The Circle by Amar Shah (Translated from Nepali)
The Circle
-Amar Shah
After I got off the bus to Mahendranagar in Attarya Chowk1 at three in the
morning, I had to wait for another bus to Patan/Baitadi, and I exactly didn’t
know how long I should wait. However I have some spare time.
Winter has arrived along with the beginning of December, and
at that time there were few passengers like me around the Chowk, a few buses and trucks at stationary and a few number of
teashops closed for a while were also seen around, quiet and peaceful.
As I was alone, I was wandering by the sides of roads and
also inhaling more and more cigarettes to combat the cold. I rushed to the
first teashop as soon as I saw it open. I was happy to get such an opportunity
to drink tea by the side of fire in such a cold morning, but my happiness grew higher
as I saw the old man, who was kindling the fire to prepare tea.
-Ram Singh Dai2!
I had never thought to meet him like this in a teashop, so it
was very difficult for me to believe my eyes.
He turned to look at me but couldn’t recognize.
-Hello Dai! I’m
Amar. Did you forget that we’ve met in Bangalore!!
I was a bit excited. I undid my muffler and exposed my face.
His eyes and face glistened to know me, and he too was obviously glad.
-Please, have a seat!
He caught my hand so softly with great admiration. I sat on a
rope-bed nearby.
I had met him the first time in Bangalore about ten years
ago. We saw him in stand-up position at a restaurant gate in M.G. Road as our
group of some Nepali students was exiting the cinema hall. Bhadgaunle3 cap in black, a badge on it embodied with a khukuri4 and crown, an
unironed set of khaki dress, and a wide shining khukuri on his waist; we thought he was the rightful representative
of all Nepalis residing in India.
-Are you a Nepali?
We got closer and asked him.
-Yes, yes…
He became alert and a bit suspicious as he answered in Hindi.
-Where are you from?
-From the west, far from Kathmandu…
He stuttered in Hindi again being more fearful. We saw his
name written in capital letters RAM SINGH on the silver plate tagged over his
shirt’s pocket.
-We are also from western part of Nepal, and studying here at
Hebbal.
We introduced ourselves. Among us, Bista was from far western
part of Nepal and thus he spoke in Baitadi tone with him.
-Eh…!!
Then he became excited and his whole face was covered with
anxiety. He had only met the Nepalis who were in the same job as his, and never
had he imagined to meet the university students from Nepal wearing jeans. So,
this meeting was quite unusual for him.
It was our routine to visit Brigades and M.G. Road once or
twice a week for shopping or for watching any English film or just for roaming
around; and there we used to meet him and talk to him. For a long time we met
him regularly. Gradually he also became quite friendly with us and started to
deliver his longer stories to us.
He was originally from a remote village in Bajhang, and he
had been working in Bangalore for the last two decades. He had left home when
he was 20 and done various jobs in Bangalore since then. During his first few
years he used to visit home at a fixed interval of some years but he hadn’t returned
Nepal for a long time now.
-Wouldn’t you go home?
We used to ask him.
-I know I should, but my children and wife are all here.
He didn’t seem enthusiastic to return home.
It was very common to see Nepalis doing different jobs in
India, but to see so many Nepalis more than 3000 kilometers far from Nepali
border in the city of Bangalore was a matter of surprise. There were Nepalis
standing at the gates of factories, bungalow, and other offices. Also you could
see them night-watching the streets if you ever walk after the night shows.
-Let’s go my home.
Ram Singh had been inviting us from many days.
As a result, we made a plan and we four- me, Ranjan, Bista,
and Shakya- met Ram Singh after his duty at M.G. Road and went his home.
His house was across the Shivaji City Bus Station in the
narrow street where the huts of similar sizes were built on both sides. It was
the area where mostly the blue collar job holders stayed and there was Ram
Singh’s house or rented house among many other Urdu, Hindi, Kannad, and Tamil
speaking workers.
There were three rooms including a small kitchen and the
verandah outside, but in real sense there was a single room only. The house
looked very old from outside since it was covered with the roof of tin, but
inside it was rather anew. Ram Singh’s decoration of the house was quite
interesting.
