NEPAL 12: A Handful of Dreams

“When I was child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child.  But when I became a man I put all childish ways behind me.” – Paul formerly known as Saul

Urkin and his family ran the lodge, and it was a very successful business until late.  It had provided a good education for him, but unfortunately when the visitors stopped coming so did his education.  “My parents came to me one day and said, ‘Urkin.  Your brother dreams of going to University, too.  We can’t afford to send the both of you.’  I was very sad for my brother.  I thought I have already had three years at University, and he should have an opportunity to go.  My brother and I have dreamed of being doctors since we were very little.  I told my parents to send him to school to be a doctor.  I can always be an accountant.  I was sponsored once by an Australian woman.  She paid for everything.  She got me an apartment in Kathmandu – it was very small, only a room, and she paid for me to go to school for a whole semester.  I couldn’t believe how nice she was to do that for me.  But then, she got a Nepali boyfriend and he moved to Australia with her.  She now had to support him, because it is really hard for him to get a job there since he can’t speak English.  Now, I have come home to help my mother, father, and two sisters with the lodge until I can go back to school.

“One time I had an opportunity to go with a famous Nepali doctor to the frozen lakes of Gosaikund to be his personal assistant.  They are very holy lakes, and tens of thousands of people make the pilgrimage there once a year to worship.  The trek up to the lakes is very intense and takes several days rising steeply in elevation, and a lot of people get very sick from the significant change in altitude.  We worked for days with very little sleep, helping people get better from altitude sickness with oxygen, water and medicine.  One night the doctor was very tired and told me he was going to go to sleep for a little bit in his tent.  I told him I wasn’t very tired so I would stay up in case people needed me.  I was so happy about helping people that the adrenaline kept me from being tired. 

“That day a boy of about ten years had gone up to play by the lakes.  His parents weren’t worried because there were so many people around.  But then he didn’t come back for a long time, it was starting to get dark so they went to look for him.  He had passed out from lack of oxygen.  They brought the boy down to the place where everyone was camping and I knew that he needed oxygen or he would die.  People were panicking and looking for the doctor everywhere.  I was the only one who knew where the doctor was sleeping so I ran to get him and wake him up.  I helped the doctor administer the oxygen tank on the boy. I helped saved a boy’s life that day. “

To look into Urkin’s eyes was to see the very heart of innocent desire.  His longing to learn, help people and become a doctor burned deep within him and was the very center of his thoughts, dreams, and the utmost desire for his life.  But he put that aside, sacrificing his own education in the hopes that his brother could one day become a doctor.  Impressed by his self-sacrifice and inspired by his sole desire to learn, Justin and I retired for the evening - our own desires to help him reach his dreams making our hearts heavy and our thoughts pensive.

The morning sun drifted in through our curtains milky and diluted.  Excited to view the mountains – our sole purpose for coming to Nepal - we pulled back the curtains only to be disappointed to see the entire mountain covered in a thick blanket of cloud.  “Do you think we will see the mountains today?” I asked.  “Maybe if we go up a little higher.” Justin suggested hopefully.  Urkin was eagerly waiting at the table for us as we sat down to warm ourselves by the fire.  “An apple pancake with honey, please.” Urkin’s sister happily took our breakfast order.  “Apple oatmeal, please.” Justin ordered.   “I would like to show you around the village today.” Urkin beamed proudly at us.  “We would love that!” our response was unanimous. 

After breakfast, we clambered up the narrow trail in our bulky boots.  I felt like I was a child first learning to walk with outstretched hands, and slow methodical, clumsy steps.  In the distance a small white building nestled into the side of the green covering of the hillside.  Urkin pointed up to the tiny white speck and told us tomorrow there would be a church service and that he would love to take us.  Justin had earlier discovered during a conversation with Urkin that the villagers spoke Tibetan, Nepali, or a mixture of the two, because a lot of the people here had migrated from the nearby Tibetan mountains, and at that moment our interest to hear it firsthand had been sparked. 

