My Native Village

After crossing a small stream I walked for a while across the sandy gravel, and from a little farther on I climbed on to the edge through the footpath that goes along the terrace.
Now I could see a small upland, a small footpath that runs through that field and a small village at a distance. That was the settlement of the potters.

I raised my eyes and I saw the cornfields, the platform and a few houses, cowsheds, the trinket tree and the peepal plant and the orange tree that stood by the sides of the house, the dim shape of the stone walls and the steps in the gentle slope of the village. That was my native village. I was highly pleased from the inside of my heart filled with joy.

I was coming to my village nearly after five years, and I don’t know what attraction was there in that deserted village, I was really intoxicated with it and I was hurriedly lifting my legs and walking forwards.
There were two mountains, and while looking at them from a little farther on, their peaks seemed to be in touch tog together. The river flowed from the far of f the mountains and came out of the hills as if it was running out through the heart of the mountain. In the far distance a bit upwards there was a turning point near the gorge. I was walking continuously through the side of the river along the path that stretched over the gravel and the sand. My legs were busy in pressing the sand under my feet. From the pressure of my footsteps a type of sound was continuously coming out.

Towards my left in the western side, there was the hill of my village where I was born. Now it looked quite deserted and tedious. There were one or two houses in Hatiya on to the top of the village and a few other ones of the Brahmins. However, the foot of the hill was relatively densely populated. They were painted with local red and white soil and they seemed bright. That was a type of slum area, the settlement of the lower outcasts of our society; the tailors, the blacksmiths and the goldsmiths. The so-called upper casts had sifted in the basin and I was heading towards the same.

Shortly after, the green forest that spread between the village up in the hills and the basin interrupted the scene. Beneath the sky touching mountain where I was resuming my journey from the lower foot of the hill, I saw a grassless naked mountain opposite to me lying in the front side. The next hill to the other side of that hill and the vast snowfield of the Annapurna Mountain were all swing in my eyes. The Madi river to my right was running down was with a calm whistling sound and on to the other side if it the sun was shining brightly. As I was going ahead along narrow footpath fence of the local cactus. I encountered a man with a heavy load of hey on his back coming from the opposite side. He quite naturally picked his headbelt off holding it with his hands and looked at me. In doing so, his eyes seemed as if being emerged out of his face.

He stared at me for a while and spoke, “Hey, I think I know you. Am I right?” His load was on his back, the load belt on his head, hands on the load belt and eyes on me.

“May be. Perhaps you know me.” I slightly tried to laugh.

“Aren’t you the brother of the village priest?” He eventually got what’s about me. I slowly nodded my head with a slight smile. Then after he asked me quite common types of questions which could be asked in short in such as encounter. He asked me about my job, salary, education, properly relations and soon. I answered him in short and with a smiling face departed from that place saying goodbye.
My uncle’s son, popularly known as the village priest, was a teacher in the primary school of our village. He was a teacher there at the time when I was a dweller of the village, and till now he has been there in the same school. It has been more than twenty years since I left the village. In an interval of about five to seven years, I used to appear in the village for a few days like a stranger. After a few days again, I would disappear from the village. That is why my identity was solely dependent on my elder brother, the priest, in the village. However, I had my own dignity and self- identity in the Terai. People would exaggerate and praise me by adding extra details about me. The most important thing for them was how I learnt to read and write and now how I have been able to stand on my own feet having self supported without the help of my uncle’s son. As I approached in the paddy field, I met Kajiman. We talked for a while and corresponded the usual message. We walked together for a long period of time.
“Did you completely sell your property or you have still some left in the village?” He asked me as we were talking together. I could understand him, but at the same time I was a bit changed. I was slowly being introvert. For a while I thought to ignore him without any answer, but eventually I came to a conclusion that it was not right to do so. We had a lot of unsold land there, and in some of the plots had built their houses. Some of the plots were captured by the so- called leading men of the village. It was quite natural to be so. My parents passed away when I was a sheer infant. I cannot remember even their faces. After a few years of my mother’s death, my father also passed away. Then after the black cloud descended on my fate. I was assigned the duty of cowboy to look after the cattle of my properly and myself. During the day I used to graze the cattle and in the night O used to memorize the verse of the ritual book ‘chandi’ read the lyrical balled ‘ Buddhi Binod’ and practice the writing of the legal documents in the light of the fire made of maize stalk. Immediately after the primary school was opened in the village, I revolted throwing the stick and rope of the cows. Instead, I went to the school and started my studies.

Kajiman knew all these secrets of ours and wanted to create misunderstanding in between me and my brothers. Then after in the name of making negotiation between us, he would like to come to the next day as a negotiator showing his supremacy as the gentleman of the village. But I didn’t have any attachment or greed for that land. What the reality was that I was frequently haunted by the memory of that backward village where I was born, and alternatively in a few years I would travel there. That’s all.
The message of my arrival spread over the village as the fire on the dry grass. I could meet many people. Most of them asked the same types of question repeatedly; land, job, salary, family, children and so on. And I languishingly answered the same thing repeatedly to each of them.

