In terms of political unrest, this past week has been like none other. After the turmoil in Sri Lanka, Pakistan and Bangladesh, the new hotspot in our neighbourhood is Nepal.
Whoever imagined that what was a students’ agitation would morph into a violent near-revolution? Several commentators have tried to see a pattern in these eruptions and pointed to the Deep State’s sinister ploy to keep this part of Asia boiling. Who can say? But the resignations of the Nepali and Japanese PMs, and the wave of public protest in Indonesia do lend it some credence. Further afield is the Gaza-Israel situation and the killing of suspected Hamas leaders in Qatar. God knows where that will lead. To Europe now, and the resignation of the French Prime Minister has created another frightening spectacle of street violence in several French cities, including Paris.
As a post sent by a cousin said, the recent chandragrahan (lunar eclipse) has brought more instability than any eclipse thus far. I recall my mum forbidding me (I have an exalted moon in my horoscope) to ever see a lunar eclipse. Many superstitious Hindus still shut temple doors and throw away the leftovers of any food cooked that day, to calls of “Daan karo, daan karo”, like those who come on Saturdays for a shani daan. I couldn’t decide whether to honour my mum’s admonitions or see the Blood Moon that day. So I compromised by seeing it on the Nehru Planetarium website.
There has been nothing else in our newspapers and news broadcasts but this wave of violence, so let me tell you about our relationship with Nepal as I remember it from my Kumaoni childhood. Tibet and Nepal in the 1950s (my childhood days) had an open border and a lively trade between Kumaon and these remote regions (so it seemed to us then). The Tibetan lamas would bring exotic herbs and smelly ‘hing’ (asafoetida), while the Nepalis came mostly to work as porters. They were hardy, strong mountain people and accustomed to carrying huge loads on their backs cheerfully. Don’t forget they were the sherpas who carried all the Himalayan mountaineers’ kits (remember Tenzing and Hillary?), often without even getting their due. The Gurkhas were tough fighters, too, and anyone who has read what Field Marshal Manekshaw has written about these fearless soldiers will testify to their courage and unshakeable moral core. This is probably why the British army still has a Gurkha Regiment. However, they were also fond of drinking and were often “contole se bahar”, as our old Kumaoni servants would tell us.
What is now called Uttarakhand was once ruled by the feudal Ranas of Nepal. It is only in the 1830s that the British annexed this region and a plaque in Almora’s Kutcherry marks the spot where the treaty between the Raja of Nepal and the British was signed. However, for several years, this bond between the old Nepali royalty remained alive and many Kshatriya clans intermarried. Queen Ratna (King Mahendra’s consort) was the daughter of the Kashipur Raja. In my Nainital school, we had many Nepali princesses (that’s what we called them then). Some were later married to Indian royalty like the Maharaja of Tehri Garhwal’s family. At the other end were the poor porters (called dotiyals or dai), who sweated up and down the steep mountain sides, carrying huge loads (even steel cupboards) for a few coins. They would eat together and in Nainital, even when it was bitterly cold, they slept on a raised stone platform (the annual Ramlila venue), often with just sacks spread on the floor and with one big collective patchwork ‘quilt’ of rags. They would turn together after the Mate (their clan head) called out, “Kwalte, kwalte, pharko”, so that the ‘quilt’ covered everyone evenly.
A stately house called ‘The Retreat’ faced our Nainital home, where a Nepal ka Raja (so called by our staff) would come in summer with a bevy of concubines and servers. Every evening, he would be carried in a palanquin (called ‘dandi’ in Pahari) by liveried dotiyals to the Boat House Club to play cards and drink. We watched this procession every evening from our verandah and created stories about that interesting household. His meals were served by his pretty women attendants with loving morsels from a huge silver thaali put into his mouth.
So the inequality that has incensed the Nepali students today, their anger against the entitled lives of those whose spoilt brats run over walkers and never look back (the exiled King Gyanendra’s son killed an innocent walker and ran away), has a long and shameful history. The decadent lives of these rich lords and their chiffon-clad ladies go back a long, long way. Democracy and such exploitation and inequality are strange bedfellows and the public anger and violence we now witness is like what must have happened in France and Russia once.
Before I wind up, let me also add that no revolution (except perhaps the French Revolution) has ever resulted in a stable government. Look no further than our Northeast: fiery students overthrew entrenched political parties but left the states carved out in a perpetual state of turmoil. Nepal may well devolve into a farcical puppet regime (like Bangladesh), or be ruled (like Pakistan and Myanmar) by its army.