(Part 1/3) “My mother was a saint. The worst thing to happen to my mother was losing her children. She bore 12 children. 7 daughters and 5 sons. 5 of the sons and three of the daughters died young. Some at birth and some when they were little. Probably she was depressed, there was no way to tell. She also lost her husband when I had just turned 16. I lost a father who adored me. He had started vomiting and had severe diarrhea. The doctors had come home, I remember. All the family had come to visit. They surrounded my father. Words of pity, words of loss were afloat. The Kamlaris and the Kamaiyas sat nearby. The shamans came home, I remember. But he could not be saved. I remember mother’s wailing. They still echo in these walls. In my ears too.
Everyone loves differently. Everyone’s love is different. They touch different parts of your hearts and different parts of your mind. Father showed his love to me, after all, he had lost 3 of his daughters. Sometimes, I would be reluctant to go to school. He would tell my mother, “Let the little one be, it is ok if she does not want to go to school for a day. You do your chores, I will spend time with her.” And he did. He would play with me and my sister. We were very happy to have a father who was also a friend. With his death, I lost hope. I felt like everything was taken away from me. My mother’s grief was different. It was visible. Her eyes had become like stone, dark and deep. Her mouths had dried up. Her lips cracked and her voice trembled. She saw 8 of her children and a husband die in her life.
The year-end ritual had not even ended, I was married. My uncles brought me to their home two days before I was to get married. I remember leaving home. My mother and my brothers all in whites. They did not attend my marriage. Normally, there would be no celebrations for an entire year when someone dies in the family. I do not know what the rush to sent me away. At my uncles, I remember crying all night thinking of Father. If he was alive, he would have kept me. I would have still been at home. But poor me, I had no will in my fate.
I had not seen my husband. I only saw him on the day I got married. I came here far away from my mother and my brother. From the living shadows of my late father. At my new home, things were different. I had not worked so much in my own home but here I had to work. Take care of the men, the animals, and the house. I learned. I had to adapt and I had to find my own happiness in this new life and role that I was given without asking. I was lucky too. My husband was a teacher and he never added any worries to my life. A good, simple school teacher who lived by his religion of truth, honesty, and integrity.
In less than a year we had a son. There was happiness back in my life again. I felt it was my father’s blessing to ease my heartache of losing him and leaving family. He had blessed me with a son. My husband and his parents were also happy. People came with fruits. The kitchen was always full of food. The fire never died and with the arrival of my son this foreign house slowly became home to me. But in less than a year, my son passed away. He too died of my father’s symptoms. A bad fever, vomiting, and diarrhea. I had lost everything in my life. I cried. I died. It felt like the end.”
Saraswati Neupani, Dang
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Stories of Nepal x Health Foundation Nepal