Dreams From Nepal, page 1
DREAMS FROM NEPAL
The Emotional Story of a Twelve-Year-Old Nepali Boy
By Bikul Koirala
Dreams from Nepal by Bikul Koirala
www.bikul.net
© 2017 Bikul Koirala
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:
bikul@kduoapps.com
Edited by Coral Coons
ISBN: 9781549508608
Contents
Introduction & Acknowledgement
1.
Luxury
2.
The Crossroads
3.
The Land Rover
4.
A New Light
5.
Badminton
6.
Empty Vessel
7.
Mount Everest
8.
Birthday Cake
9.
Penance
10.
A Mother’s Touch
11.
House Boy
12.
Home
13.
The Gift
14.
Egypt
15.
Priya
16.
The Tapestry
17.
Departure
18.
Big News
19.
Good Fortune
20.
The Middle Way
21.
Loyalty
Glossary
About the Author
Introduction & Acknowledgement
This book has been in my mind for almost ten years now. I have always found reasons to not write this book, but I have run out of excuses. So, here it is – my debut novel.
This book is very much a work of fiction, but there are stories close to me that have made it into the book in one form or another. You will not have to look far or hard to find real-life stories similar to this in the villages of Nepal. Economically-strained parents are forced to make difficult choices every day.
This journey through Ram’s life is an emotional story. It is a story of love and sacrifice. It is a story of culture and society. It is a story of a young boy’s determination and perseverance. It is a story of life!
This book would not have come to fruition without the support of my family. To my parents, Madan and Bidya Koirala, your creative writing motivated me throughout my childhood. To the love of my life, Anisa, you are my rock! You have supported me through every crazy dream I wanted to chase. Bobo, our little pup, deserves equal thanks for getting me out of my chair for play time and just being the best friend a man could ask for.
I’d love to hear from you. Thanks for all your support.
Love,
Bikul Koirala
August 1, 2017
1.
Luxury
Ram had his eyes fixed on the television set for almost ten minutes now. His eyes sparkled as he wondered how all those people fit in that little box. He routinely dreamed of what it would be like to have one of those in their own home. More than the TV itself, he wondered about the lives of people who were in it.
It was just last year that he saw a TV for the first time. Baba had taken him to a neighborhood village for a carnival, where he first saw the magical box. Ram could not believe his eyes as he stared at that little black box with people inside it – people that moved and talked and laughed. He kept looking behind the box to see where all those people were. All Ram wanted to do was sit in front of it and watch and listen to the happy, colorful world of the people inside.
Ram had one pair of clothes which he wore most times. His mother had patched it up in several places. The people in the TV changed into different clothes and ate portions of food he could only imagine. He wanted to live a life like theirs. He wanted to wear clothes like the people on TV did. He wanted to see the places that he saw in that box.
He was deep in his dream world when he heard someone calling his name.
“Ram!” yelled a familiar voice. “We have to finish up the shopping and start heading back to the village before it gets dark.”
Ram recognized his father’s soft yet stern voice. No matter how lost he was in his dreams, he knew not to ignore Baba. Everyone in the village called their father Ba or Buwa, but Ram never grew out of his childhood habit of calling his father Baba. There was a sense of security he felt when he heard the word. It was like his own special name for his father. He felt like the word embodied his love for his father better than any other.
Ram’s life was not the same as a typical twelve-year-old kid’s. Ram and his family lived in a small, two-room mud hut in the village of Chandisthan, located at the foothills of the Annapurna Mountains, with the Himalayas just behind it. Most houses in Ram’s village were like his – mud with a bamboo roof. Some were painted in bright colors, but most had shades of orange, brown, or red from the mud. It was a modest place to live, but he and his family were modest people.
He went to school for two years some time back, but had to stay home and help Baba after his youngest brother was born. Ram had a large family, but not the largest in their village. He had two brothers and two sisters, all four of them younger than him and each one barely a year and a half apart.
Ram just turned twelve last month. No one remembered his actual birthday. There was no party or elaborate birthday celebration. There was no cake, and certainly no presents. Ama and Baba gave him their blessings and Ama made him his favorite food: rice pudding. Ram loved the rice pudding Ama made. The thick mixture of rice and milk with sprinkles of cashew and raisins and a subtle hint of cardamom and clove was so rich in flavor that he could almost taste it as soon as he laid his eye on it. It had to be a special occasion in Ram’s household to justify delicacies like rice pudding or meat.
Ama spent most of her days fetching water and firewood, cooking, cleaning and taking care of the kids. Most hours of the day, she was hunched over the wood stove, baby on her back, coughing, trying to keep the fire going. She looked so small from afar that it was almost difficult to see her in the dark kitchen.
