silent, sun-beaten countryside that we had just traversed. I hadn’t expected to find such solitude within this valley; yet for hours past people had appeared only in the vicinity of the few hamlets and from here not a trace of humanity was visible. But then, when my almost pathological aversion to ‘turning back’ drove me on up the gorge – I was able to cycle for about a mile over the short, burnt grass and pungent herbage – a lone farmhouse appeared on the very edge of the cliff. This building, clumsily constructed of timber and stone, was a mere loft over an open-sided shelter for cattle, crops and firewood – yet in it lived an old grandmother, her son and daughter-in-law and their five children, ofwhom the younger three were stark naked and pot-bellied. Around this pathetic dwelling (the most impoverished I’ve seen outside of Gilgit) stood a few acres of poorly maize and three feeble banana trees, beneath which a starved-looking buffalo lay chewing the cud. (Though what that cud consisted of I can’t imagine.) The usual Nepali ‘ladder’ – a notched tree-trunk – led up to the entirely unfurnished living-room, where the family were sitting idly, sharing a local version of the hookah. When they saw Leo and me at the foot of the ladder their astonishment was considerable, but they responded to my urgent plea for ‘ pani ’ by beckoning me ‘upstairs’ and handing me a brass pint-measure of riverwater which tasted faintly of human excrement (or was I imagining things?) yet which at that moment seemed an ineffably delicious drink. With wild disregard for the probable consequences I emptied three of these measures, while the family tried to question me and registered incredulity at my ignorance of Nepali. They were a remarkably cheerful group, though not one of them looked healthy, and after their first shock of surprise they treated me as though we were old friends.
I longed to be able to find out how they came to be living in such isolation; it seems likely that they belong to the Siva Bhakti tribe, which was formed of ex-slaves after the abolition of slavery in Nepal on 28 November 1924, and which now constitutes an almost untouchable caste of people who are allowed to marry only among themselves. It is estimated that about 50,000 slaves were freed at that time, their 16,000 owners receiving a cash compensation from the state. The majority of those freed became apprenticed to their previous owners for a seven-year period, eventually settling down as labourers, and this ‘improvement’ in their status often left them worse off than before, since employers were no longer bound to provide food, clothing and shelter. An enterprising minority, however, set up as independent coolies and in time had saved enough money to settle on just such scraps of wasteland as my friends of this afternoon are farming.
Before saying goodbye I made a determined effort to obtain some idea of where Pardi might be and at last the eldest child, a boy of about fourteen, volunteered to show me the track for a fee of one rupee. Ihad already paid these unfortunates for their water (as requested) and I certainly didn’t grudge the boy a rupee: yet I couldn’t help contrasting this profiteering attitude towards a stranger in difficulties with the boundless generosity of those equally poor Muslims and Tibetans whom I’ve met elsewhere on my travels.
Leaving the shack we walked away from the river for some half a mile, through dense, knee-high, prickly bushes which tore deep scratches in my legs, to the base of a 500-foot cliff. There the boy pointed towards the sky, said ‘Pardi’, smiled a farewell and briskly trotted off.
Surveying the cliff it seemed to me that I had had a very poor rupee’s worth of guidance; this precipice was completely overgrown with tangled shrubs and looked like a monkey’s playground rather than a route to anywhere. But then, hidden beneath the bushes, I saw what might possibly be described as a
I longed to be able to find out how they came to be living in such isolation; it seems likely that they belong to the Siva Bhakti tribe, which was formed of ex-slaves after the abolition of slavery in Nepal on 28 November 1924, and which now constitutes an almost untouchable caste of people who are allowed to marry only among themselves. It is estimated that about 50,000 slaves were freed at that time, their 16,000 owners receiving a cash compensation from the state. The majority of those freed became apprenticed to their previous owners for a seven-year period, eventually settling down as labourers, and this ‘improvement’ in their status often left them worse off than before, since employers were no longer bound to provide food, clothing and shelter. An enterprising minority, however, set up as independent coolies and in time had saved enough money to settle on just such scraps of wasteland as my friends of this afternoon are farming.
Before saying goodbye I made a determined effort to obtain some idea of where Pardi might be and at last the eldest child, a boy of about fourteen, volunteered to show me the track for a fee of one rupee. Ihad already paid these unfortunates for their water (as requested) and I certainly didn’t grudge the boy a rupee: yet I couldn’t help contrasting this profiteering attitude towards a stranger in difficulties with the boundless generosity of those equally poor Muslims and Tibetans whom I’ve met elsewhere on my travels.
Leaving the shack we walked away from the river for some half a mile, through dense, knee-high, prickly bushes which tore deep scratches in my legs, to the base of a 500-foot cliff. There the boy pointed towards the sky, said ‘Pardi’, smiled a farewell and briskly trotted off.
Surveying the cliff it seemed to me that I had had a very poor rupee’s worth of guidance; this precipice was completely overgrown with tangled shrubs and looked like a monkey’s playground rather than a route to anywhere. But then, hidden beneath the bushes, I saw what might possibly be described as a
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