In Nagaland: women weave through challenges

As a young girl, Kekuwe-ü had seen her mother and grandmother weaving with the stems of stinging nettle or thevo. She would pick up a piece left half-done by her mother and practice on her own. But she had to do it secretly, because her mother had given her strict instructions not to touch the piece. That is how Kekuwe-ü slowly and secretively picked up the skill of weaving Naga shawls without anyone really teaching her, she says.

Today, she is a master craftswoman, finding time between her farming and household work to weave. “While waiting for water to boil to cook rice, or if someone takes our children for a walk, we try to weave this much,” she says, indicating the length of her index finger.

Kekuwe-ü is sitting with two of her neighbours – Vehüsülü and Ezhiehilü Chotso – in her tin-roofed house in Rukizo Colony. According to Kekuwe-ü's estimates, roughly 11 per cent of the 266 households in Pfütsero village of Nagaland’s Phek district practice weaving. And it’s largely the women of the Kuzhami sub-group of the Chakhesang community (listed as Scheduled Tribe) who do it. “Our husbands help,” says Kekuwe-ü, “they might cook too, but they are not ‘experts’ like women. We have to cook, farm, weave and do other chores.”

Like Kekuwe-ü, Vehüsülü and Ezhiehilü Chotso also started weaving at a young age. The learning process begins with performing small tasks such as spooling, winding or wefting the yarn.

Ezhiehilü Chotso, now 35, started weaving when she was around 20.  “I weave different kinds of clothes – shawl, and wrap-around. I used to weave around 30 pieces but now with children to look after I can hardly weave a shawl in a week or sometimes two,” she says. 

“In the morning and evening, I look after my children and weave during the day,” she adds, but with her fourth child due, she has stopped working for now.

The women weave their traditional attire – mekhala (traditional Naga sarong) and shawls, for themselves and their family. Vehüsülü, a fourth generation weaver, also weaves clothes for the Angami tribe. “I weave them particularly around the annual Hornbill Festival when the demand is high,” she says.

Organised by the Nagaland state government, the Hornbill Festival is a 10-day affair that begins on December 1. The festival showcases traditional culture and ways of life and a large number of tourists arrive from within and outside India.

Each Naga tribe has its own shawl, unique to the community and the Chakhesang shawls received a Geographical Indications (GI) tag in 2017.

“Shawls symbolise identity, status and gender among other things,” explains Dr. Zhokusheyi Rhakho, who teaches History at Phek Government College. “No ceremony or festival is complete without shawls.”

“Traditional shawls signify our cultures and values,” explains Neitshopeü (Atshole) Thopi, Project Coordinator at Chizami Weaves, a livelihood programme dedicated to promoting and preserving the unique textile of Nagaland.

“Each shawl or mekhela falls into different categories. For example, there are specific ones for unmarried individuals, married couples, younger women or men and some reserved for funeral services,” she explains. According to Atshole, spear, shield, mithun, elephant, moon, sun, flowers and butterflies are some common motifs incorporated into Chakhesang shawls. 

But the women PARI spoke to were mostly unaware of these categories and the significance of the motifs that they weave, indicating that while the craft has been passed on from one generation to the next, the stories have not. Kekuwe-ü and her neighbours are also not aware that Chakhesang shawls received a GI, but say weaving helps a lot during financial emergencies. Vehüsülü, weaving a thread into the warp and tightening it with a wooden beater tells PARI, “we don’t earn anything from farming until the crop is harvested, but in case of weaving, it can be sold at any time to tide over a crisis.”

The weavers usually buy raw materials from the market in Pfütsero, a sub-division in the district of Phek. Two types of yarns are used in weaving – cotton and wool are more common now and the traditional natural fibre from plants is slowly falling out of practice with the easy availability of mass-produced yarn.   

“We usually buy in bulk during the peak season, November-December, from a designated shop, who usually keep our finished products for sale or arrange orders,” Vehüsülü says. A kilo of local wool and two-ply yarn costs Rs. 550 and Thailand yarn is priced at Rs. 640 a kilo.

The weavers weave on a traditional Naga loin loom made of bamboo and wood.

Kekuwe-ü points out the chezherho or backstrap and the radzü or a wooden wrapping machine. The backstrap, she explains, is connected to a kepe (wooden bar or rod). This generates tension and wraps the woven end. However, even without 'radzü,' the wrap beam, known as 'radzü kulo,’ can be horizontally attached to a wall or any supporting structure to create tension. 

Weavers use five to eight tools essential to the weaving process: a lojie or wooden beater plays a crucial role in determining the quality, smoothness, and firmness of the shawl; a weaving shuttle known as mephetshüka is a simple stick with yarns. For designing intricate patterns, weavers use thin bamboo heddle sticks – lonü thsüka – strung with yarn heddles. The lopü or bamboo shed stick is used to separate the warps into upper and lower groups during weaving. Thin bamboo rods called kezhe thsüka and nache thsüka act as lease rods to keep the warp yarns separated and in order.

The main crop here is paddy cultivated in May–June used for self-consumption. On their small plot of land, Vehüsülü also cultivates khuvie (Allium chinese) – a kind of aromatic herb used in salads and other dishes that Vehüsülü sells in the local market.

“In the period between sowing and harvesting, there is the usual farm cycle such as weeding, nurturing and guarding crops from wildlife,” she adds, leaving limited time for undivided attention to weaving.

Kekuwe-ü recalls being taunted by her family for not contributing enough to farming and spending her time weaving instead. But she did not change her mind. “Even though I did not go to the field often, weaving provided a vital livelihood source for us. Before my marriage, I used to help the family pay tuition fees for my brother’s children and assist them in whichever way I could during festivals,” she says. During the off-season, the money she earned from weaving paid for the family’s rations, Kekuwe-ü adds.

The wages are not enough, say the women.

“If we go for daily wages we might earn around 500 to 600 rupees and if we weave, we earn around 1,000 to 1,500 rupees a week,” says Vehüsülü. The low daily wages, adds Kekuwe-ü are because “a daily wager earns around 600 to 1,000 a day, but women get a mere 100 to 150.”

“Poisa paili hoishe [it’s fine so long as I get paid],” Ezhiehilü Chotso chimes in on a lighter note and then raises a serious concern, “there is no assistance from the government here.”

There are health problems too. Sitting in one position for too long or bending leads to humorbikha (backache), which, Vehüsülü promptly says, is one of the biggest challenges of her work.

There is also competition in the market from machine-made products. “People pay a higher price when buying such clothes from the market without any complaints,” says Kekuwe-ü, “but when it comes to items made by local weavers, even if there is a single loose thread, people will ask for a discount.”

This story is supported by a fellowship from Mrinalini Mukherjee Foundation (MMF).