घामसँगै अस्ताउँछ यो शहर
सुनसान भइदिन्छ, बढाइदिन्छ डर
निद्रा प्यारो, जाग्न सक्दैन हर पहर
मरेतुल्य बाँचिरहेको छ यो महानगर !
सपनाको भारी, प्रतिस्पर्धाको कहर
घोलिदिन्छ मस्तिष्कमा कालकूट जहर
जरैदेखि उखेल्दै आशा र रहर
मरेतुल्य भएको छ यो महानगर !
सहन नसकी अनेक प्रहार र अत्याचार
कराउँदै छ रक्षाका लागि गुहार
कसरी पर्छ खै नागरिकको भर ?
मरेतुल्य बाँचेको छ यो महानगर !
© सन्दीप्त
October 31, 2018.
You have been climbing for three hours. Every pore of your skin is sweating. Your legs are tired. Your head is spinning. You are still conscious of not slipping down the narrow foot trail. There are small round seeds that have fallen off the tress beside the trail. They threaten your existence. The peak is just “there” but you can’t seem to reach it. The peak is just at an elevation of thousand metres, and it takes your breath away. “What if it was Mount Everest?” you ask.
One of your friends, Anish, climbed a five-thousand metre peak last year, above the Everest Base Camp. “It was cold. I felt my fingers would fall off. But once I reached the peak, I forgot all the pain.”
‘This is not even a tenth of the harshness of close to the Everest’, you think. Your spirit lifts up a little. Legs drag you up better than they had a couple of minutes back. But your lungs are not helping. Your low stamina hampers your movement.Luckily, your friends are in your support. They themselves are tired, but they do not lose the hope of reaching the peak. The hope of finding the target village-Sathimure.
***
Your climb began from Mugling—an old hub connecting Kathmandu, Pokhara and Chitwan with three of your friends: Anil, Anish and Ishwor. The town is at the altitude of about 180 m from the mean sea level,well-developed, full of life. Your twenty-eight years old topographic map shows a foot-trail leading to the village in question. The policemen show you a road. It looks easy, but it’s long. ‘How long will you have to walk?’ you discuss with your friends. You and your friends decide to take a foot trail if possible.
You are not just hiking. It’s a geological exploration. You measure the rock orientation, wonder at the folds you see and imagine the amount of stress the region might have undergone. You know these rocks tell the history of the evolution of the Himalayas over a million years. These mountains are not as tall as the mighty mountain peaks that are popular as the Himalayas or Great Himalayas. You call them Lesser Himalaya, but reaching its peak is tough. More so, when you realize you have to climb up another two hundred metres and climb down to Kalikhola if you are to make an accurate geological map. But you lack time, and you make a rush.
You realize your stamina has lowered because of eating and sleeping for the last couple of months. You are panting. You take long breaths. Nothing helps. You have not walked a mile and you have felt the heat. You strip off your jacket. Your body balances heat by sweating. You reach a shade. The sweat cools you. After a rest, you don’t want to move. Yet you carry your legs forward. “Return back if you can’t,” your friends suggest. It’s a good advice. One person should not slow the group. Yet your ego gets hurt. You can’t give up before it has begun.
You ask help from the locals. Most of them are girls. Some help, some don’t. It’s a cultural thing. Villagers don’t trust city men. Girls are told to shy away from men in most of the occasions. Male-female interaction is still spied in the cities. Anyway, you find help and catch a foot-trail, width decreasing with each footstep.
You don’t find villages along the trail. One house at an interval of about one-hundred metres climb. They have farms and gardens. You and your friends express desire to reach Kalikhola. The locals say it’s a dangerous path. Three people died some months back. You and your friends are scared. Safety comes before the map. Your teachers did not expect you to go all the way. You give up the thought of completing the track. Had you been allowed to stay for a day at Sathimure, you could have hit the target. But you have restrictions. You decide to reach the village, at least.
A garden somewhere in the route
***
“Look out for the real trail,” Anish calls. Foot-trail has forked. Each time you saw a fork, you made a unanimous decision: “Take the route that goes up.” This time, the up-going trail looks dangerous. Ishwor says the other path goes nowhere. “Are we stuck?” you fear. Anil goes up the dangerous route, reaches the peak and calls out. You follow. The ground is slippery and covered with grass. You don’t know where you are stepping. “Goats would not climb this,” your friends behind you tell. You are attacked by ants.One last step. And you reach the top. You lose yourself for a moment. At that moment, you have become victorious over the mountain. You feel blessed.
A little farther, you see what you had been longing for. Sathimure. A small village. A place where you have found solace in it even from the distance. Bamboos, oranges, cucumbers and other fruits and vegetables. A farming village. That’s what you wanted all day.
