SACRED COWS STORIES IN KATHMANDU NICOLE FANDEL
08/12/2013
The best way to discover Kathmandu is on foot. You find yourself walking alongside city dressed businessmen, beautiful women in bright colored flowing dresses, kids of all ages in impeccably pressed school uniforms, old men and women enjoying the sun, and an occasional hard faced man carrying a heavy burlap sack bigger than him on his back held by a strap covering his brow. You also see bunches of tourists from everywhere: some post-hippies, some seasoned traveling types and some “trekkers”. They tend to gather at street corners to cross the roads as a group. I usually join them, knowing there is safety in numbers! The traffic seems to know when to give in!
My hotel is at the end of a small street off Lazimpath, a main road close to the King’s Palace and dotted with a few embassies. It used to be airy and tree lined, it is now, eight years later, a crazy mixture of cars, minibuses and motorbikes, all using their horns instead of brakes. Add a few cycled or motorized rickshaws and you have a lively situation and quite a spectacle. Walking in that city is a pleasure and an endless adventure for me.
During my first trip in Nepal, I had made an interesting friend. At the corner of my hotel street and Lazimpath, sitting on a pile of garbage as high as me, a large cow actually nodded at me each time I passed as I waved at her. She disappeared at night, no one knowing where she went, but she was always back in the morning. I wonder how she managed to climb up there…
Now, the pile of trash and the cow have been replaced by an ultra slick mini store selling toothbrushes, souvenirs, bottled water and snacks. I hope my friend, the sacred cow, found another soft and warm place to watch the world go by. Everyone knows that the Hindu religion protects and reveres cows. They are allowed to roam free through the cities, undisturbed. The actual sight of a cow in the middle of a road in a busy modern city traffic at rush hour being avoided by buses, cars and motorbikes is heart wrenching! There she is, peacefully walking or just lying, right next to you as you ride by… not getting hit. Miraculous!
I spent endless hours visiting Hindu and Buddhist temples and learned a lot about Nepalese people, their hybrid mix of customs and their beliefs, asking questions to everyone I met. Each day I returned to the hotel around at five o’clock for an English conversation with “ the boys”. Indeed, four of the hotel’s young student waiters had asked me to improve their English. Although they worked non-stop from 6 am to 9 pm, they had organized to meet with me every day for a one hour conversation class in the hotel’s garden. The tradition was to speak first about our day, to talk about Nepal and then to listen to some songs in English… and learn them. As a treat for me, they always brought a tray with a carafe of bottled water mixed with freshly squeezed tiny limes served with ice cubes.
They had grown fond of a Beatles song and wished to practice it that day, That’s when my cassette player died. Total disappointment! I asked if they knew somebody who could repair it. They all said: “New Road!” Then proceeded to give me simple directions to find the repair shop. ” Go to the end of Lazimpath and on to Kantipath, turn right at New Road, after hospitals.” They gave me a map carefully drawn with the shop’s number. The next morning, I was off to New Road, the modern shopping part of town. I basically crossed half of the city. I had turned right after the hospital but couldn’t see the name of any road and started to wonder if I was lost. I sensed somebody walking behind me and decided to ask if I was on the right road. I turned around … and found myself nose to nose with a large black cow. She looked at me, I looked at her, patted her gently on the soft fuzzy part of her “muzzle” and mumbled: “I guess I’ll ask somebody else.” and walked off. She followed me, peacefully.
The tiny dark shop was just two blocks away. I handed my cassette player to a nice young man who took it gently apart on his desk. He looked at the pieces, nodded, and dipped his finger into a large jar sitting on a shelve. Then he rubbed his well greased finger on various part of the mechanism, and put everything together again. He clicked on the start button and it worked like magic!
Seeing how impressed I was, he smiled shyly. I thanked him and asked “How much?” He said the equivalent of 75 cents. I gave him a dollar. He said:
”Too much!”. I said: “No, no, please.” He went in a drawer and gave me a well wrapped candy, saying ”OK?” I answered ”OK! Thank you”, and added: “I love Kathmandu.” His smiled broadened and we exchanged “Namaste”.
All that walking had tired me, so I took a rickshaw back to the hotel and got ready to teach some English. The boys came in the garden carrying the tray with rattling ice cubes. I had my pencil and paper ready … and the Beatles were singing “Yesterday” on the cassette player. Another good day in Kathmandu.
Just looking at the variety of Nepalese faces one can see a mosaic of many Himalayan ethnic groups: the Tamang farmers, the Gurkhas warriors, the mountain Sherpas, the Newars artisans and the Tibetans, to name only a few.
Being given a diversity of origins and beliefs, tolerance is a must. In fact, proselytism is forbidden. I admire Nepal in many ways, but mostly for a quality that is getting so rare: respect and peaceful coexistence of two different religions: Hinduism and Buddhism, with, more recently, a secular touch added after the king’s demise. I wish that wonderful country Grace and Peace.
I hear there are still many sacred cows on the streets of Kathmandu, right in the middle of traffic, being circumnavigated. I hear you still get more jail time if you hit a cow than if you hit a person. I also hear that the Nepali police has started rounding up the cows off the roads lately in order to minimize car accidents. I hear they are sent in smaller cities or mountain villages. I wonder if they miss the excitement and what they are munching on. I wish them a meadow full of their favorite flowers… and a few stray tourists to pat the fuzzy part of their muzzle.
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