CHAPTER 1
By Ajay Pradhan | January 16, 2010 | June 17, 2015
The time seemed to stand still in Chandra Nagar. Not much
had changed in the last eighteen years. The golden waves of rice paddies and wheat
fields, the mango and litchi orchards, the dusty roads, and dust-covered
roadside tea stalls and grocery shops all looked just the same as they did eighteen
years ago. Roads were still bare; no gravel covers, let alone asphalt. Still
ox-carts plied the roads, which seemed to move barely half-a-mile an hour.
Ujjwal stopped his Toyota SUV in the middle of the dusty
and bumpy road that connected Chandra Nagar with Lalbandi, an East-Way Highway
town approximately twelve kilometer away. He had driven on the highway from
Kathmandu to Lalbandi. From there, he took a small feeder road that went through
a number of sleepy villages—Raniganj, Ishwarpur, Bela, Babarganj, Manoharpur, and
finally to Chandra Nagar, a sleepy village of six-thousand people. This village
in Sarlahi District, Janakpur Zone still did not have electricity, running
water or paved roads. It seemed time had slipped by silently, as had the
attention of the government and political leaders.
It was late afternoon and the sun was dipping, turning the
horizon golden and amber. Before going to his old family farmhouse, Ujjwal first
wanted to go to a place that held special memories for him, which brought him
to this farming community.
Ujjwal was thirty-seven years old. When he was a little
boy, Ujjwal spent some of his winter vacations with his parents and siblings in
the village to escape the cold winter weather of Kathmandu where they lived in
a large house. He returned to Chandra Nagar for the first time in eighteen
years. He told his family in Kathmandu he wanted to visit the village where he
spent part of his childhood.
He stopped the vehicle, but kept the engine running, not
intending to get off. His old family farmhouse stood at a short distance away
from the dusty road. An old two-story farmhouse with a large terrace, tall
pillars, with terracotta exterior walls that was peeling off and faded. Moss
covered part of the exterior walls, and plants sprouted from several places. In
its heydays, the building was one of the only handful brick-and-mortar
buildings that had the aura of a village mansion. The building was surrounded
by large granaries, harvest yard, milling yard, guard houses, watch tower,
stables, cattle shed, and tractor and tool shed in front and two other smaller
thatched-roof buildings, outhouses, a courtyard, water well in the courtyard,
and servants’ quarter at the rear.
He peered through his vehicle window, with floods of
memories starting go overcome his mind. The last time he was in Chandra Nagar
was when he was nineteen. He was the son of a landlord who owned large farm
properties in the village. During rice-planting season, more than a hundred
farm workers came to his family farms to work in exchange of grains and some
cash. His family employed more than a dozen people on a regular basis—cooks,
cleaners, security guards, gardeners, milkmen, shepherds, orchard hands, masseuse,
handymen, drivers, gofers, farm workers, farm managers. They were all at the
disposal of the family, most from morning till night and many for twenty-four
hours a day.
He turned his head in the opposite direction of the
farmhouse. He looked at the row of roadside shops, tea stalls, kiosks. Visitors
in motor vehicles were not an everyday sight for the local villagers. People
were gawking at him and his dust-coated vehicle. A small throng of gleeful children,
many of whom without shoes, surrounded the vehicle with curiosity and
anticipation as if the man in the vehicle would give them a magic show or offer
them candies. He looked at the children smilingly. He did have a box of candies
on the seat next to him.
Children were delighted beyond their imagination when
Ujjwal offered them each a candy from the vehicle window. They smiled at him
approvingly.
It had been eighteen years, and he had been away from Nepal
for the most part of those eighteen years, yet he didn’t have to ask for
direction to Mahua Pokhari, the place that was the destination of his visit. He
knew it was not far down the road. He revved up his engine, and honked the
horn. The children backed away. He drove forward.