The village has less than twenty houses—small, all of them painted in blue and red. The people are amicable. Your group wants to buy some oranges. They don’t fix a price. “Give whatever amount you want to give.” These people have hardships. There is some help from the NGOs but the nearest town, Mugling, is miles downhill. There is no good road. They have to buy everything.Yet, they are generous. They don’t take our offer for granted. They believe in emotional relationship, not commercial. They give you noodles. You longed for it but can’t help wonder that noodles have made way into even in a village that small.You eat anyway. The taste reminds you of home.
***
You begin to descent. There was an error in the map. You have decided to correct it. Sitting upon a ground facing north, you look at the Great Himalayas, the Lesser Himalayas, and the miniature town of Mugling. You can’t see a human from that height. You feel lost. “Humans might have built civilizations and have dreamt of exploring other planets but we are microscopic in the universe. If a portion of the Earth is this big, how big the Earth is! And it is not even the largest planet.” The extent of universe amazes you. It’s not for the first time, though. The universe has always fascinated you. Geology was one way you thought that would help you understand the universe.
The walk downhill takes two hours. The villagers at Sathimure had told it would take about forty-five minutes. “Time is relative,” you begin to understand. They have lived their whole lives going up and down the hill. Their legs have strengths your legs do not. They are faster because they have lived with the mountain. You see school children going up and get a stronger proof.
When the journey ends, you are satisfied. You might not have met all your goals but you made memories. You have learnt something. You have something to tell others. You have stories for your children and grandchildren.
The fieldwork was going on in its rapid pace. We barely had time to rest. On Wednesday, October 31, fieldwork had been set for “individual” areas. Each of six groups were in separate routes looking for the geology of the area around Mugling, Chitwan. We (Anil, Anish, Ishwor and I) were walking up to a small village called Sathimure. On top of the hill in the north east, we could see a bazaar. “Is it Manakamana?” we had discussed. “It is Manakamana, indeed,” the villagers had later confirmed.
“If we get to go Manakamana tomorrow, can we walk all the way up?”
It would have been difficult. The way to Sathimure had proven to be tiring. We were bathed in sweat the whole climb.
May be fatigue, may be disinterest, we didn’t actually want to go Manakamana. There were other friends, who were absolutely excited about the climb. My experience fifteen months earlier had made me sad. But I had seen a photo of my sister-in-law in front of the newly made temple. Aha! The temple has changed! I had thought but still I didn’t have the desire.
In the evening, our teachers announced the six routes to be taken the other day. Two groups were to take the routes that included Manakamana. The first route was: Aanbu Khaireni-Manakamana-Arubot-Tinkilo. The second route was: Aanbu Khaireni-Manakamana-Kurintar. To avoid dissatisfaction, our teachers suggested a lottery. Anil picked up a cheat and we got the first route. Despite having no desire to go, the Mother had called us.
As soon as you cross the Marsyangi Bridge at Aanbu Khaireni, you step into the Gorkha district. Then taking a dusty road to the north, you head towards the famous Manakamana Temple. After we separated with other groups at the bridge, eight of us took the road to Manakamana.
Geological study began as soon as we reached near the confluence of Marsyangdi and Daraudi. We took some data and set off again. As per the instruction from our teacher, we took shorter routes asking the villagers. Some of the foot-trails are not being used due to the bigger road.
Short roads were not so short though. We climbed up and up. As we went higher, the mist thinned and we were up above the clouds. On the north were the mighty white Himalayas. “People must have been to a place like this and called it a Paradise,” we wondered.
At Dhadbari (?), we left the motor road and climbed up the stairs to the temple. On the way, we bought flowers and Prasad. The climb took more than half an hour. We were all fatigued.
The new structure of the temple was enough for me to forget my tiredness. The two storied pagoda now had new brick walls and two golden roofs. On the top, is a golden pinnacle. I am mesmerized. I can’t believe the change that had occurred.
Fifteen months ago, I had seen a broken temple. It was distressing. I had written an account showing my pain. Now fifteen months later, I was standing before the temple praising the grandeur of the Mother.
The new structure has not been a temple yet. The Mother still stays in the small temple built after the Gorkha earthquake. “Isn’t she established in it yet?” my parents ask on Saturday after I am home. “It was supposed to happen during Dashain.”
“Maybe they did not find an auspicious date,” I say.
***
Fifteen months ago, I had been so sad that I had asked for the reconstruction of the temple as soon as possible. I had also doubted on the powers of the Mother. I had asked, “If the Goddess cannot make Her own home, how do I believe asked?”
This time, I believe the Mother called me to show that She has a new home. I believe She made me write this so that I could tell to the world the change I had seen. I don’t see any other reason why my group was selected despite having no desire at all to visit Her abode.
***
Time was tight. We had miles to go. Taking several snaps, our groups took our respective routes.
