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Reluctantly we left the village and dropped steeply down the hillside to the Chamyung river, a small stream flowing through a great boulder-strewn bed. The headman's capable wife led the way offering us rice-beer whenever she thought we might be thirsty. Then the march ended with a gruelling climb up the other side. The path was without shade of any kind and lay between great clumps of pampas grass, the silver and mauve plumes swaying against a vivid sky. At the summit we were handed over to the headmen of Chingmiren, all resplendent in their red cloths and cane helmets. The youngest was a great wag wearing elephant-tusk bracelets, cowrie armlets and horns on his helmet from which floated the black tresses of a woman's head. He has already taken fifteen heads and he wore the dark blue cloth with the cowrie shell circles of the head-taker. |
