JOURNEYS WITH A SMARTPHONE
Nagaland
Famed for its numerous tribal groups, their wild disposition, head-hunting and flamboyant attire made them rightly feared, Nagaland is one of only three states in India with a Christian majority.
HANGING OUT WITH THE HEADHUNTERS
Cutting off someone’s head doesn’t necessarily make you a bad person
We headed up the hilly dirt track through the relatively large, well-kept village of Honmpoi — a population of 700 apparently — and towards a recently erected morung, a village hall of sorts where children would've learned the art of hunting and fighting, tradition and folklore before 'civilisation' arrived in the 1960s.
Sitting around a small fire were various old men in multiple states of decrepitness all with tattooed faces. Like something out a George E. Romero film, several others descended out of the mist and perched their arses around the fire.
It isn't easy to describe how it all felt. Caught between an episode of 'Disappearing World' and some primitive Naga soap opera, the whole thing was just plain bizarre. Don't get me wrong, this wasn't the ethnological discovery of the Century. These guys know when they've got it good and wheel themselves out to any passing foreigner to photograph for coinage. They might look crazed, but they ain't stupid. However, it felt like a version of Kaziranga. Instead of animals, we had a human zoo.
Suspending my disbelief, I sat with them for a couple of hours and, over tea and biscuits — yes, tea and biscuits with headhunters — I found out their respective ages (one said he was 110) and when they received their facial adornments. It's a painful, one-day process conducted by the Queen of the village with a huge thorn. They appeared a lovely bunch too, friendly and as amused by me as I was with them. Cutting off someone's head doesn't necessarily make you a bad person.
Requisite shots in the bag, I gave out 120rp to each of them with another 150rp for some tea and snacks, more than the going rate. It had been well worth it. As we got back on the bike and with the sound of petty arguments breaking out over who got what, I reflected on a rare moment, the remarkable passing of human anthropology in real-time.
And having had tea with the last of the headhunters.
The King & I
Slap-bang on the border between India and Myanmar sits the somewhat unusual village of Longwa. And it has a King.
"The King's in church at the moment."
"Oh, when's he back?" I enquired.
A brand new 4x4 pulled up outside the morung.
"There he is, that's the King!" the soldier panted excitedly.
Indeed it was all five feet of him, in his mid-thirties with a bad wedge cut and small black shiny shoes. My first thought was, 'what a lazy bastard' the church was only a hundred yards away. He stepped out with his entourage and headed inside.
"Let's go see the King."
The morung – a village hall of sorts – was big, impressively so. And dark too, made worse by a thick storm that had set in. There was a large wooden dining table to the right and on the wall in front a variety of now locally-extinct wildlife skulls – deer, elephant, water buffalo. There were old bleached photos of the dead King, too, taking his rightful place beside the animals he'd slaughtered.
Dust to dust and all that. Moving through into the second section was a set of small chambers though mainly-closed bedrooms. The King had two wives (but only one Queen), not quite to his father's level, who had 60. The last room was a massive kitchen with an open fire crackling away. Very atmospheric, like the Knights of the Round Table without the table.
I instinctively headed towards a small, smoke-filled, featureless back room with an open-pit fire, surrounded by various dubious characters — just my scene.
"Would you like some of this?" a barely indistinguishable squat man with a bowl cut said, handing me a large wooden pipe.
Six hours later, having purchased booze for the entire room and had several tokes on the peace-pipe, I'd felt I’d witnessed the oddest, most ethereal and otherworldly experience. Apu, my guide, eventually ushered me out into the remains of the day, blissful and dreamy as I headed back towards Mon, the clouds bubbling up like gigantic marshmallows.
