 |
| Welcome gate on the Dimapur- Kohima Road |
Years
ago read the book “The philosophy for NEFA” written by Verrier
Elwin. He was a missionary turned anthropologist who was the
advisor of Jawaharlal Nehru on the North-Eastern states. Diversity,
both of the geography and the culture of the North-Eastern region of
India was an excitement during my postgraduate days at the
University. Still remember collecting and reading many books on
people of North-east and Andaman then. That interest continued for
some more years. As time and tide didn't wait for me too and the
predestination made that passion alter to some other spheres.
During the early years of my career as a teacher, fascination towards
nature and one of its jewels -butterflies started to grow. Being a
natural science teacher, it was quite common. Personal association
with the stalwarts in the field of butterflies in Kerala helped to
deepen the interest. Besides watching them in and around home and
school, participation in the nature camps and surveys in wildlife
sanctuaries and national parks made it a passion. Opportunities to
join experts in the field during surveys in and out of Kerala gave me
a lot of exposure in the field. Still, it was merely a distant dream
to be amidst the distinct and abundant butterfly diversity of
North-East India. When Chandrettan, a butterfly expert and a regular
visitor of North-Eastern states, called me to join their team for a
two-week visit to Nagaland and Arunachal Pradesh for butterflying
during the Onam Holidays (2019), it became an irresistible urge. That
golden opportunity to accompany Chandrettan and Sri Balakrishnan
Valappil, pioneers in butterfly watching and regular visitors of the
area became ineluctable for me. Besides both of them Sri Pappan
Karayad – Pappan Mash was also there in our team.
The
Air Asia flight from Bangalore reached Guhawathi airport by 4 in the
evening. Our three-member team checked in a hotel near Guhawathi
railway station. Guhawathi is situated on the shores of the great
river Brahmaputra. Kamakhya temple with its surprising legends and
observances was only some kilometres away. Early the next day, we had
to travel to Dimapur, the largest border city of Nagaland, and from
where our destination was Khonoma, ‘India's first green village’
as they affirm.
From
the hotel where we stayed ,started the walk to the station at 5 in
the
 |
Early Morning 4.30
|
morning. The sky and earth were fully lit up with sunlight,
everywhere in eastern parts of the country it is so. The train
heading to Dimapur started its journey on time. We were having
reserved tickets. People traveling to different states, a mixture of
modernity and rusticity were busily engaged in different activities.
Some of them got out of the train at various intermittent stations
while many others got in from there. Ticket examiners were busily
chasing some women who bordered the train without tickets. One of
them untied tip of the saree and gave money to the ticket examiners,
without any receipts. Ticket examiner walked speedily to the next
compartment as if no one had witnessed all this. Outside the train,
lush green paddy fields lay far-stretched beyond the horizon. Birds-
green, white, black, and many coloured flew over the greeneries.
 |
Dimapur Railway Station
|
Our train reached Dimapur railway station by 12 in the noon. Taxi
drivers surrounded every traveller with a bag expecting a trip to
Shillong or some other towns of the neighboring states. Dimapur is
the entering point of many of the towns of Meghalaya and Manipur
besides interior places of Nagaland. The city is lying in lower
elevation compared to other places of the state. Kohima – the
capital is seventy kilometers away from there, in the midst of the
undulating terrain. Most the states in the North-East require
inner-line permits (ILP) for the visit and most of them have online
facilities for applying for that mandatory paper in advance. But even
in the era of echoing slogans of ‘digital India’ we had had to go
to the deputy commissioner's office three kilometres away and wait
there for two hours for the verification and approval of our request.
The inner-line regulation was enacted in 1873 by the British
administration for controlling the commercial relations of British
tea-planters and others with hill tribes. After independence, it was
justified in the name of safeguarding the pristine culture, delicate
social fabric, fragile ecology of the tribal area from the outer
unfamiliar influences.