Ama was barely five feet tall and weighed less than one hundred pounds. Ram often watched in disbelief as his mom returned from her morning trip to the nearby woods with a large load of firewood on her back and her baby son strapped to her front. It looked like the doko of firewood she carried on her back weighed as much as her. He could not understand how she had the strength to wake up before dawn and go through the motions of the day.
Regardless of how tired she would be by the time she got back home, he could count on her to smile at him as she put her load down at the front porch. He would always go running to her with a glass of cold water to help her cool down. He would then give her an update on how his younger siblings were doing and when Baba expected to be back for lunch. She loved this about Ram. He was only twelve, but he behaved like an adult. He did not care to run around the village, playing and chasing animals. He preferred to stay at home and help his parents keep an eye on his younger siblings. At least, even if he wanted to be out playing, he was extremely talented at hiding it.
Baba called him again, so Ram turned away from the television and dutifully followed him through the market. He had been looking forward to their annual trip to the market all year; the TV could wait a while longer.
The closest town to his own was Pokhara, a popular tourist mecca for Westerners coming to trek into the Annapurnas. This was where the market was located. There was a vibrant main thoroughfare off the quieter roads that wound around and down to Phewa Lake. On a calm day, Phewa reflected the majestic peak of Mount Machhapuchhre, as well as other mountains in the Annapurna and Dhualagiri Ranges.
The peaks were not new to ram, as having them right in his backyard made them familiar. What made the trip special and what made him look forward to the coveted excursions was a sense of adventure. It was as far as he had ever been from where he grew up, but to Ram, it seemed like another world. Second only to his home village, Pokhara was Ram’s favorite place to be.
Together, he and Baba strolled through the market. Stores lined the streets, offering everything imaginable in the way of household goods. Every opportunity Ram got, he tried to talk to the tourists with a big smile on his face. He ran up to them, saying “Hello, Sir” or “Namaste, Miss”. He wanted to learn more about their lives and their countries. Every once in a while, a tourist would sit down with him at the tea shop and show him pictures of their country on their phones. Many of them seemed to live like the people in the TV did – like he wanted to. He felt excitement and curiosity as he imagined himself in those places.
There were always tourists, both national and international, around the lake. Ram loved telling the tourists how Machapuchhre was a sacred mountain and no one had ever conquered it. He displayed pride in being able to share local knowledge that the tourists might not be aware of. Ram also loved to accompany his father on their trips to Pokhara, much like this one. He tagged along behind him as he haggled with merchants along the bustling street. There were so many fascinating things to see.
Ram’s father never purchased more than the most meager of offerings, but the variety of shiny, strange-looking items kept Ram’s eyes wide open and entertained him as they walked along. Also, navigating the regular assortment of cattle that wandered about and took up space for mid-day naps was part of the adventure. A combination of the religions
that swirled through this part of the country provided a special approval of the animals, and so they were accepted as part of the surroundings.
The air was fresh and crisp outside, as it always was in the mountain villages. The land in this high altitude was not always fertile and the weather was never predictable, but Ram loved it anyway. He took a breath of the cool mountain air and smiled, lost in thought as they made their way through the village streets.
The sound of the farmers making their way to the market place down the road from Chandisthan brought Ram back to reality. The louder-than-normal clatter of carts and oxen and conversations of the men was a bit more frenzied around this time of the year. Each farmer knew that winter would soon be upon them. They wanted to conclude the growing season with a flourish; they knew whatever they traded in the next month or so would have to sustain them until the spring.
Despite this, Ram’s family somehow managed to produce barely enough crops to get them through the unrelenting cold and snow of the winter. Every year, Baba worried if they were going to have enough food to last until next harvest. All they could grow in this altitude was potatoes and barley, but this family knew how to make it work with what they had. He carefully rationed and stored the harvests and traded in the market for other essentials.
One thing that Ram knew was that, despite how it might look to an outsider, his life was good. At least that was how he saw it. Not everyone in the village was as fortunate as Ram and his parents. Ram and his family had their own land they could farm on and had been lucky to have good crops years in a row. Less than half of the village had this luxury. His father often stepped in to offer help when supplies and food ran short for others in the winter. Ram supposed that some might see this as foolish and risky, but they always seemed to get by somehow. It was a lesson he took to heart early in his life, and he looked up to his father and his altruistic efforts.
Based on this, Ram began and ended each day in prayer and gratitude for what he and his family had. He never thought of being in need or of living in a sense of scarcity, even though his friends in Chandisthan often teased him for his practices. That was not to say that Ram wanted to continue as his parents lived. They always provided for him, and Ram could never remember a time where he was ever truly wanting for basic necessities or had gone hungry.
