The Lhota Nagas

Every village is an independent unit in the tribe. Leagues of villages were formed for purposes of war, and in these cases the advice of the most powerful village would naturally carry most weight. Thus Pangti and Tsingaki respectively were the informal heads of leagues against the Aos and Semas. But except for war no village ever acknowledged the authority of any other village. There are very rarely definite boundaries between the lands of different villages. In the case of villages situated close to one another the lands of individuals of either village are inextricably mixed up. The writer once asked a Lhota why they had no village boundary disputes like Semas and Angamis, to which he replied, “It would be a shameful thing. Every man knows where his own land is, so how could there be a quarrel?” The fact that the Lhotas do not suffer from shortage of land as the Semas and Angamis do also helps to produce this peaceful state of affairs. In the days when villages were constantly at war each village was ruled by a chief (ekyung) assisted by an informal council of elders. The chieftainship was hereditary in the family of the man who originally founded the village, but did not at all necessarily pass from father to son. The most suitable man became chief by force of character. His main function was that of a leader in war, and his perquisite all the spoils brought home from raids. In some villages he is said to have had the privilege of the free labour of the village for his field two or three times a year, but this right has not been exercised anywhere within living memory and apparently lapsed before the Hills were taken over, if indeed it ever existed. The Pax Britannica having put an end to his raison d’être and its sole concomitant privilege, the post of ekyung has virtually ceased to exist and the word even is rarely heard. Villages are now managed by an informal council of old men and men of influence, with headmen selected by Government through whom the village is dealt with. The old men are appropriately called sotsoi (meat-eaters), for they inflict fines of pork in petty cases and eat the fine. Sotsoi are divided into [97]two classes called tongti, the upper division, and chochang,7 the lower division. Under them is a council of vague dimensions called pangi. Usually the village is run as an undivided whole, but where the “khels” are big the tendency is for the leading men of each “khel” to manage their affairs independently. Among the Aos every village is divided up by an ancient and elaborate system into working companies. The Lhota system is far simpler. Working companies (yengaten) are composed of the children of neighbours. Boys and girls work together and help in the fields of the parents of the various members of the company when there is a pressure of work. Anyone who is short of labour may hire a company for the day, giving them their midday meal and a small wage.

Cattle, houses and so on are the property of the individual, but land can be held either by the village, a “morung,” a clan, or an individual. The land close to a village is usually waste land and common property, as are the rights of “poisoning” in certain pools. Every “morung” owns land which is the property of the “morung” as a whole and not of any individuals in it. It is worked by the boys of the “morung” and the produce used to buy meat for ceremonies such as the rebuilding of the “morung.” Boys when they get married and leave the “morung” have to pay a small fine of meat to their late companions as compensation for the loss of labour. A very large proportion of the land in the Lhota country is clan land, which is held in common by all members of that particular clan in the village. A man who leaves a village loses all right to clan land in the village, a far better system than the Sema system by which a man claims, though usually in vain, ancestral rights in clan land in a village in which his great-great-grandfather was the last member of the family to live. Every year the members of the clan in a Lhota village meet and [98]apportion out the land which each is to cut that year, the senior men getting the bigger share. Strangely enough this delicate operation never seems to result in a quarrel. Strictly speaking a man may not sell land which he has inherited. When direct heirs fail the land becomes clan land. Were this to go on indefinitely the whole of the land in a village would in time become clan land, and no one would ever be able to buy or sell land. To prevent this from time to time, when the amount of common land becomes unwieldy, the clan meets and divides it up among the members, who thus each become private owners of a portion of it. The process then begins again. Heirlooms such as the ancient daos and spears which the Lhota so prizes are held in trust by the senior member of the clan in the village, provided he has done all the social “gennas.” To alienate them would bring disaster on the whole clan.

