Opium with the Konyak King in Nagaland

As tourist permits to the north eastern Indian state of Nagaland are relaxed, tripsideways.com pay the Konyak people a visit in a once hostile frontier where tribal King’s still rule.

By Simon Raven

In the North East of India, tribal Nagaland is the last point before the Indian subcontinent merges into South East Asia. Pressed against the border with Myanmar, the rolling hills, heavily deforested on the Nagaland side, stand in stark contrast to the virgin forest of the Burmese wilderness. This is one of the newest frontiers to open up in the much travelled destination of ‘Incredible India’. With tourist permits to the state being relaxed in January 2011 for 12 months, Nagaland is set to be the new tribal adventure destination.

Asian in its people, culture and history, Nagaland is fiercely independent. Since 1947 Naga insurgents have battled for an independent Nagaland, and some areas are still partially under rebel control. Sharing borderlines with Myanmar in the east, Assam in its western and northern periphery, the Tirap district of NEFA in Arunchal Pradesh in the northeast and Manipur in the south, Nagaland’s blue hued mountains and emerald expanses comprise an intriguing world of ancient rituals and a proud people. The verdant homeland of the Nagas was formally inaugurated as the state of Nagaland in 1963, and is the 16^th State of the Indian Union.

Travelling into Nagaland by local bus from Sivasagar in north eastern Assam, relics of the troubles in Nagaland exists in the form of a rusty sign that states there is a ceasefire in place in the region. We’re approached by the border police, and without much protest we’re quickly waved through and allowed to enter a state that until fairly recently was off limits to the curious tourist. Chatting to a local man on the bus, he kindly points out a large plywood factory, with a chimney spewing thick black smoke into the air. It is in factories like this that many of the trees from the hillsides end up, as poor farmers clear the forests in order to grow more crops.  Since they practise shifting cultivation and don’t cut terraces, the crumbling brown earth is quickly eroded when it rains.

As we weave on an unpaved road between small towns and villages in the Naga hills, the man sat next to me explains in perfect English, that this region is home to the Konyak, and that Mon had become the capital of the region as a central location for the coronation of Anghs, or King’s, of the many tribes in the region. We pass a large cliff, approximately thirty feet high, as we approach Mon, and he informs us that this was once the site of the ritual killings of outcasts and people who had committed a crime against the community. After convicting the individual for a particular crime, they would be brought here and thrown to their death from the top of the cliff by the Konyak tribal King.

Arriving in the hill town of Mon in the late afternoon, we’re kindly escorted by jeep to the only accommodation in town, the Helsa Cottage, run by a Konyak woman in her sixties who everyone calls Aunty. An expanding rural-urban town, the palm leaves and bamboo walled houses we’d seen in the villages disappear and are replaced by large concrete and brick houses, with rooftops that look out over the rolling forested hills beyond the town. With roads looping around the hilly settlement we pass a large Baptist church on the hill and a group of shops at its centre. Though the people of Nagaland were animist by tradition, almost 98% of the population have embraced Christianity here under the influence of English missionaries during the past century. Welcomed by Aunty, we’re offered a room and dinner, at a mid-range price, and eat a substantial meal of rice, vegetables, pork and fish in candle light as the power cuts out minutes after the sun goes down. Aunty joins the table after the meal, and explains that power and water in Mon can be an unpredictable supply. The infrastructure put in place by the British in India, hadn’t quite reached Nagaland, and consequently the road network, electricity supply and water distribution could cause a town of rapidly expanding size problems at times. I ask her if Mon has changed a lot over the years, and she relates a story about the time she came to Mon in the late 1960’s when there were no roads and she was carried up from the plains, aged seven, on the back of a porter to be greeted by a population who wore no clothes. Arranging a jeep and guide for the following day to make the journey to Longwa, a tribal village on the border with Myanmar, I collect a bucket of hot water from Aunty’s room and head to bed. Looking out over Mon from the balcony, I see candles flickering sporadically from rooftops across the town. It’s blissfully quiet, and the sound of children singing can be heard faintly in the distance.