We passed what looked similar to a children’s playhouse version of a church.  “This is the church!” Urkin showed us proudly.  The air was thick and difficult to swallow, we were grateful for the chance to rest for a moment at the threshold of the little white building.  The view from the church looked along one edge of the ridge, and exemplified a breathtaking view of the village below.  A mountain horse grazed in a nearby field, flowers spotted the hillside with splashes of yellow, red, and blue, and a large chestnut tree stood stoic in the center.  We started walking once again, and tiny periwinkle butterflies flitted along the path as though saying, “This way! This way!” If my boots weren’t so large and awkward I would have attempted to dance in their animated fashion.  The fresh air was exhilarating, my fingers twitched excitedly as they reached out to touch the strange leaves, and flowers resembling tiny red trumpets hung down from the trees above.  The trail wound around and continued up the hill, a stupa of substantial size stood proudly on the side of the grassy knoll.  “The village built this stupa in remembrance of my grandfather.  They hired an artist from outside of the village to paint the pictures.” Urkin pointed up to the intricate picture hand painted upon the top of the stupa.  We stood in admiration and respect of his grandfather, the artist, and the moment.  “A little further.  I want to show you something!” Urkin looked back at us excitedly and increased his speed up the path. 

A large, tree rose dramatically from the trail.  Cows meandered through the brush as we crossed a little stream, our gaze never leaving the sight of the tree.  Urkin stooped to pick up a thick stick and then suddenly he chucked it up at the tree.  “Stand over there!” he shouted over his shoulder at us.  Safely out of the destruction of his wild throws, we watched in amazement as he struck again and again at the tree with rocks and sticks.  Finally his persistence met its mark.  A large clump of leaves fell with a dull thump into the earth below, we all jumped forward with excitement to examine the prize.  A small round, bright green rock was attached to the leaves.  Upon further inspection we saw that it wasn’t a rock at all, but a large walnut with a gooey outer casing.  He gathered up his prize and began to attack the tree once more, as though energized monkeys we began to follow suit.  Soon walnuts were raining down around us.  Reminiscent of kids at Easter we ran around the tree, pushing back the leaves and grass, digging through the dirt, picking up as many walnuts as we could find.  Youthful animated beings from our childhood rose from deep within us and surfaced, smiling as we held up our treasures comparing them to one another.  Our hands became tarnished by the black and green protective layer and I rushed off to the adjacent stream.  The cool water flowed over my hands, and I stood content in the soft flow of the current.  I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of the water splashing over the rocks, the soft breeze rustling through the leaves and whistling gently through blades of grass.  I looked down again to see dirt soiled hands, and blackened fingernails gripping strongly around a handful of walnuts.  I plunged my hands deeper into the water turning the stream a murky brown.  I ran over to Justin my hands dripping, and face smudged with dirt - beaming I held out my gems.  “I wanna eat one!” I exclaimed passionately squatting down over a flat rock.  I placed the little walnut in a shallow groove of the rock and quickly – as to not let it get away – I thrust another rock on top of it.  BAM! BAM! BAM! My eyes wild - an even deeper Neanderthal pastime climbed to the surface of my being.  BAM! My hair was beginning to pull lose from my bun, and tiny frizzy curls were popping out in every direction.  BAM! BAM! Finally, the stubborn walnut casing gave away and I shrieked with joy, “Look!” I picked up the tiny shattered piece of walnut and plopped it in my mouth.  “You want some?” I asked Justin wide eyed holding out a piece of un-ripened, dirty walnut.  He took it from my soiled fingers with much trepidation. “Hmmmm . . . I forgot.  You’re supposed to dry these over a fire for a few days first.  A bit green still I think.” I informed Justin with my extensive walnut harvesting knowledge.  Not a bit shaken from this small set back, we blissfully bound back down the trail.

