While going uphill the Karali Kharka range by the Jumla-Mugu
borders in the hope of getting the first glimpse of RaraLake, a melodious voice came
floating in the air from somewhere below:
Samjhi narunu
Ma ta pagal bhayeni he bahini
Timi nahunu
[Don't you cry remembering me
I've gone mad, oh sister
But you stay sane]
On a balmy day in the last week of Asadh, two people walked
energetically uphill on a muddy path. They did not give any sign of being out
of breath and both of them were conversing in the dohori rhythm of “Don’t think
of me and weep”. Both of them turned out to be teenagers who were carrying a
small bundle of garlic and Gadaino herbs. With jeans tugged into their socks
and eyes as red as ripe tomatoes, the boys were Jug Bahadur Bhandari, 15, and
Prakash Bhandari, 13.
“They’ve arrived here after flirting with girls all night,”
Rom Bahadur Mahat, whom I had met on the trail as we headed to the same
destination and become close to, said aloud. An employee of RaraNational Park, Rom knew them well.
Two sisters of Jug Bahadur and their brother husbands who are the residents of
Chautha, a remote village in Jumla, run a canteen in the National Park. Jug
Bahadur and Prakash, who live near Gamgadi in Mugu, are relatives. Jug,
accompanying Prakash, wanted to meet his sisters and brothers-in-law and had
with them a bundle of herbs as gifts.
“You people keep on walking,” Jug Bahadur responded to the
call to move on after resting for a while. As we crossed the lush green hills
and reached Tiune Kharka, Rom Bahadur shouted, ordering the boys: “Hey, let’s
go.” After a while, he shouted again: “Come on, let’s go. It’ll rain.” The boys
still showed no sign of movement. “They’ve fallen asleep,” Rom Bahadur
murmured.
Maya launchhau ghataigatako
Din dhalkera raat bho
Man udera paat-paat bho
[Your love was filled with betrayal
Days turned into nights
My heart has flown away and turned into leaves.]
The boys started singing again. As they joined us half an
hour later when the path downhill to Rara was just about to begin, we all knew
that they hadn’t slept the night before. The previous day, after the afternoon
programs of the anniversary day were over at the ShreeMahadevLowerSecondary
School where Jug Bahadur studies, the boys
started singing dohori till the wee hours of the morning. After sleeping for
just a couple of hours, they began their journey at six in the morning.
“We didn’t tease girls,” Prakash countered Rom Bahadur’s
satirical remark, and said, “That’s my maternal village. I was returning from
Jumla, and happened to be there just for a while.”
“You have grown mustache,” I told Jug Bahadur on noticing
the thin line of hair on his upper lip. “You’re growing up.” As Jug Bahadur
looked at me flushing beetroot red like any shy girl Prakash gave a witty
answer: “A man’s son will surely have mustache!”
While Jug Bahadur foraged among the bushes to collect leaves
to make pickles, Prakash sang and chatted with me. I had asked him about life
in Jumla and Mugu.
“We were born and brought up here,” Prakash said, “So we’re
habituated to walking. Now we have only a bag to carry, mostly we need to carry
a load of 30 kgs. For people living in the plains it’s hard because they are
not used to it.”
He was the most talented boy I met during my entire
two-week-long trek in the Karnali region. He even had his own plans and dreams
for the development of the region.
“Illiteracy is the biggest problem of this place,” he said,
treading on the slippery and sloped path. “People are uneducated. Development
can happen only if people are hundred percent educated,” he said eruditely.
“People before did not know how to act right,” Prakash
continued. “Even though there were herbs they did not know how to utilize
them.”
Opportunities without talent,” said the youngster who
planned to act according to what situations future held. “Talent without
opportunities.” He pointed out the need of road access and emphasized on
drinking water, electricity and employment after that.
We were about to reach Rara and Prakash had not stopped
singing.
Rara talako chheu
Mana parne mayalu najar juraideu
[On the banks of Rara
Oh my beloved, let your eyes meet mine]
“I’m disheartened,” Prakash wrote on my notebook when I
asked him to express his dreams about Rara. “These hotels, the army camp and
park office have dirtied the lake.”
An eighth standard student (attending in 8th school in his
life) Prakash’s family, displaced from Chautha by the Maoists, now lives in
Lama Chaur. His father supplies vegetables to the army while his mother is a
housewife.
“I studied upto the fourth grade,” Prakash’s 29-year-old
mother whom I met by coincidence said. “I know the hardships of a student. Even
if you don’t work as a porter, studying is not easy. So I’ll endure every
hardship and help my son study.” She also informed me that Prakash was good
hearted and more responsible than his sibs.
Karnali ghumau toparo lauri bagaudaina
Bairagika baja, man duli agaudaina
When Jug Bahadur sang the famous Deuda, the quintessential
song of the region, on my request, Rom Bahadur started dohori with the boys:
“Don’t go roaming around in the night, you might go astray.”
The counter response was instantaneous:
Jadole manabhitra chhundaina
Geet gauda bigreko hundaina
[Winter chills don't go inside the heart,
You aren't spoiled while singing a song]
The boys said they listen to songs in cassettes and Radio Nepaland sometimes watch TV in the bazaar. Although he sang folk-dohori all the way,
I was baffled to know Prakash’s favorite singer. “Swaroop Raj Acharya,” he said
and started singing:
["The ones who steal your heart away love you the most
The ones who give true love wait for their Love"]
Saying that he had forgotten the name of the artist but
naming the album “Man ki Rani” (Queen of Heart) he sang:
Kalo badal phatera ho kohi din ta gham lagla
Yo dukhilai samjhiyeu bhane apthyaroma kaam lagla
Hey maichyang, kalo kesma ribbon badheko
["Clearing the dark clouds the will shine someday
It might help you in trouble if you cared to remember this
sad soul someday
Hey dark haired Maichang"]
After listening to their songs, it was my turn to treat
them. I took out my iPod, tugged the ear phone in Prakash’s ear and played the
remix version of a folk song. It looked to me as though it was an unforgettable
musical moment in his life. As the silent RaraLake glistened in the setting sun,
Prakash was humming a “never heard before song” in a loud voice:
Gharbeti…aanganima..bas
Dilaima..bas
[Landlord......courtyard...stay for a night
...stay in your heart...]
“I had never heard this song before. The music [quality] is
great,” Prakash related his iPod experience to me. “Your entire concentration
is focused on the song.”
The ones who listen through earphones with a high volume
don’t realize that they are humming in a loud voice, too. That’s why Jug
Bahadur was looking at Prakash inquisitively — Why is he yelling? — when the
latter was trying to catch the lyrics rather loudly.
Half an hour later, the iPod was with Jug Bahadur, and as he
shouted By rodko baato…dhulo udaudai- “By road…..flying dust” -it was Prakash
who couldn’t control his laughter this time.