एकाबिहानै धरहरा निर्माण सम्बन्धमा लेखिएको एउटा पोस्ट इन्स्टाग्राममा देखियो:
नेपाङ्ग्रेजीमा लेखिएको पोस्टले भन्छ– सरकारले ४.५ अर्बको लगानीमा २२ तले धरहरा बनाउने योजना बनाइरहेको छ ।
यो विषयमा आएका टिप्पणीहरू रोचक छन् । जस्तै:
सारांश: “धरहरा बनाउनुको औचित्य के हो ? त्यसमा लगानी हुने रकम कुनै दीर्घकालीन पार्ने काममा लगाउनु पर्छ ।”
सारांश: “एउटा कलाहीन खाँबोप्रति यति आशक्ती किन ? किन धरहरालाई सांस्कृतिक महत्त्व भएजसरी प्रस्तुत गरिएको छ ।”
“धरहरालाई जस्ताको त्यस्तै राखेर संग्राहलय बनाउन किन नहुने ?”
यस प्रकारका टिप्पणीहरू टन्नै देखेपछि खुसी हुने कि दु:खी हुने द्विविधामा परेँ । र आश्चर्य पनि लाग्यो–हाम्रो बुद्धि किन ढिलो पलाउँछ ?
धरहरा पुनर्निर्माणको कुरा आजको होइन । यो २०७२ वैशाख १२ मा धरहरा ढलेदेखि नै आएको हो । त्यही बेलादेखि धरहराको चित्र बनाएर “हामी फेरि जाग्नेछौँ” (“We will rise again”) भन्ने युवाहरूको जमात ठूलै थियो । तिनै युवा भन्थे, “धरहराको पुनर्निर्माण प्राथमिकतामा पर्नुपर्छ ।”
धरहरा पुनर्निर्माणको प्राथमिकतामा पर्नुपर्छ भन्ने कुराको विरोध मैले पहिले नै गरेको थिएँ ।
“धरहरा फेरि नबनाेस् भनेर सायद कमैले साेचे हाेलान् । म तिनमा पर्छु जाे धरहराको ठाउँमा स्मारक बनाेस् भन्ने चाहन्छन् । म त अझ भन्छु- धरहराको अवशेषलाई संरक्षण गरियाेस् । नजिकै एउटा ग्यालरीमा धरहराका पुराना फाेटा राखिउन् । त्याे ग्यालरीले सन्देश दिओस्- हामी प्रकृतिलाई जित्न सक्दैनाैं तर प्रकृति सुहाउँदाे परिवर्तन गर्न सक्छाैं ।
मेराे परिकल्पना साकार नहाेला, धरहरा नै बन्ला तर जुन देशका जनता कठ्याङ्ग्रिदाे जाडाेमा भाेकै नाङ्गै मरिरहेका छन्, त्यस्ताे देशमा धरहराजस्ता संरचनाको कुनै अर्थ छ र ? के त्यस्ता संरचनाले ती आहत जनतालाई मलम लगाउन सक्छ ? सक्दैन भने अहिले धरहरा बनाइहाल्नु पर्ने केका लागि ?
माथिका प्रश्नहरू बाँकी रहुन्जेल धरहरा फेरि बन्नु सायद हाम्राे लागि अभिशाप नै हुनेछ । सभ्यता र संस्कार खाेक्रा अाडम्बर हुनेछन् । हामी इतिहासमा मानवीय संवेदना नभएका मानिसका रूपमा चिनिने छाैँ । हाम्राे संस्कृतिको धरहरा भत्किने छ, जति नै अग्लाे संरचना बने पनि ।”
धरहरा पुनःनिर्माण- केही प्रश्नहरू (अप्रिल ३, २०१६)
अङ्ग्रेजीमा पनि लगभग त्यही कुरा लेखेको थिएँ:
Corruption prevails and we watch. Someone among us cheats us and we let it go. We lose common sense while giving priority to emotions over artificial structures. More than twenty lakh rupees have been raised on the fund for reconstruction of Dharahara. A new tower will be built that will resemble nothing with the past. It will fall some day. We will fall some day. Our descendants will cry looking at it. They too will lose their common sense as we have done. Another structure would rise. The cycle would go on.
Reconstructing Dharahara: Why use common sense? (March 30, 2016)
सारांश: “नयाँ धरहरा नयाँ स्वरूपमा बन्नेछ । यसको निर्माणमा हुने भ्रष्टाचार आँखा चिम्लेर स्वीकार्नेछौँ । त्यो ढल्नेछ अनि हाम्रा सन्तती रुनेछन् । फेरि बनाउनेछन् त्यस्तै संरचना । फेरि ढल्नेछ ।”
नयाँ स्वरूपमा धरहरा बन्छ भनेर सरकारले पहिले नै भनेको हो । अर्थात्, यो पुनर्निर्माण होइन, नवनिर्माण हो । सर्वसाधारणले धरहराप्रति जुन लगाव देखाए, सरकारले त्यसैलाई क्यास गर्न खोजेको होला । तर सरकार असंवेदनशील किन ? नाफामुखी किन ? धनीमनीको मात्रै किन ?
सोचौँ त, २२ तले टावर बनाउने साढे ४ अर्ब रूपैयाँले कति भुकम्प, बाढी र पहिरोले पीडितलाई राहत दिन सकिन्छ ? कति विद्युत् र सिँचाइ परियोजना बन्छ्न् ? कति स्तरीय बाटाघाटा बन्छन् ?
