Ancestral Memories Tattoos On Skin

It all started with an image we came across in a magazine. 

It was of a man, bare chested, crouching on a mud floor. The hut was dimly lit with a single naked bulb, and a wood fire with a huge vat boiling on top of it flickered in the background. Next to the man lay a two foot long implement which looked like a scabbard. The man was staring away from the camera, seemingly at something in the distance with the right side of his face lit by the combined glow of the fire and the bulb. In his ear he had a centimetre-thick piece of wood and a cap adorned with animal horns. But it was his face that caught our attention. Darkened over time by tattoo ink, it was a canvas of circular designs around his eyes and grid-like markings on his cheeks.

It was fascinating and left an impression. He was a Konyak Headhunter.

Over a year later, after a bone-jarring journey travelling in multiple modes of transport for over 15 hours, we had finally reached Mon, the home of the tattooed Konyak Headhunters. We had been on the road for over two weeks in Nagaland, and had learnt, contrary to popular belief, that it was not only the Konyak tribes that headhunted in Nagaland, but all the Naga tribes. The Konyaks however, owing to their custom of tattooing the faces and bodies of their battle hardened warriors, were the most visible and thus famous. The last headhunting incident was reported in Nagaland over four decades ago (though it&rsquos debatable) and the last of the human heads kept as trophies are being quietly buried. 

The coming of Christianity in the late 1800s resulted in the slow eradication of many customs and beliefs, amongst them the practice of headhunting. These tattooed headhunters are the last visual remains of that era, and like the tattooed Apatani tribes of Arunachal Pradesh they will soon be gone, taking with them an ancient but gruesome tradition. 

There is plenty written across the world about these famous headhunters, but we wanted to experience and understand for ourselves the unique traditions of these tribals and the stories behind the face and body tattoos.

To learn and understand more about the system of tattoos and headhunting, and to meet the headhunters themselves, we travelled to Mon, the northernmost district of Nagaland, visiting people and staying in several villages. After two weeks on the road in Nagaland, we felt like locals, jumping into shared taxis and sharing fruit with strangers. Our first stop in Mon was Lungwa village, a two-hour bus journey from the main Mon town. Bordering Myanmar, Lungwa would be interesting even without the headhunters. It is amongst the easternmost villages of India, and like most of Nagaland, is extremely removed from the &lsquomainland&rsquo or what they refer to as the rest of the country. The international border runs through the village, formed by the solitary main tarred road, and is easily missed if not for the lone tower of the 33 Assam Rifles at one end. The Konyak tribes, spread across the region, find themselves divided by this arbitrary line and move across freely trading in daily essentials, food and opium. The governments of both countries allow this, under the Free Movement Regime, which enables tribals on both sides to cross over upto 16 kms into the neighbouring country without a visa. We enjoyed no such freedom of movement but it was still fun to hop on the other side of that tarred road for a few minutes and wander in Myanmar.

Lungwa was where we had our first real encounter.  with one of the old tattooed headhunters. Close to 90 and slow of speech, Wangnao was a veteran of a battle with the neighbouring Khmu tribe, now mostly found in Myanmar and South East Asia. He wore around his neck a bead necklace at the end of which was a row of three brass heads to signify the three heads taken in battle. The necklace was new though, probably purchased in the local market, its authenticity as a sign of Wangnao&rsquos headhunting prowess, suspect. We did learn that many now wear these beads but haven&rsquot necessarily taken a life. However, there was nothing suspicious about the tattoos, dark and vivid, which marked his face. The battle between the Khmus and the Konyaks, which we understood had taken place in the late 40s, was over a land dispute, a common cause in those days. 

The old headhunter spoke of many other battles he had seen in his life, people who once knew, and life as it used to be. His last battle was sometime in the 50s, though he seemed a bit unsure of the timeline. 

As we spoke to Wangnao, aided by our translator, our image of the fierce warrior tribes was slowly getting remoulded. We understood a little more about the past and the battles won and lost, that there were reasons and rules to be followed, and honour in battle. As he smoked his opium, he talked more about the old days, a time that was simpler. They were his reality, rooted in custom and tradition. &ldquoPeople from outside think we are terrible, because of our headhunting tradition,&rdquo he said, &ldquobut today you kill thousands. How can anyone call us wrong for following our ways&rdquo

We sit sipping tea and eating surprisingly good chocolate croissants as the sun sets over the Naga hills. All around us are acres of tea estates, waves of short green shrubs punctuated by the occasional tree the first we have seen in Nagaland. We are outside the village of Shiyong, at the Konyak Tea Retreat run by the lively and immensely likeable Phejin Konyak. The place is beautiful, her home warm and welcoming, the surroundings serene and we decide to stay a day longer. Plus we still had lots to talk about. 

Phejin, a Konyak herself, like many young Nagas today has lived most of her formative years outside the state. On returning to Shiyong, with time on her hands and a wandering mind, she started travelling, armed with a backpack and camera, from village to village. She sought to better understand her own people and reconnect with her roots, documenting her impressions, thoughts and stories along the way. After two years of wandering in the villages around the Mon region, many of which are still only accessible by foot, Phejin started formalising what she learnt and began working on a book with Dutch photographer Peter Bos, which she has now published as a photo book. She is an expert on Konyak history and heritage, especially on the art and stories behind the culture of tattoos.