About ten minutes later, Ujjwal parked his SUV on the
roadside. He looked at the small rolling hill with Mahua trees. a short
distance away from Mahua Pokhari, a small lake surrounded by Mahua trees and
expansive rolling grassy knolls and banks, just outside the village. He gazed
at the trees, still seated in his vehicle seat, his emotions turning tender,
his eyes turning moist. When it appeared that he was not going to get off the
vehicle, he took a deep breath, opened the door of the SUV and descended to the
ground. He closed the vehicle door, looked down to the ground, and he slowly
bent his knees, his palms touched the earth, on which he had not set foot for
the last eighteen years. Then he walked up the knoll towards the Madhuca trees
with sweet-tasting flowers, which the locals called Mahua, until the Mahua
Pokhari, the small lake, came into view. Instantly, a warm, fuzzy feeling
overcame him.
He took another deep breath and surveyed the large pond
from where he stood, looking at the water, the trees, the waterfowls. He walked
across looking at Mahua trees until he found the one he recognized. He slowly
circled the tree … then he spotted it. There it was; faint, but still quite
there… his name and the name of the girl he hardly forgot for one single day of
the last eighteen years, carved into the tree trunk: Ujjal + Rupa. He
remembered that day very vividly—she had carved his name first, then he had carved
hers. Then each had carved a cross-line to add a plus sign in between.
He ran his fingertips across the carving, looked at it for
a while. He felt as thought Rupa was standing there beside him. His lips
trembled. He closed his eyes. A whisper came out of his mouth: “Rupa”.
But, of course, Rupa was not there with him on this day. He
stood there alone for a while, his eyes starting to get moist as his memories
started to slowly carry him back to his past. He looked around as he felt his
knees starting to swoon. He spotted a wooden bench nearby facing the waters. It
was quickly getting dark, and the water reflected the moon in the sky. He
picked up a pebble and threw it at the reflection. The ripples dispersed the
silver reflection. When the ripples grew still, the reflection of the silver
moon started regaining its shape in the water. His mind drifted back in time
and opened the floodgates of tender memories from eighteen years ago. He lost
himself from his present and found himself in his past.
~
Her name was Rupmatiya and Ujjwal called her Rupa. She
called him Ujjal Babu. She spoke broken Nepali, his language; and he spoke
broken Maithili variant, her language.
It was during a winter vacation eighteen years ago, few
months before he was to go to a college in the U.S., that Ujjwal met her in the
village.
He had first seen her at Malangawa, the district
headquarters of Sarlahi approximately eight kilometers southwest of the
village. Malangawa was the largest and one of the few municipalities in a
district full of villages of farming communities.
Ujjwal was walking down the street with a friend. The main
street lined with shops and vendor stalls on either side made for the town
center. People were ambling on the street. On the street side, vendors set up
stalls selling fruits, roasted peanuts, fresh cut sugarcane and fresh-squeezed
sugarcane juice, deep-fried donuts, salted snacks, and loud colored
cloying confectionary. There were tea stalls in front of fabric and garment
stores that had brightly colored women’s dresses and children’s outfits on
display out in the open. Random dogs, cows and oxen with bell around their neck
staked their claim to any spot on the street they liked. Bullock carts pulled
by oxen with bells clanging around their neck shared the roads with people. Mule
carts waited on the street side for passengers. Sounds of animal calls filled
the air—cows mooed, bulls bellowed, oxen lowed, horses neighed, pigs grunted,
calved bleated, donkeys brayed, goats bleated, dogs barked, chickens clucked, cocks
crowed, ducks quacked, pigeons cooed, crows cawed. From a distant, a
loudspeaker blared a romantic Bollywood song. The air was dry and dusty.
Ujjwal was practically a tourist in Malangawa and he was
walking curiously. His eyes darted from one place to another. His attention was
not on the street but on the stores and vendor stalls. Suddenly he saw a large
white oxen lolling in front of him. He quickly moved to the side, to avoid
hitting it. Instead of hitting the bull, he bumped into somebody on the side.
A sharp-tongued cute young woman, an ocher colored shawl
draped around her head, snapped at him in the local Maithili language, “Oi
Babu, why don’t you look where you are walking? Don’t bump into my sister like
that, I’m telling you. I just know you Babus very well. You just pretend not to
see and then purposely bump into pretty girls. Be very careful next time, Babu;
otherwise, let me tell you, my slipper will slam on your smooth face.”
