| Biswo |
Posted
on 21-Aug-03 06:04 PM
Poring over pictures of Sherpa Museum in Namche Bajaar, I figured out that the local Sherpa community was until fairly recently run by the locals. The introduction of administrative divisions was the first step towards reaching out to the community by the government in Nepal.However, rightnow, the situation has moved back to the history, and the locals are basically ruling themselves to fill the vacuum. Occasionally, the representatives of 'puraano sattaa' and 'nayaa sattaa' barge in.For us outsiders, it is easy to be jealous of their economic prosperity, which if the current trend of political instability continues is going to be a part of history pretty soon."Frankly, we don't want the government of any kind. We want to be free of it, we want to be free of its intervention!" said Nima Sherpa, a local enterpreneur, to me.
--
He told me he was from Gorkha. Trained in US to defuse bombs after he joined Nepal Police as an Inspector, Raman Sharma[not a real name] was once assigned to the district of Sindhuli.
"I don't contest that Nepal Police has really bad image", he told me, "but I can tell you something that contests this stereotype." His tale follows.
I used to go to the patrolling. Usually, we used to be about fifteen, and Maoists were not as fearsome then as they are now. We were confident that we could crush them if we find them. Yet, I made sure that we don't walk in group. We used to walk serially, the man walking ahead will be just within the eyeshot of the follower, which is usually 12-18 meters in those hilly regions.
I particularly remember a village that I went a few times. The ladies there used to cry when they saw us. They used to be so relieved to find us. We had really good image there and the Maoists were considered to be very cruel. I believe their extortionary tactic and their forceful recruitment of teenagers made the villagers quite disenchanted.
One day, we were reaching that same friendly village, when I was following two jawaans and was ahead of rest of the thirteen. Then a mine exploded, and the two jawaan walking in front of me were blown apart. I could see the eviscerated belly of the jawaan walking ahead of me, and was stunned for a few seconds before I collected the intestines of the man, and pushed it inside his belly. I asked for help from our regional office, and then asked others to be alert, in case the Maoist came firing. After about five minutes of eerie silence, they came firing. We fired back. None of us died except for those two blown by mines. I guess quite a few of them must have died.
--
Here is a tale one Maoist, who had lost one of his hands in a bomb attack that he engineered, told me. I met him in Chitwan. He wouldn't give his real name, but people in my area seemed to know him pretty well.
I was in the west. Rukum, to be precise. We were supposed to ambush a group of police who were terrorizing villagers. One officer in that group was pretty nasty, and had raped one of our comrades previously. We wanted him dead.
I had just planted mines in a beaten path that the police were, according to our information, taking that day. They were supposed to reach the place in about fifteen minutes, but as I finished planting the mine, I saw one of the jawaans coming. Now I had to do it real fast. I jumped from the path, just down to a small tree, and exploded the mine. All of a sudden, a severed hand and a long piece of intestine was in my hand. I ran away, while a skirmish ensued between our comrades and the police jawaans.
The sound of explosion still reverbates in my right ear. Even now , though I am talking to you, my right ear is hearing the bomb-explosion.
--
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| oys_chill |
Posted
on 22-Aug-03 09:26 AM
I just finished buying some books for next semester, especially the cheapest ones, the ones that don't count towards my major. Then suddenly I ran into this thin book by Elie Weisel, entitled NIGHT. I am not a good reader, but as I learned it was another avid tale of the holocaust of WWII, I was riveted to it and I finished it.....
Now as I am reading your accounts biswo jyu, I sort of feel the same kind of reverbations. I hope to read more of such tales...not for the sake of reading, but to understand my own country which I believe I have never had a chance to think bout seriously
As sparsha ji puts it, who is hearing them and who is listening? Yes sometimes, I wonder why we post in sajha not only tales of horror, but tales of social, psychological and relational stigmas. Sometimes we applaud for their work, sometimes disagree, sometimes show our heartfelt sympathies, but then I wonder was that our original intention? I would like to pose the same question to BISWO JYU!
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| Biswo |
Posted
on 22-Aug-03 10:53 AM
Dear Sparshaji, and Oysji,
About the question of who is listening to and who is telling these tales, isn't it important that we let these stories not die?That we let these stories to be known to a lot of people, so that those who died might rest in peace knowing their blood spilled for some purpose, for the purpose of peace.
We read our history, and pledge that we won't let the bad aspects of it to repeat. The bloodshed of our paakhaa pakheraa one day will be history, but we hope that our progeny won't repeat the same mistake. That they will learn to live peacefully in coexistence.
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