D B Rai

The flight from Kathmandu to Rumjatar in a five-seater Pilatus-Porter was scary but nonetheless smooth. Waiting for me at the airport were Phil and Tim, American Peace Corps Volunteers, posted in Okhaldhunga as agriculture extension workers. In the early seventies, I was briefly associated with the Corps and the visit was part of my duty. After exchanging pleasant-ries, including delivery of mail, we trudged towards Phil’s “dera”, which was on the upper floor of a cattle-shade, owned by an Ambule Rai family. The next day we visited different places where Phil had initiated micro-projects, including an improved corn demonstration plot. The young plants in question were robust. It was the talk of the neighbourhood. It was a pleasant day.

The following day we left for Tim’s post. Half way through was Okhaldhunga bazaar, the district headquarters, where we stopped for refreshment. We also paid a courtesy call at the district agriculture officer, the immediate resource person without whose support, volunteers could have been ineffective. Eventually we made it to Tim’s place. He was housed in an extended Sunwar homestead. His teenage helper greeted us with a benign smile. We settled down sharing a bottle of Khukuri rum I was carrying, as the helper cooked rice for us. The next day it was business as usual — visiting project sites and meeting progressive farmers.

During our return trip to Phil’s post, I was told of an ensuing get-together party in the evening. No wonder, on reaching the premises, I became aware of pleasant aroma wafting from the landlord’s kitchen.

Soon farmers begin trickling in and in no time the courtyard was filled. Lassies scurried around, distributing drinks and eatables. After initial hesitation the drinking binge accelerated and they were now more comfortable with us. I was flooded with queries mostly concerning my family background. Though unmentioned, the Rai farmers had some misgivings about my supervisory identity. A bit of explanation was enough to convince them and left me wishing a safe return.The following morning, before my departure for Kathmandu, I wanted to share the expenses of the party. “Forget it DB” Phil said, with a wide grin. “It was settled by the Rai farmers you met last night. Learning you were a Rai, that too, a supervisor of us Westerners, hoisted it as a gesture of appreciation.” Fair enough, I thought.