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By Justin Rowlatt
BBC News, India
India's booming economy means a growing demand for the resources and raw materials which feed its factories, but one indigenous community under threat is determined to protect its way of life.
The ceremony began when the shaman came staggering out of his hut.
He had splashes of fresh blood daubed on his face and stared blindly as he began a shuffling, swaying dance to the rhythm of the drums.
After a few moments the first woman fell to the ground.
The Dongria's sacred mountain is rich in bauxiteShe seemed to be having some kind of fit.
I watched in the flickering firelight as she jerked spastically on the ground, her legs twisted at an improbable angle underneath her.
Seconds later she lurched up to her feet and, bent double at the waist, she began to sway, her feet stamping in rough time, her long black hair hanging down over her head and face.
Soon eight people had joined in, all bent over, all apparently also in a deep trance.
The witchdoctor took up two fierce-looking, long, curved swords which he waved around in front of him.
This was becoming genuinely frightening.
We were in an isolated forest clearing deep in the hills of the Indian state of Orissa.
We don't need your schools, we don't need your houses and we don't need your road 
Lado, village headman
I turned towards Lado, the village headman.
I was surprised to see he was smiling broadly.
He was clearly thoroughly enjoying the festivities - and, I suspected, my discomfiture too.
"They have been possessed by gods," he explained, "maybe the god of the Earth, of the forest or Niyam Raja, the god of our mountain.
"Whatever they do now is not them, it is the play of the gods."