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Aura Comm - Vol 4 - Issue 7
Kathmandu, Nepal
February 3, 2005
Nameste,
"King Takes Charge" blares the headline on The Himalayan on February 1st, 2005. Excerpts from his 10am speech that rocked this war torn country: "Today we have reached a juncture where a historic decision must be taken to defend multi-party democracy by restoring peace. Even when bloodshed, violence and devastation have pushed the country to the brink of destruction, those engaged in politics continue to shut their eyes to the public welfare."
And with that King Gyanendra sacks the Sher Bahadur Deuba-led coalition government and places them all under house arrest...
"National unity and sovereignty are best safeguarded by the intimate relationship between the King and his people. An institution of monarchy ever devoted to the country and people and a people with an innate love for their land is the glorious history of Nepal. We call upon all those who have gone astray, taking up arms against the nation and the people, and those who are engaged in criminal activities to return to the mainstream of national politics peacefully. Now on, such crimes will be dealt with firmly in accordance with the law. Security forces have been mobilized to carry out their responsibilities to end terrorism and restore peace.� (And with that the King declares a national emergency and suspends rights.)
The following rights are suspended: Freedom of opinion and expression. Freedom to assemble peacefully and without arms. Press and publication rights. Right to property. Right to privacy.
So in theory at least it is illegal for me to form an opinion on such matters, yet now as I write these words by candlelight in my quiet monk quarters at 5 am I shall attempt to do so.
This totally unexpected announcement at first stuns the population here. Immediately all phone communications are shut off, all cell phones and Internet connections, the airport closed. This has never happened before in Nepal or in modern times anywhere else in the world. The airport reopened for limited flights the following day and appears to be operational as of now. I can hear the planes as they stretch high in the sky. Although there are no explanations made, it is commonly thought the King decided to cut off phone communications so the Maoists will have a difficult time organizing raids. (When you read these words that means either communications have been temporarily restored or I have made it out to Bangkok.)
This tiny kingdom nestled at the foot of Mt. Everest is shut off entirely from the rest of the world. Everything comes to a halt yet believe it or not, most are optimistic of such a decision. They want action and to them nothing was being done to help the people in this land of suffering. (The King is often referred to here in hushed tones as "good on the outside, bad on the inside" yet most are willing to give him a chance at restructuring the political system here as long as democracy is maintained. If after a reasonable time period of a year or two he does not bring such sweeping reforms, I am afraid all hell could break loose.)
70,000 security forces are brought into Kathmandu and strategically placed at key locations. For the first two days, no taxis, buses and very little traffic. Rumors fly with no further solid information given. There are of course no opinions in any newspaper. No information on how long any of this will go on other than the pronouncement that if a curfew is declared there is a two-hour notice to get to where you are going or you can be shot on sight. With that potentiality most foreigners and locals clear the streets for the first two days. No curfew has been called for as yet.
Thankfully Lani wrote our American Embassy providing them of my whereabouts, as it is absolutely impossible to communicate with anyone via phone or Internet. The vice Consul himself James Dragon, personally brings a security alert letter to my guesthouse that simply states: "In reaction to the dissolution of Prime Minister Deuba's government, the declaration of a state of emergency and other rights that have been suspended, the Embassy strongly urges all Americans to maintain a low profile and remain in their hotel until the situation is better understood."
Now I know these words are not comforting and I am certain my loving family and friends are concerned for my wellbeing. Please relax and know that I will be home soon. I am being well looked after by the Adhikari family and others. I assure you I am completely safe at my guesthouse with plenty of food and water.
Shyam is not able to get to his neighborhood safely and I am grateful he stays with me for three nights. (His college is shut down in this emergency anyway so we enjoy our time together as I get to know this dear young man even better. More on that later.) One Canadian, a number of Swedes and a few French are holed up here also. Most Nepali ultimately accepts all this in stride and life goes on. (I did notice our wonderful vegetarian restaurant stocking up on large bags of potatoes and rice. Good call.)