Property is inherited exclusively by the male heirs. Failing sons or grandsons, brothers, brother’s sons, first cousins in the male line, and so on, inherit in that order. The need of the heirs is the primary consideration, a system which in theory is almost ideal and in practice works excellently. An actual example taken at random will make the details more easily understood. A died, leaving a widow and three sons B, C and D, of whom B was the oldest and D the youngest. Of the rice, which was by far the most valuable part of the property, B got half a granary, C one granary and D three granaries. What cash there was was divided in the same proportions. D also got the house. In this case B got least because he was married and independent and had done all his social “gennas.” C got rather more than B because, though he was married and independent, he had not finished his “gennas.” D got most of all because he still had his marriage price to pay and all his “gennas” to do, and had to live with and support his mother in his father’s old house. The widow inherited nothing in her own right. Had there been a married daughter she would [99]have got nothing. An unmarried daughter, however, would have lived with her mother and been supported by D, who would have had his share increased accordingly. Had all the sons been married either the widow would have been given enough to live on and the rest shared by the sons, B getting slightly the largest share, or supposing the widow were too old and feeble to work for herself, she would either have been supported by all the brothers jointly, or by one of them who would have been given a proportionately larger share. In short, where one or more brothers have had their marriage prices paid and have been launched into the world by their father, they get less than a younger brother who has not had so much spent on him. Had there been no widow the younger brother would have gone to live with one of his elder brothers, who would have taken both his share and his younger brother’s share of the property, and paid his younger brother’s marriage price and launched him into the world as his father would have done had he lived.8 All land inherited from the father would have been held in common, as described above. Debts are inherited just as property is, and many a man inherits nothing else. Where the assets exceed the debts the heirs pay the debts in proportion to their shares of the assets.

Though so common among Changs and Semas, adoption is practically unknown among the Lhotas. One reason is that there are very few people poor enough to be willing to be adopted, and another that while among the Semas and Changs an adopted man and his descendants become practically the serfs of their adopter, among the Lhotas the chances of material gain for the adopter are few. Adoption of a girl seems to be unknown. There are generally relations of some kind ready to bring her up and get her marriage price. But boys are very occasionally adopted. Supposing A adopts B, he becomes to all intents and purposes A’s son, [100]and enters A’s clan, though he can never marry a woman from the clan out of which he was adopted. A has to find a wife for B and pay his marriage price, yet if B has a son, the son inherits B’s property, A only inheriting if B has no sons. There is no ceremony of adoption.

When a quarrel arises between two villages, messengers are sent to fix a day, and if both sides so agree the elders of the respective villages meet on the path half-way between the two villages and settle the matter, exchanging drinks of “madhu” and eating together. If the responsibility for the quarrel can be fixed on any individual he is fined, and the fine either divided among the elders of both villages, or given to the village against which the wrong was done. In the old days villages such as Okotso and the Ao village of Nankam were in a chronic state of war. It would occasionally happen that Okotso decided to cut their fields which lay towards Nankam in the same year as Nankam decided to cut their fields towards Okotso. Obviously cultivation would be impossible for either side unless a peace of some kind were patched up. The elders of both villages would feast together on the boundary, and an armistice would be agreed upon to remain in force till those fields were finally reaped, when the game of war would go on as before. All preliminary negotiations between villages actually at war were carried on by ambassadors (lantsalanpeng), of which there were two in each village. These had a permanent safe-conduct, and it was believed that to kill one would bring dire misfortune on the slayer and his village. The same custom exists among Aos, Changs and Phoms.

In the case of disputes within the village both sides are summoned before the elders, and what sounds like the prelude to a free fight takes place. Both the parties, all the witnesses, and most of the spectators talk at once at the top of their voices. However, after much shaking of fists and stamping, and solemn affirmations from the one side that they will [101]never pay such a big fine, and from the other that they will never accept such a small one, a settlement is arrived at. Each side goes in company with the elders to the other’s house and drinks “madhu” and promises not to quarrel again. This is regarded as binding. In the old days if one party would not pay the fine agreed on, the other party simply went and looted his property and took it. Nowadays cases which cannot be settled in the village are dealt with in court. Before the Hills were administered, murder was punished either by turning the murderer out of the village or by taking the whole of his property and dividing it among the rest of the village other than the clan of the murdered man, who could not touch any of it. In no case could any relations of the murdered man ever eat with the murderer. If they did their teeth would fall out. Nor would the descendants of either side eat together. This breach can never be healed, and there are still families who cannot eat together.9 For adultery the guilty man had to hand over to the husband’s and woman’s families all his clothes and personal ornaments and a cow or a large pig. The husband could not himself take any of this fine, for it was the price of his wife’s immorality. A clear distinction is drawn between adultery by a man of the husband’s clan and adultery by a man of another clan. The former offence is often condoned on the guilty party promising not to repeat it, but a fine is invariably demanded for the latter offence. A thief had to return the goods in full, or their equivalent, to the owner, and pay a large pig or a cow to his clan. If he could not pay up he was sold as a slave. No punishments other than fining or selling into slavery or expulsion from the village were inflicted on fellow-villagers. But a man of another village who broke a village emung was put in the [102]stocks and had to be ransomed by his friends. Naga justice was decidedly crude. The elders accepted “presents” freely from both sides and then favoured the most influential party. There once lived a famous judge in the Ao village of Ungma who openly amassed a considerable fortune from “presents.” Yet people came to him from all over the Ao country, and he died universally respected and is still regarded by the Aos as a model judge. His reputation chiefly rests on the fact that none of his decisions were ever questioned! Hardly believing that this could be due to their justice, the writer inquired the reason, and found that Ungma had sworn that whosoever questioned the decisions of their beloved judge, his village should be raided. Ungma being the biggest Ao village, this threat effectively stifled criticism. Troublesome children are sometimes punished by being whipped across the stomach with nettles, or by having a nettle put in their ears instead of a flower.

