Submit your Article

Celebrity chef and restau­rateur Vinit Bhatia is embarking on an unprec­edented journey. He wants to open a three-day ‘Pop up Restaurant’ at an Everest Base Camp that is above 17,000 feet-high, and for a good cause. The UK-based chef of Indian origin has been listed among the Top 1,000 Most Influential people in London by Evening Standard, while India Today lists him in the Top 100 Global Indians. The star chef, who owns and operates suc­cessful establishments around the world, is making the trip to the Everest Base Camp to raise funds for the Heart for India Foundation, for the earthquake victims of Nepal and in order to promote gastronomical tourism in Nepal.

Bhatia, and his team that also includes his son Varaul, and colleagues Irshad Qureshi and Tej Bahadur Thapa, are in town at the moment, studying street food and local cuisines of Kath­mandu and preparing for their journey to one of the highest points in the world. The team will leave for the Everest Base Camp on May 26 by flying to Lukla on the first leg of their journey. They will then trek to the Everest Base Camp, foraging for local ingredients to cook up the ‘restaurant’ on June 3, 4 and 5, at the same time document­ing the whole journey in a fea­ture-length film.

“The idea is to do something good and create awareness,” Bhatia says. “It’s really easy to fly to the Base Camp with all the ingredients and cook there. But we want to meet the people of Himalayas, witness their culture, learn their eating habits and incorporate that into our cooking.” He is, how­ever, aware of the challenges he might face in the low-oxy­gen environment—both for his cooking and his health—and believes his positive mental attitude will help him and his team tackle the hurdles.

The menu, Bhatia informs, will be a blend of Indian and Nepali dishes, which he believes overlap. Besides some vital ingredients that will be flown to the Base Camp, the team will forage for locally available resources to create a unique dining experience for the tourists at the Everest Base Camp. “Ad hoc, spontaneous and organic,” is what Bhatia and his team of chefs want the menu to be.

Asked why he chose Nepal and the Everest Base Camp as his route to charity, Bha­tia explains his closeness to Nepal and his awareness about the problems here after the 2015 earthquakes. “There are quite a few Nepalis who work with me and I’ve seen their problems firsthand,” Bhatia adds. “We have contributed before through our hotels and restaurants and this time we wanted to do something our­selves. The support for our cause from people all over the world has been overwhelming and I’m really glad Chef Tha­pa, who is a local Nepali, is accompanying us in the trip.”

Satya Narayan Das Yadav, the youngest son of a wealthy land­lord from Siraha, had to pay a steep price for falling in love with Rasulia Khatun, a poor Muslim girl who labored in his family farm. Yadav’s was an audacious act back in the mid-70s, one that crossed all caste, religion and economic divides. He was chained for months by his family. He was ostracized. He endured deprivation all his life—even up to the present day when he is 63. There still are numerous sayings about landlords in Siraha, a district in the central plains. Landlords used to own thousands of acres of land. They possessed elephants. They had hundreds of servants. It was even said that a newly-wed bride in the village had to be offered to the landlords for the first night. The law didn’t apply to them; in fact it was practically in their hands.

When I met Satya Narayan in February in his dank apartment in Baneshwar, he had just performed Namaz (prayers) and was sitting alone. At first he was reluctant to open up about his love story. But he relented eventually.

The beginning

It was on a day in the monsoon month of Asaar (June/July) over 40 years ago that Satya Narayan’s eyes first fell, and were stuck, on the viva­cious 16-year-old Rasulia. She was one of the many laborers working in a muddy field that was abuzz with activity. Satya Narayan, who was affectionately called Bhrigu, was back home from college in Bihar during his vacation and had saun­tered to the fields to observe the plantation. He still has vivid mem­ories of Rasulia from that day. “She was fair. She had a cheerful coun­tenance, an attractive figure and a bewitching smile. Rasulia was like a fairy.” In fact, her beauty was the talk of the village and beyond.

So struck was Satya Narayan by Rasulia’s beauty that the sight of her that day dramatically changed the course of his life. He began pursuing her doggedly. He went to the fields when she came there to work. On days she didn’t, he roamed around her neighborhood. He concocted numerous pretexts to see her. “I had become crazy about her,” he reminisces.

By and by, Rasulia understood Satya Narayan’s inten­sions. They began meeting in the evenings on the sly. On days he could not see her, he went insane. Because of her, he abandoned his studies. “I did not go back to col­lege,” Satya Narayan remembers.

He belonged to a staunch Hindu fam­ily. Rasulia, on the other hand, was the only child of a poor Muslim fam­ily whose two gener­ations had served Satya Narayan’s family. Soon villagers started gossip­ing about their affair. His father and his brother asked him about it. They were troubled by the social stigma attached to such a relationship. They were vehemently against it and they coaxed and cajoled him to end it. But Satya Narayan would have none of it. So they started beating and chaining him up. “I was ready to endure any pain for Rasulia’s sake. I told them that I love her and am ready to leave everything, but not her,” recalls Satya Narayan.

