Lonely Planet Asia August 2017

52 AUGUST 2017

NORTHEAST INDIA

OLIVER BERRY writes regularly for Lonely

Planet Traveller. He is still recovering from

his first taste of a Naga chilli.

ENEKAA AASE?’ SAYS

Ngap Non, clasping her

hands together and

bowing her head in

greeting. ‘You are

welcome to Longwa.

Please, come inside.’

She steps into her house. Inside, it’s dark

and cool; shafts of sunlight filter through the

thatched roof, casting spider-web patterns

on the earthen floor. Tools and trinkets hang

from the walls. There are farming implements

and feathered hats, ceremonial masks

and strings of beads, animal horns and

an arsenal of daos, the triangular machetes

used to cut vegetation, but which in the

past also doubled as weapons of war.

Ngap Non leaves the main attraction

till last: ‘This was carved by my husband’s

grandfather,’ she explains, pointing to a

wooden door at the front of the house. Hewn

from a teak tree, stained black by weathering

and smoke, it’s covered with carvings. ‘It is

about the Konyak way of life. In my opinion,

it is the finest door in the village.’

She points out a few features: a hunter

aims a rifle at a tiger, surrounded by lizards,

snakes and storks; two men sit in a hut, one

brewing tea, the other puffing on an opium

pipe. Inside the house, more carvings cover

a second panel and several pillars, one draws

the eye: a bare-chested warrior grasping a

lizard’s leg, surrounded by a pile of skulls.

Ngap Non nods gravely at the picture.

‘This is a Konyak headhunter. Once they

were the pride of Longwa, but now they are

5. Nagaland

Step off the map in northeast India’s most isolated state, a little-visited land

of thatched huts, hill tribes and septuagenarian headhunters

all old. Soon, there will be none left.’

Longwa straddles the border between

Nagaland and Myanmar. Until recently,

Nagaland remained a mystery even to most

Indians. Mountainous and jungled, for

decades it was off limits to foreigners, a

result of the guerrilla war for independence

that’s been crackling here, on and off, since

the 1950s. Though pockets of resistance

remain, Nagaland is largely peaceful these

days, and is gradually opening up to the

outside world. But, even now, travel here

still feels like an adventure: only some areas

are sanctioned for outsiders to visit, and

armed soldiers of the Assam Rifles still

check passports as you cross the border.

Most of Nagaland’s two million inhabitants

belong to one of 17 tribes, of which the

Konyak is the largest. Traditionally, each

district was governed by an angh, or

headman, a hereditary title passed down

from father to son. Few people travelled far

beyond their villages – unsurprisingly,

perhaps, given that Nagaland’s tribes were

notoriously suspicious of outsiders, and

warriors were rated according to how many

heads they’d hunted, rather than for their

diplomatic skills. Though it was outlawed

by missionaries in the 1890s, the practice of

headhunting is thought to have continued

in Nagaland until as recently as the 1950s.

These days, most young people drift away

from their villages, gravitating in search of

work towards the ramshackle shanty towns

that cling to the region’s hillsides. Some slip

over the border into Myanmar, others head

for the big cities of Assam and Manipur.

In another house in Longwa, Teram Nyakto

is squatting on the floor beside a smoky

wood fire. The son of one of the village’s

last surviving headhunters, he recounts the

positive developments that have come to

the village. ‘When I was a boy, there wasn’t

much opportunity,’ he says. ‘But now we

have education, healthcare, medical

supplies. Some people have satellite TV.’

Taking out his ceremonial hat – a bamboo

and vulture feather headdress – Teram looks

at his father, Kamhi, now in his 80s. Kamhi’s

face and torso are covered by tattoos denoting

his headhunting prowess. ‘Times change,’

Teram says. ‘But we must remember our

history. It makes us who we are.’

Outside Teram’s house, villagers are

returning from the fields. The school bell

rings and laughing children spill onto the

village square. A moped buzzes past, driven

by a teenager in a leather jacket and aviator

shades, his ear glued to a mobile phone,

listening to Naga pop. Along the valley,

farmers are slashing and burning in the

jungle, sending smoke into the yellow sky.

Change is coming quickly to Nagaland,

but the past is never far away.

Ngap Non shows off

her ornate front door.

LEFT Many Naga villages

persist in remote locations

Facilities in Nagaland are still extremely basic

and there are few hotels. In the town of Mon,

a two-hour drive from Longwa, Helsa Cottage

offers spartan rooms, and electricity only runs

a few hours a day. Rates include home-cooked

meals of dhal, rice and vegetables (from £18;

contact Aunty on 00 91 9862345965).

You do need the permission of the anghs to

visit villages, so a local guide is essential. Guides

cost around £25 per day and can be arranged

through your guesthouse.

Essentials

52 AUGUST 2017