In these excerpts from Ananda, a cannabis trail across India, read about the complexities of control and culture associated with what grows as a weed across the country

T HAD BEEN an extended period of penance as I waited for the right season of harvest, for the ideal village in the ideal valley, to earn the trust of the guides shepherding me forward.

It had been a long drive further away from urban civilization, a trek up another hill, and a hidden crevice by the hillside that took us on a detour and back up under the sun again.

And then, I arrive at the motherlode. Acres upon acres of the greenest, cleanest weed I have ever seen, over bugyals (meadows) coruscating golden in reflection under the afternoon sun, stems that are ten, twelve feet tall, with leaves and buds that bloom above to even greater heights.