हुन त हामी जस्तो, नेतृत्व पनि त्यस्तै हुने हो । अनि भ्रष्टाचारी कर्मचारी प्रशासन र फटाहा (लुटाहा) व्यापारी भएपछि जनतालाई नचाहिने कुरामा खर्च हुन्छ नै । पहिले नै “धरहरालाई म्युजियम बना सरकार, अर्को चाहिँदैन” भन्या भए तिनलाई पोस्नै पर्ने थिएन ।
“भगवान् छ्न् नि !”
उपन्यासको अन्तिम संवादले मन उथलपुथल भयो । यसपछिका वाक्यहरूतिर मन जानै मानेन । आँखाले पढेँ, मनमा आएनन् । यही संवादमा उपन्यास सकिएको भए हुन्थ्यो जस्तो लाग्यो । चलचित्र भएको भए त्यो संवादको अन्त्यमा बुढेसकालमा भेटिएका दुई बालसखा देवघाटको एउटा कुटीमा गएको दृश्य “टप शट” बाट देखाइन्थ्यो होला । किन हो मेरो मनमा यस्तै दृश्य कैद भइदियो ।
यो संवाद चानचुने होइन । उपन्यासकार अमर न्यौपानेको मन भेदेर उनलाई बालविधवाका विषयमा कलम चलाउन उत्प्रेरित गर्ने वाणी हुन् यी । त्यसैले पनि यही संवादमा “सेतो धरती”को अन्त्य भए हुन्थ्यो भन्ने लाग्यो ।
“भगवान् छ्न्” भन्दा वृद्ध ताराले आफूभित्रको भगवान् चिनेकी हुन् भनेर लेखकले नलेखिदिएका भए यी तीन शब्दमाथि वैचारिक बहस र विश्लेषण हुन्थ्यो होला । उपन्यासकारले भने आफूलाई त्यो वाणी सुनाउने वृद्ध आमामै भगवान् देखे सायद ।
***
तारा, यमुना, पवित्रा र गोविन्द
यी चार पात्र एकै ठाउँबाट छुट्टिन्छ्न् अनि भेटिनछ्न् एकै ठाउँमा । भिन्नभिन्न शैलीबाट जीवन बाँचेका यी पात्रहरू अन्तिम क्षणमा भगवान् समीप पुगेका छन् । उपन्यासमा भनिएझैँ यी पात्रहरू नदी हुन् जो देवघाटरूपी तलाउमा बग्दै आइपुगेका छन् । अब त्यहाँबाट एउटा मात्रै बाटो छ । माथी । अर्थात्, मृत्युु । यमुना, पवित्र र गोविन्दसँग ताराको बिछोड र संगमले उपन्यास “फुल सर्कल” (Full circle) बनेको छ ।
***
वैवाहिक प्रचलन: केही अकल्पनीय परिदृश्य
“सेतो धरती” बालविधवाका विषयमा लेखिएकाले यसमा बालविवाहको प्रसङ्ग स्वतः आउने नै भयो । पाँच वर्षकी बालिकाको (ताराकी बहिनी) समेत विवाह हुने कुरा मनै चिर्ने खालको छ । तारा आफैँ सात वर्षकी भएकाले उसका लागि विवाह पूजा, खेल र सपनाजस्तो भयो । तर खेलजस्तो विवाहले उसको जीवन नै वर्वाद भयो ।
आफ्नो जेठो छोराको उमेरकी केटीसँग जब ताराको “बा”ले बिहे गर्छ, चकित हुन्छु । तारालाई समाजले अर्को बिहे गर्न रोक्छ । तर ताराभन्दा कान्छी केटी बिहे गर्न समाजले उसका बालाई उकास्छ । उसका बा पनि राजी हुन्छन् ।
यस्तो अनमेल विवाहले ल्याउँछ अनौठो परिदृश्य । एकै उमेरका ताराका जेठो भाइ र “सौतेनी आमा” खेल्छन् बिहेको खेल । उमेर बढेसँगै उनीहरूको जिस्काई र हिमचिम देखेर तारा गर्छे शंका । सौतेनी आमाको पहिलो छोरामा देख्छे आफ्नो भाइको रूप !