-They are the boys I was talking about.
Ram Singh introduced us with his family. His wife, his son
Krishna in his early twenties, and daughter Kamala of seventeen/eighteen. They
welcomed us with full preparation; perhaps they knew we were coming. We took
some khaja5, invited
Krishna to our hostel and talked about ourselves and Nepal for almost 1/2
hours.
-Well, I’m from a Brahmin family.
Ram Singh disclosed a secret thing about himself.
-Then how come you be a ‘Singh’?
That was our usual suspect.
-I’m in fact ‘Joshi’, but until and unless you are either ‘Bahadur6’ or ‘Singh’, you
won’t get a job. So I changed my caste.
He explained in detail.
Many Nepalis in India are ‘Bahadur’ or ‘watchman’; that’s why Gurkha and Bahadur have become the synonyms of watchman. In Tamilnadu and
Kerala also, a watchman would be either Bahadur
or Gurkha.
Once we started visiting Ram Singh, we continued going his
house. Sometime we would go if we got bored by the same taste of rasam and sambhar in hostel, and other times we would go during Dashain and Tihar
thinking it as our home.
It continued for two three years.
Bhauju7 or Mrs. Ram Singh was the one who’d
miss Nepal more than other in that house. She hadn’t known much about Nepal
except her village. Her memory was limited to her birth village and few other
neighbouring villages, yet she would talk more about Nepal. Krishna and Kamala
knew nothing about Nepal but since they were many times insulted as beta/beti8 of Bahadur at school and college, they
also wanted to know about Nepal.
Ram Singh had two jobs- one at the gate of the restaurant in
MG Road, and other was in the market in Commercial Street.
The job in the market was not a job in real sense, it was
like begging in a different way. Any Nepali who is unemployed would buy a pair
of khaki and with the help of other Nepalis residing in that area would start
guarding the area at night as a volunteer. There was no any particular
organization or system to appoint such night watchman, so there was no any
fixed salary as well. At the end of the month the Gurkha himself would make a
round trip in all houses with a pocket diary in his hand in order to collect
the wages. The residents would never know how Bahadur was appointed, however they would offer particular amount
of money which eventually would be his salary. The house owners would offer
money according to their prosperity, business transaction and heart. In this
way, one Bahadur would collect some
amount starting from 4/5 hundred to 3/4 thousand rupees per month based on the
economic level and population of the residence.
The main principle of the job in the market was that the one
who started in one particular area would have all rights preserved. And the
relation among Nepalis had grown so strong that no one would encroach upon
other’s sector. One would inherit all types of right in that area and in case
he was to go home or was unable to continue guarding, these particular sectors
in the city of Bangalore would be bought and sold among other Nepalis. Thus,
there existed a separate world among the Gurkhas.
-How many of Nepalis are here?
I was touched by the condition of Nepalis who have come so
far from the native land.
-I can’t say exactly. But we are around 4/5 thousand from
Bajhang only.
Ram Singh was not sure about the data.
Five thousand Bajhangis only! We could not believe at first
but later when we met other people and got introduced, the data guessed by Ram
Singh didn’t seem impossible. Bangalore was the city where the then Bajhangi
King Jay Prithvi Bahadur Singh had spent some of his life span during his
exile. Thus, Bangalore has a historical connection with Bajhang and the
Bajhangis outnumbered other Nepalis there.
-You’re really in a great number from the same district. Why
don’t you form an organization for the purpose of meeting, and celebrating festivals?
It was our proposal.
-We’d like to help.
Again, we reassured him.
Ram Singh agreed on that and after a long struggle we formed
an organization. We helped in registration and other official processes to
establish the firm.
Every Nepalis have their own story and their own world in the
foreign land, though they have many common problems. So many were attracted
towards the organization.
Time slipped so quickly right in front of our eyes.
In south India, Bangalore was growing into a metropolis in an
unstoppable speed. People from outside, mostly the Tamils migrated to Bangalore
in search of employment. The population of outsiders became so high that the
locals have to protest against them.
It was a struggle started against the Tamils but in fact many
Nepalis working in those factories also became the victim of the protest.