In the evening a lantern was lit in the yard in front of the door of my uncle’s house. There was a rush of people in the yard. People talked a lot about many things. Some of them talked about development too.
The village was densely inhabited across the river. In a way, life was pleasant there. But it was only for that village. There was a secondary school, a post office and a health post. Besides these, there was a water mill in the valley in the foot of the hill. People had their settlement both on the village and in the valley, but comparatively, the low land was densely populated. There was the mill in the valley, it was easy for firewood and fodder for cattle, and the land there was highly fertile. Even in the winter, the land was neatly tended and full of greenery.

Observing the village to the other side of the river, people frequently discussed about development, but in reality they didn’t know what actually it was and they used to conceive various types of imagination of their own about it.

The village was changed a lot during the last twenty years. My contemporaries were slowly having their hair gray and most of those who were matured adult then, were no longer there. They had already passed away. Among them who were alive had wrinkles in their faces. Moreover than this, the population of the village had doubled. A lot of youths and children were grown up. Even the hillside and the uncultivated slopes also were densely populated. But one thing had not been changed; they had the same type and level of traditional thinking. In the name of change, the style of exploitation was changed, exploitation was in its as it was in the past. The then leading figures of the village were now the Pradhan Pancha or the chair person, vice-chair person and the members of panchayet, the governing unit in the village.

The next day, I encounter with my brother Yagnya, the son of my mother’s elder sister. I asked a lot with him about the village and he told me about Bhakta Bahadur too. Bhakta Bahadur was my contemporary and a close friend from the beginning of my childhood.

Our houses were closely attached, up ward and down lord in the terrace. Being of the same age group, we were similar to many other things. His mother also had already passed away and his father had brought his stepmother. Thus perhaps we had the same type of felling about mothers. We were classmate and very close to each other. He was pretty good in calligraphy and he used to write beautiful oval-shaped letters. Seeing that I was attracted towards him and I used to try to write the same type of letters, but could not do that. We secured nearly the same marks in the exam.

After we passed grade 5 there was an interruption in our studies. There was no secondary school near the village. Bhakta Bahadaur had not capacity to support himself to study in Pokhara, the headquarters of our district. I was able to do so, however my condition to was lame in a way. Any way, I revolted with my uncles and stayed in Pokhara and continued my study there. When I passed class seven, I shook a head of farewell to my native village and immigrated to the Terai.

When O returned back to my village from the Terai, I had met him. It was my last meeting with Bhakta Bhadur. It was also the matter of twenty years before. At that time, I was the headmaster of a primary school in a remote village of the Mahaharat range. I got RS 75.per month as my salary. Bhakta Bahadur, on the other hand had mastered himself as young man and started to yoke his oxen for plowing the land. In a way, it was necessary for him to do so. His father was getting older day by day and he wanted to train his son a bit earlier.

In the meeting of that time Bhakta Bahadur and I were together almost all the time. We sat together walked together and recollected the memories of our childhood. We expressed our love both verbally and non verbally.

Now Bhakta Bahadur was not there. After a few years of my departure from the village he went to India and joined the Indian Army in Assam Rifles. A few years latter on, his father died and the small plot of land, which they possessed, was sold to my uncle in a cheaper rate to perform his death rituals.
After that I have not met Bhakta Bahadur. But his stepmother and his brother were in the same place. The old woman would support her by working for others in wages and her son was employed in my uncle’s house as a plowman.

As I remember the name of my uncle, a type of terror is created in my mind. In the beginning, the village was dominated by my grandfather was the revenue collector in the village. The village would step our yard every day for paying tax, asking for judgement and what not, and as they approached my grandfather, they would be shy sensitive plant. No one could speak looking eye to eye with him. After the death of my grandfather this legacy of domination was handed over and transferred to my uncle. Uncle was now the sir Panch of the village.

I was enjoying sunshine in the yard and children surrounded me. Adults who came
To me would talk for a while asking what’s about me and would resume their way again.
“Hay, who is this now guy?” A woman who was coming to and surprisingly was looking at me intensively. I also looked at her. “ Oh! how earlier you are getting older? Tell me who am I?” She asked me a number of questions at a time. She was smiling looking at me and her non-brushed rough teeth and the teeth ridge were seen up to the button. I could not recognize her. As she recognizes me, I felt a bit odd to say that I didn’t recognize her.

“Have your seat please! We will renew our introduction. Just now we have met eachother!” I replied politely.

“ The saying that God looks after orphans is really true. My affectionate brother! You have now lifted yourself in such a position that none had imagined it earlier.” The woman was melting in this way and the tears of happiness were rolling down from her chicks.
After a while she also went away.

I was looking towards the Midim rivulet and its snake-like twisted feature, Nalma-the habitat of the Gurungs that was situated on to the top of the rivulet and the blue sky beyond that. I was lost in my imagination. A faint sound distracted my attention.

