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Friday, November 8, 2024

Do not Go to Foreign Lands

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Kedar Sangket

On the day I had to get measured for recruitment in the British Army, the sky towards the east was overcast. I wonder why I set out from home late. I remember just that. Father had already gone out to take the cattle to the pasture. Those days one hundred rupees was enough for me to stay overnight with food and accommodation in Ramechhap Danda, the erstwhile headquarters of Ramechhap district, where a local recruiter, Nain Bahadur Sunuwar, used to live. I don’t know if it was his house or a rented one. I didn’t bother to ask him then.

Only after the local recruiter measured and examined at the beginning, he would fix the date and the place to receive a gate pass for Dharan. 

Well, I forgot how much money different family members gave me at the moment of leaving home. My maternal uncle had also given me some money while returning home from Kathmandu. He had just retired from Britain. Having his house built, he had settled down in Kathmandu. Staying at his house, I was pursuing my study. 

I had a small bag on my back. What might have I carried at that time? I grow inquisitive when I remember that moment. If it were now, I would carry all the required things ticking off the items on a list in a notebook. I would travel with a friend. At that time, there was no practice of making a journey memorable the way it is now. We would not make the journey; the journey would rather occur for a particular purpose only.     

Having reached Manthali via Betali and Banchare, that night I stayed at the Majhi village of Manthali. It was hotter than in our village. Our village is located north to Manthali. So, Manthali would feel like Madhesh[1] to us. After having supper, I was given a hand-woven paddy straw mat and a blanket. There were other wayfarers, who were staying there overnight. They looked like city dwellers in their manners and gestures. Well, I had also grown smart because of Patan College and the environment of the city.           

While staying there, they asked me everything including village, name, and surname. I also told them with flamboyance.      

‘Sunar[2]? Are there also such community there, too?’ Saying this, they moved a bit away from where I was sitting. The man who spoke like this was thinner than me. Tall and with a shaved head, he was from Brahman-Chhetri origin.   

‘I am not Sunar, Dai[3]; I am Sunuwar[4].’  

Still startled, he spoke, ‘Aren’t they similar? Untouchables?’

‘Sunar belongs to your clan, whereas Sunuwar belongs to the Kirant clan.’

He changed the topic: ‘Where are you going then?’

‘To get my name registered with the local recruiter.’ I said straightforwardly. 

‘To become a soldier in the Malaya army?’ He said scanning me from head to feet.

‘Yes.’ 

‘Good. Why fear with what you have received by your own caste and what you have eaten with your own hands?’ Saying this, he got in. 

I didn’t want to talk any longer. Luckily, the meal arrived. Only after serving me, they had their meal. 

To all the persons ahead of me, beds were made on the balcony. They made one for me on a small bed near the porch. 

‘As you may leave early in the morning, pay around forty rupees right now.’ A man in a white dhoti[5] said. Handing over the money for meal and shelter, I said, ‘Am I to sleep here? I am alone.’

‘There is a ladder to go up passing through the kitchen area. You sleep right here.’

Why did he give an answer which had nothing to do with my question? I was baffled. I had to just pass the night. I didn’t inquire further.      

As I understand now, they had considered me an untouchable. 

The loitering wayfarers disturbed my sleep. The moon had not set yet. I felt like falling asleep changing sides. Restlessness shot up. Picking up my bag, I left the bed. When I was about to reach headquarters, there was an uphill. Asking people about the local recruiter’s house, I reached there. 

Facing the bazaar, it was a house with a balcony.   

‘Father! A person has come for measurement.’ Facing in from outside the house, a female said in Sunuwar language. I understood her sentence at once. I couldn’t speak it, though. The mind, which was trembling with fear, calmed down a bit after hearing my own mother tongue. Perhaps I found the warmth of my belongingness. 

After a while, I was taken to the backside of the house. I was completely undressed. Measurement and examination were done. I did heaving fifteen times. I did sit-up thirty times in a minute. The height and the chest size met the criteria but the weight didn’t. 

‘Where do you live? The weight will fail you. It is only 48 kg. It must be fifty at least. When ARO (Area Recruiting Officer) comes for selection, come gaining a bit of weight.’ The local recruiter said. 

‘Where is your house?’ He added another question.