His mother didn’t have much objection to the relationship. She was ready to fight society’s dogma­tism but was helpless in front of her husband, who was hell-bent against accepting Rasulia as his daughter-in-law. But Satya Narayan was equally obstinate about marrying her. His father even asked him to take Rasulia as a mistress but marry someone from their own caste group.

But Satya Narayan rejected the proposal outright. “How could I take the queen of my heart as a mistress?” he asks rhetorically. “Then they started torturing me again. But I would not cave in.”

From Satya Narayan Yadav to Mohammed Alauddhin

Then the family used the final arrow in its quiver. In an assembly of all extended family members, they said, “Tell us Bhrigu, which one do you choose? Your family and a landlord’s life, wealth and status, or a poor, uneducated, Muslim girl?”

Satya Narayan stood up. For the last time, he touched everyone’s feet as a mark of respect. And, with unshakable determination, said, “I choose Rasulia.”

For Satya Narayan, Rasulia’s shack was an abode of heavenly love. That’s where he went straight. And then headed to a mosque. He donned a white taqiyah (cap). And he started reciting Namaz. The news of the landlord’s son becoming a Muslim for the sake of a woman spread like wildfire. Villagers started call­ing him ‘Haal-miya’ (a recent convert to Islam). Satya Narayan Das Yadav became Mohammed Alauddhin.

The couple lived together for a while before getting married in the Muslim tradition. While Rasulia’s relatives were present for the cere­mony, Satya Narayan’s weren’t. The couple exchanged vows of lifelong love and support.

Satya Narayan’s life was complete­ly upended. Somebody who used to divide farm work among hundreds of laborers now became a laborer is someone else’s fields. But after a while, he asked for his share of inheritance. At that time, his father owned 80 bighas of land. His family declined to give him any land. In the face of societal pressure, they gave him 1 kattha. Satya Narayan was compelled to knock on the court’s doors. That was in 1976. The court ruled in his favor, but he could still get only 1.25 bighas because his father claimed he had only five bighas. Even the small piece of land Satya Narayan got was of an inferior quality that he couldn’t farm or build a house on. He couldn’t sell it either.

Days of hardship

Satya Narayan has been living in abject poverty ever since. He raised his two sons and two daughters in Rasulia’s hut. “It’s been 41 years since I have lived there,” says Satya Narayan, shivering with cold.

The day his eldest son was born is fresh in his memory. He couldn’t afford nutritious food for Rasulia. A neighbor came to their house in the evening and gave him a bag of rice. “Your mom sent it covertly for Rasulia,” she said.

Satya Narayan’s mother used to dote on him. She had nine bighas of land in her name, which she wanted to divide equally among her two sons. But her plan was thwarted by Satya Narayan’s father and brother. “My mom died from worry”, says a visibly emotional Satya Narayan. “I couldn’t even see her for the last time. No one called me for her last rites.”

He couldn’t educate his children properly. His eldest son had to dis­continue school after grade five because he couldn’t afford the Rs 55 fee. His other children are illiterate. “The children of my brother and cousins became CDOs and doctors. And engineers and politicians. Some went to the US and to Australia.” But Satya Narayan’s eldest son is a fishmonger in the village. He talked to his other son on the phone eight years ago. “Dad, I am a plumber in Kolkata. I will come to the village one day,” Satya Narayan remembers his son’s words. But he didn’t return. Satya Narayan doesn’t know where he is now. Both his daughters are married.

His father also passed away a few years ago. The whole village was invited to his funeral, but not Satya Narayan. Still he went there. Some­body gave him food which he ate in silence. And he left without talking to anybody.

Now Satya Narayan is worried about his grandchildren. He has given up hope that he’ll ever receive his share of inheritance. At his son’s insistence, he filed a case at the district court. He lost. Two years ago, he filed another case at the appellate court. The verdict isn’t out yet but he’s not optimistic.

Satya Narayan and Rasulia lived a life of deprivation but full of love. He has no regrets. These days he spends his time staring blankly into the distance. He doesn’t talk much. But he misses Rasulia terribly. Because she left him, and her worldly life, nine years ago.

Satya Narayan in his friends’ eyes

He’s a childhood friend of mine. He endured untold suffering for the sake of love. His father and brother chained him up for more than a month. They left no stone unturned to make him leave the village; they even threatened to kill him. But Satya Narayan remained steadfast. In our region, Yadavs don’t marry Muslims even now. What Satya Narayan and Rasulia did over 40 years ago was unimaginable. They set an example. They taught us that caste, religion and economic status should not be impediments to love.

– Ashok Yadav, 58

I compare their love with that of Laila and Majnu. They were beaten up. Rasulia was like a fairy. Satya Narayan’s father had promised him that he’d find a more beautiful wife for him than Rasulia. Had he married the girl that his father chose, he would be living in a palace now.

- Bechan Yadav, 50

So intense was their love that they were inseparable. Satya Narayan’s life was destroyed because of his love. For its sake, he didn’t care about wealth, caste or religion. Had he not married Rasulia, he would have lived in a palace.

- Amarnath Yadav, 55

By RAJU SYANGTAN

(with help from Santosh Yadav in Siraha)

Nepal Tourism Board, Nepal National Ethnographic Museum and friends of Jan Salter, who passed away last month, hosted the launch of the webpage, Faces of Nepal, at the Nepal Tourism Board, Brikutimandap on May 15.

