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More than 1,500 people were allegedly killed in a wave of extra-judicial executions by security forces in India's insurgency-ridden north-eastern Manipur state between 1979 and 2012. Last year, in a landmark ruling, the Supreme Court asked relatives of the victims and activists to collect information on the killings. The court will rule in July whether to order an official investigation which could lead to convictions. Soutik Biswas travelled to Manipur to find out more.
It was a bright, sunny November day in 2008, and 32-year-old Michael was visiting a friend's house in Imphal, the non-descript, mountain-ringed valley capital of Manipur.
At home, Ms Ningombam was doing her chores. Her two boys were fast asleep. At half past three in the afternoon, her mobile phone rang.
Michael was on the line saying that he had been picked up by police commandos on his way home, and that she should quickly pass on the news of his arrest to a senior policeman who was known to the family so that he could help secure his release.
The call disconnected abruptly. Two hours later, a man finally picked up the phone and told Ms Ningombam that her husband was "in the toilet". He said he would inform him that she had called.
Michael never called. When she tried calling again, his phone was switched off.
Tense and confused, Ms Ningombam sat down in front of the TV. Her sister-in-law had gone in search of the police officer known to the family, but he couldn't be found.
Manipur, a hilly north-eastern state on the border with Myanmar (Burma), has been a cauldron of insurgency for more than four decades.
At one point, the state was home to some 30 armed groups. Six main groups are outlawed.
The violence is stoked by ethnic rivalries, and demands for independence and affirmative action for local tribespeople. Some rebel groups also act as social watchdogs, targeting liquor sellers, drug traffickers and banning Bollywood films. Lack of jobs has worsened matters.
According to the government, 1,214 civilians were killed by insurgents between 2000 and October 2012. Also, 365 police and soldiers were killed by insurgents during the same period.
A controversial anti-insurgent law, the Armed Forces Special Powers Act (Afspa) - which protects security forces who may kill a civilian by mistake or in unavoidable circumstances - has been in effect here since 1958 and been partly blamed for the "perpetual immunity" enjoyed by the forces.
In July 2016, the Supreme Court remarked that the law could not be an excuse for retaliatory killings and excesses.
So she waited, and waited, for Michael, watching the news on a local channel. At nine in the evening, the screen exploded with breaking news.
They were showing footage of her bloodied husband, wearing blue nylon tracksuit bottoms and a dark green T-shirt, lying dead on a stone floor. A Chinese-made grenade lay next to the body. The news reader breathlessly announced that police commandos had killed another militant.
Ms Ningombam says she looked at the screen and froze. Grief felt so like fear itself.
"I just remember that I cried and cried and cried. Someone came rushing in and yanked off the TV cable wire. My brother-in-law went to the morgue and identified him."
The post-mortem report said Michael Ningombam had died of "shock and haemorrhage as a result of firearm injuries to lungs and liver".
The police said Michael and two friends were riding a motorcycle when they were stopped by half a dozen vehicle-borne commandos in a wooded area on the outskirts of the city. The pillion rider was said to have fired at the vehicle and Michael apparently tried to throw a grenade at the commandos who then shot and killed him in an act of self-defence. The police also said Michael was a militant and extortionist.
"My husband was struggling, doing odd jobs. He was a drug user and he was trying to kick the habit. But he was not a militant," Ms Ningombam , 40, told me. They had met in college, fallen in love, eloped and married.
The neighbourhood had erupted in protests after the killing, demanding an investigation.
Ms Ningombam, who holds a masters degree in history, took up a driving school job to support her sons. She also single-handedly launched an arduous battle for justice, filing official complaints, petitioning the government and the court, collecting papers and coaxing a key potential witness to testify.
Every day, for more than a month, she would drive 15km (9 miles) on her scooter to the wooded city outskirts where an ageing shop-owner had spotted the commandos drive by in a SUV with her husband on the afternoon of the killing. Then he had heard the sound of gunfire in the distance.
"After days of coaxing him and interacting with his family, the old man consented to testify and became a key witness. That is how we sometimes get some justice in Manipur. The state doesn't help you," she said.
Four years later, in July 2012, the district judge, in a report, concluded on the basis of evidence that Michael had been killed by Manipur police commandos and that there had "been no exchange of fire" between the policemen and the victim.
