Ayo Gorkhali!

The days when the Khukuri defended one's own soil have long been past for Nepalis. Since early 1800s, the Khukuri has served in the battlefield for others. In fact, the very notion of "being true to one's salt" ("noon ko sidha") has elements, not of glory, but of submissiveness. The near- mercenary status of fighting another's war (with official sanction) is also not necessarily edifying. But most people seem to readily agree with Prince Charles (Colonel-in-Chief of the 2 Gorkha Rifle, now a part of the British army) that "the very name 'Gurkha' is a byword for courage and steadfastness."

The connection between the Gurkha myth and the Himalayan "Shangri-La" myth comes full circle when Sandro Tucci, a well-known international photographer, writes in the intro-duction to his glossy coffee-table book on the highland soldiers, "The Gurkhas are proud sons of a blessed land, where the mountains and the flowers, the rivers and the scents, all seem to talk an eternal language of beauty and peace."

All that is required to burst Tucci's Gorkhali bubble is to descend to the plains to observe how the "Gorkhas" are regarded by the plainsmen from Bombay to Baraelli to Buxar. Like the Englishman, the average plainsman believes that "Gorkha" is the name of a ferocious hill tribe. The myth might be the same, but it is put to a different use. In the plains, the mythical prowess of this proud martial race is pressed not into glorious military service, but into guarding godowns, escorting "saheb's" children to school, standing by the gate, or doing "raman" (rounds) in the hot, muggy night.

Such a critique of the Gurkha mystique does not suggest that all Gurkha battalions should be disbanded. It is merely part of an attempt to understand, through the murk of myth, the phenomenon in socio-economic terms — why young hillmen leave farm and family for years in "lahur" or, lately, find employment as darbans (home or office guards) in lowland cities.

The myth of Gurkha invincibility is belied by their graves in the battlefields of Gallipoli and Tobruk. The myth of fearlessness tends to deny the humanity of the Nepali soldier. How can one refuse him the same right to fear the bullet as every other soldier, and the right to "better judgement" when the moment comes to decide whether a suicidal assault on a well-fortified bunker is worth it?

Among the mass of Gurkha literature, there are a few that attest to the humanness of the Rai, Limbu, Gurung or Tamang. One is Even the Brave Falter, by E.D. Smith, an Englishman who commanded Gurkhas in Italy during World War H. Smith agrees that the "cheerful, gallant Gurkhas" have attracted countless admirers. "Nevertheless," he writes with some understatement, "the picture presented to the world has been a trifle unbalanced, as if all the tough soldiers from Nepal were supermen…while many lived up to their motto, many others have faltered when faced with death in battle." Which is as it should be for a people who are as sane and as human as any other.