The oath is held in high regard among the Lhotas as it is among the Angamis. A man who is accused of an offence on suspicion may clear himself by taking an oath. The commonest form is for a man to bite a tiger or leopard’s tooth and to swear that if he did such and such a thing may a tiger or leopard kill him. The formula used is the same in all cases, excepting, of course, that whatever offence the man is accused of is inserted. For instance a man accused of adultery would swear—

Ana I itsongi your wife with nsopi: have not committed adultery; osi ana but I itsongi your wife with sopi committing adultery lina if am in the habit of, mharrki by a tiger a-rhamtoksi me allowing to be bitten yantaroki all the village men sena bamboo shavings mi-hm fire-stick penphia using a-mungitokle. for me let them keep emung. [103]

In other words, may he be killed “apotia” by a tiger and the whole village purify themselves with fire and keep emung for him. A few hairs from the swearer’s head, with a little earth, are often bitten instead of the tooth. In cases where the accusation is of stealing thread or some such thing, a skein of thread being said by one side to be stolen, and by the other side to be his own, a little of the thread is put with the hair and the earth. A very solemn oath which entails a day’s emung for the village is that on a leaf of the mingetung. The heaviest of all is on a bonne bouche consisting of a little earth from the place used by the boys of the “morung” as a latrine, a piece of wood from the house of a man who has died “apotia,” a little earth from a grave and a few hairs from the swearer’s head. This oath is very rarely taken, and is thought to involve certain death for the swearer if taken falsely. Land disputes are occasionally decided on oath, which is invariably sworn on a little soil from the land in dispute. Whichever side will take the oath gets the land. It is probably never knowingly taken falsely, as all Lhotas firmly believe that whoever swears this oath falsely will die before he can reap a harvest from the land he has dishonestly gained. An ancient oath, which is only remembered by old men, was taken on the huge boulder known as Deolung. Each side in turn held an egg and swore by Deolung that their story was true. Whoever went mad first lost! The custom was abandoned, it is said, “because it was such a terrible oath.” The idea of making both sides swear and then awaiting results resembles the Ao custom, by which both sides take the same oath, and the decision goes to the party which suffers no loss of any kind within thirty days, a system by which the party who is in all probability guilty does, curiously enough, generally lose. A curious instance came to my notice. The oath was taken in Ungma on the spot specially associated with the deity of the wind. When the ceremony began a gale blew up, so suddenly as to attract my attention in my garden three miles away. Out of a village of six hundred houses thatch was only blown from the roof of the houses of two men, and those were the two principals on one side in the case. The blowing of thatch [104]from a man’s roof if he has taken an oath is looked upon by Aos as a sure sign of false swearing. This story is true and other equally remarkable instances are known to the writer.