“Oh, sorry, I’m so very sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Ujjwal
barely managed to speak in broken Maithili to the girl who snapped at him. Then
he looked at the girl he bumped into, and he felt as though she must he easily
the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her beauty was such that her sight made
his heart skip a beat. She was looking at him straight in his eyes. The only
makeup she had on was the dark gajal eyeliner that enhanced the
exquisitely beautiful set of eyes. Together with her large beautiful eyes, her
full rosy lips appeared to put a smile on her face that seemed shy yet
friendly. Her nose was cute and straight adorned with a diamond stud. Her skin
was smooth and complexion was lightly dusky. Her hair was lightly wavy and tied
in a bun in the back, with a few tresses falling down her forehead. She had a
maroon, aqua and emerald colored bindi tika on her forehead, a pair of
similar colored earrings, and a nose stud. She had an aqua colored shawl
covering her head.
“Oi Babu, what are you gawking at my sister for like that? You
want to eat her up or what? Haven’t you ever seen ladies before?” The girl
snapped at him again with feigned petulance.
“Bela chal…let’s go. Why are you insolent? Don’t
make a scene. It’s not his fault,” said the beautiful girl, a little nervous, also
in Maithili, to her sharp-tongued sister, pulling at her arm. She looked at him
rather apologetically. It looked as though the easily irritable and tetchy
sister often made her edgy and embarrassed in front of strangers.
Then they walked away, the cute sharp-tongued girl still showing
feigned annoyance at Ujjwal for bumping into her pretty sister, “What do these
city boys think of themselves, prince of the village kingdom?” Obviously, she wasn’t
quite done yet.
Back in Chandra Nagar, that night, Ujjwal couldn’t sleep
much that night. The strikingly beautiful face of the girl he bumped into at
Malangawa kept coming into his mind. He decided to go to Malangawa tomorrow
again, hoping he sees the girl again. The girl was nowhere to be seen.
But two days later he saw her in Chandra Nagar at a store,
with a gaunt-looking man. The sight of her just melted him, filling his heart
with a profound and urgent desire to get to know her, find out who she was,
where she lived. But before he could approach her, the gaunt-looking man said
to him, “Namaskar, Ujjal Babu,”
Ujjwal turned to him, but his wasn’t a familiar face. He
asked, “I’m sorry, but how do you know me?”
“I don’t expect you to remember me, but I know you, of
course. I’m Ramdhan Thakur. I’m known you since you were a little boy. I am the
headmaster of the school here.”
“Namaste, Ramdhan masterji, it’s nice to meet you. Thank
you for saying hello.”
“Pleasure is all mine, Sir. My whole family is indebted to
your father, Raghubar Babuji. Such a big heart he has. The benefactor of the
school. If it wasn’t for his generosity, we would now be out in the streets.”
He said, pointing to the beautiful girl, “Your father was very kind to Rupmatiya’s
parents, too. Bless their soul. Rupi is my sister’s daughter, but since they
passed away, she is like my own daughter now. Rupi, say Namaste to Ujjal Babu.
He is Raghubar Babuji’s son.”
Rupmatiya looked at him and silently greeted with folded
hands. Ujjwal greeted him the same way.
“Please give my regards to Raghubar Babuji. I have been
meaning to come pay my respects to him. Maybe I will come tomorrow.”
“I’m sure father would be happy to see you.” And I’d be
happy to meet your niece again, he thought.
“How long are you planning to visit here this time, Sir? I
hope you are not going back to Nepal soon.” Village folks still used the name
Nepal for Kathmandu, distinguishing it from Madhes, the low-lying flat Terai
belt in southern Nepal.
“I’ll be here for about six weeks, but I’ll be in and out
of here, traveling to visit other places here and in India. And, please don’t
call me Sir,” Ujjwal said. “You are the school headmaster and I’m like your
son.”
