A real love story- Nepal 1987

I returned to Nepal in 1987. I will steal an old journal entry of mine for this post-- because it
captures an interesting part of my stay in Nepal.

Daniel was in New Delhi while Sean and I were up in Nepal. My hands were full making sure a team of people were taken care of. After running around getting bus rides secured for Pokhara and various other destinations....the team arrived. Everything went like clockwork and before I knew it they were gone. The day after the team left, I decided I would just relax. With a book in hand, I trotted outside and told Sean to play in the grass. My head was buried in my book for quite some time, a quick glance up every now and then told me Sean was fine. I must have gotten lost in the story, because the next thing I knew I heard screaming from around the house. I leaped up and ran towards the yelling.

There stood one of the young girls from the children's home pulling Sean out of a hole- this wasn't just any hole- this was the cesspool- the place all the human refuse went into. Someone forgot to put the cover over the hole and Sean fell in. If the tiny girl didn't pull Sean out of the hole he would have drowned in that muck. I swooped him up in my arms. He was coughing. I couldn't be happier to hear him cough, because at least that meant he was alive! After a quick shower, I thought all was going to be fine. Unfortunately, a few days later he lay sick in bed. He was dying. (literally)

My sister helped me get him to the hospital and after several blood tests and stool samples, the doctors were shocked. They said he had every kind of dysentery a person could have. I enlightened them about his trip down into the cesspool. Nothing more needed to be said. They informed me that he was very ill and might not survive. When you hear those words you want your husband to be next to you- you just want him to say "It's gonna be okay"

I told my sister to be with Sean, and I rushed down to the Post Office and sent a telegram to India. "Sean dying. stop. Need your prayers. stop."

Daniel has told me later, that he received the telegram and started crying. He knew he wanted to put a little faith into action. He wanted to get up to Nepal to see me, but he had no money to pay for his ticket. His story is that he was kneeling at his bed praying with his hands lifted up in the air and his eye caught sight of his wedding ring. He stood up immediately and went to sell the ring to get the money to fly up to see me. Now, a second problem he faced was that he had never been to Nepal and he had no idea where I was. He spoke with someone who had been there and they tried to explain the way to him

"You take a taxi from the airport to Boudha, and then you tell them to keep driving past the Stupa, you'll see a huge red house and you keep going...then you'll see a white house....but that isn't the one yet...you go further, and finally you will see another white house and the house you want is behind that house."

Believe it or not, he found the right house! Love can make a man do impossible things!!! I had no idea he was coming. When I saw him standing in front of me, I just screamed and started blubbering. I scared the pants off the two Nepali men standing next to me. My arms flew around his neck and I squeezed him so hard. This was also a bit of a shock for the Nepali men, as women and men didn't show much public affection in those days.
Sean did eventually get better and twelve years later we bought a new ring to replace the one Daniel sold. It never bothered me that he didn't have a ring for all those years, because every time I looked at his ring less finger, it just reminded me of how much he loved Sean and me.

India and beyond-1985

Taj Mahal

The trip was over and life had to go on. I returned to India. After six weeks of traveling through various countries, it was nice to be back in a familiar place. I took time to stroll up and down Janpath.

Mango shakes made in a blender right there on the side of the road...who was thinking of germs? Not me! A nice samosa or two from the corner shop and then a flat plate with a huge dosa draped across it. Food was only a small part of India I was going to miss when I left.

With my bags packed, I boarded the plane to leave. I thought I might return in the future to India, but except for a brief 10 day visit in 1986, I never did return. I left India, but India never left my heart.

The view from my bedroom window in Nepal

I went to Nepal shortly after India. I only stayed for four months. During my stay I taught English at the Tribhuvan University. My little motorcycle puttered through the streets and alleyways of Kathmandu.


If and when the motorcycle was not working, I would take a taxi into town. A leisurely stroll into Boudha to hire a taxi and off I went.

Four months whizzed by and before I knew it the time came to bid Nepal a fond farewell - at least for a little while.

