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Hut’s Weeding

Niels Moeller
Danish DW

A wedding is a major event in everyone’s life, but perhaps it doesn’t change your everyday life that much? Niels Moeller DW was, invited for a wedding and it was a great experience. 

I have a Nepali friend. His name is Hut. When time and weather allow it he comes to our house on Saturday afternoon. We sit for an hour; take a little snack and talk - mostly about his family and life in his village. Last year Hut was married and I was invited as a guest. 

Hut Bahadur Sarki’s village is Hooka in Tanahun district. From where the main road ends in Bhimad Baazar. It takes five hours on foot to reach his village. 

Nowadays Hut lives in Pokhara and works in a mechanic repair shop. By the help of Danish volunteer Hut got this job in 1996, and he is still working there as an “apprentice”. To be an “apprentice” in this job is a process where he learns by doing - 11 hours a day 6 days a week. His monthly salary is 2000 rupees + lodging and “daal-bhat”. “Kaalo kaam chha”, Hut says looking at his fingers. But Hut does not complain. He has a job, and he can help his family with a little money. 

In Hut’s village there are many castes - bahun, chettri, kami, saarki and damai. The different castes live in separate places. Bahun and chettri in one place, the low castes - saarki, daamai and karmi - in another. Around Hut’s family’s house all the saarki people live. Each family manages the housework activities by themselves, but in the field they work together. 
Hut’s family is quite big - father, mother, four sons and one daughter. The family owns only little land - not enough to feed them all properly. Therefore the two elder sons have migrated to Kashmir where they both work in a juice factory. The smaller brother and sister go to school. Compared to many other low castes families, Hut’s family is doing quite well - all the children have gone to school and the family has an income from outside. 

But Hut’s father and mother are not young any longer. With three sons working outside the village and with two children going to school extra hands are needed to manage the daily work in the house and in the field. Both the elder brothers are married and they have established their own separate households. What to do? 

Looking for a wife

During our Saturday talks, Hut had several times mentioned that maybe he was soon going to be married. Not that he had found a girlfriend that he wanted to marry - not at all.

“Amaa-buaa” took care of this matter. “Amaa” had reached a point where she could not manage her work alone anymore. “She must have help to do the housework and cut ghas-patt for the buffaloes”, Hut explained to me. So his father had started to explore the possibilities. May be negotiations would soon start. 

For some months nothing really happened. Bua had found “ramro keti” and negotiations were going on, I was informed. But there seemed to be no development. 

Then one Saturday Hut disclosed the good news. “Negotiations had been given up with ‘pahilo keti’, but bua had already found a new one. Negotiations had been concluded and the wedding would take place on the first of March. Amaa-bua want you to come for my wedding, and you must stay there for the night ……” I accepted the invitation at once. 

Two days before the wedding Hut left Pokhara and went home to his village to help with the preparations. He knew his coming wife from his time in the primary school but he had not seen for some years. “Ramro pariwar, ramro keti”, Hut seriously confided to me before he takes off. 

On a clear and sunny morning I set of for Hut’s wedding. Having parked my MC safely at the “Little Denmark” training center in Bhimad Baazar, I reach Hut’s house in Hooka in the late afternoon. Coming into the village everybody on the way seem to know who I am and where I am going, but coming down to the house it is only a lot of multi-colored flags and ribbons that indicate, that a wedding is about to be celebrated here. No guests are there, nothing special seem to be going on. 

I am kindly received by Hut and his mother, and offered a small bowl of chicken meat and a big glass of raaksi. Then I am shown upstairs to get some rest. An hour later I wake up by the sound of drums and horns. 

The damai orchestra has arrived. Ten minutes later the whole neighborhood is thronging in the front yard. Hut disappears, but after a while he returns in his wedding suit-new jeans, checked shirt, trekking boots and topi. Silently he watches the fuss. A little shy may be? 

As “raksi” is abundantly passed round to the damai orchestra, the rhythm intensifies and the dancers become bolder. One by one they enter the circle and take their turns. A small boy becomes the darling of the crowd. When the orchestra stops for another round of “raksi”, he finally gives in. 

The band leader gives his horn a long last blow and enters the porch in front of Hut’s house. Squatting down he prepares a strange brew. With great care he mixes a little bit of this and a little bit of that in a bowl. A chicken is slaughtered. Its head is thrown into the kitchen. Chicken blood is dispersed on the items. 

Hut’s father takes over now. A bundle of white cloth is brought in. He ties a scarf on top of the bridegroom’s topi. A bridesman holds up a red umbrella, while the groom receives a tika and a “money-mala”. Then all the guests are given a tika. 

Cheered up the guests the band starts to play again. Hut’s father pulls me aside and asks me to take on the role as wedding-photographer. Then - as a guest of honor - I am invited into the kitchen for daal-bhat and “raksi”. 

Night closes in and I feel tired, but the other guests do not. The music play and the dance goes on. What about the bride? When will she come? 

Groom meets bride 

Some time after dark the music stops. The men get to their feet - a procession is formed. The damais take the lead. The moon rises, the horns are blown. Leaving all the women and small children behind the men leave the village. Only Hut’s smaller sister is allowed to join.