So how is that for timing my friends? Please forgive me for adding any stress by causing concern. There is absolutely no way to reach anyone. I am so sorry. Frankly speaking I feel safer with all the soldiers here. You would have to be an idiot to start any trouble. From what I have been able to witness everyone is remaining calm and peace loving. (All traffic outside of the city is banned and God only knows what is going on in the villages. Based on first hand accounts by Shyam, I'm sure it is a very bad situation there.) At least when you read these words that means either communications have been restored or I have arrived safely in Bangkok.
The radio interview scheduled for the same night of this first fateful day is of course not going to happen. Many Nepali and Tibetan friends were quite excited about tuning in to hear my voice and new 3rd Force music. I must admit I was really looking forward to it. Actually I simply decide it is not in the stars to go. With no phones working and rumors of a pending curfew (which never materialized) it didn't seem worth it. Rashmi and her father also urged me to stay; but for other more personal reasons.
For you see, this is where part two of my story unfolds.
Minutes before the King's surprising announcement, on Tuesday February first at about 9:45 am with a full pack, I head out towards the beloved Bodhnath for my morning walk around the stupa. I so enjoy this ritual everyday and on this beautiful sunlit morning I exit my way through the gates of the Shechen monastery entering the mud filled alleyways that usher you into this grand Buddhist area. I notice folks listening intently to Nepalese radio but thought nothing of it at the time. An elderly Tibetan woman heads my way muttering chants and spinning her prayer wheel. I remember it vividly as it was so picturesque.
Because of the mud puddles with appropriate courtesy I move out of the way to let her pass. There are two concrete steps to my right and I proceed to step up to let her pass. She walks by and politely smiles acknowledging my gesture. I take one step down and immediately slide on the slippery wet pavement where my left foot proceeds to bend in a violent and unforgiving manner. Grasping my heavy backpack containing my laptop, I collapse knees first into the mud in total shock. I cannot move. It seemed like it all took place in a half of a second.
Folks helped me up with great concern. I sat there on the very same steps to catch my breath and assess what has just happened. My pulse quickened and with heavy sighs I start to tremble. My foot and ankle hurt terribly and tears welled in my eyes.
Although at the time I was clueless at the events unfolding politically, the King was giving his historic speech at the exact same time. His voice traveling through the air as all listened intently. A hopeless attempt is made to settle myself down and I willfully affirm in my mind that I can continue my walk in five or ten minutes. Telling everyone who asks that I will be ok once I rest, I attempt to stand. Beginning to fall again I am immediately grabbed by a kind man who rescues me. I have no left foot. No power. No feeling of movement. Electric pulsating pain shoots up my leg to the very center of my heart. I am in agony.
A gentle monk expressing quiet concern brings me a walking stick and offers to take my backpack. With my left arm around his maroon colored robe, I proceed to hobble inches at a time for the half-kilometer walk back to the guesthouse. It was slow, tedious and painful for every single step. I kept thinking over and over; what have I done, what have I done?
At my guesthouse gate the security guard takes one look and is concerned immediately. (We've become friends over the past 3 years and he usually greets me with a hearty salute every time.) Taking over the monk's duty and projecting a worried face he drags me up to my room. Rashmi, her father Shyam and little Shyam were sitting in the garden waiting for me when they spy this pathetic scene and immediately run to my aid in shock. I remember starting to cry as I saw my bed and gratefully collapsed upon it. My shoe and sock is painfully removed to a bulging black and blue calamity. Everyone gathers around and speaking in lighting speed Nepali began to organize a strategy. I ask for ice and Shyam is off in a flash. They ask me to move my toes and thankfully I can. But the pain becomes absolutely unbearable and I cannot take them touching me anywhere.
The guesthouse manager Mr. Tashi comes in and immediately is off to hopefully fetch a doctor. He returns minutes later alone saying there is only one on duty at the monastery clinic. (Those of you who have read my previous journals will remember I visited there two years ago with symptoms of malaria. They took very good care of me.) I am told I must go there right now. Thankfully it is nearby so the grueling walk with both Shyams shouldering my weight on each side is bearable.