After
having lunch at a nearby hotel we went to the taxi-stand of the town
to hire a vehicle to Khonoma. With some bargaining on the charges,
the fare was fixed and we started our journey through the busy roads
of the city. Immediately after the car moved out of the outskirts of
Dimapur, the condition of the roads became very bad. Green coloured
trucks were more in number than other vehicles plying on the road,
spitting fuming black air and clouds of dust. Most of the
North-Eastern states were having militancy and related se
 |
Nagaland Transport Bus to Kohima
|
curity
concerns for decades. Some years back, news on killings, counter
killings, and turbulence in the area grabbed the space of our
newspapers. Most of the militant outfits have come in terms with
the reality and have started to participate in the democratic process
of the country, but some groups and organisations in Nagaland and the neighboring state of Manipur are still playing with blood and fire.
When I watched the uninterrupted chain of trucks passing by suddenly
my mind became little nervous for a while as we were in a place,
several thousands of kilometres away from home totally unfamiliar
with.
National
Highway 29, connecting Assam and Manipur between Dimapur – the
economic capital and Kohima – the state capital was under complete
renovation. Hills along the roadsides were levelling down with tens
of excavators all the way. Curves were being straightened. At several
places, one part of the road was fully removed. We believe that
development come through the inter-connectivity of roads, rails and
airports. When broad black roads wind up the hills jobs and money
accompany it and poverty and the resulting militancy disappear. But
large area of green forests, serene rivers, wildlife, and innocent
cultures of the native people disappear fast along with that. This is
a dilemma everywhere, whether to conserve people and nature ‘as is
where is’ or bring them up to the so-called mainstream. The
situation of the North-east region is further complex due to their
ethnic, ecological, and economic issues of their own.
On
that drizzling evening, some women were selling pineapples and fruits
by
 |
Pineapple deal
|
the roadside. We stopped our vehicle near a woman with sparkling
eyes and betel nut chewed red lips who was busily disposing off all
the pineapples with her, as she was putting an end to that day's
work. From the broad highway, we took a winding side road to Khonoma.
By five in the evening, we reached the entrance of the village from
where we were supposed to be taken by our host, the owner of the
homestay.
Within minutes Mr. Khose arrived with his vehicle. Taking our
backpacks and camera we got into that jeep. It was an other-world in
a dream. Cold wind was blowing making all shiver. Houses in layers
below and above the narrow road spiralling up to distant heights,
structures of stones standing here and there, hills and hillocks
surrounded from all sides, vast green farming lands below but all
with not much movements of people anywhere. Quickly darkness covered
everything and intensity of cold became stronger, as if we reached a
mysterious land. We kept our belongings in the spacious single room
allotted. All of us became fresh even in the blood-chilling cold. A
cup of hot black tea and some biscuits gave a little respite for the
cold and the exhaustion due to the last couple of days' journey faded
away quickly.
In
the downstairs, our host with his wife was preparing food.
We went there for a chat with them. He would be making all the
arrangements for our stay and journey for the next four days. He is a
primary school teacher, a straight forward man with amiable but
somewhat serious looks. The bedrooms in that small house was
completely set apart for tourists who visit the village. There are
more such home-stays in the village, some of them more luxuriant and
conducting honeymoon packages and so on. The food served by Mr Khose
and his wife that day felt very tasty for two reasons, we were
devoid of the luxury of cooked rice for the last couple of days and
the rice served for us was one of the indigenous cultivated local
variety. Abundant Vegetables, both cooked and raw made it more
scrumptious.
When
we woke up at 4.30 in the morning the sunlit hills and surroundings
bestowed before us a magnificent spectacle. As darkness and thick
fog obstructed the detailed view of the surroundings the last day, we
went for a
 |
| Our Home-stay |
morning walk to get a bird’s eye view of the village,
through the light fog after a cup of black tea. It revealed that our
homestay was almost in the middle of the village. Stacks of houses
arranged like small matchboxes were seen lying in every edge of the
hills. Huge mobile towers stood erect at many places along with the
clusters of dismally coloured houses appeared as a connecting link
between the village rusticity and the modern external world, giving a
monstrous look to the otherwise serene geography of the hills. Narrow
roads extended up to every small hillock and down to the agricultural
fields. The upper part of the village was not fully visible as we
were staying almost in the middle terrain.
