The Farewell
Time is so short. Five more houses are “lit” on the morning of our departure. Anthony’s task is given to Kumar to ensure that he will feel confident in continuing with the remainder independently. His short stature puts him at a disadvantage and he needs to stand on one of the little circular stools, normally used only outdoors. ( Except for the strange foreigners who use them all the time because they can’t sit cross legged all evening.)
The last light goes to the house lowest down the hill. Still remaining are the homes on both sides where those in the lower social strata live with their large families. Back to Netra’s home. People are already gathering in the courtyard and we are embarrassed to have to eat our dahl bhat under the scrutiny of so many pairs of eyes. More tikas and garlands, then the gift giving begins; bead jewelry from the girls, small baskets and a straw hat with “gift from Norung” painstakingly painted on them, brass plates from the parents, a boiled egg, carefully parceled in leaves from a little old lady---precious possessions all of which they can ill afford to part with.
Speeches are made, hugs are exchanged (so unlike the customary
formal parting but seemingly accepted and warmly returned) with all but
a few of the stiff, unapproachable males. Anthony has a poetic bent which
I envy. Two years ago, at this crucial point, whilst eyes were being mopped,
he turned to them all and said, “ In Canada we have only a small family
but now we are part of a much larger family, here in Nepal” This year his
parting shot was, (indicating the many garlands) “These blooms will whither
but the memory of them will never die”.
Hardly a dry eye in the courtyard, even the unbending
males have difficulty with this one. However, the spell is totally broken
after Netra’s lengthy translation lasting several minutes. Finally, we’re
off down the steep slope, struggling under the weight of garlands, accompanied
by a gradually diminishing stream of youngsters. Our poor porter is totally
over burdened with the excess of garlands and the gifts added to his already
heavy load. The sadness at leaving is made worse by having to gradually
shed the fruits of so many hours of labour. Garlands are left on a rocky
outcrop, from which we’ll be able to appreciate and photograph the vivid
splash of colour from a much lower point. Garlands are thrown high
into the branches of the revered Peeple tree and , the next morning, on
both ends of the bridge crossing the turbulent river, to bless all those
who cross.
Some have survived the long journey, however and are hung with those from our previous visit, around our home; daily reminders of such a different world that it sometimes seems like a dream. Close friendships made and kept. The gift of electricity, shedding as much light upon us the givers as those who received, our friends so far away.