The entire collection of Salt­er’s painting and drawings, which capture the faces of Nepal’s diverse ethnic groups, has now been made available at www.jansalter.org. Minis­ter of Culture and Tourism, Rabindra Adhikari, and Dep­uty Chief of Mission of the British Embassy Nepal, Ali­son McEwen, attended the function.

Jan Salter MBE (1936-2018), a British artist, is widely known for her portraits of the people of Nepal, as well as for her lead­ership in several social causes, including the anti-trafficking movement and animal welfare. She was also the founder of Kathmandu Animal Treatment Center (KAT).

The webpage contains information on paintings and drawings for sale. The amount thus earned will be donated to KAT, as per the wish of the late artist.

I was casually walking inside the premises of Sarwanam Theater in Kalika Marg, Kalikastan—waiting for a rendezvous with Ashesh Malla—when I saw a picture of him on the wall. His dream was written on the side: ‘As the dust of centuries pass over my country, let this theater heritage continue to remain a creative platform to tal­ents who will contribute to build a society where art and theater will flourish with rich human values’. I could barely make out the mean­ing at first but after a brief meeting with Malla, his vision became clearer. Malla, the pioneer of street theater in Nepal, is the founder and director of Sar­wanam Theater. A multital­ented artist, he is renowned for his poems, fiction and acting. Malla has won many prestigious awards like Sajha Puraskar, Musyachu Puraskar, Moti awards, etc. for his contribution to Nepali theater and arts.

Born in the eastern hilly town of Dhankuta in 1954, Malla spent his childhood in a rich cultural environment. In those days, every day in Dhan­kuta bazaar was like a festi­val with people performing dramas, reciting poetries and displaying various skills via arts and dance. Malla believes that his ancestors not only migrated to Dhankuta from Bhaktapur, they also brought along their culture.

“I never liked going to school. All I wanted to do was perform in plays and write poems,” says Malla, reminiscing about his early days. When he was eight, Malla wanted to perform a play but his desire was thwarted as he was denied a chance to work with the town’s senior actors. So he took mat­ters into his own hands; he assembled some friends and started doing impromptu performances around the town. His acts earned him praise and helped him land a role with the local performers. And thus began Malla’s career.

After graduating from college in 1974-1975, Malla became an active member of Dhankuta theater scene. By that time, he had many short stories and poems published in local newspapers. Encour­aged by his friends, Malla then wrote his first play ‘Tuwalo le dhakeko basti,’ which he completed in seven days. It was based on the story of two brothers who always fought with their father for property. The brothers were caretakers of Malla’s family farm.

The play, one of the first for which people had to buy tickets, remained houseful for 8 days, a record at that time. The popularity of the play boosted Malla’s ambi­tions and, with a troupe of 50, he came to Kathmandu, where the play was staged at the then Royal Nepal Acad­emy and was received with equal excitement by the audience.

“I had never seen such a big stage; it was bigger than the entire hall we had in Dhankuta,” recollects Malla. The audience included play­wright Balkrishna Sama and members of the royal family, all of whom were moved by his performance. “I felt like I became a huge theater star overnight,” says Malla. The play ran for a month. It was a huge achievement at that time when most productions ran at most for a week.

It was not all praise for Malla though. Famous author Bijaya Malla accused him of pushing the Nepali theater scene back by 50 years and suggested him to perform modern plays rather than traditional ones. “I had no idea about mod­ern plays and the critique inspired me to learn more about theater,” says Malla.

Malla decided to stay back in Kath­mandu and enrolled in Nepali literature department at the Tribhuvan University. During his stay in Kathmandu, he read many books on theater, which deep­ened his understanding of modern plays.

Malla began writing plays at a time when political par­ties were fighting the Pan­chayat regime. “I recall our country facing shortages and black-marketeering being rampant,” says Malla. “So we wrote a satirical play, whose staging was obstructed and the troupe was accused of ‘anti-government’ activities.

“I realized that autocracy restricted our freedom,” says Malla. “So I decided to raise voice against it through my plays.” The execution of his neighbor from Dhankuta for speaking against the govern­ment served as a catalyst for Malla’s revolutionary plays.

Many of his plays were obstructed by the police; some were banned or heav­ily censored. A 40-page play was trimmed to 10 pages. The administration had a close eye on him all the time because he was deemed a revolutionary. Renting a hall was no longer financially viable.

“It was then that an inner voice told me that I didn’t need a stage to perform and that a play should itself create a stage for the audience,” he recalls. He stood up on his chair and said, “A moment ago, this was a chair, but now that I am standing on it, it has become my stage.”

He realized that he could perform anywhere, and ‘Hamile basanta khojirako chhaun’ became the first play performed on the Kirtipur ground. It was the start of a new movement in Nepal.

It was 36 years ago that he founded Sarwanam Theater, which contin­ues to perform plays on the streets. He had the passion and dedication to continue even when faced with formidable obsta­cles. Looking back, Malla smiles and says “Sarwanam is a symbol of the past, the voice of our struggles and the passion we felt.”