We
quickly had our breakfast after returning from the rambling. The menu
consisted of some eggs and bread with butter. We became doubtful
whether that would be enough for a late afternoon return from the
field. Chandrettan was sure to bear with that, but I took the boiled
extra eggs from the plate and put them in my backpack. During the
four day stay there, we never got any ground or roasted items of the
food either for breakfast or on any other time. The team started our
primary concern, butterflying in the area. Walked criss-crossing the
village and we were lucky to have frequent encounters with rare
fluttering beauties of the land. (As a write-up on butterflies of
Khonoma is following, details are left out here!) Though we were
armed with our bags and camera, villagers we encountered on the way
paid little attention to our presence. In our places, people will
shoot tens of questions if you are on any nature walk, who are you?
where are you coming from? How much will you get for a butterfly
photo etc? Even our Police wouldn't spare you.
The
next morning, after having a cup tea we started our morning walk.
Visiting the paddy field down below was in our plan. On the way, some
joyful boys and girls with sparkling eyes wearing bright coloured
dresses were seen quickly passing through, searching something. Our
host told us that they were the
 |
| Students cleaning the village |
students of the village school and
they were on their mission to collect plastic garbage around the
village. Later we realised that, in keeping the village green and
clean, KSU – Khonoma Students Union plays an important role.
Down
the steps towards the walkway to the field, an old man with
traditional dress came across us. Wearing colourful ear-studs made
of beads, several colourful necklaces around the neck, and several
strings tied tightly over both the legs, he exactly resembled one of
the traditional headmen of the tribal community. Some steps below,
moved little inwards located a small bamboo
Later we came to understand that, the structure offered the meeting
place of the youngsters of the community, where they got training in
their culture and tradition, an innate system that existed among most
of the tribal communities.
made structure with a
thatched roof. Seats made of bamboo poles were arranged in a
rectangle shape leaving the entrance. Debris of burnt wood logs was
seen in the centre of the room. Different types of baskets made of
bamboo, traps for catching birds and horns of deer and bullocks tied
to the roof, etc showed that it was a traditional meeting centre of
the people. The old man could speak only in their village dialect.
The
headman who was slowly cleaning the collected bamboo poles in that
traditional structure is the leftover symbol of the rich tribal past
of the community. Different tribal communities have passed through
profound changes in lifestyles, culture, belief system and
everything. ‘ The Angami Nagas’, the monograph written on Angamis
in the year 1915 by J H Hutton has detailed description on tribal
culture and belief system of the community. If someone visits those
villages after going through the pages of the book, he would really
be astonished to see the drastic changes over a century, especially
in the belief system. A large number of missionaries, even from the
farthest corner of Kerala
 |
Our team with Mr. Khose
|
and their meticulous work in the
North-Eastern frontier states have radically dismembered those
racially and culturally distinct societies from their age-old roots.
As for this community, they go to churches, prayers, Sunday schools,
etc, at the same time they try to adhere to their tribal identity
with utmost belonging, that I felt. Verrier Elwin writes in his book
‘Nagaland’ that insurgents used churches and pastors in their
battles against Indian security forces. At one time their slogan was
‘Nagaland for Christ’ and they even projected Nagaland as ‘the
first completely Christian state in Asia’. The feeling of Naga
unity was also aroused across all the Naga people. Most of the
separatist movements energised from this substratal feeling of this
identity.
When
one walks through the silent greenery and among the more silent
people of the village, no one certainly would be aware that Khonoma
has great history of exceptional exuberant life and incredible
blood-soaked fightings. More than a dozen tribes having their own
culture, tradition, dialects and history inhabit the hills of
Nagaland for centuries. All of them with same ethnicity and common
culture constitute the Naga people. They occupy the hilltops of the
entire region having their own village structure, political system
and self-sufficient economy for centuries. Primitive rituals and
observances fully in line with the tribal ethnicity prevailed there
until the advent of the British influence and Christian
missionaries. ‘Head hunting’, the distinct and dreadful practice
of taking the head of a person of a nearby village and becoming
heroes of the native village was a regular phenomena till the
beginning of twentieth century. And the real astonishing fact is that
neither the Naga people themselves or Anthropologists who studied
these communities could not give a reasonable explanation for this.
