Fiction: A woman encounters, endures, and overcomes adversities during the birth of modern Nepal

Because he lived in Biratnagar, he was called Biratey-Kaka. His real name was Kul Bahadur Ghimiray. He was Chandraman Ghimiray’s own middle-brother. Though he had not been successful in amassing the same amount of wealth and property, estate and lands, houses and premises as Chandraman, he did have four or five bighas of land entirely under his own care, maintenance and cultivation. He had only one wife. They had been married by their fathers at an early age. His life had been spent with her. As for children, he had two daughters and a son. The elder daughter Asina had been married four years ago, his two-year-old grandson on her lap. The middle-daughter too was 17, but not married yet. The son Ramesh was a strapping lad of 14. He had managed to struggle through two books in the village school but shouldered the farm work now with great dependability.

The Patwari’s party arrived in the evening. The only persons that Kaka recognised were old Patwari and Akkharey Brahmin. On their arrival, the Patwari said, “Namaskar to you, Kaka-babu. Now we five guests have arrived here. Here is Maiya-saheb, your brother Chandraman Mukhia’s youngest daughter. We know her only as Maiya-saheb, Lord knows what her full name is, ask her yourself. Tell him yourself, Maiya-saheb, if you please. Kaka-babu are you keeping well? And how is everyone else at home?”

Laughing heartily, Biratey-Kaka put a palm on Mauli’s head in benediction. And to the Patwari he said, “I am fine – so far, I should say. ’Tis only a mortal body and one can’t predict anything.” And turning to Mauli he added, “My goodness. You’ve grown! I had only seen this child when she was born, at Darjeeling. Her mother died soon after she gave birth to her. My brother loved that sister-in law of mine a great deal. It was a hard job later – helping him pull himself together. And look at you! So grown, and a young lass at that. What is your name, child?”

“Malati Ghimiray, Malati,” interjected Dhankumari.

“Mauli,” said Mauli shyly, essaying a smile.

“I see, your pet name must be Mauli. I’ll call you Mauli too,” said Kaka. “There, your Kaki has also arrived.” Her aunt was an amiable elderly woman, well-built and fair-skinned. Mauli bowed her head to both of them. “My blessings, child. You are by my brother-in-law’s youngest wife. His eldest is in Ilam, isn’t she? They said you were studying at Darjeeling, have you finished? When did you return from Darjeeling?” Kaki said. Then she pretended to scold her own children, “Now what is wrong with the lot of you? Our guests have arrived, and you haven’t prepared a place for them to sit! The house is in shambles. Sangita, where on earth are you? Come here at once. Call Ramesh too. Fetch a bright sheepskin from inside. Now lay it down here. Oh, gently – don’t raise a dust storm. ere now, sit down children. Patwari-dai, over here.”

Akkharey, Santey and the Patwari all sat down. Dhankumari didn’t. She started to go in and out along with Sangita and Ramesh and began to help energetically. When Kaka said “Sit down child,” she replied, “Am I a lady that I should sit? I’m a working girl. Tell me Kaki, what can I do to help in the house? I can do everything. And there’s Sangita-bahini and Ramesh-bhai too.”

“Now, now, how can I sit comfortably and make you do all the work? You’ve come to my house for only two days. And you would work? Sit down girl,” commanded Kaki. Mauli giggled and told Dhankumari, “Think you’re at home? This is another place.” Dhankumari pulled a sulky face. Everybody looked at her and broke into peals of laughter. Old Patwari and Kaka too. The two began to speak of the estate and of the lands.

Chandraman Mukhia was having a hard time distributing his property and estate amongst his sons. Even when there is wealth aplenty it rarely brings a little peace at the time of death. When Dhaney of Bhadrapur was dying, it is said that the breath didn’t leave the merchant’s body until the arm of the weighing scale split in two across his chest. When one’s time arrives, many obstacles come along with it. The Patwari goes on, “Oh, but I don’t see much difficulty in store for our Old Man. As long as he is alive he won’t part with an inch of land to his sons. I heard that he has made all arrangements for dividing the estate after he’s gone. Why would they discuss these a afairs of land and property with people like us? I only overheard them discussing this with other people. I don’t think the Old Man has wasted much sleep over this.” After a while he added, “And, oh yes, these children have come specially to see the spring festival of Basant Panchami, haven’t they? It’s also called – what’s-its-name, Saraswati Puja. They’d gone to Naxalbari last market-day where they saw a lot of Bengali youths raising a collection for this Puja. I heard that our Maiya-saheb gave a donation. As did the others, too. Since that day our Maiya-saheb has been insisting on coming here to see the Puja. So, tell us where these Pujas are held, Kaka.”

“I heard that they’re held at two places in the schools. I haven’t been there myself. We’ll do the rounds tomorrow. It’s not much of an effort,” said Kaka. A bit later the guests were taken inside. Kaki appeared with plates, bowls, glasses and dinner. Everyone was ravenous. The meal consisted of home-made beaten rice, curds, a pot of clarified butter, savouries, samosas and sweets from a nearby shop, some mango pickles, a squash curry, tea and more.

“You’ve gone to great lengths...” the Patwari protested.

“Not at all. It is our good fortune to serve our guests, no trouble for us at all,” replied Kaka.

“This is only supper. In the coming days we’ll make goat and rice,” Kaki promised.

“And we’ve used up a lot of dishes. You should have stitched some leaf plates,” Akkharey said.

“Yes, yes, keep quiet and fill yourself. There ought to be mice scurrying around your tummy by now,” Dhankumari scolded. Mauli pushed the rice akes away and began to eat the curds from the bowl with a spoon. Dhankumari saw that and told her, “Ha-ha, I wonder why Hajur pushed the rice cakes away, doesn’t she know how to eat it?”

“No, I’ll eat it, I will.” protested Mauli, laughing.

“I’ll teach you,” offered Dhankumari. “Crush the molasses into the curds like this. And now pop the rice cakes in – like so. And stir it with the spoon – like this. And now eat it with the spoon – like this.” She lifted a spoon of the mash into Mauli’s mouth.

“Like this!” interrupted Akkharey and in one go, he poured the contents of his bowl into his mouth. When the bowl was lowered, everyone saw the mess on his face, all spattered with curds. Even the light down of his early whiskers were rimmed with curds. White splotches dotted the ridge of his cheeks and eyebrows. He was a sight! Everyone in the room convulsed with laughter.

Akkharey splashed a pot of water on his face. And looked even more hilarious. They all pulled him up and led him outside, laughing the whole time.

Excerpted with permission from Mauli, Badrinarayan Pradhan, translated from the Nepali by Anmole Prasad, Rachna Books.