Formal friendships are of great importance. Two men become friends (okam) by exchanging gifts, consisting of half a pig, and a spear or dao or some such present, a piece of iron invariably forming part of the gift. It is usual for the sons of “friends” to become friends in turn. A man will often possess friends of this kind belonging to different villages, and frequently to a different tribe. When travelling a man will stay in his okam’s house in each village he reaches. He in turn will entertain any of his okams who come to his village. A man may not kill his okam even if he belongs to a hostile village. Should he happen to kill him in battle with a spear thrown at a venture he will not take his head. Even if no gifts be exchanged, two men of the same name regard one another as okams. I have known a man go out of his way to entertain a stranger whom he had never met before because he bore the same name as his dead son.

By putting a stop to head-hunting the British Government has profoundly changed the mode of life of all the tribes in the administered area of the Naga Hills. In the old days war was the normal and peace the exceptional state of affairs. War between Lhota villages was rare, and it was absolutely forbidden for one Lhota to take another Lhota’s head.10 But unless peace had been definitely arranged, any village of another tribe was regarded as hostile and fair game. This never-ending state of war affected every man, woman and child in their daily lives. In the morning a band of young men fully armed scouted round the village and had to [105]report no enemy lying in wait near before any women and children were allowed to leave the protection of the village fence. All went down to the fields for the day’s work in a compact body, the men fully armed, leaving behind the small children and old men and women in the village with a guard. Careful watch, too, had to be kept while work was going on in the fields, for a favourite method of attack was to rush isolated family parties while they were weeding or cutting the jungle. Like all Nagas the Lhota was very keen to take heads, but preferred to do so with the minimum of risk to himself. A strong, forewarned enemy was rarely attacked. Usually a party of raiders would either lie in ambush by the village spring, and kill a woman as she came down to take water, or rush an unsuspecting party working in their fields, or cut off a straggler on some path. If a whole village turned out to destroy another village a surprise attack at dawn was generally attempted. Once the defenders had a few casualties or found the enemy were through their fence they generally turned tail and fled in a wild rout out at the other end of the village, leaving the wounded and aged to the tender mercies of the raiders. Similarly, an attack was rarely pressed home against a stout defence, and once the attackers began to make for home the defenders followed them, cutting off stragglers. Though heads were not taken, prisoners were captured in affrays between Lhota villages, and were kept in the “morung” in a sort of stocks consisting of a heavy log cut to receive a man’s ankle, with a bar of “nahor” wood to keep the foot from being withdrawn.11 These prisoners had to be well fed and looked after till they were ransomed by their friends. Akuk once, having captured a rich man from Pangti, had to send a message to his relations asking that he might be ransomed without further delay, as he drank so much that the village was beginning to run short of “madhu.” Lhotas took the heads of men, women and children indiscriminately, except those of infants who had not yet cut their teeth. These were merely killed, for a head without teeth did not [106]count in a warrior’s toll of heads, and so was not worth cutting off. A woman’s head, however, was regarded as a finer trophy than a man’s, for women were likely to be carefully guarded. Ordinarily, from each of the slain, the head, toes and fingers were taken. But if the enemy were pressing close and there was no time to take the head, an ear only would do as well. A Lhota12 who died recently much desired when he was young to marry a certain Phiro girl. The minx said she would only accept him if he would take the head of a Rengma girl and show it to her as a proof of his valour. This put the ardent lover in a quandary, for, with the British established at Kohima and Wokha, it appeared that he must either lose his well-beloved or take a head and get into serious trouble. But a brilliant idea struck him. He caught an unfortunate Rengma girl, cut off her ears without killing her, and after giving this proof of his valour and devotion, triumphantly married the Phiro girl.