‘I am an inhabitant of Gairi Darkha of Rasnalu V.D.C. (Village Development Committee), Sir.’ 

‘Where is it from Lieutenant Brisha Bahadur Sunuwar’s house?’ He asked growing curious. 

‘I am his youngest grandson, Sir.’ 

The delicious smell of something getting fried was wafting off from the kitchen inside. During hunger, the delicious smell had made it very difficult for me to focus on his questions. It was district headquarters after all; the business had already picked up in the bazaar.                        

I don’t know why he smiled looking up towards the cornice. 

The old man might have reached my village pursuing a beloved in his youth. With mixed feelings of pain and thrill, he spoke, ‘I had had a meal at your house once upon a time.’

Maybe because our house was right above the main path, there had been a custom of offering meals to all familiar and unfamiliar people since the old time. There is an interesting legend about our house. One evening, some dacoits came to our house. Regarding them guests, my grandmother welcomed them with a delicious meal. Out of shame, they ran off into the night stealing gold and money from another house. Perhaps, they felt it too uneasy to touch loads of ornaments of my grandmother. 

Treating me like his own sister’s son, he said, ‘Well, son. Stay with us today. See the bazaar. Have a meal and leave tomorrow only.’

‘No, I must leave today.’ 

‘If so, come to Sirse VDC next month.’ Saying this, he gave me a letter with the designated date.              

After a while, the same female asked, ‘Which meat will you have in curry?’

‘I won’t eat meat, sister.’ I returned her without seeing her face.

Well, I wanted to have the meat of anything. But I declined as I had a fear that the money I had in the pocket would not be enough to pay. Those days I would not have as much money on me as I have now. At that time, I had grown upset. Some money was left in my pocket when I was returning. It, I felt, would have been enough to have rice with meat. On the flip side, I would have died of shame if it had not been enough to pay. Throughout the way back home, this thought kept haunting me.      

They say the empty pocket always makes us walk on the right path only. Indeed, I had become a vegetarian at that time as I didn’t have money on me. Later on, wherever I would check into any hotel for a meal, that paucity would always haunt me. Thinking of the pain during the shortage of money, after earning money, I had all snacks, meals, and pickles of meat. Eating too much meat started causing harm to my health. These days I am trying to become a vegetarian by my choice.

After paying seventy rupees for the meal, I left. My mind swooped with an urgency to show my father and mother the letter I had received from the local recruiter. Following my mind, I threw my feet hastily on the downhill of Ramechhap. Clomp, clomp.

The path shortened unawares. I felt like breaking this news to my college friends right now. There was no facility for the phone. Those days, we had to go to headquarters to make a phone call if we needed to pass a message. 

I was starving when I arrived at Banchare. Entering head sir Tanka Khadka’s house, I asked for water. Head sir’s niece, Sita, gave me buttermilk when I asked for water. We had studied together up to class seven at Betali. She was the most beautiful girl in the whole school. Because the pretty girl like her was in our class, we would feel that the esteem of those from class seven was higher than that of others. Having just stepped into adolescence, we, all the boys, used to be enthralled by her. As nobody from our class dared to propose to her, we would deploy ourselves together for her security so that nobody else could propose to her.    

After four years, she had grown more sensuous. We had grown mature. We could propose to each other. But duty and responsibility had sprouted in our mind before the bud of love could do. So we talked about only the necessary things. She had grown more frank. Without waiting for the answers to the questions I might ask, she said, ‘I went down to Khimti Besi to pursue high school. Perhaps, you went up to Jiri. I was not rich enough to go to the city. I am teaching right there.’ ‘Teaching is even better.’ I said consoling her. At that time, I wonder why there was nobody else around the house. We chatted for a while. Saying it would be too late to reach home, I ran off.    

‘Thank you for buttermilk. See you again.’ I said this much when I was about to leave. After meeting Sita, despite exhaustion, I was lost into myself thinking of her jovial face all the way. 

I could never forget that day’s unexpected encounter with Sita. If it is possible today, I feel like sending this memoir to her. 

I reached home in the evening. Right after reaching home, I read them out the content of the letter. Others congratulated me but my mother and grandmother’s face grew cloudy the way the sky in the east had grown overcast the very first day I had left home. 