बहुविवाहका प्रसङ्ग पनि उपन्यासमा आएका छ्न् । एउटीलाई पाउन पहिले अर्कीलाई बिहे गर्ने यमुनाको पति अनि गाउँकी दुलहीलाई अनपढ भनेर “आधुनिक” शहरीया बिहे गर्ने गोविन्द दुवै विकृत मानसिकताका उपज हुन् ।
***
यौनिकता र मातृत्व
“कपडा नलगाउँदा सधुवा र ममा के फरक छ र ?” ताराले गरेको यो प्रश्न उनीमाथि समाजले लगाएको बन्देजको उपज हो । कुण्ठित उसको मनले सधैँ उसलाई पिरोलेको छ । उनमा सन्तान जन्माउने क्षमता हुँदाहुँदै समाजले बनाएको दायराले गर्दा ऊ सन्तान जन्माउन पाउँदिन । उनको मातृत्व समाजलाई अपाच्री हुन्छ । समाजले उनलाई बाँधेर राखेको छ ।
तारा को ठीक विपरीत छे पवित्रा । ऊ समाजको जञ्जीर तोडेर नर्तकी, वेश्या, र एकल आमा पनि बन्छे । जीवनको उत्तरार्धमा ऊ कुण्ठारहित जीवन बाँच्दछे । पवित्राका भोगाई र यमुनाको वैवाहिक जीवनको प्रसङ्गहरूले ताराका कुण्ठित मनको वेदना छ्ताछुल्ल पारिदिएका छ्न् ।
***
अन्त्यमा,
उपन्यासमा केही कुराहरू दोहोरिएका जस्ता लाग्छन् भने केही कुरा अधुरा । जस्तै, यमुनाको यौन जीवनका कुराहरू दोहोरिएर आएका छन् । त्यस्तै, एकपटक आफ्नी बहिनी भेट्न भनी गएकी तारा बहिनीको घरै पुग्दिन । उता, वर्षौँदेखी हराएको ताराको कान्छो भाइ देवघाटमा आइपुग्छ तर उसको कहानी थाहा नपाउँदा त्यो कुरा नै नभनिएको भए हुन्थ्यो जस्तो लाग्छ ।
सामान्य कथा बोकेको सामान्य शब्दहरूमा लेखिएको “सेतो धरती” सामान्य उपन्यास भने होइन । लेखक न्यौपानेले भनेझैँ यो अनुभूतिमुलक आख्यान भएकाले नै यो सशक्त बन्न सकेको हो ।
***
“सेतो धरती”
विधा: उपन्यास
लेखक: अमर न्यौपाने
पृष्ठ: ३७३
आफूले जन्माएर
आफैँले मारेँ भनेका सपनाहरू
चिच्याइरहन्थे,
“लाग्यो होला तँलाई हामी मर्यौँ
तर हामी त तँ भित्रै छौँ
हामी तेरै अंश त हौँ !
जबसम्म तँ जिउँदो छ्स्,
हाम्रो अन्त्य हुनेछैन ।
“तेरो मनले बनाएको पिँजडामा
हामी बसेका छौँ
तैले वास्तै नगरे पनि
झक्झकाएका छौँ
भनिरहेका छौँ,
ब्युँता फेरि हामीलाई
खुसी हुन्छस्, सुखी हुन्छस् ।
कति रोक्छस् अन्तरात्माको आवाज ?
तोड पिँजडा, मुक्त गर,
अनि हुर्का हामीलाई ।”
डरको झ्यालखाना तोडेर
बचेखुचेका रहर जोडेर
सपनाको लिलाम गर्नेहरूसँग जोगिएर
आजकल मैले फेरि सपना देख्न थालेको छु !
नीदमा र जागामा
आशाका मसिना धागामा
सपनाको माला उन्न थालेको छु !
(२०७५/०४/१९)
आफ्नो नाफा हुन्जेल
बोलाउँछन्, उचाल्छन्
यो छ, त्यो छ
यो गर्छु, त्यो गर्छु
यस्तो हुन्छ, उस्तो हुन्छ
भन्दै, फकाउँदै, झुक्याउँदै
सपना देखाउँछन् ।
जब सत्यको पर्दा खुल्छ,
तब थाहा हुन्छ,
यहाँ त सपना देख्नै पाइन्न ।
यहाँ सपनाको कुनै अर्थ नै छैन
जति नै राम्रो भए पनि !
यहाँ सपनालाई रेटेर, अँठ्याएर मार्छन्
सपनाकै अभिभावकहरू ।
त्यसैले,
न त नीदमा हुँदा न त जागा
अचेल म सपना देख्दिनँ
आफूले जन्माएर, हुर्काएर
आफैँले सपनाको हत्या गर्न चाहन्नँ ।
(२०७५/०४/१९)
थाहा थियो तर चुप थियौँ । बोल्यो कि पोल्यो ! अपशब्दको वर्षा हुन्थ्यो । बोल्न खोज्नेलाई किचकिचे बनाइदिन्थ्यौँ । चुप बस्थ्यौँ । अझै पनि खुलेर बोलेका छैनौँ ।
सार्वजनिक यातायातमा अनेक सास्ती भोगेर यात्रा गरेका छौँ त्यो पनि प्रायः जसो बढी शुल्कमा । १३ रूपैयाँ लाग्ने ठाउँमा १५ रूपैयाँ तिरेका छौँ । यस्तो होइन भन्यो भने कुनै यात्रीले नै भनिदिन्छ, “दुई रूपैयाँको लागि किचकिच किन गर्या ?” लाग्छ, दुई रूपैयाँ त साह्रै सानो रकम हो जसका लागि बोल्नु पनि पाप हो ।
हामी सौखिन नेपालीहरूलाई सिक्का बोक्न मन लाग्दैन । १, २ रूपैयाँको नोट राष्ट्र बैँकले छाप्न छोडेको कति भो कति । सिक्कै पनि कहाँ पर्याप्त छ र ? २०६५-६६ साल यताका सिक्का मैले त भेटेको छैन । एक दुई रूपैयाँ चलाउनु छैन भने १३, १७, १९ जस्ता अङ्कमा भाडादर किन बनाउनु ?