“ My son Hari! When did you come?” She was asking targeting me.

I felt as if my heart was squeezed. She was wearing a soil gray- sari and a blouse made up rough cloth. One could see innumerable lines in her face that was created by the cruel blow of time. There was not any trace of glow in her face. Her wrinkled face seemed to be rather hollow.

“Mother!” I was really shocked to see her in such a poor condition. Tall body, smiling face and lovely mind, she was a kind woman in a real sense. She used to wear small golden-rings throughout the rims of her ears. The red spot in the center of her broad forehead seemed to be in perfect harmony with her. As I was an orphan, I used to call her ‘mother.’

There were a lot of changes during the last five years. Her husband died. The youngest sister was a company for the mother. She also left her after she got married. Though she had given birth of seven daughters, she was now alone in her old age. There was no one to look after her. She was now counting the days of her after the death of her husband. Both the plots by the side of the house and the one where rice was grown were already sold. What there were, were a weak body inside the cage of skin and skeleton and a poor striken heart inside it. Now the owner of her wealth was my uncle. In a worried mood, I wiped my tears looking at her face.

She talked to me for a long time and we both shard our agony and mourning. She made complaints, wept for long and after that she felt a bit relief. After staying with me for a long time she left far home at last.
In the afternoon Yagnya came and we went towards the plain where people had their paddy field. The plain was relatively crowded. I asked with him why it was so. Yegnya answered me that it was the foundation stone day a now bridge to be constructed. People throughout that surrounding were very happy and externally in themselves. From now on, the people of that locality were expecting in imagination to go to the other side of the river across the bridge and use the water mill for grinding rice maize and millet. Not only that, the children of that village were privileged to go to the secondary school in the next village. There was now a bridge over the river. Thus, the village was in touch of development.
A loud sound came vibrating the sky of that gorge and the sky of that locality. That sound attracted the attention of people. They saw that a helicopter nearer to them and circled above the sky of the plain. People would run after the sky van flying up in the sky lifting their heavy footsteps down on the ground. Perhaps it was their attempt to catch the speed of the plane that was flying in the sky.

At last, the helicopter landed on one of the broad terrace by the side of the Madi River. Slowly the speed of the propellers lowered down and in the end it stopped. Then after, the Minister for local Development alighted from the aircraft. He saw that for his welcome, only for his special reception, innumerable people from far remote places were assembled there. Those who were weak and disabled were a bit farther on, watching surprisingly to the minister and his flying horse, the helicopter. The so-called leaders and the strong ones were throwing their spiteful eyes towards the weak as if they had got victory over the war with their enemies. They were holding garlands of flowers in their hands, and in the row of such people my uncle was the first person standing in the front.

The minister, covered with garlands and flowers was heavily welcomed and received by people. After he sat on the chair of the chief guest, the formal program began. The uncle chaired the program. After the inauguration of the bridge by the minister, the president delivered a long speech on democracy and equality stressing on the root-out of exploitation. He presented himself to be as one of the pillars against abuse of public property. In saying so he raised his speech with a view to have clapping, but no one clapped after him. In a furious face, he sat back on his seat.

After a period of time, the program ended, and the minister, shaking a hand of farewell interred into the flying horse. Uncle went up to the door of the helicopter to see him off.
After a short while the helicopter, carrying the minister disappeared in the sky.
After that, for a few days, rumor about the progress of our village were in the tongue of the villagers. A lot of extra-details were added there, told and retold. I returned back to the Terai after a few days.
Three years passed after I came back from the hills. During this period, I could not manage the time though I wanted to.

One evening in the spring, I was reading newspapers sitting on the lawn in front of my house, a postman came to me and handed me a letter. I opened and read it. It was from Yegnya from the hills. After finishing the letter, I was baffled. He had written about himself and also about the bridge.
One afternoon in the winter the villages were full of talks for the inauguration of the bridge. In the same way as three years before, people assembled there from that locality. As earlier, the Minister for local Development alighted from the helicopter and cut the red ribbon that was tied in between the two pillars of the bridge. Thus the bridge was inaugurated. After a while the helicopter disappeared in the sky with the Minister.

Alas! People’s hopes and wishes were damaged and destroyed. The imaginations about development were rubbed out. Last year during the raining season there was a big flood and the bridge fell down in the water of the river without leaving there any trace of construction. People sighed again within themselves looking to the other side of the river where there was the’ development.’
My uncle? Uncle has immigrated these days. He is now in Pokhara. Along with the bridge, he had built a beautiful mansion there to the lake -side, etc.

After completing reading the letter, I concentrated myself again to the newspaper. There in one column of the paper, there was a piece of news about my uncle along with his photograph. My uncle was receiving a prize for his good work he had accomplished for the sake of the betterment of the people, and the minister was offering him the prize. I once shut my eyes, stunned in the inner depth of my heart, and spoke to myself: -my country! My world!
…