Nepali women in war: Conflicted legacies

Like every other professional arena, soldiering has been a domain of men since time immemorial, with a few exceptions. Before the Maoist war from 1996 onwards, the battle of Nalapani was the only example in Nepali history where women fought. The presence of women in a battlefield was considered inauspicious, and to follow a female leader meant certain failure. But all that changed in the decade-long civil war. Women made up 40 percent of the rebel army. Suddenly, women were stepping out of their traditional, housebound duties and exploring new frontiers.

How did their decade-long experience in the field shape their lives?

“Initially, women were attracted to the war because it gave them a sense of identity beyond being ‘means of entertainment’ or ‘baby producing machines,” says Amrita Thapa, Central Committee Member of CPN-Maoist. One of them was economic identity. Before the war, though women’s labour had a very important part in agriculture, they had little or no say in how the produce of their labor was used, and most often were not involved in the decisions about the gains. But during the war, women farmed and give some parts of what they produced to the party as levy.

Neeta Gautam, a health worker during the war, remembers that even if it was just a single egg, they were proud of their contribution. It gave them the feeling that they were not reduced to the four corners of a house, that they were full-fledged persons who could contribute to society.

“It’s said that a woman can’t be an expert on the world,” says Neeta. “That may be true for a lone woman.” But when women got together and shared ideas, they learnt to analyze their situations. They realized how they were discriminated against in society.

This inspired a feeling of revenge in many women, and subsequently the desire to join the Maoist militia. They chose combat rather than administrative or organizational positions, because they believed they could get their revenge that way. “They took up guns with pride,” recounts Jaypuri Gharti, Central Committee Member of CPN-Maoist, who has been in politics for more than twenty years.

Nepal’s deeply ingrained gender bias reached into soldiering, and beliefs such as “if a woman touches a gun, it won’t not explode” were stringently upheld. In 1996, Dilmaya Yonjan broke this myth by successfully firing a gun. Women were not even supposed to be on the battlefield, but these women not only went into battle but led assaults and won. Devi Khadka, a war veteran and former CA member, remembers that many times it was women opened fire, breaking the myth that battles initiated by women are lost causes.

But still, every new step continued to be an uphill task. Even after women proved themselves in battle, they were not detailed for ambushes. Ambushes are dangerous because you have to set a trap, attack the enemy, defend your team, and make a successful retreat. Women were not entrusted it. But the Maoist women cadre protested and finally carried out a successful ambush in Morang.

Today, most of these women warriors have abandoned violent means and returned to peaceful ways. But their brief stint with the gun has left them deeply changed. Having broken many boundaries, they now believe they can do anything if given the opportunity. Previously, the only women who became politicians were those who had a husband or father in politics. But after holding leadership positions during and after the conflict, women believe an ordinary Nepali woman can become a leader and bring about change.

Many things have certainly changed. Jaypuri looks back fondly upon the cultural and religious barriers women broke during the war. They initiated movements against women not being allowed to wear pants, to have short hair, to eat before men, and many other such things that may sound insignificant but were important to women’s freedom and mobility. Later, they graduated to protesting social ills like alcoholism, domestic violence on women, Chhaupadi, restriction on dressing for widows, etc.

And these are changes that are here to stay, even in the most rural parts of the country.

“These problems haven’t been solved completely,” says Jaypuri. “But we brought these issues out into the open and made it acceptable for women to talk about them.”

Perhaps the most lasting legacy these women have brought back is political awareness. Amrita remembers the political coaching given to women who came in to vent their frustrations about discrimination. They were taught what a state is, what its duties are, what their rights are, what role social structure played in discriminations, and how they could change things through political activity. This knowledge, coupled with their successful economic activities during the war, has given many women the self-assurance to speak up for themselves and take initiatives.

“The difference is qualitative, not quantitative,” says Kamala Rokka, one of the first female guerrillas, who was Minister for Youth and Sports in 2011. “The centuries-old patriarchal system took a blow.” The tremendous rise in women’s political awareness and activity across the nation speaks for itself.

The war veterans are also proud of the legislative leaps that the nation has taken after the war, like the provision of citizenships through mothers, equal rights to property for sons and daughters, and presence of women in the country’s infantry. “Female leaders of other parties have told us that our movement made it easier for them to discuss gender issues within their parties too,” says Kamala.

