New Delhi
In the heart of Odisha’s Niyamgiri Hills, Sumita Wadaka, a Dongria Kondh woman from Khambeshi village, meticulously pulls a needle through coarse off-white fabric. Every stitch she makes is a testament to an ancient heritage that, as of January 2026, has navigated two years under the global spotlight of Geographical Indication (GI) status. Sumita is one of several women in her community specializing in the embroidery of the famed Kapdaganda shawl—a textile so unique it earned legal protection to prevent its imitation.
However, the view from the hills is a complex one. The GI tag, granted in January 2024, was meant to be a shield for the Dongria Kondh, a Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Group (PVTG) residing across the Rayagada and Kalahandi districts. While it has undoubtedly brought visibility and a much-needed hike in market prices, the recognition has arrived with a suite of modern challenges.
Today, the artisans of Niyamgiri find themselves at a delicate crossroads: they are enjoying a record-high demand but simultaneously fighting to prevent a dilution of the very traditions that made the shawl famous.
Sacred Language Of Embroidery
The Kapdaganda is far more than a garment; it is a spiritual and historical ledger of the tribe. “In my Kui language, the shawl is called Kapdaganda. The triangle designs are called Kudi Linga and the lines, Keri, stand for Niyamgiri’s history,” Sumita Wadaka explains.
The embroidery is deeply symbolic, acting as a visual bridge between the tribe and their environment. The triangular Kudi Linga patterns mirror the peaks of the Niyamgiri Hills, the sacred home of their deity, Niyam Raja. This connection to the divine is so profound that these patterns often transcend textiles; they are painted onto the walls of tribal homes when a vow is made to bring the God home during festivals, specifically during the worship of the female deity Dharani Maa, to appease her and seek her blessings.
The colours chosen by women like Sumita are not merely aesthetic choices but are rooted in the earth. Gobardhan Wadaka, a school teacher and resident of Khejuri village, elaborates on the significance: “Red symbolises sacrifice, the brown or coffee colour stands for the Earth and the mud houses, the green is for the forest and yellow stands for the turmeric cultivated in abundance in Niyamgiri.” In the broader tapestry of Indian tradition, red and yellow are considered auspicious, with the red often derived naturally from Manjistha or Palash flowers—colours that have defined Indian weddings for centuries.
A Shifting Landscape
Walking through the villages of Niyamgiri today, one notices subtle changes in the environment that mirror the shifts in the craft. Mud houses, once the inspiration for the shawl’s brown hues, are becoming rare, replaced by modern pucca houses. Yet, the work on the looms continues.
The economic impact of the GI tag over the last two years is quantifiable. Before the tag, shawl makers typically received Rs. 500 per piece. Today, that figure has risen to Rs. 1,000 through government agencies, and some specialized groups pay as much as Rs. 2,200. The retail price has seen an even sharper climb, rising from a range of Rs. 4,000–Rs. 5,000 to over Rs. 7,800 per shawl.
Despite the better pay, the labour remains gruelling. “If they embroider daily, it still takes over a month,” Wadaka notes. In many cases, it can take up to three months, as the women must balance their craft with agricultural work and daily household chores.
Apart from Rayagada district of Odisha, the Niyamgiri Hills where the Dongria Kondhs reside, also spans the Kalahandi district. Besides training, women like Wadaka also receive raw materials for the shawl from time to time.
The Dongria Kondh Development Agency (DKDA) and the Tribal Development Co-operative Corporation of Odisha (TDCC) have stepped in to provide training and raw materials. However, Suryanarayan Padhi of DKDA points out a recurring hurdle: “Training cannot be always continued as it depends on the availability of funding.” While non-profits occasionally fill the gap, the reliance on external funding creates an ebb and flow in production capacity.
Threat Of “Standardization”
The central tension in the post-GI era is the push for uniformity. K. Anuradha, a Koraput-based expert who works with 280 weavers across four districts—Koraput, Rayagada, Nabarangapur, and Malkangiri—has observed this trend with concern. Anuradha, who founded the brand Folk Weave in 2023, emphasizes that the Kapdaganda is “a tradition which holds nature in the form of the textile.”
She warns that as the shawl’s popularity grows, outsiders with textile and fashion backgrounds are entering the market and attempting to “fix” what isn’t broken. “They are changing the style of stitching. A tag doesn’t mean distorting traditional patterns,” Anuradha explains to The Indian Tribal.
Because the shawls are handmade, no two pieces are identical—a feature Anuradha views as a strength but market-driven outsiders view as a flaw. These entities often provide “standard formulae” to the women during training sessions to ensure every shawl looks the same. “A handmade thing cannot be uniform, or else it becomes a mass market product. There should be no distortion of the traditional patterns,” she adds.
Diversification: Survival vs. Tradition
One of the most significant shifts in the last two years is the move towards product diversification. Because a single Kapdaganda shawl can last a lifetime, repeat customers are rare. To sustain livelihoods, artisans are now creating jackets, bags, and cushion covers, or using the embroidery as patchwork on sarees.
However, this diversification must respect tribal taboos. While new colours like purple and indigo are accepted because they appear in local flowers, other colours are strictly avoided. More importantly, the sacred nature of the embroidery means it has strict boundaries. “The embroidery should not be made on shoes as it is sacred,” Anuradha insists.
Efforts by NGOs like PRADAN are focusing on this diversification while trying to re-engage a younger generation that is increasingly distracted by modern technology. Nakula Batria, who overlooks the Kapdaganda project for PRADAN, recently organized a 15-day workshop in Chatikona. “Many young women have become addicted to the outside world, TV and mobiles. They are moving away from traditional cultural things,” Batria says. To encourage participation, the NGO paid the women Rs. 300 per day to compensate for the time they took away from their farms and homes to learn how to apply their traditional stitches to table runners and curtains.
Long Road Ahead
The struggle to maintain the purity of the Kapdaganda is, in many ways, an extension of the Dongria Kondh’s historic resistance against the mining giant Vedanta. Their fight to protect the Niyamgiri Hills was a fight for their god, Niyam Raja, and their environment.
The GI tag remains a subject of debate. Gobardhan Wadaka believes it will prove beneficial in the long run by making the product popular and increasing sales. Anuradha agrees that the visibility is a positive—noting that even if people don’t buy, they now recognize the shawl as a prestigious GI-tagged product—but she remains vigilant against the “downside” of market-driven distortion.
As Niyamgiri stands tall, the fate of the Kapdaganda hangs on whether the community can balance the lucrative demands of the global market with the uncompromising richness of their tradition. Two years after receiving its official “mark of origin,” the shawl remains a source of immense pride and identity, a woven piece of the hills that continues to tell the story of the Dongria Kondh—one unique, non-uniform stitch at a time.