यो भाडादर वैज्ञानिक छ । उनीहरू लुट्न खोज्छन् । हामी लुरुक्क परेर घुँडा टेक्छौँ । टेक्न नचाहनेको हात समातेरै तान्छौँ अनि झुकाउछौँ ।
हामी विद्यार्थी (म सहित) त पढेका मुर्ख नै भयौँ । यातायातमा ४५% छुट पाइन्छ तर २५% भन्दा कममा पनि रमाउछौँ । १३ रूपैयाँको भाडादरको ४५% हुन्छ ५ रूपैयाँ ८५ पैसा । तर १० रूपैयाँ तिर्छौँ । तीन रूपैयाको छुटमा रमाउछौँ । कसैलाई सोच्ने फुर्सद छैन । फुर्सद हुनेलाई अर्काको खुट्टा तान्न पाए पुग्छ ।
सरकार अहिले यातायात व्यवसायीलाई कम्पनीका रूपमा दर्ता गराउन प्रयास गर्दै छ । राम्रो ! तर भाडादरको कुरा अझै के हुने हो थाहा छैन । बोल्नु नपरे त झन् राम्रो ! बोल्नु पर्यो भने ? नानीदेखिको बानी न हो, चुप लागुँला !
I am thrifty. I think thirty times (ok, that was an exaggeration to relate thrifty and thirty) a lot before I spend a hundred rupees. When my expenditure increases, I get worried. Therefore, I say to my parents often, “My wedding will sure be expensive for sure. How can we cut expenses?”
“By not including alcohol in your feast,” Dad says.
I like the idea for I am a teetotaller but I offer a radical solution. “Let’s not have the feast at all.”
“Don’t say that,” Mom disagrees. “We have attended weddings of hundreds of couples. We can’t exclude them.”
I shut my mouth and start thinking the solution. The thriftiest solution would be a temple wedding and no party hence. But my parents disagree to that. Society has an more important role in helping me and my parents the mode of the feast.
Society criticizes someone who does not conduct a feast. Some complaints are:
“Falana* did not call us in his wedding.” (*Falano is a word used to indicate someone without mentioning their names. Falana is masculine. Falani is feminine.)
“Falani bosated her son earns crores. She did not give a party on his wedding!”
“Can’t they spend a little of what they earn to feed their neighbours?”
But people complain everytime. They make a fuss if they are not called. The invited ones complain about the variety and quality of the food. If you don’t include alcoholic beverages, they say, “That was like a Pooja, not a wedding Bhoj.” If somebody pukes because of excessive drinking, others holler about the inclusion of “hard” drinks. You can’t satisfy everybody.
But there might be more to to the feast. Jantis plus the relatives, neighbours and friends who could not attend the main ceremony are yet to celebrate the union of the two families. The groom and his family invites them before the actual ceremony on a feast called the Preetibhoj. The compound word is derived by combining Preeti (love) and Bhoj (feast). An English term “Reception” has become popular but I like the translation of Preetibhoj, “Feast of Love”, more.
The Feast of Love is the first formal gathering for the couple. Where a guy and a girl walking together in the street can be a taboo, the Bhoj helps people identity the groom and the bride as a couple.
Dowry, huge feasts and high expense make me feel that appeasement of the society is more important than the real status of the community. So, people fall in debt to try making others happy, who unfortunately are never going to be satisfied.
***
The Feast of Love of my neighbours is held at a party palace not too far from my home. Therefore, there won’t be much problem when we return. My family goes with many of other neighbours. Once we reach the party palace at about six in the evening, one aunty says, “People around here must be happy. Music and feast everyday!”
We have an excellent proverb: “गुण पनि धेरै खायो भने तितो हुन्छ ।” (Translation: If you eat too much sugar, it gets bitter.) Too much music and partying is hated by the people of the surrounding. They shut their doors and windows, shut their ears and mutter curses! Some curses come up on Twitter. Most get welled-up.
Another aunty says what I had in mind. We enter the one storeyed, zinc plate covered party “palace” which has been divided into two sections. A second wedding feast is taking place on the other side. The feast has begun, people are clicking photos with the bride and the groom, eating, drinking, dancing and are everywhere!
Children are running. No parents can control them. Forming suitable groups, they go here and there. They sometimes knock upon elders, sometimes upon waitiers and sometimes break glasses spiling cold drinks to the floor. While the owner is earning, the workers are burning!
