Magical Places: Raja Rani

Dear All,

So I’ve just returned from yet another trip to the field. This trip was much shorter than I had anticipated, as I managed to get a little bit of a stomach bug pretty early on and had to return to Kathmandu in a hurry, but it was still an enormously eventful few days. In fact, there’s so much to tell you about, I’m not certain I can fit it in a single blog post, but I will do my best.

As is true of any journey, just getting there was half of the fun. This trip Dai was accompanying me so I was able to travel by bus instead of having to fly to Biratnagar and then hire a cab to Dharan. I know I’ve mentioned before the route to my fieldsite, but let me just remind you in case you’ve forgotten. My fieldsite is in the south eastern part of Nepal, not that far from India. In order to get to the villages that I’m working in, I generally fly from Kathamandu to Biratnagar which is about an hour flight. From there, I take a cab another hour to Dharan, which is where Dai’s family lives. I usually stay one evening there, and then I take a public bus in the morning another 2 to 3 hours depending on how busy the roads are, until I finally reach my Dhimali mother’s home. But going by bus is an entirely different adventure. By bus, we board in Kathmandu and ride 15 to 16 hours to the Koshi river. Every time I’ve crossed the Koshi it’s been at a different point and by a different way. I’ve crossed it once in the small wooden boats, just after the flooding. I’ve crossed it once using a bridge that had been quickly restored after the flooding, but which was closed due to strikes this time, and finally, this time, we crossed on the big bus ferries. So far, I prefer the bridge, but only because the crush of people on either of the two types of boats makes me nervous. Here’s a picture of the ferries, so you can get an idea what I’m talking about. (There are more pictures in the slideshow box too.)



While the ferries were in and of themselves a spectacle to see, the bigger spectacle for me occurred as we drove through the foothills in the evening on the way to the Koshi fording point. As we drove through the night, I glanced out my window expecting to see nothing but rolling green hills, but this time, I saw something amazing. Long red lines cut across the hills, glowing in the dark. Apparently, the recent heat had caused a rash of forest fires, and the hills looked as though they’d been transformed in to volcanoes. I tried to take pictures for you all to see, but my camera didn’t do a good job capturing the thin lines of fire in the dark. But I’m not certain a photograph could ever have captured how truly beautiful and slightly heartbreaking those fires were. It was really incredible.

It was only after this evening journey through burning foothills that we arrived at the fording point. As the pictures will show, the buses were literally lined up for days. So we were told to get off our bus, hike down to the river, crowd on to one of the ferries, and catch a bus on the other side. This prompted me to wonder why they actually bother to take any of the buses across the river, but I never got an answer to that question. I suspect some enterprising bus driver will think of it eventually. Dai and I were able to crowd on to the first ferry and so we were up the hill on the other side and back on a bus by around 9am. We arrived in Dharan later that afternoon and I was pleased to find that while the summer heat had set in, cool winds were still dancing through the city, making Dharan seem to be as much a paradise as it always has been to me. We rested for the day and determined to head off to Raja Rana the next morning.

Raja Rani is the sight of one of the more important Dhimali festivals and houses one of their community temples. It is located about an hour drive from my study village, and is situated at the top of a rather large hill. Raja means king in Nepali, and Rani means queen (yes, just like Hindi). Raja rani is actually named after two ponds at the top of the hill, one called Rana pond, the other, Rani pond. The Dhimals travel as a community to this spot once a year to begin their new year and to conduct the year’s first worship. It was both exciting and humbling to be able to join them on this pilgrimage.

Many Dhimals had told me that Raja Rani was a magical place, and as we approached the hill, I began to take these claims more seriously. The landscape was stunningly beautiful and the fields were a green that is seldom seen in the Terai. Usually, the harsh heat of the area leaves most of the land, even the fields, looking decidedly brown. But here, the irrigation streams were well fed, and as soon as we got off the truck, you could hear the whispering of the water as it rushed to keep the young plants growing. But we only took a few seconds to take in the sight before we started the climb up to the top of the hill, where we would be staying the night. (Funnily, it was only at this point that it even occurred to me that I had no idea where I would be sleeping that night, just as I had no idea where I’d be sleeping the night before, or the night after. It seems I’ve grown accustomed to surrendering myself completely to the plans that life and my study community make for me. It still surprises me to think that I’ve become such an adventurer.)
Since I’m not now, nor do I ever plan to be, a trekker, the climb to the top of the hill, especially in the heat, was brutal. I tried to bear it as best I could, but I kept thinking about all of the other American friends I knew in Kathmandu who actually paid money to climb hills like this. It still seems strange to me, but to each his own I suppose. After a brief eternity and a half, we reached the top of the mountain. I was drenched in sweat, and my friends were kind enough to try and stifle their laughter at my exhaustion. Still, after only a half an hour’s rest, I was ready to head off in to the forest to see the ponds, and the temple.

It was in the woods that the most exciting part of the trip occurred, the thing that really convinced me this place was indeed magic. As we were walking we came to the following bridge:

I froze, terrified to cross such a small and shaky bridge, but work was calling on the other side, so there was nothing to be done. (It turns out, there are very few crazy things I won’t do in the name of work.)I started haltingly across, but in the middle, one of the logs teetered and I froze again. In an instant, it seemed as though a million brown leaves began to rain on me from a tree above. It was only on second glance that I realized it wasn’t leaves that were surrounding me. It was hundreds and hundreds of monarch butterflies! I know I may have to apologize for this, but I think that may have been the greatest moment of my life. For that one instant, all my fear and worries vanished, and I was filled with a joy I’ve never known. I stood there basking for a moment before I realized a hand had been outstretched and was gently pulling me across the rest of the bridge. It was a sweet and comforting gesture, but it also startled me, as I realized that for my fellow traveling companions a butterfly downpour was nothing spectacular. And to think, sometimes I pity them because they don’t have running water. I wonder (hope?) that sometimes they pity me because I don’t have an endless supply of butterflies.

Wow, it seems this post has already become obscenely long, so I’ll gloss over the rest of the trip. As I mentioned above there are pictures in the slideshow box, including a picture of the huge spider that was protecting my bed when I reached my Dhimali mother’s home.

I’ll write again soon, as I have more exciting things to tell you including a little bit about my Easter and the amazing priest I’ve been lucky enough to meet here. (He gets in street fights, shares my love of chocolate, and is potentially the most gentle, humble human being I’ve ever met.) I hope that you all also had a very blessed and joyful easter.

If I don’t say it, do you still know I’m thinking it?...Ok, ok, I love you all sooo much.

All my love,