Moved ahead of the line past a string of TB victims and lepers, the kindly doctor makes an examination and determining it is not broken offers an anti-inflammatory gel, medicine, and wraps it with an elastic bandage. He thinks it's a bad sprain and should be better in a week or so. I tell him I expect to fly out in 4 days and he simple says we shall see. If the swelling continues he says, then I must get an X-ray. He proceeds to speak in Nepali with little Shyam describing the way to get there. (Fortunately this is near the entrance of the Boudha and in my neighborhood.)
Everyone at the clinic is talking about something. That's when the elder Shyam asked me if I heard the news. The King has taken over the country he says and declared a state of emergency. (I was in one of my own at the time so it did not fully hit me what this all meant.)
Sleeping halfway decently that night I awoke to the grim reminder that I seriously hurt myself when I tried to simply make it to the bathroom. The next day was bed rest with my leg up and room service. Everyone came that day and fussed over me unceasingly. The swelling worsened and I was thinking if this was a sprain, I could never imagine this being so painful. As the swelling increased that evening I knew something was wrong.
Shyam stays with me that night and the next morning he hails a taxi and with great effort I am again dragged down a flight of stairs to the awaiting driver. What a scene I assure you. Taken to the Boudha X-ray and Diagnostic Center was somewhat of a surprise. Very primitive equipment indeed folks. Cost for an X-ray is 150 rupee, about two bucks. I think this was the first X-ray machine ever made. The kindly man positions my foot on this cold steel plate and somehow made it all happen. Immediately the X-ray is available and reveals two fractures. The main concern is the Tarsal bone. Damn.
Hobbling back to the taxi I go back to the room where again a round of ice, gels, wrappings and concern are freely given. With all communication cut off I could not reach anyone locally or internationally for over 3 days now. Then someone at the guesthouse said they heard of a foreigner speaking of a cyber cafe that was somehow up via a cable line or something. Could this be possible? Procuring the location, with no taxi available Shyam patiently assists me as I tediously hop the same fateful path for almost an hour so I can contact my family. I can sense they are worried and I must try any opportunity to reach them. The longest walk I've ever had in my life. I had to stop every 5 minutes or so and rest. Halfway there I wondered if this was wise, yet I was already committed to this foolhardy plan so we press on. We finally get there and yes the lights are on! Upon entering we are told they are not up anymore and I am so frustrated I could cry. It is now after dark and little Shyam is so worried for my suffering. He commits himself to somehow find a ride for us and instructs me to stay put. Off he disappears into the black of night. This seventeen year old has truly become my hero. There is simply no way I could walk back. This foot was throbbing beyond belief. (I'm sure this attempt did not help matters.)
He happily returns 15 minutes later with a willing driver who offers the ride at double rate and off we go into the semi-deserted streets of Kathmandu. My first time out since the emergency was declared. There was no curfew so all this was basically acceptable. A smaller than normal group of locals were milling around peacefully going about their business under the watchful eye of heavily armed soldiers positioned everywhere you looked. So many even Shyam is impressed. It takes less than 10 minutes to get back to the guesthouse where I am immediately informed that papers have been left by an embassy official (as mentioned above). Printed emails sent via the State Department are included from my worried wife and family. The American Embassy requests me to register with them. Good idea. Handily they leave me a phone number and web site. What good does any of that do? This is all starting to feel quite surrealistic. Up until February first my schedule had been relatively smooth and deliberate. For now I feel in control of nothing.
Shyam again insists on staying with me that night and proceeds in a gentle manner to rub ice on my foot, making sure I take my medicine and wrapping it all back up with a caring touch that defies his age. We talk late into the evening about his beloved homeland as we listen to his favorite Nepali folk music. This fine young man is such a sweet and innocent spirit. He is a country boy by nature yet must reside in Kathmandu for his education. As he poignantly shares more of his life I become so deeply moved. He has witnessed so much suffering. Beyond what most of us could ever imagine.