And yet, it is their changed consciousness that has become a problem for some war veterans in their second innings in society. They have changed in the ten years they have been away from society, but the society has not. These women have fought in battles, led guerrilla groups and organizations, broken gender stereotypes. They have explored their capacities and discovered leadership potential. But now they are expected to go back to their old duties.

“During the People’s War, men and women were treated equally,” remembers Onsari Gharti, a commissar during the war and the newly elected Vice Chairperson to the CA. “Can you now turn around and tell the woman that she must be submissive, and expect her to obey?”

Many of these women are depressed as their dreams have not come true. Women still are not strong economically, educationally, or politically. This has left them struggling with inferiority complex and disillusionment with the leadership. Jaypuri feels their situation is akin to being raised to the skies and falling back to the ground with a thud.

Onsari believes this is because our society is in transition. It has not left its old structure behind, nor fully embraced a new structure. She believes women will not be able to fully explore their potential unless these changes are institutionalized.

Reflecting on the changes brought about by violence, Jaypuri agrees that the gun is not the only way to change society, but insists it would have taken decades for similar changes to come through peaceful ways.

So long as the conflict manifests traumatic repercussions, the debate on whether or not it was right will continue. But there is no doubt about the conscious and aware women it produced: a by-product that perhaps few had imagined. Their consciousness came through active participation in war.

But how long will it last? With the end of the conflict, will this consciousness end, too? These women, at least, believe they will pass it on to the next generation.

“I used to be afraid to speak up in front of my father,” says Onsari. “Many women still don’t speak in front of their husbands. But my daughter won’t be afraid to speak to anyone!”

Published in Republica, March 7, page 11

Locking horns: Bullfights in Nuwakot

The “stadium” was a large, flat piece of land carved out of a hill. The “seats” were terrace fields that rose step-by-step in a semi-circle around the stadium. The packed stadium seemed no different from ancient Greek amphitheatres in which gladiators fought. But those who fought in the arena were no humans. In Taruka of Nuwakot, it is a tradition to hold bullfights on Makar Sankranti.

The bulls

This year, 20 pairs of bulls fought in the tournament. Adolescent bulls (3-10 years old) are considered best for fighting. “They are fed rice, soybean, millet, and black lentils,” says Ghanashyam Adhikari, a resident of Taruka who has observed the bullfights since his childhood. After their fighting age, they plough the fields like any other bulls.

When a bull is led to the arena, it immediately shows aggressive behavior. Some gore the surrounding walls, sending those sitting directly on top scrambling. Some stamp the floor and bellow loudly. Locals have interesting terms for these behaviors, words outside of everyday use which shows their intimate relationship with bulls.

The fight

Locals credit the natural aggression of bulls to the fact that when you lead two bulls into the arena, they inevitably fight. “In fact, the term Malla Yuddha, or wrestling, itself comes from fighting animals. Only later did humans term themselves Malla to highlight their aggression,” says historian Gyan Mani Nepal. No red cloths are needed, for example in bullfights of Spain, to stimulate them.

But how a bull fights depends on the individual bull. Some bulls get excited by crowds and become more aggressive. Some bulls are cowed by the same sight and run away. But usually, two bulls ram at each other, lock horns, and try to push each other back with their foreheads.

When one bull edges the other out of the arena, the fight is considered over. Some fights end decisively in moments while in others, the bulls idly lock horns for several minutes on end. The losing bull starts giving signs like backing out, taking blows on the neck instead of on the forehead, and finally turning tail. The defeated bull often becomes reckless and causes mayhem among groups near the arena. This year, one bull ran right into the spectators surrounding the stage, and they ran helter-skelter, most people climbing onto the stage. When the mayhem died down, it was found that the plywood stage had broken off in one part.

History of bullfights

The strength of bulls is important in an agrarian society like Nepal, where much farming depends on bulls and plough oxen. “The bull owner’s superiority and capacity to nurture healthy cattle is proved when his bull wins,” says Arjun Adhikari, a local resident. This leads to the bull’s price rising and owner’s reputation growing.

Traditionally, bullfight was a purely local affair. Any two owners with bulls would informally wrestle their bulls near their homes. But with time, the bullfights gained notice as well as support from the government. An organizer’s committee of bull owners was formed in 2006. For the past few years, tournaments have been held on a grand scale at Taruka, despite a glitch last year when two tournaments were held due to political division in the organizers’ committee.

