In 1966, Aizawl was a small town, a peaceful place where Assam-type houses dotted the landscape. The air was filled with music, rhythm, and dances, with local icons like Vanhlupuii recording songs for All India Radio as early as the late 1950s. But a decision made by the Indian government forever changed the course of history, leading the people of Mizoram into a period of unimaginable suffering—poverty, famine, and deaths that have never been accounted for by the government.
On March 1, 1966, a group of people who called themselves the Mizo National Front—seeking independence from India—launched coordinated attacks in the Aizawl district, looting arms and ammunition. The situation was less than ideal for the Indian government but its response stunned the people of Mizoram and continues to haunt them to this day.
It took just four days for the Indian government to retaliate with air strikes, using Indian Air Force jets against its people. This rapid response came just six weeks after Indira Gandhi had assumed office as Prime Minister. As chronicled in Zofate by Zamawia, he witnessed four jet fighters in pairs attacking Tuikhuahtlang, dropping incendiary bombs and shells in a brutal show of force.
The air strikes spread quickly across the region. A book by JV Hluna and Rini Tochhawng titled The Mizo Uprising: Assam Assembly Debates on the Mizo Movement, 1966-1971 details the account of events. At Hnahlan, near Champhai, two Mizo soldiers from the Assam Rifles Camp warned villagers of an impending attack on the morning of March 7, 1966.
That afternoon, two jet fighters strafed and bombed the village, destroying over 200 of its 270 houses and killing three people. Food supplies and livestock were lost in the flames. The same day, Sangau was bombed, and Khawzawl was devastated by more air strikes. The fighters returned the next day, March 7, burning down the entire village, while the MNF continued their siege of the Assam Rifles Camp until March 8.
The attacks didn’t stop there. The violence spread to villages like Pukpui and Bunghmun. Despite the absence of any MNF posts in Pukpui, jet fighters targeted the village, burning it to the ground after the army had herded the villagers into an open area. The army’s advance toward Bunghmun was met by MNF resistance, leading to the death of a Major. In retaliation, jet fighters launched multiple rounds of machine-gun fire and bombing runs, reducing Bunghmun to ashes, its remaining houses set ablaze by Indian military personnel.
Stanley Nichols-Roy, who had returned from a visit to the Mizo Hills, condemned the excessive use of force, presenting evidence that the air strikes were far beyond what was necessary. Despite his protests, the Indian government denied any wrongdoing. Indira Gandhi, in a statement to the Hindustan Standard on March 9, insisted that air strikes were only meant to deploy men and supplies—an assertion widely criticized by those who witnessed the devastation firsthand.
In the history of India, or perhaps in world history, it is rare to find an instance where a government retaliates against its citizens with such extreme force in under than a week—air strikes, bombings, and mass destruction—all because a small faction of people in a single district launched an independence movement. Ironically, the very planes used in these strikes have since been turned into museum pieces, one displayed at Silchar airport.
What makes this particularly appalling is that there are 42 groups listed as terrorist organizations by India’s Ministry of Home Affairs, yet none have been met with similar air strikes. The reason for the Mizo people’s declaration of independence was rooted in deep neglect. In 1959, a famine ravaged the Mizo Hills, and the Indian government failed to assist. But the torment didn’t end there.
On January 3, 1967, the Indian government took the extreme measure of forcibly evacuating the Mizo people from their villages, relocating 80% of the population into “protected and progressive villages” (PPVs), a program eerily reminiscent of concentration camps. The scheme, which was poorly executed in four phases, relocated over 236,000 people into 104 centres, with more than 36,000 remaining in unaffected villages.
This period marked one of the darkest chapters in Mizoram’s history. Mortality rates skyrocketed due to malnutrition, poor healthcare access, and a lack of necessities. The military continued to burn down villages suspected of sheltering MNF members, with an estimated 120 villages destroyed by the end of 1967. The forced relocations and military operations caused a wave of suffering that is still remembered today.
March 5 remains a day of remembrance for the people of Mizoram. The young and old, even those born long after, share stories of the atrocities passed down from their parents and grandparents. It’s a day when social media statuses and photos are flooded with the words: “Never forgive, never forget.”
Scholars from the Mass Communication department who analyzed newspaper records of the air strikes found no mention of the incident in any of the press reports—most focused only on the “rebel movement.” It has been 59 years, and till today the Indian government has not acknowledged its actions.
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