In those times, girls refused a man who had not taken a head and the
soul substance contained in the head was believed to have promoted
fertility and prosperity, both of the soil and humans. The last
recorded case of headhunting was in 1958 (Verrier Elwin) Khonoma is
a prominent Angami village with all these awesome stories.
The
long view of agricultural fields of the village lying hundreds of
meters down , away from the residential area was very captivating.
Different geometrical shapes filled with light green coloured paddy
were stroked with dark green ridges of partitions. They were
arranged one above the other according to the slant of the
topography. The gurgle of the stream with crystal clear water
originating from the forest nearby gave ceaseless background melody
for the village life. Difference in the elevation of the stream made
milky bubbles all along its way. Various pulses, vegetables and
variety of rice were growing there. In olden times they practised
slash and burn agriculture in the nearby hillsides. The amount of
grain one possessed was the criterion of one’s social status. Such
men gave grand feast to the villagers and thus became titled persons
in the community. Every farming field has a thatched structure made
of bamboos for keeping necessary farm equipment. In the entrance of
the farm from the village, there stood a huge banyan tree with a large
platform made up of stones. Some structures of traditional worship
were seen under the tree. Just below that, a spacious area with twenty
or so stone seats were arranged in a circular manner. Village elders
used this space for assembly and discussion. Important decisions
regarding social issues, feuds, criminal and civil disputes were
discussed and settlements and verdicts were taken from there, we were
told later. As we had to start butterflying on time we returned from
there.
On
the third day we travelled to Dzuleke – a village 30 kilometres
away from Khonoma where population was just below 180. After
returning from Dzueleke, in the evening two of us -Pappan Mash and me
went for a walk around the upper part of the village for sightseeing
and certainly that was the most memorable walk in that land of
incredulity. As mentioned before, it has a typical traditional
village architecture. Factional feuds and headhunting were the norms
of the day and every village h
 |
| In the book 'The Angami Naga',1915 |
ad strong defense systems of their own.
From the top point of the village, one can witness the entire valley
and see the
enemies coming towards them. They were able to organise
themselves for any eventuality in advance and deter the opponents.
Narrow circular roads connecting all the houses are spiralling up and
down the entire living area. Each cluster of houses i
s demarcated.
There are several rock made gates with huge wooden doors to enter
into the village. The doors are painted with different colours
including red and black, and diverse shapes and structures- some
menacing figures, while some others were symbols of fertility carved
on it. On both sides of the gate plants like nettle are planted to
block the entry of intruders. The wood used for making this gates
were cut from the forest with a lot of rituals and each gate was a
symbol of protection. In Khonoma there were many gates seen, each
clan having their own entrances.
In that misty evening near the
colourful wooden door the depictions and colours on the door brought
the ambiance of "theyyam" and it's colours. In severalplaces of the village, there are
 |
| Photo of the same wall in 2019 |
huge monoliths and stone made
constructions standing erect and horizontally. We were told that many
of them mark some community events like feasts of merit or something
like that. In many places, tombs of dead persons are constructed in
huge stone structures with a dead person's name on it. Everywhere in
the world, megaliths and stone made monuments are the most common
objects of social memory, which help every society to go forward as a
collective unit with energy from its root.
We
continued our walk through narrow roads and even narrower walkways
climbing up and down. Most of the villagers ignored the presence of
us completely. As we were later told, only one-third of the
population reside in the village. Most of the grown-ups are away in
Kohima or other towns of the North-East, and students studying
elsewhere in towns of India, as well. So most of the village has a
deserted look always.
Finally
we reached the top of the village after a long walk and the intensity
of the cold began further to increase. At the entrance, there was an
open fireplace from where sparks and smoke were spreading around.
