80 years after the Imphal Operation, there are still women waiting for soldiers of the former Japanese army! Myanmar “White Bone Road” report during the civil war

Kimura-san, I am still here. Please come back here soon. I love you, Mr. Kimura.

This year marks the 80th anniversary of the “Imphal Operation” conducted by the former Japanese army. The purpose of the trip was to reunite with a woman he had met in the village four years earlier.

Her name is Dora Kyi, then 93. During World War II, she was a nurse at a local hospital caring for former Japanese troops who participated in the Imphal Operation. The opening line came out of her mouth when we met.

The Imphal Operation, which is still derided as a synonym for “an impossible plan,” took place from March 1944 to July of the same year. The objective was to cross the Arakan Mountains from a former Japanese military base near the border of Burma (now Myanmar) to conquer the city of Imphal in northwestern India, which was under British occupation. The 90,000 soldiers made the arduous 470-kilometer journey, but the operation collapsed in mid-air due to the onslaught of British troops and lack of food. The soldiers left behind in the battlefield attempted to return the way they came, but more than 30,000 died and more than 40,000 fell prey to starvation, disease, and attacks by British troops.

The Tiddim Road in northwestern Myanmar is known as the “White Bone Road” by local residents. At the time, the road was littered with the corpses of former Japanese soldiers who had died of hunger and disease. Eventually, their corpses were reduced to bones.” The “White Bones” of the “White Bone Road” refers to the remains left along the road.

When we first met Dora Qi, she had been bedridden for a long time and was being cared for by her family at home. She had a frail appearance, but when we visited her to talk about the former Japanese soldiers with whom she had interacted 77 years ago, we could see a powerful life in her eyes.

I talked a lot with the Japanese at that time. They taught me Japanese, too. For example, ‘musume,’ ‘okasan,’ and ‘kome.’ ……

She was 16 years old at the time. In the year of the Japanese invasion of Burma, she worked as a caretaker at a local hospital, interacting with soldiers of the former Japanese army just before they participated in Operation Imphal. Among them, there was one person she could not forget.

His name was “Kimura-san. His name was “Kimura-san,” and I didn’t know his first name from ……. We called him “Kimura Shinshin. We called him “Kimura Shincho. He was 28 years old at the time. He was very handsome and I remember he used to give me cookies and sweets. I would bring him home-cooked food, too, and he would talk to me kindly each time, which I liked very much.

Two years later, Operation Imphal began, and “Mr. Kimura” also took part in the operation. However, as mentioned above, the operation had disastrous results. According to Dora Qi, Kimura returned to the area, but he was ravaged by hunger and illness. When Kimura-san left for Japan, his wounds still unhealed, he promised to meet Kimura-san again, but he never fulfilled that promise.

I cried every day because I really wanted to see him. I waited for him for three more years, but the only way to survive in our small village was to get married and settle down.

The area still bears the scars of World War II, and is in the midst of a civil war that began with a coup d’etat by the military, which had formerly held power. Four years have passed since we first met Dora Kyi, who has been thinking of Kimura-san for more than 70 years.

Early in the morning of March ’24, I left the city of Kalemyo for the small village where Dora Qi lives. In Kalemyo, the military and the pro-democracy forces were engaged in a daily bone fight, with gun battles in the mountains before dawn and into the daylight, and in the streets at night, becoming the order of the day. The combination of the blazing sun and the tension of not knowing when the fighting would start caused perspiration to be beaded on my forehead. On this day, more than 10 bombings were heard in the morning alone.

Two dark green dump trucks filled with about 15 Myanmar army soldiers were driving past at a high speed, blowing their horns and raising a cloud of white dust. People on the road looked down, trying not to make eye contact. The town was full of young and old people, with few men in their 30s and 40s. I wondered if they were taking part in the battle.

After 15 minutes in the car, there was a military checkpoint blocking the road, and a young man in military uniform, who looked to be in his early 20s, approached my car with a thick cigar in his mouth. Without blinking, he peered into the car and glared at me menacingly, his eyes bloodshot.

Where are you going? What do you want? Show me what’s in your luggage. You don’t have a camera, do you?”

After three minutes of tense questioning, during which no one smiled, we finally passed the checkpoint. After that, we drove for a while and looked around to see a vast field of sunflowers.

About an hour after leaving the city, we finally arrived at the village where we were welcomed by three women, a man, and three children. They were Dora Qi’s family. After exchanging greetings with Dora Qi’s grandson, a young girl came running up to us.

She is my daughter, and my grandmother named her. Her name is Kimura Chibou. She didn’t want to forget him so much.

Ms. A smiled emotionally and lightly admonished her daughter for going outside without applying “Tanaka,” a skin-protecting ointment. When I asked her about Dora Qi’s condition, she looked sad.

Thank you for coming all the way from far away. Thank you for coming all this way, but Dora Qi is no longer at …….”

Unfortunately, she had passed away. The grave she showed us was located in a corner of a mass grave, just a five-minute walk from the village, close to the military post, off a side road. Normally, she said, even her relatives are not allowed to enter the cemetery because of the strict surveillance by the military.

As you can see, we can’t even mow the grass, and we’re sorry ……

Mr. A. can confirm the date of his death by cutting through the overgrown grass. “November 2020. He was 94 years old.

When Dora Qi passed away, Kimra Chiboo, who was only 3 years old, cried for days, unable to accept the death of her beloved great-grandmother. Now that she has finally come to terms with it, she is now six years old. She is now old enough to attend elementary school, but unfortunately her school has been confiscated by the military, so she has been at home with her siblings. I asked her how she felt about having a Japanese name in her name.

He replied, “I am very happy. I like Japan very much. ……”

After 80 years, traces of the former Japanese army have been left behind in this form. What kind of person was “Kimura-san” to whom she had been thinking of? How did he spend his time after returning to Japan? And did he remember her when he left her behind in distant Burma?

Myanmar, 4,600 kilometers from Tokyo, is still suffering from the scars of World War II.