INHERITED CURES

The ethnomedicinal practices of the Sumi Nagas are a living knowledge system transferred orally through generations. Unless protected through legal frameworks, the knowledge may be lost and faces risk of biopiracy

- ALINO SUMI AND SATISH KONWAR CHETRI

THE EARTHY scent of wild herbs hung in the early morning air along the winding paths of Philimi. Mist that engulfed the village in Nagaland's Zunheboto district clung to the surrounding hills like a secret.

Our guide, an elderly herbalist whose decades of knowledge were etched into memory, suddenly stopped to point at a plant by the path. "Alphabo," he said, "for stomach aches.

Chew the root, but not too much." The flowering plant was Bauhinia variegata. This was the beginning of a journey, one that took us through the villages of Viyili Kiyiqa, Litta and Philimi-home to the Sumi Nagas-listening to stories of plants, of healing, and of wisdom, as old as the forest itself.

We had set out to document the ethnomedicinal practices of the Sumi Nagas, whose understanding of health and healing is rooted in nature. What we discovered was more than a catalogue of herbs and cures; it was a living knowledge system that quietly endures in the hills of Nagaland.

Ethnomedicine is more than a term; it is a way of life. It refers to healthcare practices, beliefs and therapies developed through generations of observation and experience. This knowledge, rich, place-based and effective, has sustained communities long before biomedical systems reached these hills. The Sumi Nagas do not keep written pharmacopoeias or reference books that list drugs, their identifications and usage. Their knowledge remains embedded in stories and songs, in the memories of bonesetters, midwives and elders, and is passed down orally. These are living libraries, vulnerable to time, migration and cultural assimilation. When such knowledge is not recorded, it gradually fades.