Three months passed just like that. The face of the mother and grandmother was growing darker and darker. The day to leave for Sirse arrived. In silence, the mother fed me preparing several delicious dishes. But the father looked happy. Sometimes growing dark like mother and grandmother and sometimes growing bright like father and grandfather, I prepared a small bag and waited for my friend Arjun from PalloDarkha.    

Passing through the slope above our house, a group of boys took an uphill. Shambhu from lower Gairigaun also took the uphill with his brother Jivan, who was on leave. By relation, they were my uncles. Without saying to me even ‘Let’s go’, the relatives from the same village, the same place, despite the same destination, walked uphill nonchalantly. 

Looking towards them, father said, ‘Did you see them? Aren’t they the sons of Jentiz (a surname of the Sunuwar community)? Why would they talk to us? What arrogance of being Lahures[6]! You should also show them, son.’

I grinned but a sort of storm kept surging in my mind.        

After a while, Arjun arrived. I picked up the bag to leave. My mother could not control her tears. She held me tightly. She started lamenting, ‘My father also went abroad like this but he never returned. Your . . .’

Father scolded mother: ‘Why are you uttering such ominous words at the moment of leaving? With a barrier of tears, you want to make your son a cowherd?’

Arjun had already reached way up in a hurry. Consoling mother, I said, ‘I will get back fulfilling my yearning.’

‘If so, get back right after fulfilling your yearning. You are educated. Earn your livelihood by teaching.’ Mother said wiping her tears. 

I was obsessed with the yearning for not returning. I felt very guilty of lying to my mother. I bowed down to touch her feet for farewell; tears spilled down. Wiping tears with my mother’s thick cotton sari, I followed the friend quickly. Two younger sisters, Bhadra and Gita, followed me up to the uppermost terraced field above the house chanting, ‘I also want to be a Lahure.’ 

As I was about to cross the hill, I cast my look towards the house. Looking towards the uphill path I was climbing, mother and grandmother were standing straight like pine trees on the eastern balcony.                 

Passing through Bhujel and Kagate village (since the Nepali paper [kagat] used to be manufactured there, it was known as KagateTamang village), we started walking uphill of Banse Bhanjyang’s jungle. Since the uphill was very long and tiresome, we grew extremely hungry. Arjun had brought a pack of glucose and some biscuits he had purchased in Kathmandu. He took them out of the bag. I also unfurled a pouch of snacks prepared by my mother. She had put in chamre[7] and aloodum[8].  Sitting on a chautara[9], we had our snacks with the tap’s cold water and resumed our uphill walk. Left below, Kagate village looked beautiful. Facing us, Hawa and Chyawa villages, however, looked dim because of fog.  Again, I missed my mother. With a sharp pain in the neck, eyes welled up with tears. There was no mother’s sari to wipe tears. I wiped with the palm. The nose ran down. I wiped it with my hand itself. 

Arjun was much older than me. He was a chatterbox. As he grew up in Kathmandu from his childhood, he talked cunningly. He was so much excited that he dreamt of being a Lahure, returning home on leave and buying all the sunlit land of the village. But I, sitting next to a guy like him, was getting angry with my own ever tearful self: ‘Why should a man with a small heart cherish a big dream? Why should a man with the dream make one’s heart small?’           

It was Arjun’s third attempt at the competition. It was the second attempt of mine, too. When I went to the local recruiter’s with Ramkrishna Dai from Kathmandu first time, we had stayed overnight at his house. At that time, I was very weak. So, I had gone there to see the fair. But when Dai asked me to attempt if I could, I gave it a try. With my best effort, I could do heaving only eleven times, one time less than I had to do to meet the criteria. How could an onlooker be a Lahure? I was disappointed at that time. However, I got to know the procedures.      

In order to lighten the journey, Arjun would keep talking about several funny gossips from Kathmandu. I would follow him laughing reluctantly. We somehow reached Base Danda by force in the evening. A downhill would follow that. There were three-four hut-like inns on the left and right sides of the path on the hill. We entered one of those huts. 

A middle-aged Sherpa woman was talking to her daughter. As we were starving, we asked about food before asking about anything else. 

The Sherpa mother said, ‘What will you have? We have sukuti[10], tongba[11], thukpa[12] etc. But it takes time to cook.’

‘Don’t you have the potato?’ Arjun said.

‘Yes, we do.’ The old woman got ready to find potatoes.        