In almost every wedding I have attended, I get to see unhappy faces of the waiters and helpers. While the host and the guest are enjoying, they are in grief that they have to work.
It’s natural to be sad that you can enjoy, it’s human to be jealous. Even anger can be justified because of the activities of people and their children. The food might be good, the drink might be excellent, the music may be loud, but the owners and managers have failed in making their employees smile.
Had they been in the West, their Party Palaces may not run for long with unhappy workers. Because we only care about the food and the behaviour of the owner(s), they’re still doing good. However, in long run, they must pay attention to keep their employees happy. They must sort out the problems.
But still I feel bad for people who are sad. Will they ever be happy?
***
The food items that are used as starters are good but heavy. They fill my stomach even before I reach the dining hall for the main course. I don’t feel like eating but I’m attracted by chicken and fish, which I don’t usually get to eat at home.
My stomach still believes that it can accommodate more. I take about half an hour before I eat everything except a few bones. Will my stomach digest it? I doubt. So, I decide to boost digestion by chewing up antacid tablets as soon as I reach home.
I get a remedy in the form of yogurt. It’s cold but refreshing. My stomach already feels better.
Meanwhile, people take more than they require and leave food on their tables. Just as at bride’s during the wedding ceremony, a lot of food fills the trash. My parents taught me never to throw food. Maybe their parents did not teach them, maybe they forgot or maybe they chose not to follow their parents’ advice.
***
The dance never attracts me. I shy away from the crowd listening to songs now dominated by Nepali over Hindi. “We now have a lot of “party” songs,” my sister says.
They are not Western-style Bollywood party songs, they are Nepali folk style party songs. (Sometimes, they are remixed, which I don’t like.) I agree with my sister and we make a list of songs that are being played. We can count them on our fingers but it’s okay to have something than to have nothing.
The bride and the groom, their parents and relatives, neighbours and friends all dance together. I wish everyone stayed as happy as they are. I also wish they didn’t need a stimulant (alcohol) to make them happy.
At 9 o’clock, the music stops, the party palace prepares to close and we all prepare to leave. Kathmandu has no night life except at a few places. I sleeps after ten. I don’t know if it’s good or bad. As a tourist city, it’s bad but as we are a bunch of free and happy people who must sleep in time, I think it’s okay. We don’t want to be zombies!
Birth, wedding and death are the three most important ceremonies in the life of a human. One does not know what happens at birth and what happens after death but they can witness their wedding. While birth is a ceremony of joy and death that of distress, a wedding is an affair that mixes both joy and distress. I’m going to see this just as the bride prepares to arrive at the groom’s house. Before that, I must attend the ceremony with the groom and and his family.
***
The music of Panche Baja wakes up the neighbourhood. Panche baja is a set of five instruments: Narsingha, Damaha, Tyamko, Sahanai, and Karnal (often replaced by Madal). These instruments are traditionally played by Damai men. Wedding processions are led by these men and are called auspicious. However, they are also called “lower” caste and are “untouchables”. How hypocritic!
Anyway, the Mangal Dhun (auspcious music) has begun the beautiful day. The sun is shining but its not hot. The groom and his parents are in their house making final preparations before the Janta or Bariyat (wedding procession).
Janti (Bariyati), the participants of the Janta (Bariyat), have begun gathering. The number is increasing every minute. Soon, there are around a hundred men, women and children.
The musicians are encouraged. They begin playing some old folk tunes and some Lok dohori (folk song sung by two groups, one of boys and another of girls) tunes. This genre of Nepali music. During the latter part of the decade modernization shot down the folk part and reduced it to Dohori. Folk instruments are now replaced by computers and auto-tuning has been creating robotic voices.
But folk tunes that use folk instruments have become popular again. And these are the tunes the musicians of the wedding procession are playing. The crowd gets excited, gets to its feet and starts dancing.
The groom’s brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts and even some neighbours are dancing on the last available piece of land in the neighbourhood. Had it been covered by a house already, the dancers would be on the streets. They are, but no vehicle or pedestrian is disturbed.
The way the Janti is dancing without the groom, I feel they are happier than the groom himself. They seem more excited than the groom. Why? I don’t know. If you analyse happiness, the remainder can not make you happy.
The Janti is tired but the groom has not come out. Questions are increasing: “Where is he? Isn’t this the time for Bariyat Prasthan (the beginning of the procession)? Why are they doing it late?”
Its midweek and not a public holiday. Most of the Janti will have to go to their jobs. They look at their wrist watch and then the people who are still dancing. They look at their wrist watch and then at the groom’s house.
Dad is not worried. “Have you taken a leave?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “You must attend your neighbours weddings. Janti is a proof that the groom’s family is not alone. The bride’s parents will feel secured that the neighborhood will support the groom’s family when they are in trouble and they also feel safe because there is a society that will secure the bride in case the groom’s family tries to hurt her.”
