The Sichuan Broadcasts

Next morning, the musicians of the Sisne Mountain Artistic Family walk us to the crossroads where the path which will take us to the heart of Rolpa veers off the main trail.

   There are a few houses huddled together, and a tea house. They insist to buy us chiya and geeree. While we have tea, people from the hamlet come around to see us. When we are finished, there is a small gathering. A farewell ceremony is organized. We are presented with orange marigold garlands, red powder is generously smeared on our foreheads, and we shake hands with everybody. The Sisne Family sings a farewell tune, by turns high-spirited and melancholy, accompanying themselves with a guitar, an electric organ,a flute and drums. It is a new song, says Sangha, written this morning for me. "It is a poem about why you came here, and what you will tell people back in your country." I would like to know what it says exactly. The singer tears off his notebook the page on which his verses are jotted down, gives it to me and we are off.(...)
  After about an hour across the plain, walking southward, we reach a small river that we follow upstream. The narrow valley we enter winds up gently into the Rolpa range. Five hundred meters away, there is a large flat covered with grass. People are sitting over there, twenty or thirty, in a wide circle. When we get closer, we find it is a meeting of the local women's association. Except for the three girls animating the discussion, who wear the tracksuit favored by younger militants, old and young alike are dressed in peasant skirts and blouses, with a piece of clothing wrapped around their head turban fashion. They have at hand the long-handled sickles and the large back baskets they use to collect grass for the cattle. One of them is speaking with a lot of energy, and her speech stirs loud approbations and laughters. One of the Party girls is taking notes studiously. An other one gives a short answer. The oldest lady, who has been presiding the session and governing speaking turns, makes a brief concluding speech and the gathering breaks off. They all put their baskets to their back and start to grass cutting. I ask to talk to the energetic young woman. She is shy at first, but she fast regains her assurance. She looks still young, eventhough her face is weathered by the hard work in the fields. She is short but stands very upright. She has a beautiful smile, and her eyes are full of interrogation and curiosity. It's going to be a difficult interview. She belongs to a Nepali speaking caste, but Sangha doesn't understand a word of the local dialect. Her answers have first to be translated to standard Nepali by the Commander to him, who then translates them to me in his peculiar English. She has been a member of the women's association for more than ten years. She has joined before the uprising. Everything has changed since. Before, daily wages were miserable. They have been raised, and now women can keep what they earn. The men used to take all their money. Sometimes, the husbands even went to check with the lanlord how much they had actually earned. And except some ploughing once in a while, they did nothing but drink away the little money their wives managed to make, and give them a beating for a thank. "How did this change come about? - The great leaders came here and called all the men to a big meeting, and told them that they behaved very badly, and explained to them how things should be. - The leaders came and made a meeting? That's it? - Yes, that's what she says." She is adding something, making a point of some sort. The Commander translates to Sangha, and they both laugh. "She is insisting very much that you shouldn't get wrong ideas about her. She is a good wife. When he really needs it, she gives some money to her husband."