‘Mother, have tea. I will boil potatoes.’

We looked at her as she addressed her mother without any word of respect. Tightening her cheeks, which looked like peaches about to ripe, she laughed flashing her teeth like seeds of a pomegranate. But her eyes were slanted like bean fruits. We, the ones with eyes larger than marbles, kept gazing at her. With her rough hands, she kept rinsing potatoes. Her heels had slightly cracked. She looked as if she had stopped fearing the men recently. With a little hesitation, she would talk in a flirtatious manner. She would keep unfurling her shawl and wrapping herself with it frequently. Perhaps she was alluring us with her stuff under the shawl. 

‘You also must be on the way to be Lahures. A group has just left after having snacks here. Some had a local beer as well. If you want to have it, I will fix it.’ She said with dirty water dripping from her palm after putting the potatoes on the fire oven.  

Cautioning me with his an eye gesture, Arjun said, ‘Let’s not have now. Its effect is way too strong. We might fail. If we didn’t become Lahures, who would marry such a beautiful girl?’ 

‘How on earth would you marry me?’

The sister was tough. She insulted us with both of her hands from head to toe, indicating that we weren’t man enough to marry her off. As a gift of the silly friend, I had to bear with her insult. I flared up with anger. As I was about to rush out, pointing towards me, he said again, ‘Even if he doesn’t, I will do.’ 

‘He doesn’t speak.’ The sister expressed her feelings towards me.

Arjun was not going to back down. He managed to say even this: ‘He doesn’t speak. He is dumb.’ 

Fed up with Arjun’s silliness, I grew angry. ‘Don’t speak nonsense.’ Arjun fell silent.

Instead, she spoke, ‘Say you want to marry. Let’s see how it looks.’    

I kept laughing only. The potato was ready as we were flirting around. Even the exhaustion of the uphill disappeared like the water of colocassia’s leaf.  

She started grinding salt with green akbare[13] chilies. The organic smell of akbare( strongest chilly) wafted to our table. The sister served hot potatoes on a dented steel plate. When she came close, Arjun managed to ask her name as well. Aitu was her name.

The taste of high hill’s black potato is quite different. Sweet with the delicious aroma. I paid money. She returned money touching my hand. I shoved the money into my pocket without counting. Perhaps I had fallen for her. I walked out without looking back. When I reflect now, I can see that I have a habit of not looking back when I have to leave the people whom I love. These days I look into my habit to determine to what extent I love somebody. I can repeatedly bid goodbye to only those people, with whom I share formal relations only.     

‘Well, sons! May your wishes be fulfilled!’ The Sherpa mother came up to the path. I missed mother again but my eyes didn’t well up with tears. Maybe with the increase in geographical distance, the longing also grows thinner. This time around, I managed to control myself.     

Night fell as we reached Gupteshwar village below. We stayed overnight there. As we had to leave early in the morning, I became ready to pay for food and accommodation. Arjun was as slow in making payment as he was fast in eating. In the dim kerosene lamp, I could not recognize notes. Moving closer to the kerosene lamp, I started examining notes one by one. On one note, such was written: ‘Come again. Aitu.’ Out of love or yearning, the goosebumps ran all over the body. My eyes grew bigger. Looking at the note, Arjun also said, ‘Perhaps, she wrote it to me.’ With his words, he pulled the note. I also happened to grasp it tightly. The note got torn into two pieces from the middle. On my part did fall ‘Aitu’, whereas on his part ‘Come again.’ Arjun giggled. I don’t know what happened to me. Perhaps, I grew dim like the kerosene lamp burning on the wall.         

It was already eight o’clock when we reached Sirse. There was a small bazaar. When we reached there, a big crowd of people had gathered. Rather than the ones competing to become soldiers in the British army, there was a larger crowd of the onlookers ranging from the young to the old people.

Scribbling notes, the local recruiter and the Area Recruiting Officer had sat at a table. Right after reaching there, we got our name registered by presenting the letter. The exams started right away. In the first phase, the exams of English, Mathematics and IQ was tested. After that, the exams of walking, heaving, and sit-up were held turn by turn. All the exams were over by around two o’clock. Before our exhaustion was over, the results were published. I had stood first. Indra Tamang from Balangbulung had stood second. On that day, only ten persons passed the exams. As the recruiters doubted Arjun’s documents, they didn’t want to take him. Shambhu could not secure the required points. We received a pass for the final selection but the date had not been fixed.  A group was formed of those, who had passed the exams. Since the day was still left, we climbed the uphill of Sirse. In my joy, I looked at one piece: ‘Aitu’. I don’t know where Arjun went carrying another piece: ‘Come again.’           

