Long before the investigation into Raghuvanshi’s death in Sohra, also popularly known as Cherrapunji in Meghalaya, reached any conclusion, the shocking news of his murder had already gripped the nation. The newlywed couple, Raja Raghuvanshi and Sonam Raghuvanshi from Indore, had come to Meghalaya as tourists. The state, known both for being home to the wettest place on Earth and the cleanest village in Asia, suddenly found itself at the centre of a storm of accusations.
Major media outlets began tarnishing the image of the entire Northeast. Social media was quickly filled with anger and sadness, with many users mindlessly launching into a frenzy of speculation and carelessly blaming the people of Meghalaya for the murder. It was utterly unpardonable. However, when the real details of the case emerged — that Raja’s wife, Sonum Raghuvanshi, had orchestrated the murder herself — the entire nation was left stunned. No matter how sincere the apology may be now, it cannot undo the hurt they’ve caused to every citizen of Meghalaya.
One can only hope that these recklessly speculative media houses take this as a “lifelong” lesson in responsible reporting. Hopefully, from now on, they will pause and think a hundred times before letting their tongues loose. They should know that sensational headlines may sell fast, but they tear at the very heart of ethical journalism.
However, amidst this tragedy, what truly warmed the hearts of many was the response of the Sohra (Cherrapunji) community. Despite such a heartbreaking event, people in Sohra gathered for a candlelight march. The graceful and kind-hearted Meghalaya-based singer, F. Mylliemngap, also sang a touching tribute song in memory of Raja Raghuvanshi, the murder victim.
Well, to be honest, the compassion, resilience, and humility displayed by the people of Meghalaya after Raja’s murder — and the media going mindlessly overboard, wounding the very soul of the state –reminded me of a series of cherished “memories” from my early childhood. They are, in fact, heartfelt stories and touching anecdotes. I witnessed them all with my own eyes, I lived them. I felt them deeply. Even in my moments of gloom and uncertainty, they continue to inspire me and awaken a quiet joy rooted in gratitude and inner strength. One such story goes like this:
My father had a small bookshop in Iewduh (Bara Bazar), Shillong (Meghalaya). Earning a living was very hard for us during those days. Once, in the late ’70s, my father got a rare business opportunity. I was probably less than 10 years old. Mahavir Goenka, the proprietor of Anjalee Cinema Hall, was also a well-known wholesale dealer of Titagarh “Hattimar exercise copies”. But Goenka had decided to quit the copy business entirely. These green-colored notebooks with an elephant on the cover were a very popular brand during those days. To clear out his remaining stock, the late Goenka offered my father the chance to purchase the entire inventory at a heavily discounted price. My father grabbed the opportunity. He bought the whole lot on credit. The good part was that Goenka also gave him a huge quantity of partly soiled or “slightly damaged” copies, all of which were completely free of charge. We were thrilled.
My father was also a self-taught writer. He believed in the silent power of educating oneself. He always loved school-going children. At that time, not all children went to school in Meghalaya. My father, with genuine empathy for others, never missed an opportunity to encourage those around him to send their children to school. Perhaps for those reasons, his conscience led him to give away all the partly damaged or soiled exercise copies. He decided to offer them in small bundles — half a dozen to a dozen at a time — as gifts to customers he believed were in need or to any underprivileged students. He did it quietly. He did it without fuss. This quiet act of generosity didn’t last a week or a month — it continued for over a year. As a child, I couldn’t understand. A part of me kept wondering why my father was giving away all those notebooks for free instead of selling them and making a profit for our family.
Humble Hearts of People of Meghalaya:
What unfolded over the next few weeks was truly unbelievable, something we never expected. Many villagers began arriving at our shop with humble gifts: fresh vegetables such as beans, spinach, tomatoes, peas, potatoes, carrots, ginger, and tamarind, along with a variety of lentils. Some even came all the way from their villages carrying firewood and brooms, which they offered as gifts. It was incredibly heart-touching. I still remember clearly that one day, a man from a remote village in Ri-Bhoi, about twenty-five kilometers from the capital town of Shillong, came with a pot filled with freshly caught fish.
I was overjoyed, as I was deeply fond of eating fish. I even thought to myself, a little greedily, that this might last us at least five days. That was something my father could rarely afford to buy all at once. These kinds of gifts kept coming. Receiving such generosity regularly from poor villagers, my father would become emotional and often shed tears of gratitude. I could sense how deeply it moved him and how hard it was for him to accept so much from such humble souls.
Well, all these experiences eventually inspired me more than anything else in life. My father would often tell my elder brother and me that doing good for others is our highest duty, and expecting something in return only diminishes the act. “Give, but never tally,” he would insist, a piece of wisdom that made complete sense only as I grew older. Perhaps for these reasons, he hardly accepted gifts from those poor folks, unless they accepted other useful items from him in return.
If anyone doubts the anecdote mentioned above, I have a simple suggestion for them: Just smile at the poor vendors, hawkers, or villagers on the streets of towns or suburbs. If possible, buy their products with compassion and give just 10–20 rupees extra, even if they may politely refuse it. Hardly anyone will remain unmoved or fail to respond with gratitude. Try it — at least a few times. They’ll respond with a depth of emotion and gratitude, saying in their local language — “Anni-Mama, Khublei shibun, Khublei shibun!” It’s a kind of warmth you may have never experienced in your lifetime from anyone else. Yes, I have a treasure of such touching anecdotes with the people of Meghalaya that have changed the way I look at life and those around me. Sometimes, I do feel that God chooses to show us “glimpses of His marvel” through these humble souls, far removed from worldly showmanship and ostentation!
Quite coincidentally, for the past three weeks, I have often been gently forced to accept bananas, bayberries, or mangoes by an old lady from Sohiong village, about 50 kilometers from Sohra, who displays her fruit items in baskets at the Jeep Stand, Iewduh. It was only because I smiled at her, talked to her, and gave her grandchildren toffees and…..!!
These humble village folks of Meghalaya may not know the language of marketing, but they’re fluent in the dialect of kindness, gratitude and hospitality — something woven deep into their very genes. God loves those who are rich in these virtues, not those who are merely rich in money. And I am convinced beyond doubt that the heavens take note of every act that hurts the soul of Meghalaya!
Editor’s Note
We must put on record the fact that anti-Hindu discrimination exists in North Eastern states including Meghalaya. This stems from both systemic administrative apathy and brainwashing by the conversion mafia. We have seen the Khasi Student’s Union (KSU) regularly harassing ethnic Bengali Hindus. Even Hindu Khasis are being discriminated against. They had to file a petition with the Meghalaya HC after they were prevented from conducting their rituals. Readers must also be reminded that Mawsynram Dorbar Shnong, a traditional village institution, had banned Hindu worship at the Mawjymbuin Cave in Mawsynram village, Khasi Hills. The cave, which houses a naturally formed Shivaling, has been a revered site for Hindu devotees.
