Farm-fresh produce surrounds them. The air is full of heady aromas: incense and fermented fish, jasmine buds and pungent spices. Every shopkeeper in sight is a woman. Collectively, around 5,000 of them here in Manipur constitute one of the largest markets run solely by women in all of Asia.

Tucked away in a corner of northeast, Manipur was once a sovereign state called the Kangleipak Kingdom. The valley was inhabited by various ethnic groups, and while patriarchy underlined their traditional norms and social structures, women were not confined to traditional roles. The kingdom was often at war with its hostile neighbours, and, to keep them at bay, able-bodied men served the monarchy. In their absence, women took care of both households and trade. Around 1580, the monarch established an exclusive trading center for women called Nupi Keithel, or Women’s Market, in Imphal, what is now the capital of Manipur.

Under royal patronage, the traders grew in numbers and the market flourished. It became a conduit for social and political discourse, and women, emboldened by their new roles as drivers of the economy, began asserting themselves in new ways. One such instance occurred in 1904, when traders from Nupi Keithel protested the colonial administration’s use of forced labour. Other Manipuri women joined the movement and stirred public outrage with several demonstrations. Eventually, the forced-labour policies were revoked.

This was the first Nupi Lan, or women’s war, a crucial milestone marking the political awakening of the people of Manipur led by women traders of Nupi Keithel. In 1939, the market spearheaded a second Nupi Lan against the King of Manipur. In the wake of both movements, the market emerged as the dominant voice of resistance against oppression and injustice — and the women emerged as the sentinels of a more equitable Manipuri society.

The vendors here are spread across three buildings and a massive open market. The shops are separated from each other by various goods. There is only enough space to display a small fraction of wares; the rest are bundled away in trunks and bedsheets that flank each seller as she sits cross-legged in her shop. Among the towers of surplus goods, I spot perfectly camouflaged placards with slogans like “We won’t stay silent” and “We demand justice.” “We don’t speak the language of silence here,” says Laishram Mema Devi, who has sold handmade jewellery at the market for more than three decades. “It doesn’t matter who we are up against; if what they are doing is not in Manipur’s best interest, they will hear from us.” Ema Mema makes about Rs 12,000 per month, or about $160. (“Ema,” or mother, is a term used by the people of Manipur to address elderly women; in fact, there are so many elderly women in the market that locals refer to it as Ema Keithel, or Mother’s Market.) “It may sound like a small amount,” she tells me, “but it helped me raise three daughters.”

Walking around Nupi Keithel, I meet HIV patients and other social outcasts who have found refuge here in the market. With the support of the community, they have been able to start their own businesses. Camaraderie and collective strength thrive in the winding lanes of Nupi Keithel. But the market’s legacy has long since extended beyond its threshold. Manipur’s past bears the distinct imprint of it, and so, too, will its future.