During the emigration of 20/25 years of his life, Ram Singh was never
victimized like this before. This destroyed his charm towards Bangalore and
increased passion for his country.
-Now I can’t stand it here, perhaps I’ll return home.
He said one day in one of our meetings.
-That’s good idea, but what would you do after returning to
Nepal?
We raised another question instead of suggesting him
something.
-We’d better sustain in the property of our forefathers. I’m
afraid that here we might be killed unknowingly like a dog someday.
He seemed to be confident in his decision.
-Son could be a teacher, and daughter would marry. Doing some
farming at this age wouldn’t be a demerit.
We also patted some words of consolation.
It was certain that Krishna and Kamala would be troubled most
after returning Nepal. Bangalore’s sorrow wouldn’t be compared with Bajhang’s
joy. If they were to choose between these, perhaps they would prefer
Bangalore’s sorrow. But they too became helpless in front of their father’s
decision.
-Babu9,
I’m going. It is better to die in native soil than to wander in foreign land.
Ram Singh arrived in our hostel with his son Krishna to take
leave just before two days of his departure. We couldn’t judge his decision as
right or wrong, but we felt both joy and sorrow about their return to Nepal. We
went to see them off up to railway station and after the formal leave we
hopefully promised to meet again in Nepal since it is a small country.
After spending one quarter of his life and all his strength
in the streets of Bangalore, Ram Singh returned home with his wife, two
children, 2/3 boxes of tin and possibly 15/20 thousand rupees. And we could
never forget this incident in our whole life.
That was seven years ago. I had never imagined that in
Attarya Chowk once again I would meet
Ram Singh aka Ram Prasad Joshi with whom we were separated in a railway station
of Bangalore seven years ago. But indeed I met him and it was a total surprise
for me.
Ram Singh or Ram Prasad Joshi has grown old. His tea stall
was covered by the straw. There was a big milk pot, three different sizes of
kettle, one dozen of cups and some biscuits, a rack decorated with cigarette
packs, two benches… That was all in his shop.
There were a lot of things to talk about but it was difficult
to start. We just stared at each other for some time.
-You’ve returned to Bajhang but how did you come here?
Out of many other questions, finally I was able to pick one.
-Yes, it was true. I went to Bajhang but couldn’t stay there.
Farming was not enough, so just to earn a livelihood we two…
His eyes were watered with tears.
-You tell me how are you and your friends?
He began to kindle the fire.
-Everything is alright, Dai!
Shakya is in Surkhet and Bista is in eastern part of Nepal. All are fine.
I was more curious to know about him than just to retell my
story. So I cut the story short.
-Poor are entitled to pain, but here we couldn’t survive even
if we struggle. I returned out of my nation’s love…
Once again tears welled up in his eyes.
At the same time a bus stopped at the Chowk coming from Dhangadhi. The horn and ‘Bhaatkanda’,
‘Dadeldhura’, ‘Patan’ voices calling the passengers filled the area. That was
the bus I had to travel by and it was compulsory as well.
-Where are Krishna and Kamala?
I couldn’t leave without asking about Krishna, though there
was no time left.
-Kamala got married. Krishna could not stay in Bajhang. I
didn’t have political access to make him teacher and farming was insufficient.
He returned to Bangalore within a year and now doing a job there.
My thoughts were shattered and I experience a great strike in
my heart. After 15/20 years now, Krishna too would be seen around here in a
teashop, and his son…
The bus was almost ready to leave, so I didn’t have time to
talk. Moreover, I didn’t have energy to ask him more questions, even if there
was time.
-I’ll see you while returning, Dai…
I ran to the bus.
Footnotes:
1 Chowk a roundabout
2 Dai brother, a reputed word for seniors
3 Bhadgaunle a black cap used as a traditional
Nepali cap
4 khukuri a national weapon of Nepal like a
big curved knife
5 khaja tiffin
6 Bahadur a middle name used by many Nepalis,
brave and bold person
7 bhauju sister-in-law
8 beta/beti son and daughter
9 babu a sweet word used for the juniors
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