Teacher of cultivation - Chandannath of Jumla

While everywhere else in Nepal, rice is planted on Ashadh 15th with a lot of celebration, in Jumla, Ashadh is the time for the first weeding of rice fields. That is because Jumla has a much shorter summer than other regions that grow rice, and thus it is planted much earlier in Jestha. In fact, it is a wonder that rice, a tropical crop, even grows in Jumla which is more than 2,000 meters above sea level.

But the Kalo Marsi rice variety not just thrives in Jumla, it is also famous for its medicinal properties—it is the only rice that diabetics can eat. Over time, it has come to shape not only the identity of the Jumli people but also their lifestyle. The people of Jumla worship the man who first taught them to cultivate rice—Chandannath. In fact, the famous Chandannath Temple in the town of Khalanga is named after him, even though he simply identified the deity inside the temple, and the temple actually houses God Dattatreya.

Ramananda Acharya, Sanskrit scholar and resident of Jumla, has interesting stories to share about the temple. In the fifteenth century, Baliraj established the Kalyal dynasty in Jumla, which went on to become the most powerful of the Baaisi (twenty-two) kingdoms. King Baliraj’s horse frequently went to a particular marshy area and neighed every time it got the chance. Curious, Baliraj had the area dug out, and found mysterious footsteps on a black stone.

Acharya informs that Baliraj had the stone taken to his palace, where he waited for some learned person to identify it. Baba Chandannath, who was going to Mansarovar, happened upon the palace. He and his three companions from Girnar, Baba Taranath, Muktinath, and Ratannath, were devotees of Dattatreya. Chandannath declared that the footsteps belonged to Lord Dattatreya. He advised King Baliraj to enshrine the stone –known as Charan Paduka –in a temple at the original location.

Since then, the temple has been a centre of faith for the locals. Dattatreya, meaning trinity of divinity, is the combined physical form of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. Hence, the temple attracts Shaivas, Vaishnavs, and Hindus of every other stripe. Besides, with time the temple came to house other deities like the Buddha, and thus it attracts people of many faiths.

The unassuming temple is located in Khalanga, the headquarters of Jumla District, which has rightly been called the Switzerland of Nepal. Apart from this altar steeped in history, visitors can enjoy views of pristine rivers, imposing pine forests, vast swathes of grassland, and of course, miles of farmland where Kalo Marsi rice is cultivated with the waters of the Tila River.

After his return from Mansarovar, Chandannath went to Tatopani which is near the town of Khalanga, and experimented for years on strains of rice. In time, he came up with an exact method and dates of cultivating Kalo Marsi that the residents still follow, beginning with first plowing on Shree Panchami, planting by Jestha 15, and harvesting by Ghatasthapana. These methods have served them well, because it has been found impossible to grow the variety anywhere else on earth. To show their respect to Baba Chandannath, Jumla residents offer their harvest to the Temple of Chadannath first, and then have a feast of the first harvest. These stories depict how central the Kalo Marsi is to the life of Jumla and how much locals revere sage Chandannath.

Ghatasthapana, which marks the rice harvest, is thus central to the temple. On this day, two flags (lingo) are raised on the temple and one on the nearby temple of Bhairabnath. The lingo is 52 feet tall to represent the 52 weeks of the year, and the flag is just as long. Acharya stated that the tradition of raising the lingos is a remnant from the times of the Kalyal era, but since the Gorkhali conquest of the area, there is also the tradition of raising a victory pillar on the same day.

Previously, the wood for one lingo was brought by government officials and Chhetris, another by Brahmins, and another by Dalits. But in modern times, it has been hard to get enough people from each community to bring the wood. Hence, it has been recently decided that everyone should bring all three of the materials together.

Thus, the history of the Temple Chandannath gives a glimpse of the evolution of lifestyle of Jumla. Our gods stand for what we hold dear, and Chandannath’s relationship with the area’s staple grain reflects what is dear to an agrarian community.