“That’s beautiful!” I exclaim. Before this, I thought wedding procession was just a medium to show off and that it was something that added woes to the bride’s parents. Sure, it increases their expenses but happiness and security are far greater than money.
And if groom and his family beat up the girl and neighbours interfere, they cannot say, “Get out off it. It’s our family matter.” The neighbours have the right to say, “You brought this girl here with promises of happiness in our presence. We are the witnesses of your oaths.”
***
The priests and the groom’s father put Teeka on each of Janti’s forehead including the musicians. The groom comes out. He is greeted with smiles, laughter and hootings. He then revolves clockwise round a decorated car, hired for the day, thrice. The musicians lead. A column of women carrying Kalash and other items follow. The groom’s car then sets off. The road gets blocked for a quarter of an hour. Other people who are passing by get irritated. Some don’t hesitate to curse!
A bus can easily come to the street but the groom’s family wants us to walk to the Chowk. We don’t mind. Elders say, “A Bariyat without a walk is boring.”
***
Wedding at the bride’s home or Tole (community) in Kathmandu is rare these days. Party palaces have the catering, ample space and wedding ground. They may be expensive, but are more convenient.
The bride’s family, relatives and neighbours (Ghargaule) greet the Janti. As I am distracted looking at the people, the groom disappers. About fifteen minutes later, I find him seated on a chair with the bride. The bride’s relatives are washing both of their feet. Her parents have done the “Kanyadan”, i.e. they have given their daughter to the groom.
Janti is sent to the “Dining Hall”. They gobble up food quickly. Those who have their office duties rush. Some people have taken, on their plates, more food than they can eat. People waste a lot of food in weddings. It’s beyond my understanding how they don’t know what and how much they want.
Ghargaunle eat next along with the bride and the groom. More food reaches the trash!
***
The sound of Panche Baja comes up again. Everyone rejoices. The use of Panche Baja in weddings has increased again in recent times. There was a time when playing folk Panche Baja was looked down upon. Band Baja (a Band with European instruments) was considered “modern” and better than the traditional folk music.
The dresses too have changed. I hear an elder saying, “When we were young, wearing Daura Suruwal meant you were going to be teased at. You would be a cartoon because no young people wore it. Time has changed. Young people have begun taking care of their culture again.”
Yes, young people don’t wear Daura Suruwal everyday but we have at least adopted it as a formal wear. I believe the youth of other religions and castes too are now taking care of their culture. I am not sure but I believe this is a result of the socio-political changes in this decade.
***
While the music has woken up people, the bride and the groom come to the Yagya. There are several rituals before and after the groom puts sindoor (vermillion) on the bride’s head. I don’t remember all. What I notice is that the bride is to the groom’s left in the beginning. At one point, I’m not sure when, the groom lifts the bride and puts her to his right. She will always be at her right in Yagyas since.
In Hindu tradition, before his marriage, a man conducts Yagyas all by himself. He alone makes all the things necessary. He alone pours ghee to the sacrificial fire. It’s the same for the girl. After the first Yagya with his wife, they’ll always perform the Yagya together. Both of them sacrifice their solitude in the fire and unite for life.
We have rituals that can go for hours.
Some people find these useless. I too thought so before I saw American weddings. Christians have short weddings. Father reads something and asks the man’s promise to take care of his wife. If he replies “Yes”, he asks the lady if she will take care of husband. If she too says yes, they become “Man and Wife”. Our Priests too read out something and asks for promises–all in Sanskrit. Most of us do not understand.
When the short wedding ends, bride and the groom play different games, sing and dance. Now, our rituals already have games like tug of war, gambling and so on. I feel its alright.
***
As the rituals are coming to an end, I see a plethora of emotions. The bride and her parents look sad, the groom and the Janti look happy. The Ghargaule are happy as well as sad. These play of emotions makes the wedding ceremony special.
The bride has lived her life with her parents until that day. After the ceremony ends, she will move to a new place, surrounded by new people. She is full of emotions. Sadness of leaving her parents, joy of ending society’s questions like “Why aren’t you married yet”, fear of not being accepted by her husband and his society. I am not a girl but I can feel her pain.
Parents are the saddest when their children leave them. I know this. I had a kitten. I loved her like a child. When she died, I could not control my emotions. Daughters are more than cats. Daughters are more livelier than sons. They laugh, dance and sing. They help parents in chores more than sons do. They heal their parents’ griefs more effectively than sons can. Without their daughter, her parents will lose the home she had created.
Relatives, neighbours, all cry. They have special bond with the girl. Friends cry seeing their friend in tears.
The groom and his family are happy because she will make a new home, similar to what she had built, in their house. Their happiness does not touch me much and despite being a Janti, I get emotional.
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Sadness is not going to stop the custom. She must leave her parents. Before leaving, she cries and along with her cry all her family members, friends, relatives and neighbours. By the time she reaches at groom’s, she does not look too sad. Some brides cry for hours. She does not. The groom and the Janti have done a magic. May the charm stay forever!
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