December 3rd, 1984

Like a widow who hardly has time to mourn her spouse, so was India on the morning of December 3rd, 1984. Her children were dying in great numbers. Who ripped her children from her? The Bhopal disaster is said to have killed 3,000 people. That was the report according the Indian Court; however, it is thought that 15,000 people were killed in the first month alone. (refer to wikipedia: Bhopal Disaster)

I was nowhere near Bhopal or Madhya Pradesh the morning the tragedy occurred. In fact, when I awoke in New Delhi the morning of December 3rd 1984, I had no idea what had transpired. There was no television in my house. I didn't turn on the radio. The sun rose as it did every day. Morning sounds filled the air, there was nothing to alert me to the horrible disaster. I sat with my cup of tea, nibbling on my bread, totally unaware of lives being snuffed out. The telephone brought me the news.

"No...No...I had not heard...what? Please tell me what...."

"NO!! It cannot be!!"

I was being chided for not knowing. "How is it you didn't know?" my friend asked.

"I'm sorry."

Mother India wept the loss of her children on December 3rd 1984.

Memories of the Lodhi Garden- 1984

After the 1984 riots, things settled down to a somewhat 'normal' routine. Surprisingly enough life fell into a set of manageable tasks. Rajiv Gandhi took leadership and the country limped forward. My personal life also went back to the day to day activities I was used to. One of my favorite places to visit was the Lodhi Gardens. Beautiful gardens fit for Kings or more appropriately, lovers.

How can I describe sitting on a bench facing the Sheesh Gumbad? The warm breeze lightly touching my cheek. The rustle of the wind in the trees. Closing my eyes, I can almost see mourners from the Lodhi dynasty coming to pay their last respects. Instinctively, I walk towards the building, as if trailing the imaginary path of the well wishers. When I peek into the inner parts of the mysterious structure my imagination is rudely interrupted. Other visitors clamber around inside the building reminding me this is not the 1500's but the 1980's. I'll come back another day maybe with a lover and we will explore the building together. Although time stands still in the Lodhi Gardens, it does not stand still for my life in New Delhi. I always had things to do and places to go.

Nov. 1st - Nov. 4th 1984

Blossom, Blossom's mother and Padma

“I can’t go out and get the food; I’m too afraid! With this curfew on I am petrified of being out in the streets. I beg you, go for us.”

Blossom’s eyes implored me to be the brave one and at that moment I felt anything but brave. We had every right to be scared. Just days before, on October 31, 1984, Indira Gandhi, Prime Minister of India, was gunned down by her Sikh body guards. Suddenly anyone who was a Sikh became a target.

Before the tragic incident I lived in what I considered a peaceful enclave. My neighborhood was largely inhabited by Sikhs along with a few Hindus and Muslims. This once peaceful place was now a hot spot for those who wanted to retaliate against Indira Gandhi's brutal murder. I was a 23 year old woman, thousands of miles away from my family, in a country that was not my own. No one could guarantee my safety.

Angry mobs raged for days. Rioters stormed through the streets setting houses, vehicles and people on fire. Smoke billowed in the distance. What would happen when the danger finally reached me? Who would save me? Those who I trusted: my friends, my neighbors, my landlord, they were now just as helpless as I was.

Our food ran out. My body felt weak with just the thought of having to leave the safety of the apartment. Unfortunately I knew there was no other choice.

I needed courage. Nothing I had experienced had prepared me for this. My mind grasped frantically around for some kind of emergency switch to help me get the boldness I wanted. Verses flashed through my mind assuring me that when all else changes God never changes. I was reminded that God is my very present help in time of danger. He promised countless times in the Bible that He was my fortress; He was my deliverer.

I prayed, begging God to give me courage. With heart pounding, I slipped down the stairwell. Although I prayed for courage, I still didn’t feel brave. At the bottom of the stairs, I pressed my back against the wall and peeked cautiously around the corner. Seeing no one in sight, I slipped through the alleyway, making my way to the nearby Kailash Market.

The sight of the deserted market sent shivers up and down my spine. The vacant stalls taunted me. Whether rain or shine the market place was always teaming with life. The empty space in front of me was just another reminder that there was nothing I could count on anymore.