Leaving Mon early, we head deeper into the Naga hills and pass dozens of rural communities along the 42km stretch of road to the border with Myanmar. Simple villages with houses constructed of bamboo line the road surrounded by rice fields. Purple flowers carpet the floor where there isn’t any betel nut growing, and Konyak women, wearing orange and red beads, walk along the roadside with long sticks and baskets on their heads as they make their way to the fields or into the forest to collect firewood. Anyang is 36 years old and works as a guide for Jungle Travels, an adventure tour company based in Guwahati, the capital of the neighbouring India state of Assam. He first brought tour groups to Nagaland in 2001, and he warns us that in the village we’re visiting the local men smoke large quantities of opium, a tradition that has become an important part of Konyak culture since it was introduced by the British during colonial times.

As we climb steadily in altitude, the villages begin to disappear, and we pull over at the roadside and look out over the baron landscape below. The trees have been heavily logged for miles around, with the odd charred stump existing as a reminder that there was once a forest covering this entire region. A haze hangs over the valley, created by the constant burning of the fields.  It’s an environmental disaster in the making. Anyang sees my concern, and explains, “We have no way out. We have no employment and we have to survive.” As so often in undeveloped countries, the resources of central government are being channelled into industry rather than being used to support the low caste or tribal people who live in remote areas, and it is these people who are often the ultimate custodians of the land.

Climbing back into the jeep, we begin to see tribal Konyak men walking along the roadside as we draw closer to the Myanmar border, with black tattooed faces and muzzle-loading guns slung over their shoulders. Anyang informs us that the Konyak manufacture the guns themselves, and use them to hunt wild cat and small mammals for food and fur. We pass a teenage boy wearing jeans and a pullover, and he looks up as we pass and smiles. He’s carrying the fearsome looking dao, a crude machete the Konyak used for headhunting right up until the mid-20^th century.

Passing beneath a brand new road sign, which points to Mon in one direction and Myanmar in the other, we find ourselves entering the village of Longwa. Anyang points out a military outpost marking the border between India and Myanmar on the brow of a hill. He explains that despite the Angh (tribal King) and the village Council Chairman administering the whole village, many young people serve in the Myanmarese army, and the country runs schools in the village portion that lies under its jurisdiction. Climbing out of the 4×4 we’re greeted by a gang of grubby faced kids, who jump around energetically and taunt us before scrambling away. Anyang invites us to follow him up to the longhouse, and explains that this is where the tribal King lives. We’re met outside the long bamboo structure with attractive palm leave roofing by the Angh and the village Council Chairman. The King is wearing a cowboy hat covered in wild cat fur, and a khaki shirt that looks like it may have been given to him by a National Geographic photographer. He has a large necklace hanging around his neck with five identical heads cast in bronze. Entering the dimly lit longhouse, we join three additional Konyak men around a fireplace in the middle of the room. An old woman works in the shadows close to some shelving that contains a collection of rusty old tin cans and a mix match of crockery.

One man pokes the fire, while another older man with a tattoo on his face and white hair prepares an opium pipe. The King mutters something to Anyang, and we’re introduced to a young guy in his mid twenties who we’re informed is the Angh’s eldest son, and heir to the throne. We shake hands with the proud looking boy, and watch as Anyang presents the King with a bottle of rum. He immediately cracks it open and pours the contents into two mugs, one for the Council Chairman and the other for himself. The Angh avoids eye contact with us, as he sips the strong alcohol from a white mug with red hearts on it. We’re offered black tea, and encouraged to watch as the men maintaining the fire prepare the opium pipe. Above the fire a metal rack hangs from the roof that’s used for smoking meat and hanging cooking pots over the fire. Wild cat tails hang over the side and a collection of small mammal skulls fill a metal tray. The ceiling of the longhouse is covered in thick black tar that has accumulated over years of cooking on an open fire. Preparing a dry organic fibre used for smoking, the white haired man smears brown opium into a metal spoon and holds it over the fire. It quickly turns to liquid and begins to bubble in the spoon. He takes the fibre and soaks it in the liquid opium. Poking it into the neck of a carved wooden pipe, a middle aged guy with swollen eyes and short cropped hair holds a piece of red hot charcoal to the opium in the neck and the Chairman takes a deep lungful of smoke. The pipe is refilled and passed around the room, and the longhouse fills with a cloud of thick smoke. Anyang explains that the totem pillar that juts out above the roof divides the house into two countries and the Angh takes his meals in India and sleeps in Myanmar. The King begins to relax and smiles.