The high court accepted the report, and ordered that 500,000 rupees ($7,759; £6,115) should be paid in compensation to Ms Ningombam.
Michael Ningombam was not alone in meeting such a fate. Rights groups believe as many as 1,528 people were unlawfully executed - also known as fake encounters - in Manipur between 1979 and 2012.
The overwhelming majority of the victims were men, many of them lower income and unemployed. Among those killed were 98 minors and 31 women. The oldest was an 82-year-old woman; the youngest, a 14-year-old girl.
'Climate of impunity'
The most well-known victim was Thangjam Manorama Devi, 32, who was allegedly gang raped and murdered by paramilitary soldiers in 2004, provoking a unique nude protest by mothers and grandmothers that stunned the world.
Some of the killings have been investigated by a federal human rights organisation. Judicial inquiries have resulted in compensation for a few hundred victims' families. But what is unsettling is that not a single policeman or soldier has been put on trial in connection with the killings.
"People have been picked up, called insurgents and killed. The climate of impunity means the police often don't register cases. You have to fix accountability. You cannot just suspend the right to live and kill people," says Babloo Loitongbam, a prominent human rights activist.
Eight years ago, the families of the victims joined hands with activists to do something about this "culture of impunity enjoyed by the police, army and paramilitaries". On a July morning in 2009, they gathered in a room in Imphal, shared their stories and starkly christened themselves the Extrajudicial Execution Victim Families Association.
Last July, responding to a petition filed by the families, the Supreme Court, in a landmark judgement, asked the petitioners to collect more information about the alleged murders. Even if the investigations revealed that the victim was an "enemy and an unprovoked aggressor", the judges said, it had to be determined whether "excessive or retaliatory force was used to kill the enemy".
So the newly empowered civilian "investigators" put out adverts and appeals in the local media, and began gathering information - and potential evidence - on the killings.
Some 900 families responded, bringing with them police complaints, post-mortem reports, funeral records and court orders related to killings. Volunteers - students, relatives of victims - spread out to each of the nine districts of the hilly state, collecting information. A local lawyer, working pro bono, helped with the legal work.
A year later, a dozen grey filing cabinets in the office were overflowing with more than 1,500 files, each devoted to a killing. In April, the victims handed over details of 748 killings to the court even as they worked on other cases. Sometime this month, the top court is expected to rule on investigating these cases.
It was a bright, sunny November day in 2008, and 32-year-old Michael was visiting a friend's house in Imphal, the non-descript, mountain-ringed valley capital of Manipur.
At home, Ms Ningombam was doing her chores. Her two boys were fast asleep. At half past three in the afternoon, her mobile phone rang.
Michael was on the line saying that he had been picked up by police commandos on his way home, and that she should quickly pass on the news of his arrest to a senior policeman who was known to the family so that he could help secure his release.
The call disconnected abruptly. Two hours later, a man finally picked up the phone and told Ms Ningombam that her husband was "in the toilet". He said he would inform him that she had called.
Michael never called. When she tried calling again, his phone was switched off.
Tense and confused, Ms Ningombam sat down in front of the TV. Her sister-in-law had gone in search of the police officer known to the family, but he couldn't be found.
Manipur, a hilly north-eastern state on the border with Myanmar (Burma), has been a cauldron of insurgency for more than four decades.
At one point, the state was home to some 30 armed groups. Six main groups are outlawed.
The violence is stoked by ethnic rivalries, and demands for independence and affirmative action for local tribespeople. Some rebel groups also act as social watchdogs, targeting liquor sellers, drug traffickers and banning Bollywood films. Lack of jobs has worsened matters.
According to the government, 1,214 civilians were killed by insurgents between 2000 and October 2012. Also, 365 police and soldiers were killed by insurgents during the same period.
A controversial anti-insurgent law, the Armed Forces Special Powers Act (Afspa) - which protects security forces who may kill a civilian by mistake or in unavoidable circumstances - has been in effect here since 1958 and been partly blamed for the "perpetual immunity" enjoyed by the forces.
In July 2016, the Supreme Court remarked that the law could not be an excuse for retaliatory killings and excesses.
So she waited, and waited, for Michael, watching the news on a local channel. At nine in the evening, the screen exploded with breaking news.