“God, please, do something. Help me.”

“PSSSSsssss…”

My head jerked around to see a door open.

“PSSSssss, come here, we have rice to sell.”

I purchased the necessary food and dashed home. In the safety of the apartment my teeth chattered uncontrollably and my body shook violently. Blossom guided me to the bed. I lay there listening to the distant roar of the mob. The volume increased and my curiosity got the better of me. Slipping out onto the balcony of the third story apartment, my timing couldn’t have been worse.

A gang of rioters were tying two men to a tree. The men fought for their lives but they were no match against this blood thirsty crowd. Weren’t these the people that I mingled with everyday? Weren’t these good people? It didn’t make sense that these people were filled with such hatred.
Looking down at them, my mind still grappled with the questions that bombarded it. I realized that some of the people were holding burning torches.

“What is that they are doing?” I wondered. My heart registered what was happening before my mind could comprehend the horror.

My heart raced up into my throat, gagging me, as I realized the crowd had lit the two men on fire. Their bloodcurdling screams mingled with the smoke that curled up past the balcony. I wanted to yell at the crowd, but before I had a chance to say anything Blossom jerked me into the apartment. Her hand closed tightly over my mouth as she frantically whispered in my ear, “We can’t do anything for them now! They will try and rape us if they know we are up here. Shh, be still. It will be over soon.”

I fought against her. Tears of frustration slipped down my cheeks.

“Why? Why can’t we help them?”

There were no answers. I knew Blossom was wrong and yet so right. Nothing made sense anymore.

The death cries ceased giving way to an eerie silence. Blossom and I lay quietly on the bed. Our ears were finely tuned waiting for any noise alerting us to the return of the attackers.

On the fourth day the riots stopped as abruptly as they started. The army marched through the streets. I wondered why they took so long. No one else cared where they had been, all that mattered now was they were there. Unified cheers rang out over balconies and along the roadside. Despite the cheers, I sensed an underlying insecurity. The same insecurity I battled with over the preceding days. Now I was forced to choose either to cling to the insecurity or to cast it aside. What could I look to for security? Myself? I had discovered I was weak and full of fear. Would I trust those around me? I could not, especially after seeing how they could change at the drop of a hat. Would I trust in the military or machinery? I had no assurance their actions were done to uphold my best interests.

On November 4th 1984, I came to the conclusion my security had to be in God.

October 31, 1984

The auto rickshaw moved like a small bug through the traffic. Hanging onto the side of the contraption, I attempted to read my letters. Suddenly the vehicle stopped, sending me and my letters flying.

"Sorry, Sorry!"

"What happened?"I asked as I retrieved the scattered papers.

The driver frowned as he surveyed the rowdy crowd. His Hindi flowed as he questioned those who stood nearby. My limited Hindi kept me in further suspense.

"What is it?"

"Oh, you will have to walk now."

"Why?"

"No road, you have to go now."

"What is going on?"

"Please Miss, please get down."

No explanation was given. I was told to get out of the auto rickshaw nearby the All India Institute of Medical Sciences. The crowd seemed angry, but then many crowds I walked through in India seemed angry. All I wanted to do was get to the other side of the gathering and find another auto rickshaw to take me home. Letters firmly in hand, I made my way through a sea of people. Some were crying, others were yelling, and others were arguing but I couldn't understand why. After what seemed like an eternity I made it to the other side and got into a new auto rickshaw.

"Do you know what is happening?"

The driver almost crashed into the sign post. He turned his head and stared at me as though I was from Mars.

"You do not know?"

"If I knew, would I ask?"

"Indira Gandhi was shot by her body guards today."

"WHAT? No, this must be a mistake!! Is she dead?"

"They say she isn't."

It wasn't until later that evening they finally announced she was dead. Her body held 31 bullets. Each bullet coming from guns her bodyguards held. The ones who were supposed to protect her turned against her like they were actors in a Greek tragedy or Roman drama. Someone forgot to tell them this was real life and the consequences of their actions would be far reaching.

October 31, 1984 the day Indira Gandhi was assassinated.