet wounds of an 8-year-old girl injured during a fresh wave of violence in January — reveal the brutal, daily reality civilians are being forced to endure.
Meitei militia groups like Arambai Tenggol, banned insurgent outfits and several militant groups that had previously signed ceasefire agreements with the government, when Manipur was engaged in a separatist insurgency in the 1980s, have all since reactivated. Their resurgence has plunged the state further down a spiral of lawlessness and militarization, making peace an increasingly distant prospect.
Meanwhile, the Indian government’s response to the Manipur conflict has been widely criticized as delayed, inadequate and indifferent. Despite clear warnings of escalating tensions between the Meitei and Kuki communities, critics say that both the state and central governments failed to intervene decisively.
Prime Minister Narendra Modi remained silent for over two months after the violence erupted in May 2023 and broke his silence only when a horrific video of two Kuki women being paraded naked by a mob went viral across the country, sparking nationwide outrage from opposition leaders, civil society and even India’s Supreme Court.
The fact that he has not visited Manipur even once during this crisis has been seen as a glaring sign of detachment from the state’s suffering. Home Minister Amit Shah’s characterization of the violence as merely an “ethnic clash” was widely seen as an attempt to downplay the gravity of the situation.
But even before the conflict began, Kuki leaders had felt that the policies introduced by the state’s chief minister, N. Biren Singh, against narcotics, forest encroachment and migration from civil war-ravaged Myanmar were used to unfairly target and vilify their community. Singh, who belongs to the Meitei community and the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), had been in power for two terms, with active support from powerful Kuki groups and factions before the regional tensions began.
The footballer-turned-politician was forced to resign in February following a rebellion within the state branch of the BJP — after the party failed to find a successor. “President’s rule” was imposed, meaning that the state government was suspended and the central government in New Delhi assumed control. G.K. Pillai, former home secretary, told New Lines that the move was a “belated” acknowledgement from both the state and central governments that the tensions in Manipur needed to be resolved. Several security officials told New Lines that the decision should have been made immediately after the violence began or, at least, before the end of 2023.
Despite the state being under the control of the central government, Manipur remains in a state of violent paralysis — with no credible roadmap to peace in sight. Recent government attempts to reopen key highways linking the valley and the hills — touted as a step toward normalcy — have instead triggered bloodshed. With no formal talks, reconciliation roadmap or rehabilitation policy in place, there is little clarity on long-term peace efforts.
Worse still, most of the looted weapons — including sophisticated assault rifles — are still missing from the state armory. The government has no official count of how many arms are in circulation or who controls them. Underground groups, armed civilian militias and “village volunteer” forces continue to stockpile weapons and openly threaten to launch offensives if their demands go unmet.
The atmosphere in Manipur today is one of chaos, fatigue and rage. Communities live in fear, relief camps are overflowing and armed checkpoints have become permanent fixtures.
In a nation accustomed to localized insurgencies, the violence during this conflict has been distinguished by its speed, scale of civilian engagement and the sheer volume of heavy weaponry in the hands of nonstate actors. Manipur has now become one of India’s most intense internal conflicts.
It was the video of two Kuki women being paraded naked by the mob that had made Echan pick up arms. It was among the first visuals from the conflict to go viral nationally, nearly two months after the incident took place, and served as a wake-up call to the rest of the country about the severity of the violence unfolding in the state. “After that video, as women, we lost all hope from everyone, and I’m sure Kuki women feel the same. Innocents on both sides have gone through a lot. If a Kuki woman picked up arms after this, I would respect her,” Echan said.
A high school graduate, Echan used to run a food joint in Imphal, the state’s capital, until, she said, she was “forced” into a life of violence and took possession of sophisticated assault weapons like thousands of other young people in Manipur, who don’t fully understand the scale and repercussions of the conflict.
I visited multiple covert training camps — in the Imphal Valley and the surrounding hill districts — run by underground insurgent groups, where civilians, including minors, were being taught how to handle assault rifles. At one site, a former soldier volunteered his expertise, rigorously drilling young recruits in weapons handling, fieldcraft and guerrilla tactics.
According to top security officials, there is no precise data or official count of civilians who have taken up arms in this conflict. However, estimates suggest that the number likely runs into the thousands, further complicating efforts to restore order and address the ongoing violence.
