Weaving Naga Magic

Written by Vikram Joshi

The Return of the Naga Shawl

In 1998, John Robshaw, a buyer from the United States, asked if I could source Naga shawls—pieces he hoped to share in his store under the name Headhunter Shawls. At the time, authentic Naga shawls were already slipping into obscurity.

Traditionally woven in cotton and dyed with natural colours, these shawls had undergone a quiet transformation. Cotton had been replaced by synthetic acrylic yarns. Subtle, earth-coloured dyes had given way to bright chemical hues. More telling still, weaving itself had begun to disappear. As Western clothing entered everyday life, shawls were worn only during ceremonies—symbols rather than necessities.

Finding weavers willing and able to return to older methods was not easy.

Ukhrul: At the Edge of the Map

After months of searching, we located a small group of weavers in Ukhrul district, Manipur—a Naga-dominated region along the Myanmar border. Reaching the villages required a four-wheel-drive vehicle; roads were unreliable, sometimes non-existent. The region was politically sensitive, shaped by border tensions, ethnic conflict, and long years of militancy. Language was another barrier—English was rarely spoken.

Through a local coordinator, John and I slowly built trust. The weavers agreed to work with us—but the greatest challenge lay ahead: raw material. Natural-dyed cotton yarn was no longer available locally. Everything had shifted to synthetics.

So we began elsewhere. In Jaipur, at our workshop, we returned to dyeing cotton yarn with natural colours. Looms in Ukhrul were repaired, some rebuilt entirely. When the first batch of naturally dyed yarn finally arrived in Imphal and made its way to the villages, the weavers were stunned. The colours were muted, earthy, unfamiliar. They feared no one would buy such shawls anymore—the Naga eye had grown used to brilliance.

Still, they wove. And slowly, shawls returned—quiet, grounded, deeply beautiful.

Meeting the Makers

Years later, in 2006, the local coordinator invited us to visit the weaving villages. The flight from Delhi to Imphal was turbulent. The drive onward to Ukhrul was no gentler. But the jeep held, and so did we.

We spent a full day with the weavers, then three more immersed in their lives—learning, listening, watching hands move across looms. We left with more than textiles. We carried stories, warmth, and the weight of shared effort.

A Culture That Adorns Even Its Weapons

The Naga are instinctive makers. Their sense of form and symbolism extends beyond cloth—into every object of daily life. Even weapons bear ornament. Dao swords and spears are carved with intent. Bamboo drinking vessels are embossed with cultural motifs. Monumental wood carvings mark village gates, doorways, and log drums—still standing, still speaking.

Women weave on simple looms, producing garments for everyday use that are both restrained and striking. The process is slow, physically demanding, and deeply rhythmic. Each finished piece carries that time within it—and this is why such textiles have never been inexpensive.

Cloth, Status, and Ceremony

Across Naga communities, dress is not merely decorative. In some tribes, everyone may wear ornamented attire. In others, only those who have distinguished themselves—through achievement, generosity, or ritual—may do so.

Among the Naga, two groups held particular distinction: head-takers and those who hosted ceremonial feasts of merit. Their right to specific garments extended beyond the individual, often encompassing wives and family members. Dress recorded accomplishment—either martial or communal. Cloth became biography.

The Naga shawl, in this way, is never simply woven. It is earned, inherited, and remembered.

The Woman at the Loom

Weaving among the Naga is entirely the domain of women. Spinning, dyeing, weaving—each step belongs to them. Until recently, every girl was expected to know these skills. Even today, small children can be seen experimenting on toy looms, mimicking their mothers.

The tools are simple. Cotton is cleaned of seeds using a stone and a stick, carded with a small bow, and rolled into slivers by hand. The spindle—often made from sago palm—carries a stone whorl for balance. Thread winds slowly, patiently.

Dyeing follows ritual rhythms. Certain colours are forbidden before harvest, believed to disturb crops. Yellow, for instance, comes from tree flowers, but is used only at permitted times. Colour is never casual—it is governed by belief.

Weaving Magic

The Naga loom is a backstrap loom—minimal, ingenious. One end is tied to a wall or post, the other attached to a belt worn at the small of the weaver’s back. Tension is controlled by the body itself. Six simple sticks perform all essential functions.

As the weaver leans back, the warp tightens. The shuttle passes by hand. The weft is beaten down with wax or fine white powder collected from wild leaves. Patterns emerge through careful combinations of coloured threads in warp and weft—nothing added, nothing wasted.

A skilled weaver takes nearly ten hours to complete a single plain strip. A full shawl takes roughly thirty. Most Naga shawls are woven in three separate panels and stitched together—the central panel is often the most elaborate. Children’s shawls and women’s skirts may use only two.

Marking the Cloth

Among certain tribes—Ao, Lotha, and Rengma—painting completes the shawl. The Ao warrior shawl bears a white central band painted only by elder men. Elephants, tigers, mithun, spears, human heads—each symbol rendered freehand in black pigment made from tree sap, rice beer, and ash.

Only those who have taken heads in war or hosted feasts of merit may wear such shawls. The cloth announces history without words.

Designs That Record Belonging

Naga costumes are worn most proudly during festivals and ceremonies. Designs vary between tribes and villages, recording identity and social standing. Patterns range from simple stripes and bands to complex diamonds and lozenges.

Women are masterful colourists. Their palettes are bold yet balanced, their compositions restrained. Each clan carries its own visual language—clean lines, measured repetition, quiet authority.

The shawl, in the end, is a map: of land, lineage, labour, and belief.

With inputs from Dr Sinalei Khayi, Lecturer, Pettigrew College, Ukhrul (Manipur).