Three elderly people were sitting in bamboo chairs in that dim light
and their voice echoed in the enclosure. We approached them a little
hesitatingly as we didn't know who were they or what they were doing
there. But they were very eager to talk to us when they knew that, we were from Kerala revealing our intention of being there. One of them
was a
 |
Image from J H Hutton's Book
|
public works contractor. He took us to the inner portion of the
structure. There was a large traditional building where elders of
the entire village assemble to discuss important matters. That was
main social and educational institution of the community called by the name
‘kichuki’ or ‘ the morung’. Group of boys were initiated
every year into it and were given all types of training in social
practices, customs
and beliefs. It was also the main guard place of
the village. Rows of elevated cots made of bamboo for youths to stay
were arranged on all sides of the rooms. Huge wooden utensils for
preparing and delivering food on the occasions of community feasts,
bows, and arrows, other handicrafts made of local materials- all of
them very old were kept there. In olden days human heads collected as
part of the headhunting too got prominent place
 |
A Primary School in the Village
|
among these
collections. Aged and experienced persons of the community would be
telling stories of the past, reciting old ballads of war and bravery
of their ancestors to them in a traditional manner. After visiting
the inner area he invited us to be seated near the hearth in the
front portion. When our conversation moved to Naga identity and
insurgency his Naga pride buried deep in the heart divulged out. He
started to talk about their unfulfilled dream of a Naga country, for
which many of them fought for decades. Once the British betrayed them
promising independence and later India too strangled their
aspirations by brutal forces, he stopped for a minute, sighing. The
feeling in his eyes and tone of his expression made us nervous, a
bit. We tried to return to our stay. But the old man's passions came
down as we tactically asked questions on other things. He continued
his talk with a friendly demeanor and even gave his mobile number
for further interaction once we returned. He told us that the Naga
fort which witnessed many fierce battles stood very near and asked
his fellow man to take us to the fort as he had had some
preoccupation.
 |
Semoma Fort
|
The small fort is situated at the cliff of the hill, among the
houses. It is almost 200 years old, attacked and dismantled several
times in history. It was the British who fought against it before
independence. The fort named ‘Semoma fort of Khonoma’, rebuilt
entirely of granite, stones and round pebbles. In 1879, the well
known ‘battle of Khonoma’ against, British was fought from there.
During the fight Deputy commissioner of the Naga Hills , Mr Dumont
and his 35 escorting troops were murdered in Khonoma and fierce
battle followed against the fort and the village. Later during
militant encounters Indian security forces too made it
 |
History of Fort
|
their target
many times. The inner secure area of the fort was used for storing
arms and ammunition, besides giving security to the fighting persons.
Narrow steps led us to the open terrace where a distant view of the
valley from all sides was enabled through the clefts made in the
stone balcony. There are points to place guns to attack the advancing
enemies and deter them from entering the village. In a straight
marbled stone erected in front of the fort, the history of demolition
and reconstruction of the fort from 1825 to 1956 is written, the last
demolition being done by the Indian Army. This stone inscription
stands testimony to the transformation Khonoma went through the
centuries. It would have been a great loss if we skipped that
historically important sight. That small fort and the valiant
 |
On the Terrace of the Fort
|
defense of the villagers against fully equipped forces in that remote
steep hills in the forests years back really haunted my mind that
night. The adventure, hardships, and sacrifices of the Indian
soldiers in those hostile terrains to uphold the integrity and unity
of the great nation, would equally invoke one's passion towards the
symbol of Mother India. After all the ethos of this great nation
certainly vouchsafes to recognise diverse views, thoughts, beliefs,
lifestyles with mutual t
rust and tolerance, from time immemorial. It
should also be stated frankly that, during our entire stay no one we
interacted expressed hate against India, except that incident. Others
were either seemed to be not considered with suchissues in the
smooth flowing daily life or sometimes not willing to express such
feelings before us, the mere tourists.