Armed groups — both in the hills and the valley — have seen massive recruitment drives, pulling in young, vulnerable civilians with promises of protection, purpose and revenge. Camps continue to operate in remote regions, far beyond the reach of Indian military intelligence. Many, especially young boys, have also been forcibly taken by underground insurgent groups into the raging civil war in Myanmar, pushed across the porous border. Several have died, and their bodies have not made it back home to their families.
New underground groups have also emerged during this conflict, relying heavily on civilian recruits. For instance, the United Kuki National Army, which came into existence during the recent conflict, has reportedly built a fighting force of at least 150 men. In the valley, Meitei groups like Arambai Tenggol, the People’s Liberation Army and multiple new factions of the Kangleipak Communist Party are also recruiting local youth.
Apart from Echan, there was one other woman in the camp, along with 10 men. Chingngakpi, 25, was sitting on the mud floor of a hut with two cooking pots on fire and a couple of pillows on the floor. Automatic assault weapons and handguns were also casually lying around her. “I know Echan wants to talk to her friend, but even if she wanted to, our people won’t let her,” she said in Meiteilon, the local language spoken in Manipur. She, too, did not share her last name.
A science graduate from a local college, Chingngakpi was planning to move to Bengaluru to work when the violence broke out. Due to her fitness levels, she said she was “chosen” to be a village volunteer. “I didn’t want this fight to happen, or even understand why it happened. But now, I don’t know how to drop my weapon and return to normal life. Holding weapons and standing at these posts has become my life for almost two years. Even if we drop weapons, we would be ready to pick them up if Kukis attack us again,” she told New Lines.
While the majority of those who have picked up arms are young men and boys, a smaller but significant number of women have also joined the ranks — a stark reminder of how deeply the conflict has fractured the region.
The camp commander — a man dressed in all black who refused to show his face — listened closely to our conversations. When I asked him if they were permanent recruits, he said, “There’s no way to tell who is a permanent recruit or a village volunteer anymore. Everybody is trained in everything now. Without our uniforms, we are all the same. Maybe their aim isn’t as sharp as mine, but they can shoot to kill.”
Security forces have acknowledged that the most daunting challenge they face in Manipur today is not just controlling the violence, but identifying the actors involved and separating them from civilians who are not permanent militants. The conflict landscape is crowded and chaotic, with banned insurgent outfits, underground groups, members of groups that had earlier signed ceasefire agreements with the government and thousands of civilian “village volunteers” from both the hills and the valley. The lines between combatants and civilians have all but vanished.
“Without a weapon, even an insurgent is just a civilian to us,” a top security officer with the Indian armed forces told New Lines. “With a weapon, even an innocent village volunteer becomes a nonstate actor. There’s no way to tell, and this is the biggest problem — that so many minors have picked up weapons. Even if they surrender their guns out of fear, the brainwashing they’ve gone through won’t disappear and could harm the country in the future.” During several police and paramilitary encounters, suspected militants who have been killed include young men and boys, ranging from 16 to 19 years of age.
In Churachandpur — the second largest town in Manipur, dominated by the Kuki — Thangnilal, 17, is sitting in a bunker and listening to the British band Coldplay with two friends, guarding the area with modified .303 rifles, several double barrels and a self-loading rifle. When I asked if they had any automatic weapons, they told me that, since security forces were stationed nearby, underground groups held the more sophisticated weapons and would distribute them only when firing broke out in their area.
Thangnilal, who was once a footballer selected to play a match in Mumbai by the Reliance Foundation, run by the family of billionaire Mukesh Ambani, explained that learning to handle sophisticated assault weapons took him months, as did learning how to dodge fire. But it was conviction that brought him to the front lines, and he almost takes pride in it.
“We want SA,” he said. When I asked what that meant, his friend shrugged and told me, “Separate administration.” The Kuki have been demanding a separate administrative zone that will have its own government, police and control over resources. But no one knows what that would actually look like.
Even though Thangimal’s family wants him to return, he cannot leave. He has been manning his post for almost two years now. But he goes home every 15 days when someone else covers for him.
Mungzalina, his 28-year-old friend, has a similar story, except he seems more committed to killing and dying for the land — though only in “retaliation,” as he put it.
“We only fire in retaliation” is a common phrase among village volunteers on both sides. The civilians-turned-fighters genuinely believe the other side started the conflict.
Among many pressing concerns, one of the most urgent challenges confronting the government and security forces is the disarmament of Manipur.