Shyam Basnet was born in the Nepali year of 2044.3.18 (June 30, 1988) in the impoverished village of Tintale, located about 488 kilometers to the east of the Kathmandu valley. All he knew since he can remember was that he wanted to go to school. That dream proved impossible, as his mother did not have the capacity as he puts it. So at the age of 8, he left his village totally on his own, got on the bus with no money and upon arriving in this old city he slept for 5 days on the streets. He took a job cleaning hotel teapots so he could go to school. He worked very hard in a terribly exploitive environment (like many who are subjected to child labor here) from 5am-9am, going to school from 9am-4pm, then back to work from 4pm-11pm. He only had time to eat he says. Revealing a contorted face he shakes his head and states this time was very bad for him.
As Shyam continues to speak, the pain in my foot seems to temporarily disappear as I listen with great compassion to this unbelievable tale. By the age of 11 he was selling fruit and vegetables for a local farmer. In return he received the pittance of a 5% commission. At age 12 he began selling small purses to tourists to survive hand to mouth as he says. His grade 5 marks (report card) were not very good he acknowledges bowing in great disappointment.
He slowly raises his head misty-eyed and confesses at the age 14 he was just about ready to give up on his education when we met. In 2002 I employed him as my guide and translator (as indicated in all 3 past years of journals). I subsequently provided funds for his school fees, books and pocket money. His grade 7 marks noticeably improved helping him gain much needed self-esteem. He exact words to me, "You are like a god." Feeling quite a spark from that one I immediately inform him I am not. I do my best to explain this is my practice; to develop compassion as requested by the Dalai Lama. He smiles pondering these perplexing words.
At 16 Shyam proudly graduated from high school at grade 10 with a passing certificate from the Bhaktapur Examination Controller's Office. (This is no small feat I assure you) He dreams of going to college and becoming an engineer, yet he knows this may be his most difficult challenge yet.
Through the sales from Aura Imports I was privileged to provide him with the entrance fees required for college for one year. His studies include commerce, English, accounting, Nepali subjects and economics. He puts every ounce of his being into surviving and his school studies.
When Shyam takes the 2-day bus ride to visit his beloved village he is warmly greeted as a true success, yet he is so sad for their living condition. He feels sick in his stomach about it he says. School fees in the countryside are 50 rupee per month (a little over one dollar). Pencils, paper and books are a luxury. Almost no one can afford any of this so the children go without an education whatsoever. He has taken on his niece and all her living expenses so she too may have the same opportunity without being brutally exploited. (Believe me conditions here for young girls are unimaginably worse.) Each day he lovingly prepares her for school and cooks her meals. Her parents have no capacity he says.
As I reported in issue two a few weeks ago, Shyam can no longer return to his village. The insurgency proceeds with no sign of receding and innocent people are caught between two evils. The villagers are given a warning by the Maoists that anyone involved with the government must stop or they will bomb their house. The government forces apply the same tactic with the result that they are subject to harsh torture from both sides. Of course the victims have nowhere to turn for justice.
Shyam's rent is 2000 rupee per month for a tiny room shared with his niece (about $25US). His food, pencils, and bus fare for both is about 5000 rupee per month (about $65US which is very high he says). Books are too expensive so he uses the library to study and painstakingly copies notes from his teacher to get by. The monthly college fees average 1,250 rupee per month (about $15US). His total monthly expenses including his niece are a little over $100US per month. This amount is insurmountable without aid.
In the name of Barbara Beale a donation is made towards his college fund. He is so appreciative at such a gesture and cannot believe his good fortune. Thank you Barbara for allowing me to represent you with this generous and effective gift. I am sure you will receive an email of deep appreciation from him. (Of course this depends on the state of emergency being lifted and Internet connections restored.)
Is there anyone that hears the call and can help this wonderful being by donating towards his college expenses or better yet becoming his sponsor? This fine individual represents the very soul of Nepal and her future. To my concerned family and friends I assure you that whatever it takes I will soon be safely home in the relative comfort of the United States of America. He will not.
Copyright © 2005 William Aura/Aura Imports All Rights Reserved.
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