Darkness
spread everywhere, as we came down from the fort. Mercury too came
down with cold breeze as minutes gave way to hours in that mysterious
faraway hills. We hurried back to our home-stay hundreds of meters
away with a torchlight in hand. Walkways criss-crossing the layers of
packed houses lost somewhere. Bells were ringing some footsteps below
as if from a church.
 |
Village Boy
|
Expecting someone there to help us to show the correct path to our home-stay lying below at the other end of the
village, we entered the church premises. But no one was seen. With
due respect, we entered into the spacious assembly hall, where the
priest was reading the Bible through the mic and a woman was sitting
in the last row of the hall with her hands folded for prayers. We
stood there silently for some minutes. Seeing unexpected devotees in
that time of the night, the priest stepped down from the platform and
approached us. We introduced ourselves in English, his reply was in Hindi.
But we were not successful in following his words completely. Then
he said in English, " You people being Indians, should at least
learn to converse in Hindi". The church was run by the Baptist
council, the largest congregation of Nagaland and he was a native of
UttarPradesh. He talked happily about the group of Malayali priests
and nuns working in the North-Eastern states, especially in Nagaland
and Meghalaya. He continued his conversation uninterruptedly as if
we were the first people happened to be in front of him that day. But
as Chandrettan and our host Mr Khose would be waiting anxiously for
our return, we sped up. The priest showed us a walkway down, even
narrower.
Walking
down almost 50 steps, we reached the back part of a house. Seeing no
one in the vicinity we called aloud for help. After 2-3 minutes, a
young lady in traditional costume appeared from behind with a light
in hand. But that 'lady with the lamp' could not follow a single word we spoke, neither we
could not grasp the non-stop sound emerging out of her mouth. Whether
she was abusing us for our uncalled for arrival or telling some other
things in her native language was not known. Through her gestures,
she asked us to follow her through the ups and downs among the silent
houses. We became quite frantic and thoughts of some imminent danger
flashed through our minds. The woman stopped in front of a house and
called someone. Opening the doors, a girl with a book in her hands
came outside. The woman who carried us there said something to the
girl. With a pleasant smile in her lips, the girl asked us about our
place of stay in fluent and good English. We felt a sigh of relief.
She was studying a degree course in Guhawathi and she told that all
the students and youngsters are away from the village in various
towns across India and she had to return to her village for some
personal matters. She accompanied up to the lower circle road, by
the side of which our home-stay stood. Delicious, cooked indigenous rice with diverse row and cooked vegetables that night made the
dreams more flavorsome on the wonders, bewilderment, and charm of
the life and story of the native people of that far off hills.
Reference
- The Angami Nagas with some notes on neighboring Tribes,1921, J H Hutton, MacMIllan &Company.
- The Nagas in the Nineteenth Century,1969 Verrier Elwin, Oxford University Press.
- Walking the Roadless Roads, 2019, Easterine Kire,Aleph Book Company.
Two Images are taken from the book 'The Angami Nagas' by J H Hutton published in 1921 just for comparison.
made structure with a
thatched roof. Seats made of bamboo poles were arranged in a
rectangle shape leaving the entrance. Debris of burnt wood logs was
seen in the centre of the room. Different types of baskets made of
bamboo, traps for catching birds and horns of deer and bullocks tied
to the roof, etc showed that it was a traditional meeting centre of
the people. The old man could speak only in their village dialect.
enemies coming towards them. They were able to organise
themselves for any eventuality in advance and deter the opponents.
Narrow circular roads connecting all the houses are spiralling up and
down the entire living area. Each cluster of houses is demarcated.
There are several rock made gates with huge wooden doors to enter
into the village. The doors are painted with different colours
including red and black, and diverse shapes and structures- some
menacing figures, while some others were symbols of fertility carved
on it. On both sides of the gate plants like nettle are planted to
block the entry of intruders. The wood used for making this gates
were cut from the forest with a lot of rituals and each gate was a
symbol of protection. In Khonoma there were many gates seen, each
clan having their own entrances. 
rust and tolerance, from time immemorial. It
should also be stated frankly that, during our entire stay no one we
interacted expressed hate against India, except that incident. Others
were either seemed to be not considered with suchissues in the
smooth flowing daily life or sometimes not willing to express such
feelings before us, the mere tourists.