Published in Republica on May 9, Page 14

By-Road Buses: Come a long way

The name says “Kakadbhitta Express,” but the bus is anything but an ‘Express.’ Sleeping passengers are jolted awake every few minutes because the bus stops to pick up local passengers, who are squashed into the bus until every inch of free space is filled. As a result, the Express bus does not reach Kakadbhitta before one in the afternoon, though it could be there by eight in the morning.

A decade ago, this scene was common in any long-distance vehicle. Leaky roofs and windows that did not close were other complaints passengers made. In fact, so stressful was it to travel by these buses that those with even slightly above averages means preferred to travel by plane.

But in the past decade, long-distance travel has changed drastically. New breeds of comfortable ‘Deluxe’ and ‘A/C’ buses have emerged. They seat 30 people instead of the 42 that the regular night buses contained, which provides a lot of leg room. Their doors and windows close tight, and some of them even distribute water and peanuts. A few claim to have WiFi facilities too.

All things considered, these buses have emerged as the alternatives to planes today. Sushrika Thapa, 26, is a frequent traveler in night buses. “Deluxe buses are more expensive, but they are worth it,” she claims. “They don’t take local passengers, which makes me feel safer.”

Over the years, the hygiene situation has improved too, restrooms and eateries in particular. Sushrika agrees that while earlier women were forced to go to the jungles for a toilet break, today there are well managed toilets with running water on highways.

Food on the highway is another aspect that has changed. Until a few years ago, buses would stop at lonely eateries placed strategically in the middle of a jungle without any option nearby. Passengers were forced to eat the indifferently prepared food of questionable hygiene, with prices that exceeded all bounds of reason.

“Drivers and conductors were led in for special dinners, because without their special patronage, the eatery wouldn’t survive” remembers Pradeep Tamang, 36, who has been a bus conductor for six years. “No matter what the passengers ate, the bus staff would be treated to good, fresh meals.”

But today there are so many options that the competition has forced buses and eateries to improve standards for passengers. Bus staff may be treated to extra pieces of meat, but passengers also report that they are satisfied with the quality and freshness of the food on highways.

But one thing that has not changed much is the entertainment in buses. The night-buses-of-old had cassette players in which bus staff played songs of their choice: which were invariably either dohoris or old Hindi songs. Today, songs are played via MP3 players and pen drives. But the choice of songs remains the same. “The old Kumar Sanu songs, I enjoy them a lot,” says Abbas Alam, 24, who travels once or twice a month to Birgunj on these buses.

For bus operators, the audio-visual entertainment is more to entertain the passengers than themselves. “Nowadays you don’t even have to bother with songs, you can just put on a movie and let the passengers relax,” says Ganesh Shrestha, 31, office staff of Mero Transport. Though the bus staffs choose the entertainment, they play the passengers’ choices if they give songs in portable devices.

With so many facilities for travelers, the one thing that continues to impede their travel experience is the roads. Suman Subedi, driver for 16 years, has driven every kind of bus in this duration. He sums up the situation best when he says: “Deluxe buses are faster than old night buses. But they reach their destination slower, because the roads are so bad.” The buses may be new and improved, but the passengers will not feel much better about them unless they can reach their destination on time on good roads.

Despite the advent of these luxury buses, the older kinds of long-distance buses are still running too. One attraction is their price, which is Rs. 300-400 cheaper than Deluxe buses. Besides, like planes, the Deluxe buses don’t carry much luggage. “They don’t have hoods to tie up luggage,” says Pradeep, “and on long distance travel, people will always need to ferry stuffs like rice and potatoes.”

The proliferation of different kinds of buses has given travelers a wide range of choices. Travelers can take their pick from different combinations of price ranges and facilities like luggage, comfort, hygiene and safety.

What’s in a name?

