The Village on the Hill

We had been traveling the countryside in Nepal for about a week, hosting vision and health clinics, when we came upon Kumari. The village sat far from the busy city of Kathmandu, with loving people and a slow, steady pace to life. Having danced on the rooftop with the locals for a couple of hours, as is customary in Nepal, I took a minute to just sit, apart from the crowd, and share the moment with my partner, Chris. Four dirty feet dangling off of a rooftop, the roar of a dancing mob growing behind- at that moment though, I found myself lost in the hypnotic music, staring out over the glowing valley.

“Pssssst.”

I had no idea who was interrupting my contemplative moment, but I didn’t intend on breaking it to find out. It was one of those moments in which you want to be stuck in deep concentration, a moment so satisfying you forget time and shift focus to what's right in front of you.

“Pssssssst.” It sounded again.

Slightly frustrated, I looked around and down to the red dirt road beneath to see a young boy waving incessantly at me and Chris.

“Hey. Hey, you, come, come,” he said, motioning for us to meet him down on the road.

I looked over at Chris, who also had been interrupted out of his thoughts, as his lips curled into a sweet smile, the type of smile that told me either we would be up to no good or we were about to fall in love, maybe both. We looked around at some of our friends, enraptured by the dancing, and decided this would be our secret. Climbing down from the rooftop, we wondered what the kid wanted, and when he met us at the side of the house, as to avoid the growing crowd out front, it became clear. He grabbed my hand and pointed far across the valley,

“I am Batsal. I will take you there. Just us.”

Far in the distance, spanning a lush, green ravine was a simple suspension bridge, connecting the two villages on each side.

“Yes, yes, we go there. Come,” he said, dragging me down the steep, dusty trail to the ravine.

As I climbed and slipped down into the empty valley, I began questioning the safety of this journey. Unrealistic and far-fetched fears were projected across my mind like a film; scenes of mistrust between strangers and abductions into the most formidable of situations.

When we got to the bottom of the ravine, Chris asked the boy how he knew English. We learned about his nearby school and the hard work his parents endured to give him that opportunity. He hushed us and tiptoed us through a seemingly empty rock quarry.

“That truck is my dad’s. This is work,” he told us as he pointed to the heavy machinery.

At this, my fears faded and I began feeling guilty- how could I doubt such an innocent boy? How could I fear those bizarre situations would have ever occurred? Reflecting now, it is obvious why I thought that way, as I have come to understand that the realities which we can project as westerners on different places, other cultures, new people are often highly fear-based. These projections can be built out of assumptions of the worst in so many people, leading us to think we must be on guard against the actions of those different from us. What I have come to find is, it is not what is different that you must be worried about, but rather the lies right in front of you, feeding these dangerous assumptions.

I looked down at my kurta, now drenched in sweat, as I followed closely behind Batsal, beads of sweat dripping down his neck as he continued to lead us through the canyon in the heat of the day. Soon the air seemed to cool as we found ourselves following along a small river that fed the farmland around it. Cows (sacred in the region according to Hindu beliefs) wandered all around, carrying with them a natural odor- not necessarily a bad odor, but an evident earthy smell nonetheless. Arriving underneath the bridge, we were greeted by the shadow providing a pleasant shade. The sweating slowed and what was once discomfort with humidity faded into bliss at the realization of the oasis.

Rather than scale the rocks to walk along the bridge, Batsal immediately ran over to a group of his friends who were already swimming in the river. Chris and I climbed up the cliff and to the bridge, from there he ran off alone, venturing down the bridge and up another hill in hunt of new views to photograph. I watched our new friend from above as he contently splashed in the cooling mountain waters, yelling, with infectious joy,

“Namaste sister! Namaste!”

This moment will stay with me forever. There I was, standing completely alone in a new place, my companions all doing what made them each happy. I looked around in every direction, the different hues of green and yellow painting that valley deep into my memory. It was here I realized I was doing what made me happy as well. Being present, saying yes to an experience, and finding the beauty I can within it.

Eventually, Chris ran back to me, his face aglow, and we decided it was time. Batsal chose to end his journey there, he had shown us what he had desired and that was that. We thanked our friend, and he pointed us in the right direction. We never saw him after this, but I came to learn later that “Batsal” means love or affection, and I don’t know if there was a more fitting name for that boy. I still think about him and the fact he had picked Chris and me to share that moment with him, just as I did on the entirety of the walk back.

With the evening sun again on our backs, and our kurtas again sweat-soaked, Chris and I continued through four different villages until we reached Kumari- each village with their share of wide eyes and following children. I watched as Chris interacted with the locals and the same smile he had earlier, now met my mouth. This journey we just shared, while short, was an experience that I may have never lived had it not been for Batsal and his kindness and Chris’ inspiring excitement. My thankfulness for these two grew until I felt as though my heart would eventually just stop out of pure contentment.

We rounded the corner, Kumari perched on her hill ahead. I looked up to the same house, nothing had changed - everyone was still on the rooftop captivated by the dance, and the crowd of health patients outside had not grown any larger, nor had it dwindled with the day. Chris and I climbed up the staircase once more and reclaimed our same spots. Our once again bare feet naturally found themselves hanging off the edge and the dancing persisted as the sun began to set into its golden hour. No one had realized we were gone, only that we weren’t dancing, and every time it was mentioned, we would look at each other, the smile stealing our words.