&ldquoThe croissants are from a packet,&rdquo smiles Phejin when we ask her for another, &ldquoyou can get them at the market for ten rupees. They come from Calcutta.&rdquo We are beyond excited, after weeks of a largely rice diet, we yearn for bread and other carbs. As we slowly work through her box of croissants, Phejin launches off into yet another story of an adventure in Konyak heartland and the subtle differences between tattoos, while she deftly whips up what promises to be another excellent meal. In between exchanging stories and conversation, she has introduced us to Konyak food, including a different style of pork curry, beef chutney, a dried fish and eggplant mix, a mild gravy made of taro, and local rice beer.

There are many types of facial tattoos. The designs change, from villages in the north to the ones in the east. They are closely linked to the dialects spoken by the various sub tribes of the Konyaks which also change from village to village. &ldquoSome tribes have chest and back tattoos, some have leg tattoos, others don&rsquot,&rdquo she explains, whilst showing us rudimentary replicas of the tools used by the Konyak tattoo artist, who is always the Queen of the village. 

People consider headhunting barbaric but it is important to understand that it wasn&rsquot a random act of violence. According to old Naga animist beliefs, the head was considered to be a source of life and energy taking the head, it was believed, would lead to good harvests and the welfare of the village. Battles were waged over land disputes and in some cases to assert independence or grow the tribe, not unlike empires and kingdoms of the past. 

Contrary to popular belief, facial tattoos, Phejin clarifies, do not necessarily mean a warrior has taken a head it usually denotes participation in battle. As do the tattoos on other parts of the body. A neck tattoo on the other hand is the mark of a true headhunter, the ones who return with a human skull. As per tradition, when the warriors return from a successful battle, they are tattooed by the Queen of the village, the first wife of the Angh, the village chief. Phejin proudly shows off her own forearm tattoo made using traditional ink and implements, by one of the last surviving Konyak Queens. 

The old Queen hadn&rsquot made one in years, and this will probably be the last one she ever makes.

Our last stop was&nbspHongpoi, a small hamlet about an hour away from the main town of Mon. After wandering through Shiyong, Wakching and other villages, we left Hongpoi for the end it is home to the last tattooed Angh in the region. At least one that is easily accessible. We are here on a Sunday afternoon, at our guide Nahmei&rsquos suggestion. The village is quiet, the choir is practising in the church, and the women have gathered to share a light moment.

Sunday is also the day the older men in the village gather in the Morung, the traditional Naga male &lsquohostel&rsquo along with the Angh, to talk over cups of steaming red tea. Smaller than other villages we had been to, Hongpoi is no different from the rest of the state. People are warm and smiling. Whatever the stories about fierce Naga headhunters, the people we met all over Nagaland were nothing short of kind, joyous and friendly. The morung in Hongpoi is a more recent structure, rebuilt using funds provided under the National Rural Employment Guarantee scheme. Unlike others in Nagaland, which are largely ceremonial, this one seemed to be in use.

We entered the morung and taking Nahmei&rsquos lead, we respectfully greeted the Angh first. Even after spending 3 weeks in Nagaland and experiencing everything from the beautiful to the bizarre, the scene that confronted us was surreal. It was almost as if we had stepped into a different world, one that was slowly opening itself to us. 

Around a fire where a charred kettle of tea sat boiling were at least 10 - 12 tattooed headhunters. They were a motley bunch, all between 80 and 95. Some of them, bare-chested, sporting beads and brass necklaces. One wore a hat made of wildcat skin, another a headband with a bird feather and a thick armband made of bone. All of them had tattoos either on the chest or face, some of them on both, yet others on the hands or arms. All of them were chewing the betel nut that is a staple in the state.

We noticed the designs, subtly different from ones we had seen in Lungwa, denoting the difference in sub-tribes and villages. Many of the tattoos are detailed and intricate, and time and patience has gone into creating a form of art. The Angh welcomes us to sit with him and the other villagers. Unlike some of the other chiefs we have met, he is friendly and conversational, proud of his responsibility of being the chief, which he inherited from his father when he was 50. He is now 85, and more interested in life in Morung. &ldquoLife is better now,&rdquo he tells us, and &ldquothere is peace and no violence. We have more freedom to move about between villages.&rdquo He wears the traditional blue beads that the chief&rsquos family wears and admits that he hadn&rsquot taken a life during battle.  We take a few photos whilst talking to the old men, and Nahmei translates - he struggles a bit, he is a Konyak from Lungwa. The dialect here is different in Hongpoi, despite the villages being less that 150 km apart.

Over cups of tea we learn that Hongpoi is one of the last villages in Mon to give up the practice of tattooing and in some ways has managed to hold on to their traditions a little longer. &ldquoDoesn&rsquot it hurt&rdquo we asked an old man with extensive tattoos, it was a question we had asked others before. &ldquoYes it did,&rdquo he answers, and adds, with a twinkle in his eye, &ldquobut it gave us a certain status in the village, especially among the women&rdquo We all laugh, it is an honest admission by an old man. Don&rsquot they tire, we wonder, as we prepare to leave after much conversation, laughter, antics and tea, of the constant intrusion in their life, the questions and cameras, the people who come from all over the world poking and prodding. Nahmei puts the question to the Angh, who pauses before answering. &ldquoWe are happy to meet people from everywhere and tell them about our lives,&rdquo he says, &ldquowe are glad they come and are interested in learning about our traditions. We only hope that they understand us, and are respectful.&rdquo