Even until a few years ago, buses had sensible names like Agni and Makalu. But increasingly, there is the trend of naming buses after Mumbai movies. ‘Dabbang,’ ‘Bodyguard,, and ‘Chennai Express’ are just a few examples. There are also ‘Jai Ho’ and ‘Singham’ Travels.

When probed about these names, bus operators seemed to think they aid business. “These buses run to border areas and rural villages,” says Ganesh Shrestha, office staff of Metro Buses at Kalanki. “And they seem popular among the passengers.” Indeed, most of the names belong to action movies that are known to be popular in rural areas.

Of late, there are many buses climbing the bandwagon. One bus to Dharan is called ‘Loveism’ which is not even the name of a movie but simply a name that may attract youngsters. Indeed, the increasing number of buses with such attractive names is proof enough that these buses are sustainable.

Life on the move

If your back is aching from spending one night in a bus, think of conductors who sleep in a bus every night. “The bus departs from Kathmandu at four in the afternoon and arrives at Itahari at six in the morning,” says Pradeep Tamang, a conductor. “I spend a few hours at home, and then it’s time to leave. The bus departs from Itahari again at four.”

Pradeep gets no day off on weekends; he is on the move seven days a week, five weeks a month. The only time he really gets to rest is when the roads are closed due to strikes or landslides. At these times, he has spent up to a week at one place. Festivals like Dashain are times of even greater pressure for buses, with a major chunk of the Valley’s residents leaving for their native places. Bus companies hire extra drivers and conductors during these times, so that everyone can take turns to go home and celebrate with family. Pradeep is so tired of this constant moving that he would like to retire from life as a conductor and do some small business at home instead.

A driver’s life is slightly easier in this regard. Since their job on the bus is more stressful than a conductor’s, they only work for part of the way. Some buses change drivers at Hetauda. This is more popular with buses that go east, which have a high flow of buses and passengers. Drivers either live in Hetauda or are provided a lodge to sleep in.

Buses that go west are less frequent, and their drivers often don’t have permanent arrangements at resting stops. Chhatra Bahadur Magar, 45, who drives a bus to and from Baglung, shared that he and another driver came all the way from Baglung, and they changed places midway. Either way, drivers and conductors are constantly in need of rest and craving to spend time with their families.

Published in Republica on May 9, Page 10

The Prediction by Sushma Joshi - Book Review

Though Sushma Joshi names her book The Prediction, it is not very predictable. Most stories in this collection have surprise endings, or even begin from strange subject lines. For example, there is her first story about a man getting lost in Mongolia, and another about a satellite that crashes among the Himalaya, both very unusual subjects for Nepali writers.

Sushma sets the tone right at the start with a very readable story. The Discovery of the High Lama has an intriguing subject matter and enough dialogue so that the reader is not bored. Her plot, too, holds the reader’s interest till the very end. And that perhaps defines most of her stories: unusual subject matters, lots of dialogue, and interesting plots.

When it comes to the subjects she addresses, they are a wide variety: From a Nepali drummer making a life in Europe to an astrologer in Mohan Shumsher’s court. Sushma seems to know a lot about each of these subject matters, and the tidbits she scatters makes the stories appealing. For example, in A Boleria for Love she describes intricate drumming patterns of Tabla, an instrument of classical music, and in The Prediction she goes into the technical details of classical Hindu astrology. She also gets the accent and tone for her characters right, whether Nepali, Mongolian, Spanish, or American.

Where Sushma falters is in denouements. The first story, about a man who is perceived by everyone as stupid takes a trip and gains a remarkable kind of wisdom, is superbly told. But then comes the conclusion, of the narrator becoming convinced of his own inadequacies compared to the former stupid man’s wisdom. And it is so sudden and abrupt that the reader is not at all convinced about the narrator’s conviction. Sushma mentions in her afterword that the story is a true one that she heard from a friend. It almost seems as if she should have stuck to the true narrative of the stupid man and left her narrator, presumably her creation, out.

In fact, as Sushma mentions in her afterword, all her stories are either true or partly inspired by true events. 