According to the state government, over 6,000 firearms, 600,000 rounds of ammunition and more than 28,000 bombs and explosives — including 51 mm mortars, hand grenades, stun grenades, tear gas shells and picket grenades — have been looted from police stations and state armories across Imphal and the hill districts since the violence erupted.
Armed groups, militias and thousands of village volunteers are in possession of sophisticated weapons, such as advanced U.S.-made firearms, that even the Indian Army doesn’t typically use.
So far, only 2,500 weapons and fewer than 3,000 explosives and 40,000 rounds of ammunition have been recovered, including those surrendered in the past month. Most of these are single-barrel and double-barrel firearms, illegally made weapons, and .303 rifles, not the more sophisticated weapons, like AK-47s and Indian Small Arms System (INSAS) rifles, that were stolen. Security officials estimate that more than 3,000 looted weapons and hundreds of thousands of ammunition rounds still remain unaccounted for.
In many cases, the weapons recovered or surrendered by armed groups are far more advanced than those looted from state armories. These include M4 and M16 assault rifles, sniper rifles, machine guns and handguns, which, according to top security officials both on the ground and in Delhi, were likely smuggled across the porous borders with Myanmar and Bangladesh.
Both sides have also improvised their own local weapons and heavy arms. Kuki fighters have been using makeshift rockets made from galvanized iron and metal pipes, known as “pumpi,” while Meitei fighters have developed their own wheeled mortars.
The result of this militarization is that civilians, armed with looted weapons and trained by fighter groups, have launched mortar and bomb attacks on each other. Villages are set on fire overnight. The bodies of civilians — including charred women, beheaded men and children with crushed skulls — are often found scattered. In both the hill and valley areas, civilians are killed in cold blood. The police complaints accessed by New Lines often resort to vague, sweeping labels like “the entire Meitei community,” “Arambai Tenggol,” or “Kuki militants.”
Because fighters on both sides are armed and the state’s credibility is at an all-time low, military experts and local communities say Manipur is a tinderbox that could explode into further violence at any time if not controlled right now.
In discussing the way forward, Pillai, the former home secretary, said that the central government has not acted as an honest broker, and that there is a lack of significant communication between the conflicting communities.“The absence of trust and credibility suggests that the path to peace will be long and difficult,” he said.
He emphasized the critical need to stabilize the situation in Manipur promptly, given the instability in the surrounding region. “A civil war rages in neighboring Myanmar, with arms and weapons flowing freely across borders. The evolving and uncertain situation in Bangladesh adds another layer of complexity. All of this underscores the urgent need to put our own house in order,” he said. “If we fail to do so, hostile elements may exploit the instability, posing serious national security threats to the entire Northeast region.”
Most of the armed village volunteers who spoke with New Lines said that they want to go back to a normal life, but there is no money back home, no job opportunities and, even if something is available, they don’t know what will happen to them once they return to normal life.
Gounikhoul, 17, from the hills of Churachandpur, does not want to fight. He never wanted to hold a weapon but said he wasn’t given an option. But a young man from a group of 20 interrupted him to insist, “He is saying it because he is under pressure; no one has forced anyone.”
The young man who interrupted, 19-year-old Dominic, dropped out of college as soon as the conflict began, as schools and colleges were shut for several months beginning on May 3, 2023. Many educational institutions were also turned into relief camps for internally displaced people.
“We all wanted to join the Army, but now we are their enemy,” Dominic said. “We understand that, but we have to protect our land and ourselves. Otherwise, the Meiteis will kill us all. The government needs to understand our suffering and find a political solution. Otherwise, we will protect our lands with arms forever, but we will never live with the Meiteis again,” he added.
Barely living in a cramped room of a school building turned into a relief camp, Mangkholein Gangte, 80, spends most of his days looking at a photo of his 28-year-old son, Thangboi Gangte, who was about to get married before the conflict started. But he died a brutal death in a crossfire at the front line near the unofficial border between Bishnupur and Churachandpur districts, which is just 6 miles from the camp.
“I was talking to my son about getting him married soon, and the next day, I saw my son with his skull lying open,” Mangkholein said. “This is what the government is doing to us, letting us die.”
“It should not have been my son’s duty to defend his motherland, but he had no choice,” Mangkholein added. “Because if he did not go, people on the other side would have killed us one day.”
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