They were showing footage of her bloodied husband, wearing blue nylon tracksuit bottoms and a dark green T-shirt, lying dead on a stone floor. A Chinese-made grenade lay next to the body. The news reader breathlessly announced that police commandos had killed another militant.
Ms Ningombam says she looked at the screen and froze. Grief felt so like fear itself.
"I just remember that I cried and cried and cried. Someone came rushing in and yanked off the TV cable wire. My brother-in-law went to the morgue and identified him."
The post-mortem report said Michael Ningombam had died of "shock and haemorrhage as a result of firearm injuries to lungs and liver".
The police said Michael and two friends were riding a motorcycle when they were stopped by half a dozen vehicle-borne commandos in a wooded area on the outskirts of the city. The pillion rider was said to have fired at the vehicle and Michael apparently tried to throw a grenade at the commandos who then shot and killed him in an act of self-defence. The police also said Michael was a militant and extortionist.
"My husband was struggling, doing odd jobs. He was a drug user and he was trying to kick the habit. But he was not a militant," Ms Ningombam , 40, told me. They had met in college, fallen in love, eloped and married.
The neighbourhood had erupted in protests after the killing, demanding an investigation.
Ms Ningombam, who holds a masters degree in history, took up a driving school job to support her sons. She also single-handedly launched an arduous battle for justice, filing official complaints, petitioning the government and the court, collecting papers and coaxing a key potential witness to testify.
Every day, for more than a month, she would drive 15km (9 miles) on her scooter to the wooded city outskirts where an ageing shop-owner had spotted the commandos drive by in a SUV with her husband on the afternoon of the killing. Then he had heard the sound of gunfire in the distance.
"After days of coaxing him and interacting with his family, the old man consented to testify and became a key witness. That is how we sometimes get some justice in Manipur. The state doesn't help you," she said.
Four years later, in July 2012, the district judge, in a report, concluded on the basis of evidence that Michael had been killed by Manipur police commandos and that there had "been no exchange of fire" between the policemen and the victim.
The high court accepted the report, and ordered that 500,000 rupees ($7,759; £6,115) should be paid in compensation to Ms Ningombam.
Michael Ningombam was not alone in meeting such a fate. Rights groups believe as many as 1,528 people were unlawfully executed - also known as fake encounters - in Manipur between 1979 and 2012.
The overwhelming majority of the victims were men, many of them lower income and unemployed. Among those killed were 98 minors and 31 women. The oldest was an 82-year-old woman; the youngest, a 14-year-old girl.
'Climate of impunity'
The most well-known victim was Thangjam Manorama Devi, 32, who was allegedly gang raped and murdered by paramilitary soldiers in 2004, provoking a unique nude protest by mothers and grandmothers that stunned the world.
Some of the killings have been investigated by a federal human rights organisation. Judicial inquiries have resulted in compensation for a few hundred victims' families. But what is unsettling is that not a single policeman or soldier has been put on trial in connection with the killings.
"People have been picked up, called insurgents and killed. The climate of impunity means the police often don't register cases. You have to fix accountability. You cannot just suspend the right to live and kill people," says Babloo Loitongbam, a prominent human rights activist.
Eight years ago, the families of the victims joined hands with activists to do something about this "culture of impunity enjoyed by the police, army and paramilitaries". On a July morning in 2009, they gathered in a room in Imphal, shared their stories and starkly christened themselves the Extrajudicial Execution Victim Families Association.
Last July, responding to a petition filed by the families, the Supreme Court, in a landmark judgement, asked the petitioners to collect more information about the alleged murders. Even if the investigations revealed that the victim was an "enemy and an unprovoked aggressor", the judges said, it had to be determined whether "excessive or retaliatory force was used to kill the enemy".
So the newly empowered civilian "investigators" put out adverts and appeals in the local media, and began gathering information - and potential evidence - on the killings.
Some 900 families responded, bringing with them police complaints, post-mortem reports, funeral records and court orders related to killings. Volunteers - students, relatives of victims - spread out to each of the nine districts of the hilly state, collecting information. A local lawyer, working pro bono, helped with the legal work.
A year later, a dozen grey filing cabinets in the office were overflowing with more than 1,500 files, each devoted to a killing. In April, the victims handed over details of 748 killings to the court even as they worked on other cases. Sometime this month, the top court is expected to rule on investigating these cases.