This gives her stories a journalistic quality, as if she has looked at real-life characters through a spyglass. For example, there is the story called ‘Hunger’ about the newest daughter-in-law of a large joint family who never gets enough to eat. As Sushma has admitted in her epilogue, this story is very similar to Law and Order, another story she has written previously about hunger. And yet, Hunger brings to light the plight of women, especially younger daughters-in-laws, who are at the bottom of the pecking order in large families. Sushma portrays their unwritten rule of suffering everything in silence, which prevents them from seeking solutions, very well.

And then there is the story about correct astrological predictions, which Sushma reveals in her afterword as an account that has been passed on in her family as a true one. The story portrays not just Hindu society’s (including royals’) dependence on astrology, but also astrology’s roots in science. This story raises astrology from mere superstition to something which has deep connections to the Hindu psyche, and depicts why we are so influenced by it.

The Promise and Shelling Peas and History Lessons both deal with the historical place of women in Nepali society. The Promise is a multi-layered story, where a goddess who will improve his fortunes has been promised to a man. Women of all stripes enter his life, including a pretty maid, an old crone and self proclaimed priestess, and a slumbering family deity. The reader is left wondering which one of them is the promised goddess. In the meantime, the reader takes a fascinating tour into the debaucheries and family politics of the high and mighty royals of old. The ending makes it sufficiently clear which one of these women is the goddess, and also, how goddesses are actually treated in Nepal. Shelling Peas and History Lessons adds another facet to the life of the super-wealthy. It portrays one of the many casualties of unequal society: women who pay in life for proximity to the rich.

A Boleria for Love and The Best Sand Painting of the Century are perhaps the most fanciful stories in the collection. A Boleria for Love is simply delightful, its unusual and seemingly impossible love story immediately drawing the reader in. But once again, one wishes Sushma had provided more of a conclusion. The current open ended one leaves rather more to the imagination than desired, especially after some pages of remarkable storytelling. The Best Sand Painting of the Century, on the other hand, offers too clichéd an ending, even though the lengthy pieces includes some priceless sarcastic observations. The characterization of a monk who degenerates into a worldly life is one of them, and another is the monk who displays a mandala of Princess Leah (from Star Wars, I assume) as the greatest mandala in the world.

Curiously, the best part of Suhma’s book is her afterword where she talks about the process of writing all her stories. It is like a behind the scenes peek, something equal to the “making” of movies, and makes you wonder if every other book you like has interesting “making” stories that you never got to read. Here Sushma offers insights that could not fit into the stories, and they give the stories a wholly new dimension.

Sushma’s book is for those who want to read the stories of Nepal in English language. Her elegant language and simple but effective and varied plots are the mainstays of this book, and will please the reader despite a few glitches.

Mysteries of music - why are there specific music for seasons?

Once, Emperor Akbar had asked Tansen to sing in Raga Deepak. That particular raga was reputed to ignite fire, and as Tansen sang on, he grew so heated that he seemed on fire. It was then that his daughter played Raga Malhar which cooled him down. Raga Malhar is believed to have the power to cause rainfall when played properly, which is why it is the music of the rainy season.

In fact, not just monsoon, but in Eastern Classical Music, every season has its own specified music. The Malashree tune that we have come to identify closely with Dashain is actually not just the music of Dashain but of the entire early winter season. This Malashree is different from the classical Malashree raga, since it falls under traditional Newar music which has its own seasonal music distinct from the Eastern Classical system.

Further, Prabhuraj Dhakal, classical singer and vocal teacher, informs that in Eastern Classical Music, there is also specific music for specific times of the day. “The 24 hours of a day are divided into eight categories called prahar,” says Dhakal. “For each of these prahars, there are specified ragas.”

Logically, it may seem obvious that each of these tunes corresponds to the mood of the particular time. “I am sure the morning music is energetic, the daytime music loud, and the evening music calm and soothing,” guesses Surma Shrestha, operations assistant at IOM, who does not listen to classical music normally. Her conjecture perhaps reflects how people without education in music perceive this system of classification.