When a raid had been decided upon, those who were to take part in it, having slept apart from their wives the night before, assembled in the morning at the ekyung’s house. There a cock and a pig were killed and a meal eaten. If the cock squawked when its throat was being cut it was regarded as a bad omen and the expedition was usually put off. Similarly, anyone who hiccoughed when he was eating the pork stayed behind, for if he went misfortune would befall him. The credit for every head taken was shared equally by the men who got in first, second and third spear, called respectively Lingta, Ethung and Kiwen. It did not matter who actually cut off the head. The head, fingers and toes were brought home wrapped in a cloth. When the party got within earshot of their own village they began to chant “O Shamashari!” (“O we have killed an enemy!”). The hearing of this in the distance was the signal for wild excitement and uproar in the village. All streamed out to meet the returning heroes and see the trophies, replying to each [107]chant of “O Shamashari!” with “O Imaiyali!” (“O we are glad13”). From each head a few hairs were taken and put in a cleft stick which was set up outside the village gate. The meaning of this is obscure. Lhotas call it orrülama, deriving the word from orrü (“enemy”) and lama (“warm”), and say that it means “warming the earth with an enemy’s head,” so that the crops will grow and the village increase and multiply. The term may be compared with humtselama (post-warmer), the piece of the scalp which used to be nailed to the post of a new “morung.”14 The writer has made careful inquiries and can find no trace of any definite belief that the spirits of dead enemies were in this way made to act as guards of the village gate, though in some vague way they were believed to help the village. When the heads were being brought in, anyone who wished to do so and proposed to perform the proper ceremonies afterwards could touch them with his spear and thereby share in the credit of the raid. The procession of warriors went round the village, and halting in front of the house of each man who had taken part in the expedition sang for a few minutes. Then all the men went to the “morung,” where the old men brought them food and “madhu,” and sat and listened to their account of their exploits. Every man who had taken a head or jabbed his spear into one had to pour a little “madhu” on the ground and throw away a little rice before he could eat or drink anything. This was an offering to the spirits of the slain enemies. It was believed that if this was not done the “madhu chunga” and food would be knocked [108]out of his hand by a blow from an invisible spirit. One man assured the writer that this did actually happen to him once when he forgot to make the necessary small offering. If there was time that day the heads were hung up at once on the mingetung. If not they were left in the “morung” till morning. Preparatory to hanging them up the man who had taken most heads in the village pushed a sharp piece of wood through each head from one ear to the other, so that a piece of wood about six inches long stuck out on each side of it. A man’s head was ornamented with the big cotton wool ear pads which are worn with full dancing dress. A long bamboo with a cane string ornamented with cane leaves on the end was leant against the branches of mingetung, and the head tied by the piece of wood running through it to the string, so that it hung about six feet from the ground. Anyone could assist at this. The fingers and toes were enclosed in bamboo basket balls and hung up like heads.15 Everyone who had jabbed the head or any part of the corpse could have a basket ball hung up as if he had taken a head. That day all who had taken heads or jabbed a corpse killed a cock. They had to sleep apart from their wives for six nights, and were forbidden to eat meat from a tiger’s kill. Further, a woman had to remain chaste while her husband was away on a raid.16 Any breach of this rule, it was believed, would cause her husband to be killed by the enemy. She was also forbidden to weave lest her husband’s foot should become entangled in jungle creepers and he should be caught and killed. The blood was not wiped off daos and spears till the day after the warriors had returned.

On the sixth day after the heads had been hung up the Ramo “genna” took place. On the fifth day everyone who had taken a head or jabbed a corpse killed a small chicken and hung it up with some boiled rice and “madhu” rice wrapped in a leaf from the roof of his house in the mpongki on the left side as you go in. He then cleaned his dao and [109]took the omens by pouring the contents of a small “chunga” of “madhu” on the ground and splitting the “chunga.” Then he wrapped the two halves in a leaf, and opening the leaf suddenly let them fall to the ground. If one side fell one way up and the other the other, it meant that the omen was good and it would not be long before he did the head-taking ceremony again. If both halves fell the same way up no successful raid would be made in the near future. He then hid the pieces of split “chunga” in the roof of his house. Next day all the men in the village put on full dress and went round in procession singing from the Puthi’s house to that of every man who had taken or jabbed a head six days before. Vats of “madhu” and great wooden dishes of pork were standing ready outside each house, and everyone ate and drank as much as they could, which was doubtless a good deal. In the evening the little chickens and the bundles of “madhu” and rice were taken down and left in the Puthi’s house. He did not eat them himself, but gave them to old people.

It was most important that every Lhota should either take a head or at least touch an enemy’s corpse, for unless he had done so he could not put on the ornaments of a warrior: hornbill tail feathers in his bearskin wig, boar’s tush necklace, red-fringed gauntlets, red dao-belt, and dark blue lengta with red lines. One hornbill tail feather could be worn for each head-taking ceremony, but a man rarely wore more than six or eight at the outside, however many times he had performed the ceremony.

