Walking with a flip-flop, I lose my way to my destination. Four fingers dance; the right thumb rubs tobacco on the left palm. Sitting on a rope-made bedstead, with a small innocent smile, he says, “Some vehicles seem to be running along the Mahendra highway, and birds are chirping in the sal forest beside. Don’t you ever use flip-flops? No, I never use them. If I wear them, they will grab my sensible power to find the ways and push me back out of my own wonderful route.”
“Why are you asking me?” he said in a suspicious way. “Do not worry; we are from Thakurdwara village. Do you know Thakurdwara? Thakurdwara village is situated right next to Bardia National Park, and the park is famous for wildlife adventure in West Nepal.”
He puts tobacco inside his lower lip and twists his tongue inside his mouth with a habitual taste. “Yes,” he says, taking a comfortable breath. In the meantime, a bicycle falls down, alerting his ears. “I know; once I’ve been there to bring my axe. Axe, sickle, and his own skill are his friends. He loves them, and they support him to move forward with efforts.”
A spitting first drop of tobacco, wiping his mouth with his hand, he searches the surroundings with his hand. He grabs the stick, stands up, and tries to find the path he wants to go.
He is none other than Dhaniram Chaudhari, 40 years old, living in a small beautiful village called Amreni, V.D.C., Neulapur-1, in the middle of the Bardia wildlife. Though he is physically blind, he has proved that with a small intelligence, one can find the right way and move forward. A stick and his bare feet are his lifelines. Based on them, he spends his daily life doing outstanding work. Smiley, wearing a twisted old cap, laborious, he spends most of his time in the jungle collecting woods or making rope from a long grass called “Bankas.”
“Where do you want to go?” Again with a beautiful smile, he says, “To bring the Bankas; someone has ordered me to make rope.” He is brilliant, innocent, wonderful, and laborious. No one could be blind if they have an internal vision, if they have feelings and enthusiasm. He is the one who has. He has internal rays of light, a strong power that the darkest of the dark couldn’t interfere with his ways.
“How much do you charge for the rope?” “I take two rupees per bundle of Bankas. This is cheap, isn’t it? Bankas would be provided by them, so it’s okay.” All the other families were busy with household works; some were carrying a pile of harvested rice on their heads. He continues to make ropes. “We know it’s not good for health, but we gave him two packets of tobacco.”
Since childhood, he has been living in his sister’s home, and his brother lives in another village, one hour away by foot, looking after the cows. With his own sight, he also has poor eyesight. He got an eye infection as a child, faced economic problems, had no access to medical services, and no transportation. He did not receive any treatment and lost the light in his eyes. He collects piles of wood from the jungle and sells them in the villages per ox-cart for five hundred rupees. It’s amazing, unbelievable, the piles of wood, and how he is able to carry and put them in an exact spot. Now, he is free in the wildlife jungle and collects only dead trees. Once, park staff grabbed his axe and took it to the headquarters, but after walking 13 km, he noticed his own axe and got it back. By touching, he could identify the rupees, whether it’s RS. 1, 5, or 20.
“What do you do with the money you earn?” “I buy some soaps, clothes, and sometimes meat.” “Don’t you ask your sister?” “No, I feel bad, so I like to earn myself.” He is free from his sister’s home, but they still take care of him. “Oh, blind… see… see blind, blind,” sometimes children tease me. It irritates me. If I could catch them, then I would punish them, but I just chase them, that’s all.
“Don’t you fear wild animals in the jungle?” “No, normally, where I go, it is safe. Hardly any animals used to be there,” he says easily. “Can you show us the wood you have collected?” We follow his pace, in the terrace of the field, after a 15-minute walk; he takes us to the exact spot. Two ox-cart loads of wood are here. He can measure; it’s unreal, unbelievable.
“Have you any plans to marry?” He smiles, shy and turns to another side. “Who will marry me, being blind?” Showing his feelings, we understand him. “Do you have any girls you like?” He smiles and becomes quiet. “Sometimes girls tease me and make fun.” Digesting his own feelings, he tries to be more self-dependent.
He continues to say, “Once, one of the men from some NGO came and registered my name, showing expectations to provide facilities to blind people but disappeared thereafter, never came back. Presently, I feel sad about it. We notice this is what happens in our country; some NGOs are just for business and play in the community.”
He was registered in Land Revenue in the district headquarters office as landless people in 2057, but the government is silent. Six years have passed, and there are no signs. His efforts to do more, upon getting land, plough the field, and grow some crops. “I do not like to give more trouble to my sister anymore, so I am waiting for the government to provide me with lands.”
We respect his efforts, the light of life, ways of life, and request any organizations not to play. With a big smile and Tharu songs (songs about rivers and fish), we say goodbye to him from the spot. He is really beautiful.
