WHEN A COUNTRY argues with its past, buildings matter. The timbered bungalow at Redlands in Shillong—long known as the Manipur Rajbari—was one such building. On 21 September 1949, Maharaja Bodhachandra signed the Merger Agreement there; on 15 October 1949, administration passed to the Dominion of India. In October 2025, as widely reported, the building was demolished. Officials have promised a “reconstruction in the original design.” The promise highlights the problem: you can rebuild a look, not authenticity. Erasing the original space has revived, with unusual urgency, a question Manipuris have debated for decades: was this a merger by consent—or an annexation by procedure?
Two ledgers of the same history
On one ledger—the official one—the sequence appears tidy. Like other princely states, Manipur signed an Instrument of Accession on 11 August 1947, acceding on defence, external affairs and communications to the Indian Dominion. Two years later, at Redlands in Shillong, the Merger Agreement transferred “full and exclusive authority, jurisdiction and powers,” effective 15 October 1949. These texts and dates are recorded in the agreement and in the Government of India’s White Paper on Indian States (1950). Within Indian administrative practice, Manipur’s incorporation is treated as a merger by agreement.
The other ledger—the historical and moral one—looks messier. By 1948, Manipur had adopted a written State Constitution (1947), held elections and operated a ministry under a constitutional monarchy. Critics have long argued that the Maharaja was summoned to Shillong and pressed to sign without consulting the elected assembly, violating the spirit of Manipur’s own constitutional order. Government records do not concede coercion, and no court has ruled the agreement involuntary. But the allegation persists in Manipuri scholarship and public memory, forming the core of what many describe as “annexation by paperwork.”
Why courts won’t settle it
Article 363 of the Constitution largely bars courts from adjudicating disputes arising from pre-Constitution covenants with princely states. That design keeps the integration ledger from being relitigated piecemeal; it does not certify every foundational act as wise or just. In practice, it means the merger’s validity is unlikely to be a judicial question. The annexation-versus-merger debate therefore lives in history, archives and public reasoning—which is precisely why preserving sites and records matters so much.
What the Rajbari demolition changed
First, it re-centred place. When the original fabric of a historically charged building disappears, so does a layer of proof. The forensic anchors that allow future researchers to interrogate claims—where people sat, how the space was arranged, what materials were present—cannot be recreated by a replica. Article IV of the 1949 agreement even recognised the Maharaja’s private residences at Shillong, including Redlands, underscoring the site’s intimate connection to the act now under dispute. You can rebuild a façade; you cannot rebuild evidence.
Second, it exposed a process gap. Meghalaya has a Heritage Act (2012) that allows notification of buildings and precincts, with graded controls over alteration and demolition. Protection works like a seatbelt—it saves you only if fastened beforehand. Public reporting suggests Redlands had not been formally notified under this law before the bulldozers arrived—an administrative failure, not a technicality. The inter-state custodianship added ambiguity: in August 2021, Meghalaya allotted about 1.93 acres at Redlands to the Government of Manipur for a Manipur Bhavan. After demolition, Meghalaya’s chief minister publicly denied his government’s role, while Manipur agencies spoke of reconstruction. Outcome: the original is gone; accountability is diffuse.
Third, it reminded us that language can launder outcomes. “Unsafe,” “renovation,” and “reconstruction” are not neutral words; they are claims that must travel with auditable documents: the Detailed Project Report and sanction letters (including any NEC approvals), engineering assessments, method statements, salvage inventories, and the chain of permissions. If safety truly demanded demolition, the record should show why minimum-intervention options were examined and rejected.
Asking the annexation question well
For a world audience, two lenses help.
- Domestic constitutional ledger. Within Indian state practice, Manipur’s incorporation is a merger by agreement, effective 15 October 1949; Part-C administration under a Chief Commissioner followed.
- International law lens. Annexation generally denotes forcible, unilateral acquisition of territory, cession rests on consent by a competent authority. The hinge is voluntariness. On texts alone, the merger appears valid; on context, allegations of pressure at Shillong persist. That is the paradox: one ledger is documentary and administrative; the other is historical and moral.
From belief to proof: what must happen now
Publish the 1949 file. Declassify correspondence among Maharaja Bodhachandra, the Governor of Assam, senior Government of India officials and the Manipur ministry; minutes of meetings at Redlands; travel and security logs. If consent was free, the papers should show it. If pressure was applied, they may reveal how. An insider account like V. P. Menon’s The Story of the Integration of the Indian States should be read alongside the archival record—not as a substitute for it.
Protect what remains. Notify the entire Redlands precinct under the Meghalaya Heritage Act; require a Heritage Impact Assessment; and ensure that any rebuild is clearly labelled as a reconstruction, with materials traceability for salvaged fabric and a public exhibit explaining how and why the original was lost. Replicas must not impersonate evidence.
Commission an independent historical inquiry. Staff it with historians of state integration, archivists and Manipuri civil-society representatives; give it time-bound access and a mandate to publish. Article 363 narrows litigation; a rigorous, transparent history process can still build legitimacy.
Teach the complexity. National curricula should acknowledge Manipur’s State Constitution (1947) and the 1948 election alongside the merger—without editorialising the outcome. Complexity is not sedition; it is civics.
Why this matters beyond Manipur
Founding paradoxes are not unique to India. Democracies argue over consent versus coercion at their origin stories; they quarrel through archives, classrooms and cityscapes. When New York’s original Pennsylvania Station was razed, public outrage helped modernise preservation law; when Delhi’s Hall of Nations was demolished, the backlash sharpened questions about process and accountability. The lesson is consistent: when you cannot litigate your origins, you curate them—by opening files, preserving sites, and admitting complexity into public education. Redlands offered India a chance to curate well. Demolition squandered that chance; a transparent, conservation-grade response can still recover it.
Bottom line. On the state’s ledger, Manipur’s incorporation reads merger—signed and executed. On the ledger of memory, the circumstances of Shillong look to many like annexation by paperwork. We will not close that gap by assertion. We can narrow it by showing our working: publish the record; protect what remains; label any reconstruction honestly. In the absence of a courtroom, that is how a democracy earns trust over contested beginnings.
Dr. Atom Sunil Singh is the Registrar of Khongnangthaba University and an Assistant Professor at Pravabati College, Imphal, Manipur. He can be reached at atomsunil@gmail.com.
(The opinions expressed are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of Ukhrul Times. Ukhrul Times values and encourages diverse perspectives.)