“Where do you live,
Ramdhan ji?” Ujjwal had to know.
“We live right here in the village, Sir. Just behind the
Health Post in Lodhawa. Not far at all from Kamad.”
It was the custom to give direction with reference to the
village landmarks. The health post was the village’s only health post and dispensary.
Lodhawa was one of the half-a-dozen settlements in Chandra Nagar. It wasn’t
much far from Ujjwal’s expansive farmhouse, which was in Kamad settlement but
his family’s landholdings were spread far and wide in Chandra Nagar and other
nearby villages of Babarganj, Mohanpur, Brahmapur, Noukailawa and Bhaktipur.
“Oh, really…,” said Ujjwal, then adds, looking at Rupmatiya,
“I have to stop by at the dispensary around eleven in the morning tomorrow. I
have to pick up some medication.” He didn’t have any medication to pick up. Rupmatiya
was looking him attentively.
~
Then that weekend he saw her again at the weekly open
market in the local haat bazaar near Mahua Pokhari. She was with her
sister again.
It was late afternoon. He was walking through the crowd. The
locals were greeting him in Maithili with respect: “Namaskar, Ujjal Babu…
Ujjal Babu, it’s good to see you, how are you?”
That night, at dinner, his family noticed Ujjwal was
somewhat lost in thought and asked him if everything was alright. Sleep was hard
to come by. Ujjwal sat up in the dark and looked out the window at the night
sky. Stars dotted the night sky. The crescent moon appeared rather close
tonight.
As he sat looking at the night sky, Chandar, the maid
servant’s ten year old son came to his room with a glass of hot buffalo milk as
every other night. “Ujjal Bhaiya, memsaab said to drink it.”
“Chander, do you know Ramdhan masterji?”
“The school headmaster? Of course, I know him.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“Yes, of course. He lives in Lodhawa, just behind the
Health Post.”
“Do you know his family?”
“Yes, why, Ujjal Bhaiya?”
“Nothing, just asking. Go now,” Ujjwal gave a cagey answer.
As Chander was leaving the room, Ujjwal said, “Wait. Here,
take this.” He took ten rupee note from his wallet and handed it to Chander.
“For bringing me nice and hot milk.”
“Thank you, Sir. You are very kind,” said Chander as he
left.
The next day, Ujjwal went to the Health Post just before
eleven and walked around, hoping that somehow Rupa would understand his wish to
see her and come out of the house. He waited, walking back and forth, until it
was one o’clock in the sunny afternoon. There was no sight of Rupa.
The girl saw her. Her sister whispered to her again, then
walked straight up to him and said, “I told my sister that I think you’re
following us and she says she doesn’t think so. Now you tell me, what is it?
Are you or are you not?”
“What if I say I am?”
“Look, Babu. I don’t know who you are, but if you are
following my sister, then at least she ought to know your name. What do you
think?”
“Tell her my name is Ujjwal.”
“Why don’t you tell her that yourself? But not today. We’ll
be here next weekend. Next week is the biannual village fair. Right here.”
“I’ll be here,” said Ujjwal, smiling.
Next weekend, Ujjwal went to the Mahuwa Pokhari fair. Of
course, the only reason he went to the fair was not really to do any shopping;
there were servants to do that chore. But he wanted to meet with the girl.
At the fair, he looked around, noticing the many things
that were not typically seen in Kathmandu. He thought that the village life was
unsophisticated, yet people were seemed to be free of worries and enjoy their
life fully.
The fair was not only for sellers and buyers, but also for
young men and women to see and be seen, for children to get their parents to
get them treats and toys, for people just to come and walk through the crowd,
smell the air, feel the twice-weekly vibrancy that was not present on other
days, and just enjoy.
Ujjwal was there with his cousins and friends not really to
buy anything, yet, being a curious man that he was, he was observing and
absorbing intently the things that picked his interest. He noticed that fruit, vegetable
and meat vendors sold by local traditional units that made no sense to him.
