Kathmandu

"A Sherpa in a forest in Pama Saal found it,” said Dharti Chandra Yatri, game scout at the Langtang National Park. “As he saw something shiny in the grass, he picked it up and safely stored it in his pocket. It was Slokpa, an image of a deity enamelled in gold.”

Yatri continued: “The image perhaps, they say, resembled a horse. The next day the quake hit the region. Two months ago, there was snow. The appearance of Silokpa seemed an ominous event. The people of Langtang region believe this might have caused the quake.”

His narrative stuck here. His eyes met mine. I had known Yatri since his early youth. He has worked passionately at the Park partly because he is also a poet. His work in high Himalayas is harsh, but regardless of taxing his health and deteriorating his physical appearance, it has enriched and fed his fervour for poetry. A passionate man, meeting him two decades ago was as dramatic as his extempore recitals of poetry in Nepali that came along with tears flowing from his eyes. Nevertheless, over the years his face has grown more striking. His hairline has receded, his cheekbones have protruded notably, and his jaw line has started sagging.  He had just returned from Jugal Himal as a part of his team to distribute Yarchagumba permits to local farmers. He reached Deepu Gaon, Gumba VCD, at 40,000 metres, set up his tents in a pasture and the quake hit.

All night he kept moving in and out of the tent. He thought this was the end — Maha Praleya — the Ultimate Apocalypse. In this village, they were cut off from the rest of the world.

“I thought for sure we will perish in this village because for the next five days we had nothing to eat or drink,” he ruminates. “Right in front of my eyes, I saw a huge rock fall from the cliff above and smash the entire human settlement.”

Yatri was supposed to go to Paach Pokhari the next day. But for the next five days, the team consisting of his colleagues from the Park and officers from Nepal Army were stuck in the tents. “On the third night, the villagers gathered around the tents and confronted us with slogans like Nikunj Ayo, Bhucump Lyayo (The Park came, they brought the Quake). People came asking for food and medicine first. We shared what little was left. However, it was not enough. We gave them sympathy, shared kind words. Nevertheless, they seemed to be in a mood for confrontation. In this village, inhabited chiefly by Sherpas and Tamangs, east of Langtang Park, we had nothing but prayers to share.”

Born in Nuwakot, Thansingh, Yatri has no idea the moment he was facing the angry mob, his own house has crashed in his own village and turned into a pile of debris. “I told them the weight of earth has grown. People have forgotten the truth — we have to understand how fragile our land is…”

Five days later a helicopter came and he was flown with his team to Chautara. There the poet took a bus to Kathmandu, went to Radio Nepal studio to share his story. The story of getting stuck in a crack caused by mother earth before he could go to his own village and wipe the tears of his beloved ones.

At least once, Mother, turn around and look,

How many shattered faces,

How many minds dislodged by distress

In every house sisters and mothers in pain,

How so many burst,

Just in dream of dreams,

Stories and suffering of inner heart…

— At Least Once by Dharti Chandra Yatri

The author can be reached at yuyutsurd@yahoo.com