Most people, including Indians, have never heard of Nagaland, in the far Northeast of India. Part of the Seven Sisters states, which include Assam, Arunachal Pradesh and four more, it is a very remote region that requires a special permit to visit. My fellow photographer Terri Gold and I went there in 2012, and almost didn’t get in because the permits were written by our travel agent in Delhi for three people (a government requirement, we didn’t realize) and we were only two. Sitting at the border in the dead of night while our guide negotiated our entry was very uncomfortable, but somehow we were allowed to enter. I suspect it was because some money changed hands.
The trip continued in that vein. We were delayed by a landslide while the earth was dynamited to clear the road, we couldn’t make it over a mountain pass due to a freak snow storm, we had to ford a raging river because of flooding, and were confined to our simple hotel when the region was closed down because of a separatist bombing. Two men attempted to repossess our vehicle, claiming the car payment hadn’t been made that month. A quick phone call to the bank by our guide and driver proved a late payment had been made and we fortunately continued on our way, shaken but resolute.
It was all worthwhile though once we met the headhunters of Nagaland. These tattooed old men are members of the Konyak tribe who practiced headhunting in the 1960’s. At that time territorial conflicts between rival tribes and villages were resolved through warfare and the Konyaks beheaded their enemies and brought back the severed heads as trophies, then proudly displayed them on their walls and doorways. The warriors were honored with tattoos as indications of their heroic deeds.
Now mostly in their 80s, these former warriors are distinguishable also by their large ear piercings made of animal horns and war hats made of hunted wild pigs’ horns, hornbill feathers, and wild bear or goat hair. They also wear necklaces with small bronze heads indicating how many men they killed in their heyday. We saw anywhere from two to six small heads on these necklaces. It was such a disconnect to learn that these apparently kindly old gentlemen had such bloody personal histories but learning about and photographing a dying culture like this first hand is why I am willing to put up with the discomforts of remote travel.