The procession makes its way up the mountain. Reaching the ridge we make a stop in the primary school compound to rest and to drink. From here overlooking two valleys the view is marvelous. Singing is heard from Hut’s village. It seems the women left behind make their own party. 

In the distance we catch sight of a bright source of light. “That is from the brides village. They are preparing our coming”, Hut's father informs me. 

Then we stumble down the mountain. Barely a hundred yards from the light, we make a stop on a fairly big paddy field. On the banks around the field we all sit down. A plastic jar with raksi is passed from man to man. Again the horns are blown. A group of youngsters take over the scene and start dancing. Soon the dust from the dancing gets quite dense. My eyes get sore from the dust - so do the others. Some climb up trees others move further back. The damais and the dancers do not seem to care. Raksi eases the pain, I guess. 

I feel a hand on my shoulder. Hut's father points towards the light. “Now they are coming.” 

The light from the bride’s village is slowly moving towards us. Then it stops. A hysterical sobbing breaks loose. It just goes on and on ……. While the light comes closer.

At last the tow groups melt into each other. Hut just stands there. A little heavy at heart he looks. “Cheer up my friend”, the bridesman seems to whispers into Hut's ear, as he unfolds his red umbrella. 

For the first time the bride “presents” herself. Covered by a blue cloth, riding on the back of relative she enters. From under the blue cloth the sobbing grows stronger. Her party moves around the groom in ever closing circles. At least the bride and the groom almost touch. Then suddenly the bride disappears in the dark on the back of her “human horse”. Slowly the group of guests follow them. In a little glove close to the bride’s house all the guests sit down. Soon food-daal-bhat, maasu and raksi- is served. Now and then the damais blow their horns and beat their drum-some eager youngsters join in for a dance. As a guest of honor I am placed between the fathers of the bride and the groom. Around midnight Hut’s father senses that the raksi has done its work on me. An elder brother is instructed to take me back home to their house. The rest of the groom’s party spends the night at the bride’s house.

Crawling into my sleeping bag at Hut's house I can hear clanking of pots and pans from the kitchen - Hut's mother is still busying herself with preparations for the next day. 

Second day of wedding

At cockcrow I wake up. For a few minutes I let the sounds of the village come to me, before the door is brusquely pushed open. Hut's brother enters and hands me a plate of chicken meat and a big glass of raksi. “In ten minutes we go back to the brides house”, he shortly informs me.

Half an hour later we reach the ridge, where we made a stop the night before. Up here the sun is shining. Below us valleys and villages hide under a sea of fog-also the bride’s village. Only the peaks are visible. But as we start descending the sun slowly burns the fog away.

As we are reaching the bride’s house we can hear voices and laughter. Most people are up. Some sit on the porch to let the sun “thaw” their bodies, other are clearing their throats or brushing their teeth. Hut - a little secluded - is busy trying to smooth his wedding shirt. Soon hot milk tea in steel mugs is passed around. This brings the damais back to their feet. Horns and drums are tuned. Youngsters take up the dance again. In a corner of the yard the bride’s father is making ready to give the tika. Rice is mixed with red colour powder. Then all the guests pass by to get the red lump of rice pressed on the forehead.

On the back of her human horse and covered by a white cloth the bride appears again. Putting the full power of her lungs into a hysterical sobbing, she makes it clear to everybody that a new part of her life is about to begin. The damais blow a fanfare. Everybody lines up. Led by the damais and the groom’s party the procession slowly makes it way up the mountain again - back to the groom’s village.

Frequent stops are made on the way to change “horse” and give the bride’s voice a little rest. As the procession enters the groom’s village, the bride seems to accept her new life. Hysterical screaming turns into weak sobs as she is placed “upstairs” away from the guests.

While a bahun priest makes the necessary preparations, all the guests force their way into the front position. Led by a woman - her mother maybe - and only with tiny bit of her forehead exposed to the public, the bride reappears for the final ceremony. Under the red umbrella she stands next to her coming husband. With great care the priest places a big tike on the foreheads of the young couple. Then the fathers, the mothers, the brothers and the sisters give their tika. At last each of the guest give a tika accompanied by money notes. As I pass by the give my tika, I catch Hut's eye. He seems happy. It is over now.

The next couple of hours the guests entertain themselves. Some sit down to have a smoke and a chat; others disappear behind the house to give a helping hand cutting the pig for the “weeding dinner”.

Having received the job as wedding photographer, I am “invited” to take photos of everybody. At last even the bride - almost touching her husband - allows me a wedding picture.
By two o’clock I have packed my rucksack and am ready to leave. Hut hands me a packet of nice smelling pig-meat. “It gives you good energy for your journey- Ramro sanga jaanuhos. Phokara ma pheri bhetaunla”.

Big event but small changes

Being a married man has not yet brought change to Hut's life. He still works in Pokhara and only goes back to his village to give a helping hand during planting and harvest season. Still he comes to our house for a Saturday-afternoon chat. Asked about his wife, Hut smiles a little shyly. “Ramro keti-Ama enjoys her help in the field”.

A few weeks ago Hut informed me that he was looking for a private room in Pokhara.

“If bua comes with my wife it is nice to have a private room”, he says. Within a year or two Hut will probably be a father - he himself working in Pokhara and wife and children staying in Hooka.

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