NIGHTMARE IN NEPAL

NIGHTMARE IN NEPAL

7 mins
107



If you are under the impression that I am going to launch into an essay on how Dussehra festival is celebrated in Nepal, you cannot be more mistaken. It is true that Nepal is among the very few surviving Hindu kingdoms and Dussehra is one of their important festivals. But this Dussehra I am writing about is one of my worst travelling experiences. To put the story in perspective, I have to start at the very beginning.


It was sometime in the mid-eighties, and I was then posted in Lucknow. It was during the Navratri festival that we decided to travel to Allahabad at the invitation of a very dear friend of mine. My wife, my little daughter and my mother joined me. The festivities during this period in Allahabad were famed and we proposed to enjoy the festival along with my friends’ company and hospitality. We reached Allahabad and my friend took us to various locations in the city to witness the full glory of festivities.


My friend, not satisfied with our local sightseeing, proposed that we all travel to Nepal. He said that the roads were good and it was under 600 kilometres and we can travel in his Premier Padmini car. The families were sceptical and I myself worried whether my ageing mother can do such a long trip, but the children (one mine and two of his) were excited and we finally gave in. As I was not a driver and the distance being long, it was also found wise to have a paid driver to share the load with my friend.


Imagine. Four of my friend’s family including him. Four of us including me, and one driver; not to mention the luggage! How we managed to squeeze into his mid-segment Sedan is still a mystery, but we did. Thus, our nightmare (sorry, journey) began. All went well and we reached our first milestone, Gorakhpur, late evening. The sun was going down, and we felt we should halt here for the night. But after animated discussions, it was decided that we will continue till we reach the border which was just about 70 kilometres away. We would stay in Sonauli, the border town and drive in the morning. 


Even well-laid plans can go awry, and it happened with us. Our able driver lost an important turn along the way and was soon driving us in the wrong direction. How I wish now that we had Google Maps to navigate! The sun was down and we were soon driving on some road with deserted fields and villages on either side. After a few hours, we discovered that we had taken the roads ‘less travelled’ or not to be travelled. 

We were now running out of fuel and everyone was getting fidgety and worried. The children were sleepy and all of us were hungry. But there was nothing on our way, no hotel, no petrol pump and definitely no Dhaba where we could at least eat. It was deserted all around us and not a soul was visible to ask for directions. We were all alone, the nine of us, and we just kept driving. My mother was saying prayers and the ladies were muttering abuses at us.

Finally, we could reach a deserted hamlet, where we had to halt because the car could not go any further. We spotted a native petrol pump, a place which had petrol filled in drums, with no one to attend. We were at our wit’s end.

My friend suddenly had a brilliant idea. We should look for some government circuit house. Almost all places like this had one. Our search took us to the local circuit house, and the very sight of the building relieved us of the tension which was now thick enough to be cut with a knife! But the building seemed deserted. What was this? A ghost town? Houses we could see, but not one human being.


We banged at the door hoping to wake up the caretaker. We were on the verge of breaking the door down when it opened and a little girl, the first real human being, peeped out and looked angrily at us.


“What is it? Why are you breaking the door? Who are you?” The girl was sleepy and angry.

“ Call your father, Beti. We have lost our way and need help.” My friend pleaded.

“ Father not at home. Gone for Ramlila. No one at home. No one in the village. All gone for Ramlila.”


That explained why we could not come across any human being on our way. We requested her to allow us inside but she refused and asked us to wait for her father. Thankfully, the father who was the caretaker returned soon. But he would not allow us to enter. This is government, he said, and only government people are allowed. We cannot stay there.


My friend lost his temper. He pulled out his identity card (one issued by our company, a government-owned insurance company) and shoved it on his face, yelling that we were senior government officers. The caretaker was now confused. He could see government written on the card but there was no government logo. I guess he was within his rights to refuse accommodation, but humanity goes the better of him as he saw ladies and children with us. He finally said yes and we thankfully trooped in. He even made a frugal dinner for us which seemed like a feast to us. 

Next morning, the caretaker helped us fill petrol and then guided us towards Kathmandu. We were back on track. But if you think our nightmare was over, you are wrong again.

We had entered Nepal in the afternoon and still had some distance to travel to reach Kathmandu. We drove on hills with beautiful views but soon it was dusk and we were still on the hills. The sun had set now and we still had an hour or so before we could reach Kathmandu.


The headlights of our car caught a group of boys at a distance. These boys were dancing away. It was, remember, Dussehra time in Nepal too, and they celebrate it in a major way. When we drew near to the revellers, we realised that they were all drunk. One of them saw the car and read the number plate. It was Indian!



I never realised until then that there were people in the world who hated Indians, apart from those in Pakistan. The sight of an Indian car with Indians in it set the boys wild. They were now shouting “Indians, Indians” and advancing threateningly towards the car. They were abusing us and India, that much we could gather. Our driver asked us to raise the window glasses and sit tight. The boys were dancing around the car and shouting at us to stop. Had we stopped, we would have been lynched. The children were wailing and all of us could fear death in the air.


Sometimes, fear paralyses you. At other times it can galvanise you. Our driver must have fought with his indecision to stop or not to stop for a split second; then he pressed hard on the accelerator. The boys got frightened and scattered to avoid being crushed by the car. Away we drove, at the highest possible speed that the car could muster. Yet another nightmare was hopefully over for us.


We reached Kathmandu and the rest of the journey was uneventful. But the horrors of our drive to Nepal still remain etched in my mind. What festival we had!



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