Opium In The Naga Hills

Opium smoking has become a monolithic habit in Mon, and only the Konyak Mothers’ Association, a unit of the Assam Rifles, and the over-stretched Baptist Church is fighting for an anti-addiction and rehabilitation agenda

- Rahul Goswami

The shadow of Burma lies over Mon town. This is the furthest corner of Nagaland and is home to the Konyak Naga tribe. Mon perches along one of the smaller ridges of the upper Naga Hills. From here the border post is just twenty-odd kilometers away, but it takes well over two hours to get there. The handful of officials from both countries at the lazy border-settlement would rather sip fortified tea than scrutinize monsoon-ragged identity papers. Their superiors want them to look for opium, but they find little. This is hardly surprising: a single Assam Rifles company patrols this rugged frontier that stretches for about a hundred kilometers. ‘The border,’ sighs Mon’s district commissioner, ‘is very porous.’

Opium Smoking has Become a Monolithic Habit

For Indian officialdom, a border exists. For the Konyak Nagas, there is none. It is merely an inconvenient line drawn by a British cartographer in the last days of the Raj who perhaps knew the tribes, but didn’t much care which side of the line they were on. Konyaks—head-hunters until a generation ago—have never paid much heed to what the surveyor general recommends.

Up in the highlands of Mon the British still have much to answer for. Opium, the seniors say, was brought into the Naga hills to subdue the tribes and distract the Konyaks from accumulating heads, particularly British ones. The old men of the hill villages still wear bronze trophies around their necks—little symbolic heads that indicate how many enemy skulls have been accounted for. One little bronze head usually means at least one real head; two almost always means considerably more than two; and three means quite a few. Now these warriors’ sons and nephews are full-time opium smokers who often enjoy the luxury of home delivery.