Nepal’s Wild West

'Thirty out of every hundred men 1 in the village of Nawadurga in Dadeldhura District at the western edge of Nepal have permanently settled in India. Another thirty go to India on a seasonal basis every year looking for work. At least one member of every household in this village in remote far west corner of Nepal is out in India. Some in Punjab, some in Bombay, some in Delhi. "It's like a compulsion that people here think they have to go to India," says Siddharaj Bhatta who works as a social mobiliser in the village. "There's a certain prestige attached with men going to India. In fact, parents think twice before they agree to give their daughter's hand in marriage to a person who doesn't work in India. A man who says he works in Delhi will find a bride very easily!"

Gagan Singh Khati, an elderly villager, who himself never went across the border for work says that the general belief in the village is that one cannot earn a livelihood without India. "Why wouldn't they want to go?" he questions, "What kind of security does this place offer? This soil does not provide enough for us to sell. What is the incentive for them to linger here?" Bhana Dev Bhatta, another septuagenarian, has a slightly different view, "These people will want to go to India at the drop of a hat. They fail in the exams or they get a scolding, and they make a dash for the border!"

The villagers say that times are not that good these days for Nepali migrants to India. Jobs are hard to come by. Even those who do find work are not paid as promised. "It used to be much better for those who went south 20-25 years ago," says Nar Bahadur Khati. "A villager who went to India over two decades ago and worked with the Bank of Baroda recently came home with Rs. 14 lakhs. And there are others who worked in other companies who have come back loaded."

While the pickings may not be as easy, the lure of good compensation continues to attract the men folk of Nawadurga to head west. "Even now people manage to save up to Rs. 10,000 per year," admits Khati. "I guess if they stayed home and worked hard, even raising four goats in a year, they would be able to save that amount. But the attraction of India is too strong!"

Bishu Devi Khati's husband has not come home from Bombay for four years. "Every year he used to send me around Rs 7000," she says. "But last year I received nothing." So Bishnu Devi, nearly landless, is struggling to ensure the survival of her family of two daughters and two sons, all by herself. "If it wasn't for the little money I'm earning by raising and selling goats, I don't know how I could have fed the children."

Bishnu Devi says she has heard reports that her husband is ill. She says that she has heard about HIV AIDS and is aware that her husband could come back infected with the disease. Two men and a woman in the village have already died due to the infection, and many more could be infected. "If my husband comes back I will be the first to take him to the health post and have him cleared medically before we have any samparka (contact)," she says matter-of-factly. But Bishnu Devi admits she had not heard of the "window" period of infection for HIV. She also does not seem to know that the blood-screening test her husband would have to submit to is not available at the local health post.

Meanwhile, increasingly the male migrants from the village pose a threat to the health of those they have left behind in Nawadurga. Considering the threat, there is very little awareness-raising programme in the village. Bishnu Devi came to know a little bit about AIDS during discussion in her community organisation. "There has to be more awareness campaign," says Parbati Shahi a community facilitator in the village. "Currently the mindset of the people is so closed, they rarely talk about it. They will definitely not go for blood screening even if the health post were equipped for it, or if there were mobile screening clinics."

Aside from the threat of alien diseases, which include various forms of sexually transmitted diseases brought back by the menfolk, the seasonal migrants also bring with them a peculiar pattern of lethargy once they are back home. "When they come back, these men just laze around, drinking and gambling," says Siddha Raj Bhatta. "They tend to be braggarts and usually squander away all their savings." Bhatta says that the expensive transistor radio, a ubiquitous appendage for these "lahureys" (the term used for Gorkha recruits, now used for any villager who goes away to earn), is usually sold at one-third the price when they run short of funds. "In acouple of months, strapped for cash, they will head down to India again."

Alcoholism is a big problem amongst migrants, say the women of Nawadurga. "But they'll drink anyhow," laments Bishnu Devi. "Through our community organisations we have tried to launch several anti-alcoholism and gambling campaigns, but to no avail," says Mandari Devi Bhatta, a community health volunteer. "Now, Maobadi ko meherbaani ley khaana chhodya chhan!" (Now, thanks to the Maoists, they have stopped drinking.) Actually, the men do not seem to think alcoholism is a big deal, and the current ban by the Maoists in the district is not something to raise such a fuss about, they hint. One gentleman scoffs, "yo kahiley aunchha, kahiley janchha." (These bans come and go.)

Weaving a rope out of the strands of a tattered plastic sack while keeping an alert eye for the buffaloes grazing on the hillside over a local river, Bal Bahadur Air is a man who has come back home for good, having spent many years in India. His heavily Hindi-accented speech gives away the fact of his sojourn. "When I came back home on leave I found that my wife had died that summer due to snakebite," he says while absent-mindedly twining the rope deftly with his hands. Pointing to a shy girl by his side he says, "This girl was tiny when her mother died. She would not have survived if my parents had not taken care of her." Air has remarried, he says, because he needed help in raising his four children. He adds he will not have any more — the vasectomy he had undergone a couple of years earlier has taken care of that. He also says going to India is out of the question now. "I have got to raise these children and see to their education."

Air had no option but to stay behind. But for every male in Dadeldhura District, the choice to cross the border is always there, and one out of three men do exercise this option. The temptation to leave for India has become heightened in the past year with the growing influence of the Maoist insurgents in these hills of western Nepal. In neighbouring Achham District too,most of the younger males who would have otherwise stayed home are now opting to migrate. Staying home would mean either being targeted by the insurgents or having to join them. The choice is to go to the jungle as a Maoist cadre, or head for the southern plains and most seem to prefer the latter. The women, of course, stay behind as usual with responsibilities doubled and tripled.

The people of the western hills of Nepal regard migration to India as a natural part of their lives. The suffering of the woman folk and children at home, and the early life of a male menial worker in the plains metropolis is seen as a historical part of life. Only when Nepalis wake up to their responsibilities, and the economy of their hills begins to live up to its potential, will families live together here in Nawadurga, as they are meant to.