Locals have it that when the Bajhangi King Jay Prithvi Bahadur Singh visited Nuwakot, a bullfight was arranged to entertain him, and the tradition stuck. But bullfights are, by many accounts, much older. Such fights are held in other areas of Nepal, including Betrawati of Rasuwa, on a smaller scale, and in many parts of India on a larger scale. Jallikattu or bull taming festival of Tamil Nadu is perhaps the most famous of them. All these are held on Makar Sankranti. These point to a pan-Hindu origin of the festival.

Gyan Mani Nepal agrees that bullfights are an ancient means of entertainment. “Bulls, rams, roosters, fights of all these are held on Makar Sankranti,” says Nepal. “Even men wrestle on the day.” According to Nepal, inscriptions about bullfighting have been found since the Lichhavi age, or 1,500-1,600 years ago. Records speak of Licchavi rulers collecting tax for bullfights. Later, records are also found of Rana Bahadur Shah holding grand bullfights in Kathmandu’s Basantapur, going to the length of acquiring special breeds from Andhra Pradesh.

Makar Sankranti came to be a natural choice partly because of the weather: the end of winter signals the beginning of spring, a time of fun and frolic. The sky is clear but not too hot, perfect temperature for outdoor sports. The end of harvests means that people are free of the cares, and have plenty to eat. “Pushma paak, Maaghma khaak” (‘You cook in [the month of] Paush, you eat in Magh’) is a proverb that describes this phenomenon, according to Bhawanth Adhikari, another resident of Taruka. At this time, the fields are barren, which provide the venue. Not to forget, Makar Sankranti is a time for family reunion and social networking, and bullfights are hubs of such processes.

Future of bullfights

Toyanath Dhakal, a bull owner who regularly enters his bull into competitions, spends about Rs. 10-15,000 every year on bulls. “I feel happy if my bull wins, and also when it doesn’t,” says Dhakal. “The point is to enjoy the fight.” Recently, animal rights activities raised concerns about cruelty and called for an end to the fights. “But that’ll never happen,” claims Dhakal. “It’s our culture, and people here will continue to uphold it. Last year, there had been attempts to take it to Kathmandu, and it failed. Well, that’s Kathmandu. But over here, no one can change what the locals own,” Dhakal concluded.

The fights may go on forever, but changing times have had an impact on how they are viewed. “This is after all a capitalist exercise,” says Bhawanath. “Only the rich have enough capital to invest on fighting bulls.” Indeed, the bulls are fed rice when sometimes rice may be scarce even for humans. Perhaps this view is unknowingly echoed by a Narsingha (horn) player who played at the games. “I don’t care much for the fight, I’m just a musician. Weddings, bullfights, festivals, they are all the same to me,” he said.

Reforms

No matter what critics say, the bullfights seem set to stay. This year the festival was more organized than ever. Registrations were held beforehand, and attempts made to publicize the tournament, attract internal tourists, and make the fights safer. Volunteers ringed the arena, pushing people back from the bulls. There were facilities like snack and drink stalls, and the organizing committee were responsive to suggestions, like addition of toilets.

Panchai Baja (folk quintet) greeted guests like politician Ramsharan Mahat, and was played at intervals. Local bhajans were also included. Also, organizers gave information about the nature and history of the fights from time to time, which are all modern additions.

Previously, it was not uncommon for bull owners to rub alcohol on the bull’s hump, hoping to make the other bull balk and lose. There were rumors that some bulls were given alcohol to make them reckless. But such practices are banned now, and strictly monitored by the committee. Injuries on bulls and people can also happen, Arjun recalls a time when a bull went crazy and 4-5 locals had to jump and hold him by the horns. Today the committee pays compensation for unexpected injuries. This is beside the Rs. 1,000 given to the winner and Rs. 500 to every participant in the tournament.

With all these improvements and heightened publicity, the bullfight has truly become the identity of Taruka. In future, it has the potential to replace the bloodier Spanish bullfights in the popular imagination of Nepalis. One day it may even become the “pride of Nepal,” as the people of Taruka hope.

Published in Republica, Feb 28, page 10


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