As I reached home on the third day, the mother and grandmother were overjoyed. She asked, ‘What will you do the youngest one?’

 â€˜I will fulfill my yearning by observing at least once what the final selection looks like.’

Which mother will be unhappy with her son’s yearning! My mother also gave me permission: ‘Go ahead.’

Then, I returned to Kathmandu. All the well-wishers of the college including Ganesh Thapa, Sanat Kunwar, Bishnu Basnet, Pushpa Khatri, Sunil Hamal, and Birendra Shrestha gave me their best wishes. While doing training, the uphill and the downhill of Lalitpur would sound like the flat ground. As the senior brothers, who had already competed, told me that the main point should be earned out of running, I used to run for an hour every morning.       

Having considered jerry-swari[14] of Lagankhel vitamins, we used to eat it at Rampasa’s. There was a fancy cloth outlet of a man named Sikander right there. While having tea returning from Patan College and coming to the bazaar to buy vegetables, he had become an intimate friend. He would play Wushu quite well. Pointing at me with his foot, he would circle his kick over my head. Out of desire, Ram and I decided to learn Wushu with a local trainer. But Ram’s foot sustained a cut while learning Wushu at the trainer’s cornfield. Frightened, I gave it up right away. Now there is a fruit shop.

Where Nepal’s organic poet Asim Sagar’s joyous smile can be observed at his vegetable shop even now, there was a muddy pond next to his shop then. I want to see what has happened to it. After one month, a letter of having the date fixed came. I rushed to Dharan. That was my second journey to Dharan. Before that journey, I had reached Bhanuchowk of Dharan first time on a night bus to drop one hundred units of saris. After handing over the goods in the morning, I had returned by a day bus. That experience, therefore, was limited to just ‘Yes I have’ to the question ‘Have you ever been to Dharan?’ No more than that.

But the second time I was to set my foot on the battlefield the way thousands of young boys had reached the hot ground of Dharan to show their courage, wisdom, intelligence, and strength in the best way possible. 

Two of my friends Pushpa K.C. and Sunil Hamal had accompanied me to Dharan. We had stayed at Sunrise Hotel. We had some fun that night. Staying a night at the hotel, they returned to Kathmandu the next day. Meanwhile, I entered Ghopa Camp.     


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[1]Madhesh refers to the plain and warm belt in Nepal.

[2] In the Hindu caste system, Sunar belongs to the untouchable caste, also known as the Dalit. 

[3]Dai refers to the elder brother. However, the Nepali people, regardless of age, use it to show respect and towards any male.

[4]Sunuwar is one of the ethnic indigenous communities belonging to the Kirantism.  

[5] A lower garment forming a part of national as well as ethnic costumes in the Indian subcontinent. 

[6] In Nepal, a Nepal young man recruited in the British/Indian army used to be known as a Lahure. Later on, all types of soldiers began to be called the Lahures. These days, in addition to soldiers, all the people, who go abroad for jobs, are called Lahures.        

[7] It is a special dish, which is prepared by frying soaked rice in ghee.  

[8] Popular in Nepal and different parts of India, it is a dish made of potato. 

[9] It’s a stage-like platform built with stone and mud on the side of the path so that wayfarers could have a rest under the shade of trees planted over there.   

[10] A dried meat product of Nepal. 

[11] Millet-based alcoholic beverages are popular in Nepal, Sikkim, and Darjeeling.

[12] Popular noodle soup in Nepal.

[13] One of the hottest chilies in the world, Akbare is also known as dalle (round) a strong chilly in Nepal.  

[14] Also known as jalebi, they are sweet pretzels popular in Nepal and India. Swari is a deep-fried flatbread (like chapatti) made out of plain flour. Swari accompanied  with  jerry is called jerry-swari in Kathmandu, Nepal.     

[Kedar Sanket is a Nepali poet and essayist. He has eight books in different genres to his credit.] 

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