Invited to walk around the longhouse, we’re led over to a blanket that has been laid out on the floor close to the entrance and squat down to study beautiful hand crafted jewellery that has been made by the villagers. Konyak are adept artisans and skilled craftsmen. They create beautiful wood carvings, daos, headbrushes, headgears, necklaces and more practical items such as guns and gunpowder. A couple of women watch us from the doorway, and Anyang informs us that the former Angh of the village had 60 wives/ concubines and his jurisdiction extended up to Myanmar and Arunachal Pradesh. The world of the Angh has changed a great deal over the years, but much of the tradition of a hereditary King and tribal rule still continues strong. Led by the Council Chairman to the back of the longhouse, we’re shown a display of large bronze gongs on the wall and a display of deer and buffalo skulls. A wonderful monument carved out of wood depicts three men: one standing in the background with a spear and two crouching down smoking an opium pipe. A large tiger is beautifully carved into the wood below. Anyang informs us there is a wonderful wooden monument like this in the village of Shangnyu measuring 8 feet in height and 12 feet in breadth, that is believed by the Konyak to be constructed by heavenly angels. The legend tells of an outcast who the Angh threw down a cliff to kill him after he had committed a crime against the community, but the fall had failed to kill him. He had started cutting down trees and carving objects out of them. The villagers could hear the sounds of many people working together, but when they approached the site where he was working, they found him alone. So it is believed that he was helped in his work by heavenly angels.

Exiting the longhouse, we look down over a Baptist church on one side, and over the thick forested hills of Myanmar on the other. We take a stroll around the tranquil settlement of Longwa, and meet families and young children living in the village. The elder children carry their infant baby brothers and sisters in slings on their backs as they help with the daily chores of drying corn and collecting fire wood.

Bidding farewell to the Angh and the Konyak of Longwa, we head back across the Naga hills. During the journey we’re brought to a sudden halt, and watch two large trucks, heavily loaded with enormous felled trees, reverse in the road. We pass more local villagers further down the mountain carrying baskets filled with firewood, and pass a proud looking man in his senior years dressed in full tribal clothing. He’s carrying a tall spear and is wearing an elaborate head dress of exotic Hornbill feathers. We stop by Mon for tea at Aunty’s new place, and walk around the yard as she explains how tourism had been on the increase in Mon for the past few years. Many Indian Government workers use her accommodation, and she had been presented with the opportunity to expand. Looking around her newly built premises she explains the accommodation is aimed at catering to a more up market customer base, and provides rooms with en suite bathrooms. Tasting the Naga red chilli, allegedly the hottest in the world, and drinking more fire quenching Naga black tea, I contemplate Nagaland and the lives of the wonderfully colourful Konyak people we’d had the pleasure of meeting during our time in tribal Nagaland. In many ways it seems clear things here are on the up. India’s economic boom is reaching the far corners of its frontiers, creating a lucrative industry for some people, with the sale of its natural resources. But what price will the Naga people pay for the environmental destruction of their tribal homeland, and how will this affect the lives of the ordinary farming communities in the region living simple self sufficient lives? In order to protect their best interests, the people of Nagaland, who have earned a reputation for being fiercely independent, need to debate the future of their fragile territory carefully, and move intelligently, unselfishly and with caution towards the promise of a more economically prosperous future.

By Simon Raven

Footnote: If you’re planning on making a trip to Nagaland be sure to pay a visit to Chui, Mon, Shangnyu, Sheangha, Chinyu, Wakching, Japoka, and the Angh’s (tribal King’s) house at Longwa. Konyaks are ruled by hereditary King’s known as Anghs. Aoling monyu is observed during the first week of April (1-3) and is a spectacle worth watching. Contact Jungle Travels in Guwahati for more information: jungletravelsindia.com