Story-stuffed Hills and Valleys

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

A woman to the farm

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 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.
  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 trust 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.