The possibility of a school for Khumjung first entered my mind
in the Rolwaling Valley. One night around the campfire Urkien
and other senior Sherpas told us of their regret that no schooling
was available for their children, and I learned something of
a tremendous desire for education present in these unsophisticated
people.
Too often the education programs being undertaken in underdeveloped
countries have been misdirected and have resulted in a useless
type of citizen who is too proud to use the strength of his
hands if other work is not available. The Sherpas, with their
simple agricultural and pastoral economy, have no jobs for sedentary
workers (except in the monasteries), and a full-scale educational
program would well turn men away from their land and send them
to seek an easier living in the teeming lowlands. But a modest
and practical program could do much good.
|
By learning to read and write in their own languages, the
Sherpas could take a more active interest in their national
affairs, be more receptive to improvements in their agriculture,
their homes, and their health. |
By learning to read and write in their own languages, the Sherpas
could take a more active interest in their national affairs,
be more receptive to improvements in their agriculture, their
homes, and their health. Across the border in Tibet, the Chinese
are building schools, and word of this has seeped through to
the Sherpas. Despite their fears of the invaders, the Sherpas
are understandably impressed by some of the things the Chinese
have done. Although foreign aid is being poured into Nepal from
every direction, this is generally confined to the more local
and accessible regions. The border, with its lack of communications,
is left to struggle completely unaided, and this could well
be the cause of trouble in the future.
During the negotiations with the Yeti’s scalp, I told
the elders of Khumjung about a plan. This idea was received
with enthusiasm, and one bright lad, Kalden, presented me with
a petition signed by all the children of Khumjung, beseeching
me to achieve my aim. When we arrived in Chicago with Kunjo
Chumbi and the scalp, I put the idea to WorldBook, our sponsors,
and they generously agreed to supply the financial backing.
Suitable schoolteachers for such remote regions was not easily
obtained, especially as we required a man of experience capable
of carrying through a performance despite any local problems,
and also preferably similar in background, religion, and language
to his pupils.
We were fortunate enough in obtaining an excellent man from
Darjeeling, Tem Dorji Sherpa, a school teacher of life-long
experience, ex-junior army officer, Buddhist religion, born
in Darjeeling of Sherpa parents, and with a competent grasp
of the Nepali, Sherpa, Hindustani, and English languages. Tem
Dorji traveled into Khumjung with me in March and immediately
started teaching school on a grassy plot whenever the weather
would permit. In an attempt to maintain a supply of teachers,
I took the young boy Kalden Sherpa out to Kathmandu and put
him in school there – on the clear understanding that
he must return to his village in three years’ time as
a junior school teacher.
Every evening a different Sherpa family would entertain us.
By 7 pm, it was usually too dark and wet to work any longer
– tired and damp, our one interest would be to rush off
to bed. But night after night, we trudged off to yet another
celebration in our honor, with food and drink in plenty and
much dancing and passing of compliments. Desmond (Doig) couldn’t
resist the rosy-cheeked and runny-nosed little children. He
was always creeping off to make things for them. Two see-saws
were built and later a swing – both something that had
never been seen in these parts before. The shrieks of childish
joy were ample reward for the effort. The children were not
the only people interested in this entertainment – families,
standing out in the rain, could have been excused if their enthusiasm
had waned, but not one of them seemed to have any thought of
leaving. Following a period of chanting and music, the lamas
seated themselves along the edge of the veranda and prepared
for the culmination of the ceremony.
This was what the Sherpas had been waiting for! They formed
up into a queue to pass slowly before the lamas. The head lama
touched them on the crown, with a silver emblem and chanted
a blessing; the next lama flicked them with a silver-mounted
brush; the third lama gave them a morsel of food which they
quickly ate; the fourth lama spilled a little chang into their
palm and they swallowed this; and the last lama poured some
Tibetan tea into their cupped hands. They drank this and then
in religious symbolism, wiped their dampened hands on their
foreheads and hair.
|
. . . perhaps the most touching feature was the eagerness
with which fathers and mothers brought their tiny babies
to be blessed by the lamas in their turn. |
It was an astonishing scene with its background of rain and
fog, and perhaps the most touching feature was the eagerness
with which fathers and mothers brought their tiny babies to
be blessed by the lamas in their turn. It was 2.30 pm before
the ceremony was completed and the head lama had departed into
the rain with another blast of trumpets.We had survived three
and a half hours of celebration; the school has been well and
truly launched. Certainly, as Desmoind Doug commented, we appeared
to have been responsible for at least a substantial religious
revival in Khumjung.
On the morning of June 12th, we finally left Khumjung behind.
Sadly we said out goodbyes to all our good Sherpa friends and
then made a farewell visit to the school – to find Tem
Dorji with his first class in session: forty-five bright-eyed
children sitting cross-legged on the dry wooden floor, writing
Nepalese characters on their slates with white chalk. Despite
the steady rain outside, the classroom was warm and comfortable.
At a sign from Tem Dorji the children broke into a series of
action songs, obviously well rehearsed, and then the head boy
presented us all with ceremonial scarves and wished us well
on our journey.
We climbed up to the crest of the pass towards Namche bazaar.
From here we could look back and see the houses of Khumjung,
the green potato fields, the giant chortens and mane walls flanking
the village, the gleaming wet rock precipices climbing up into
the mist, and our little school, with children waving at us
from the veranda. Next moment a cloud of rain blanketed it all
out, and with something of a lump in my throat, I turned away
and dropped down the long slopes that led back to civilization
– promising myself as I did so that I would return some
day to this village in the clouds, to enjoy the hospitality
of its friendly mountain people and gain refreshment from their
kind philosophy; and to feel again the uplift of spirit and
the quickening of the pulse as the eyes roamed upward and dwelt
lovingly on the perpetual challenge of icy spire and rock tower,
high in the thin cold air.