Butchers slaughtered and skinned goats on the spot, hanging the slaughtered and
cleaned animals by their hind legs by stakes. Vendors brought in their produce
by large wicker baskets balanced on their head. Bargaining was a skill people
acquired from childhood. Sellers set the price of goods twice as higher as they
expected to sell them for. Buyers started by offering half the price of what
they expected to buy the goods for. Occasionally when Ujjwal bought, he did not
know how to bargain. He was a sought-after prospect for vendors and they
cajoled him to buy their goods.
Book vendors displayed books and magazines on their stalls,
mostly offering paperback Hindi romance novels and magazines, and random
newspapers.
There were street magicians, snake charmers, snake oil
dealers, palmists, barbers, and stalls that sold cosmetic and fake jewelry and
glass bangles. There was a dance troupe showing a variety of dance shows. The
entire artistes were eunuchs.
Nearer to the Mahua Pokhari, a nomadic Sufi singer couple sat
under a Mahua tree, performing romantic songs. The man played able and
the woman played harmonium—they just had those two musical instruments. A crowd
of listeners surrounde d the singers. Happy listeners were tossing coins on a
rug spread out in front of the singers.
Ujjwal and his friends joined the crowd. The singers were
preparing to start a duet. There in the crowd, Ujjwal found himself standing
right next to Rupa and next to her was her audacious sister Bela.
Her mere presence beside him sent a sweet sensation through
his body—it was the kind of pleasure that he had never experienced before. His
mind was now no longer on the singers.
All of a sudden, Ujjwal heard a whisper: “Rupa, see, he’s
following you here, too.”
Rupa turned to her sister who nudged her with her arm. Then
she turned towards Ujjwal.
Ujjwal’s and Rupa’s eyes met. She quickly lowered her eyes,
then stole a shy glance at him. She gave her a hesitant smile. She pulled her
shawl around her head a little tight.
“Oi, Babu, Why are you looking at her like that? She’s not
the singer. Stop looking at her like that and stop following her. Singers are
over there,” Bela said to him, but she kept her voice low.
Ujjwal hesitated, but whispered back, smiling softly, “I’m
not following her… but God is kind to me today.”
“God is always kind,” Rupa spoke to him for the first time.
That was the moment of bliss for him. He didn’t plan, all
of a sudden he suddenly found himself introducing himself, “Hello, I’m Ujjwal.
May I know your name?”
She gave him a shy and cagey look, paused, then said:
“Rupmatiya.”
“As beautiful as you are.”
“They are about to sing now,” she whispered back.
As the Sufi singers sang, there they stood, side by side,
listening and feeling the presence of each other.
Man:
A hundred stormy seas
A hundred-thousand miles
Shall I gladly cross, my love
To come see your smile
Woman:
No tall promises I need
Nor do I want a big deed
All I beseech you, my dear
Is take my hand and lead
Man:
A thousand different hamlets
A thousand miles apart
Will look for you in each, my dear
Until my life does depart
Woman:
For hundred years shall I wait
Look for you from morning until late
At the door of my father’s house
Until you come brighten my fate
Man:
A hundred stormy seas, my love
A hundred-thousand miles
Shall I gladly cross, my love
Just to come see your smile
Woman:
Sing to me this our own ballad
Until I turn hundred years old
And I’ll sing you a duet of love
That for thousand cows cannot be sold
Man and Woman:
Will cross a hundred stormy seas
Will travel a hundred-thousand miles, my love
And come back to this Mahua Tree
And beneath it, will sing again our ballad of love
So mesmerized by the
melodious ballad the Sufi couple filled the air of Mahua Pokhari’s air with and
so overcome was he by the sweet sensations that the presence of Rupa next to
him gave him, he didn’t listen to a man call him from behind Rupa as the song
ended.
~
Rupa and her sister Bela were barely one year apart. Bela
was born when Rupa was eleven months old. They looked alike and often it was
hard for friends and relatives to tell them apart. As they grew up, the one
difference that set them apart was their demeanor. Rupa was docile and quiet.