But Dhakal states that such associations are purely arbitrary. In fact, any raga can be played on any instrument and at any tempo. Hence the same raga can seem energetic or soothing, depending on how it is played.

Dr. Dhrubesh Chandra Regmi, Fulbright Scholar who did his PhD in the history of Nepali music, concurs with this view, citing an anecdote of Emperor Akbar. Akbar once asked musician Vilas Khan to sing Raga Bhairavi at the beginning of a program. Raga Bhairavi was traditionally played at the conclusion of a program, and this put Vilas Khan into a dilemma since other musicians waited to play after him. Ultimately, he played the requested raga in the Todi style, which is a morning style, liberating the raga from its traditional space at the conclusion. Later, his style of playing the raga became known as Vilaskhaani Todi.

In fact, it is believed that the reason tunes are assigned to times are because each of these tunes captures the underlying essence of that particular time, and not just the apparent mood. For example is the Malhar raga believed to cause rainfall. “Each note creates a certain ras or ethos, and this has been amply documented,” says Regmi. He cites how music can raise goose pimples or give energy, phenomena which have been experienced by most listeners of music. “Certain notes are more prominent in each raga. The raga which corresponds to the ethos of a time is played during that particular time.”

Music works at the subconscious level, where it subtly influences and even alters the state of mind. The power of music to influence the mind and body has been abundantly recorded in history. Regmi, who has been working in the field of music for peace, believes music can soothe agitated minds and contribute to reducing crimes. “Music comes from nature and so do we,” says Regmi. “We are made of the same elements, no wonder we are influenced by music.” Dhakal also agrees to the therapeutic powers of music, stating that books tell us to listen to specific music for specific illnesses.

Science may be on the way to uncovering these mysteries of how music works at the subconscious level. For example, in an article in September 2011 issue of Reader’s Digest India, Alix Kirsta brings to light a lady who had compiled a list of classical music that put her grandchild to sleep. Contrary to expectations, it was not calm music that lulled the child, but upbeat works like Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Her compilation has since gained popularity after being found effective by other listeners.

Linking this finding with scientific research, Alix informs that the music that sends you to sleep is the one that most closely matches the state of your mind when it is in REM sleep: state of deep sleep when your mind is very active. Hence, the effect of music on one’s mind may not always be obvious. It is tempting to believe that our ancestors had delved deep into the unconscious to find music that is best suited for particular times. Only further research can tell us if this is true, since the development of Eastern Classical Music has been organic and not always linear, and it is not possible to determine when, how, or by whom this system was begun.

For laypersons, the association between time and music may seem arbitrary, but for connoisseurs of classical music, it is almost set in stone. They are discomfited when they hear wrong music at the wrong time of the day. Back in the days when Dhakal performed classical music for Radio Nepal, he would go to its premises in the morning to play the morning music, and in the evening for the evening music. “There was no such thing as playing the specified music at any other time,” he remembers.

But with time, the associations are losing their ties, and now it is normal to hear any music played at any time of the day, even within classical music circles. “We live in advanced technological times,” says Regmi. “And it is possible to simulate night time in the day, and vice versa, so as to create an appropriate environment for the music.” But still, most classical musicians, including Regmi, try to maintain at least the distinction between daytime and nighttime music, though subcategories may be merged.

Apart from Arabic music, which has specific music for different times of the day, time theory for music is almost exclusive to South Asia. Regmi informs that in Chinese music, there have been mentions of the music from zither making flowers bloom in springtime, but few mentions of music for other times. Western Classical Music has some music for different times of the year, but not particularly for times of the day. But in Nepal, apart from Eastern Classical Music (common across South Asia), local music systems like Newar music also have distinct time-specific music. These various music systems are our unique treasures that we would be wise to preserve.

Published in Republica on April 25, Page 11