Spiritual Guard

Under the fading light of solar lamp, Chepang jhankri (shaman) was beating the dhyangro (drum) and uttering mantra. Sitting by the side of the fire and being surrounded by family members and onlookers, jhankri first muttered few words with slow beat of drum that gained the momentum gradually culminating in violent shaking of his body and again slowing down the pace.

 

Rhythmic sound of drum and the small bells, attached at the circular rim of drum, was so resounding that people from afar knew that jhankri was flexing his muscles against the evil spirits to drive them away from the house. Family offered him rice grains and money on the plate. He put the string of beads upon the plate. The family members were busy preparing the essentials: pieces of stone, wooden pegs and thread needed for the rituals.

Harvesting Wheat

Wheat is ready for harvest but, sadly, field mice are the ones which harvested the crop first. I had been delighted to see the good crop but thorough inspection revealed the empty patches at the center of the field with numerous burrows surrounded by stiff stubbles. I was obviously disappointed to notice hard grown grains being looted by marauders.
 

After the rice season, there were two options, wheat or mustard to grow in my land. I preferred wheat for two reasons. Mustard had been marred by severe weather last season. Accordingly many farmers, especially ones who grew mustard, suffered heavy loss. Unlike wheat, mustard does not prefer much rain. The other reason is scarcity of wheat, one of the ingredients to make satu (food for school children supplied by Books for Nepal), last year. I thought of easy accessibility of wheat to make satu when I grow it in my land.

Crossroads

Everything is quiet. Leaves on trees are all motionless. We hear shuffling of the dead leaves as we are walking on a narrow trail through the forest. The other faint sound is a call of Collared Owlet from the distant. As the morning sunlight penetrates the mist between trees, series of light and dark patterns are shooting down like arrows. I am suffocating. Dark jumper on my shoulder not much of a help to keep me warm from the cold. The fraying edge of black coat-sleeves of Som Bahadur is moving like dragonfly. We are walking down-hill to town to find the work to sustain our family.

Peace Unearthed

As we were descending down from the Kathmandu to Lumbini, the birthplace of Buddha, trailing the cloud of mist through rolling hills along the river valley and then plain of Terai, I was thinking of the spiritual journey to calm my body and soul.

Last year filled with trauma and turmoil. I was affected more by news of violence perpetuated by humans upon humanity; atrocity on innocent children, especially, was shocking. I was happy that the new year began with this promising journey for seeking peace and equanimity.

Witnessing Myself

Once I walked, from dawn to dusk, to a school located in remote hill region of Chitwan, and back home in town. As I walked briskly in the morning with energy and vigor, it took me little less than 5 hours to get to the school. But upon returning, I spent more than 6 hours walking under the sun that took a full toll on my body. I could feel the pain under my feet. That pain gradually moved upward in ultra slow motion from feet to ankle, to leg, and to the knees. I could clearly feel the pain ascending up as if I was a witness to what is happening to my body. I realized that sense of pain is one thing because it is certainly painful, whilst witnessing the pain is completely a different thing, an awakening experience. The witnessing the pain made fun of my misery. I was saying to myself, “See, what pain is? You could have stayed in the village and come back tomorrow. Now you well deserve this suffering.” Well, I was determined on my mission and I knew exactly what I needed to do, for my mind is active and aware of the situation.

Farm Fragrance

My father has been a passionate farmer, as he spent most of his life in farmland cultivating crops to sustain the family.

 

 

I still remember the enormous pile of corn accumulated in every corner of house that was brought from cornfield.

Maize Amazed

Traditional agriculture in Nepal largely depends on rain, especially in hill region where there is no irrigation facilities. This year, there is not much pre-monsoon rain that has severe impact on crops mainly maize.

This long drought and scorching heat make new shoots of maize get dried and they are at the verge of complete destruction if there is no rain sooner.