Bela, on the other hand, was quite gutsy, talkative and often combative. But
her combativeness was often feigned, just to show the world that she was made
of tough skin and anyone rather not mess up with her or her older but docile
sister.
Bela was younger of the two, but she was the one who turned
out to be the one to protect her older sister. It started quite young when
their mother died and father became meek in the presence of his new bride that
he brought home when it had not even been six months since the first wife, the
girls’ mother, had died. The girls could never figure out whether it was their
father or grandmother who was more eager to see a new bride in the home so that
a male heir could be borne to perpetuate the name of the family. What would the
girls do? They couldn’t carry the family name. They’d get married and go away
to their husband’s home one day. When Rupa was born, the father and the
grandmother were hoping for a boy. They were disappointed when the dai,
the nursemaid, announced the birth of a baby girl, a Laxmi, in the family.
Neither father nor the grandmother much cared if the Laxmi, the goddess of
wealth, really graced the home; all they were expecting was the birth of a baby
boy who could perpetuate the family name.
The stepmother soon gave birth to a boy, within six months
of being married. The father thought for about five minutes that his new wife
must have been already pregnant even before he chose her as his bride. But, he
didn’t care much. All he wanted was a baby boy in the house, to make his mother
happy. His mother didn’t care much, either. She was happy with the baby boy.
With the arrival of the baby boy in the house; the neglect
of the two girls started almost right away. The father often started getting
angry with them. The stepmother was too busy taking care of her baby boy to
take care of the young girls. They were only six and five years old, but the
stepmother already started ordering them to do small household chores. The
girls’ uncle, Ramdhan, their mother’s brother, would bring them gifts of
alphabet books, drawing papers and crayons. But, the stepmother would say, what
would the girls do by studying? They have to go away to their husband’s home
one day. Better start learning household chores early on. I learned when I was
all but five years old. I learned to carry big-big pots and pans, feed the
goats, clean the house. These girls need to learn, I’m telling you.
One day Ramdhan and his wife came to visit with their nieces,
the little girls. They were both running fever and lying in bed hungry. That
day, the uncle and aunt told the girls’ father that they were taking the girls
to their home. They’ll take care of them. They will raise them. The father
readily said yes. The father, the stepmother and the grandmother all heaved a
collective sigh of relief. Good riddance. The girls are only a burden, the
stepmother thought as did the father and the grandmother.
Their mother died while giving birth to her third baby, a
baby boy that also died at birth. Rupa was just five years old and Bela was
four. Rupa’s father married within six months. The father’s new bride no different
from the proverbial stepmother,
~
“Dhut, you don’t even know that much? We don’t use kilogram-silogram
here in the village. Let me teach you. We measure weights in our traditional
way—Tola, Chhatak, Pav, Seer, Paseri and Maund. Five Tola
makes one Chhatak. Four Chhatak makes one Pav. Four Pav
makes one Seer. Five Seer makes one Paseri, which is short
for Paanch Seer or five Seer. Ten Seer makes one Daseri,
which is short for Das Seer or ten Seer. Four Daseri
makes one Maund,” Rupa paused and saw him gazing at her face and lost in
his own thoughts. “Are you still with me?”
Ujjwal’s attention was focused more on her eyes than on
what she was teaching him. “Of course, everything is clear to me now, teacher,”
he lied, grinning.
“Mamaji says these measurements were in use even
before the rule of Akbar in India.”
The villager’ subsistence and commercial activities included
raising goats, pigs, and poultry. Those who could afford also raised cattle,
including cows, bullocks and buffalo. Large landholders also grew a variety of
cash crops, including tobacco, cotton, and jute. They also had large fruit
orchards that produced different varieties of tropical and subtropical fruits
like mangoes, litchi, and jackfruits. Some of the landholders had fishfarming
in their private ponds. They kept pets like dogs and cats. They grew rice,
wheat, lentils, oilseeds, potato, onion, and tobacco. They also made alcohol
from the corolla of Mahua tree flower. The Mahua trees surrounding the Mahua
Pokhari were the source of the Mahua flowers they needed to make alcohol.
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