Our hands still dirty and with pockets full of walnuts, my heart felt lighter than it had in days.  I looked back at Justin walking back down the trail throwing his feet out as though they had no purpose or destination other than to be, and to walk, and to carry his weight.  His hand outstretched, gliding gently over the tops of the tall grass, a look of pure contentment resting upon his face.  There is something wondrous about playing in the dirt, running around without whim or worry, aimlessly throwing about rocks and sticks . . . a feeling of primitive adaptation that nothing else in the world except becoming one with nature can fulfill.  In our youth we understand the importance of running outside, rolling down the grassy hill, splashing in the creek and puddles, getting our hands dirty, but eventually we become ‘just one more prisoner of time alone within the boundaries of our [adult] minds’.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YKUylDbTQrU

Our stomach clocks began to strike ‘lunch time’, and my mind began to wander onto what I would order for lunch, but just then Urkin took an unexpected turn off the path.  I looked back at Justin, an eyebrow raised, he looked on ahead and having gathered no more information as to where we were going, he didn’t offer me an explanation.  An obscure two story home formed of dark stained aging wood stood out against the bright green, overgrown foliage.  Urkin walked up the stairs with certitude to the second story, and disappeared around the corner.  Justin and I hesitated before beginning carefully up the rickety old steps.  Upon rounding the corner of the deck, we came upon a small doorway in which we ducked inside and saw a warm fire ablaze in the single burner fireplace, two dark wooden benches facing it, and Urkin already sitting comfortably upon one.  His face lit up with a large, toothy grin, as he proceeded to call out to someone in Nepali.  The wooden bench was surprisingly sturdy beneath our weight and we sat silent and expectant.  Tiny piles of dirt had been swept into piles, and dust covered the few items that were in the austere home.  A single door led out of the common room into a closet-sized room displaying a very small bed, some shelves with a few articles of clothing and the smallest baby basket we had ever seen.  We turned our gaze from the tiny room just as a petite, toughed older woman came through the door with tiny black, bird-like eyes peering out beneath her weathered skin.  She had a pleasant smile which was missing a few teeth and it pushed up her wrinkles causing her eyes and nose to appear even more bird-like.  Her wiry hair was pulled back shadowing what at one time must have been a neatly arranged bun, and her long bristly bangs stood straight up in the air.  She quickly set down the bundle of grass which had been pulled from the yard, and tried desperately to flatten down her wild hair - but it was to no avail.  My face didn’t hide well the amusement bubbling inside as her hair sprung straight back up into the air! She began incessantly flitting around the room sweeping up the piles of dirt, chattering away in Nepali, smiling occasionally in the direction of her unexpected guests, and patting hard the front of her dress as though to beat it clean.  She conjured up three glasses and placed a pot of water over the burner.  All the while Urkin was responding calmly in Nepali with one leg up on the bench, and a distinguished air hanging about him.    

A man came to the widow and placed a few onions on the sill.  They invited him in and he stood in the doorway for a moment contemplating us.  We observed back.  He looked similar to a character out of one of Charles Dicken’s books, from the old beat up boots to the layered tattered and patched pants and vest to his discolored long sleeve button-up complete with ascot, and all the way up to his paperboy hat that matched the rest of his outfit’s frayed appearance. His hands were gnarled and permanently soiled from years of manual labor in the field, but despite his rough exterior his entire face smiled amiably and I liked him at once.  He sat on the bench next to Urkin who spoke with him in his native tongue.  He seemed a man of few words, but Urkin managed to pull out a conversation which made the man smile and look sheepishly at us beneath his hat.  “This is my aunt.” he said motioning to towards the bird-like woman.  “And this is a very good friend of my father’s.  He speaks only Tibetan.” he waved his hand toward the man beside him who nodded slightly, we smiled, greeted them by tilting our heads while saying, “Namaste”.  Urkin’s aunt poured everyone tea, and Justin and I sat in silence enjoying its hearty flavor and observing our new friends.  We sat content amongst them, the room lit by their laughter and age-old friendship – we knew at once that we were loved and welcome. 

There are people you meet on your journey through life from whom you know instantly that you are loved, you are forever friends, and no matter the time or distance that might separate you . . . that will never change.  It is in these friendships that I’ve discovered it’s a wonderful world. . .