He did, though, see how they struggled and worked themselves to fatigue each day to make sure this was the case. On trips outside of Chandisthan, Ram was quick to notice how others were thriving, rather than just getting by. He had even heard of people who had the magical black boxes in their home. He did not view them with envy or jealousy, though. Rather, Ram looked up to these people, wanting to be like them when he grew up. He had no idea what it was that they did that allowed them this level of success over mere survival. But he was curious, and when daydreaming during his chores at home, he imagined big things for himself. He had wanted so much more out of his life, for himself, his parents, and his own family one day.
Ram had learned one thing as he had grown up from his observations: it would take a good education to make this leap of ambition. He had no idea how that was going to happen, as his parents had no money for such an endeavor. With extra mouths to feed at home, he knew that his chances of going back to school were slim to none. On his own, Ram tried to learn all he could about any topic available to him. It might not be a formal education, he thought, but every little bit helps. Ram never let any opportunity pass him by.
Today, the opportunity he most looked forward to was spending time at the lake with Baba. After a day on the street, Ram and his father often retreated from the heat of the day to seek refuge in the tree-lined roads near the lake. Ram would watch with great interest as tourists gorged on the platters of fish delicacies from the lake. Unfortunately, his family’s income would not allow for such luxuries.
He would usually split one of the large mango or banana lassis – which the local cafés were famous for – with his father as they rested before the return trip home. He was always grateful for these moments. Simply getting out and away from his routine life in Chandisthan was enough. Plus, he loved this time alone with his father.
Then, on the long journey home from Pokhara, Ram and his father would have long conversations about a wide range of topics. He loved asking his father about how the place was when he was a young boy himself. Baba would often tell him stories about the time he went to the capital, like when there was a helicopter in village when the king visited. Ram loved listening to his father's stories and very often imagined himself in his father's place.
Today, though, none of this happened.
As they walked through the busy trading shops in town, Ram noticed a change in his father’s behavior. He could not help but notice that on this particular trip, his father seemed to be doing more perusing than actual buying. It was not until the end of the afternoon, long after Ram had bid farewell to the tourists he had been speaking with, that Baba finally stopped at one shop and made a few purchases. Ram watched in silent surprise as his father’s satchel was filled with a small fraction of what he normally would have bought. There was something in his father’s eyes that gave Ram concern, but he knew better than to ask, especially here in public.
Normally, his father laughed easily and joked with him constantly as they passed the time on the road. Today, though, his father was quite reserved and reticent. He tried to think if he had made any mistakes or got in some trouble otherwise. He could not think of anything – at least not anything to cause such relative quietness from his normally cheerful and talkative father. He could not recall any incident in the village or on the way that would have brought about such a situation. Perhaps he had spent too long in front of the TV, but his father would have said something if he had. He also knew very well that his father had no problem confronting him directly and immediately if something had displeased him.
They walked in silence. His father never seemed to take his eyes off the ground, as if he was in deep thought. Ram remained shielded from the specifics of the family’s means of support. Even so, Ram had sensed that this year had likely not been as plentiful for them as past years. This was his father’s responsibility, not Ram’s. Baba had made this clear to the whole family on multiple occasions, so Ram just did what he was asked and otherwise kept his questions to himself. His father was not prone to anger or fits of temper, but was stern and demanding all the same.
Ram did not probe as they hurriedly left the market and began their journey home. He stared longingly in the direction of the lake as they went, but did not ask his father if they could stop there. He knew, somehow, that it was not going to happen.
Ram intervened only once as they made their way back, as whatever was distracting his father had made him oblivious to a large cow stretched across the walkway. Ram grabbed his father’s arm right before he might have stumbled over the large animal, who was busy filling its empty stomach with cardboard debris from the ground.
He knew that, being a devout Hindu, his father would not be happy if he stepped on a cow. After all, they worshipped the cow as a form of a goddess. There was even a day during the Diwali festival dedicated to the worshipping of cows. This one day, everyone put flower garlands on the cows and gave them a variety of food to feast on. Then, the day after, things were back to normal. There was no concern about the cows laying on the street. No one cared enough to be nice to the stray cows. This had always bothered Ram, but today, he ignored his feelings. He was more concerned about his father.
His father bleated out a small and nearly inaudible reply of appreciation to Ram as they skirted the poor beast. This was yet another sign that something was not quite right.
They returned to the cart and Ram’s father mounted the seat after carefully placing a very empty satchel in the back—at least relatively empty to what they usually came home with. There was only about five kilos of rice and a small bag of lentils. He saw another small bag of wheat and beans. There was no dried fish, which his father usually got for festivals. There were no varieties of lentils and there were no dried nuts. He could not imagine how his mother was going to make this food last.