Whatever may have been the case in the past, at the time when Government first took over the Lhota country the aspect of a head as a trophy of war and proof of bravery had become subordinated to a view of it as something which would bring fortune to the village and enable those who took it or touched it to put on the ornaments of a warrior, no matter how it had been obtained. The result was that Lhotas were ready to descend to what was practically human sacrifice. The last head taken by Akuk, some time in the ’seventies, is a case in point. No heads having been taken for a long time, they arranged to buy a slave from Nankam. [110]On an agreed date a party of Nankam men set out towards Akuk, taking with them the unsuspecting slave, who was carrying a load. Half-way between Akuk and Nankam they were met by some men from the former village. All sat down and drank and talked. The slave was given a drink of “madhu,” and at a prearranged signal an Akuk man killed him with a blow of his dao from behind. The head was cut off, and pieces of the body sent as presents to various villages. Many men touched the head and these blossomed out as “warriors.” This horrible practice of buying and murdering slaves was, however, comparatively rare among the Lhotas, who were no worse than many other Nagas in this respect. Among the Phoms in unadministered territory it is by no means uncommon at the present day to sell slaves, or in some cases even troublesome freemen of a village. I have heard of a well-authenticated case in which a Phom sold his own brother.17

An interesting relic of war was the practice of mock fights which existed up to about fifteen years ago. A Lhota village such as Pangti would challenge an Ao or Sema village to battle on a certain day. Both sides used to turn up at the appointed place in full dress and feast together. They then separated and fought for say half an hour. Sticks and stones would fly, and then the two sides would close and attempt to tear off each other’s ornaments. Daos and spears were barred, but sticks and shields were carried.18 At a signal the fight would cease and the late enemies would settle down to quench their thirst in amicable groups. Looted ornaments were not returned, however. Men were pretty badly hurt and occasionally even killed, but I believe [111]no report was ever made to the officials of the district; to have done so would have been considered unsporting. Men who took part in these battles were allowed to put on the ornaments of a warrior, provided, of course, they gave the necessary feast to the old men.

In common with their neighbours, Lhotas used to keep slaves (’ndri). A thief could be sold by the man whose property he had stolen if he could not return it, or a debtor could be sold by his creditors. The Aos were great slave-holders and were always ready to trade in slaves with the Lhotas. There is an old freed slave woman now in Nankam who was sold by Okotso. The usual price was two or three cows. Masters had the power of life and death, but slaves seem generally to have been treated more or less as members of the family, and for the purposes of marriage were regarded as members of their master’s clan. It was thus forbidden for a man to have immoral relations with his female slave. He would find a husband for her and take her marriage price. Her children were then free and regarded as ordinary Lhotas. If, however, a Lhota girl was arranged as a wife for a slave-man the children of the marriage were in turn slaves and had no right of inheritance whatever.

Were it to be suggested to a Lhota that he should go and consult his wife about something he would reply with a look of utter scorn: “What does a woman know about such things?” Nevertheless he would very likely not only ask his wife’s advice when he got home, but take it into the bargain. A Lhota’s wife is by no means a slave or chattel, but a very real companion. Her duties are nevertheless sharply defined. She must cook for her husband, look after the children, make the clothes for the family, and carry up firewood and water. Her husband will help her with a load if need be, and in the fields they work side by side. You [112]never see, as you do in Konyak country, the young men idling all day in the shade in the village while their wives are toiling and digging in the sun. When guests are present it is the wife who sees that all have enough “madhu,” but as a rule she takes little part in the conversation. Girls are often married when young, and almost invariably without being consulted in the matter. The result is that divorces, in which it is the wife who refuses to stay with her husband, are pretty frequent. Often for the slightest of causes, or even for no ascertainable reason at all, a woman simply refuses to live with her husband. She will shed floods of tears over her own supposed grievances and pay not the slightest attention to his earnest entreaties. It is comparatively rare for a man to divorce his wife without very good cause, partly because he will not get his marriage price back if he does. Among the Aos, on the other hand, where there is no marriage price, a man will divorce his wife in the most heartless manner when he gets tired of her. One much-respected Ao acquaintance of the writer’s has up to date divorced nine successive wives because they presented him either with no children at all or with daughters instead of sons. Very rarely indeed does a case occur of a Lhota treating his wife cruelly. Were a husband to beat her in the traditional Whitechapel style she would leave him at once, and her relations would extract a fine. [113]