‘कुनै पनि हालतमा त्यो चमारलाई पशुपतिभित्र पस्न दिने छैनौं’

– Purna Bhadra Adhikari

Any influential personality from India would be warmly welcomed at Pashupatinath and would traditionally receive blessings. However, everyone knew that Ambedkar was a Chamar, and in Nepal, a Chamar is considered equivalent to a Sarki. How could a devout Hindu possibly allow a Chamar to enter the temple premises?

You must stand firmly by your faith and values and protect Sanatan Dharma. We, the people, will protect the temple, and even if a river of blood has to be shed, we will accomplish that task. I will be fully prepared to shoot anyone who crosses the line we have drawn.

My Childhood Memory of Ambedkar

Pashupatinath is a Hindu temple. A signboard stating ‘Hindus Only’ can still be seen at the main entrance of the temple. At a temple visited by thousands of people every day, even today, if someone who appears to be Christian (white), Muslim (with a beard and moustache), or otherwise non-Hindu is suspected to be a foreigner, they are questioned at the main entrance itself. This is not generally done with Buddhists or those who appear to be Buddhists. Sikhs are also not subjected to such questioning.

When I was a child, there were even stricter restrictions on entering the temple. In those days, even among Hindus, different sections of the Hindu caste system were prohibited from entering the temple. Kusules and Damais were not even allowed to climb the marble-paved steps leading to the four silver doors of the Pashupatinath temple. Kasais were permitted to go only as far as the statue of Kirtimukh Bhairav, where they slaughter a buffalo on every full-moon night. Such sacrifices were performed inside the southern gate, beyond Chaushaththi. Pode and Chyame people had to remain satisfied with staying around the temple premises. Sarkis had to confine themselves beyond the entire perimeter. The numerous notions of ‘touchable’ and ‘untouchable’ imposed in the name of religion made this arrangement function at that time. There were also not many visitors to the temple then. Most of those who came were regular devotees. As the chief priest, or Mool Bhatt, and the chief administrator, or Rawal, my father was also the custodian of those values.

One day in October 1956, a news report was broadcast on the radio announcing that the renowned Indian jurist and principal architect of the Indian Constitution, Babasaheb B. R. Ambedkar, was going to visit Nepal. It was also reported that during his visit he would visit the Pashupatinath Temple. This part of the news caused an earthquake in the religious values upheld by the Mool Bhatt household. Any influential personality from India would traditionally be warmly welcomed at Pashupatinath and would receive blessings. However, everyone knew that Ambedkar was a Chamar, and in Nepal, a Chamar is considered equivalent to a Sarki. How could a devout Hindu possibly allow a Chamar to enter the temple premises?

The matter was discussed with the Bada Guruju and at the Royal Palace. Using some other reason as justification, an immediate letter was sent to the then Prime Minister, Tanka Prasad Acharya, requesting that Ambedkar’s visit and his visit to Pashupatinath be cancelled. At my age at the time, I could not understand the diplomatic depth of the matter, but I clearly understood the intensity of the tension that was prevailing in our home.

The heir of the Rana dynasty and staunch Hindu General Madhav Shumsher J.B. Rana arrived at our house early one morning, visibly agitated. He was a devotee of my father. He expressed his respect for my father by placing his head at my father’s feet. It was a rare sight for a member of the Rana family to bow his head at someone’s feet in this manner. We were all very pleased that day. The two of them spoke for some time. In my estimation, their conversation was approximately as follows:

General Madhav: ‘We will not allow that Chamar to enter the temple at any cost.’

Father: ‘What can I do? I have already gone to the Bada Guruju and explained the religious values in detail. He merely nodded his head and did not give me any decision.’

General: ‘What does the government say?’

Father: ‘I had asked for an appointment with Prime Minister Tanka Prasad Acharya, but he did not even give me an appointment.’

General: ‘What does the Palace say?’

Father: ‘I have told the Chief Private Secretary to His Majesty everything. He promised to submit everything to His Majesty and arrange a meeting with him. But because Ambedkar had been invited to Nepal by the Tanka Prasad Acharya government itself and the government had arranged his itinerary, he later informed me that I should discuss the matter with Prime Minister Tanka Prasad Acharya and his government.’

General: ‘Those bastards.’

Father: ‘I have gone from one door to another throughout the Palace. I feel as though I have become an object of unnecessary humiliation. I am merely a priest. How can I fight the government while carrying out the daily rituals of the temple?’

General: ‘All right, Guruju, now listen to me. You are the religious authority of this country. You must stand firmly by your faith and values and protect Sanatan Dharma.

We, the people, will protect the temple, and even if a river of blood has to be shed, we will accomplish that task. I am the son of a Kshetri. I am a descendant of ancestors who, when the time came, fearlessly cut off heads. As on other days, you should sit inside the western main entrance wearing the attire of a priest and worship God. I will be outside the gate with a pistol loaded with bullets in my hand and a khukuri at my waist. I will be fully prepared to shoot anyone who crosses the line we have drawn. I will station my men throughout the area surrounding this sacred pilgrimage site, and if necessary, they will also be prepared to shed blood as soldiers. They will have to step over corpses to open the western gate. Do not be worried in the slightest. All those enemies of religion will turn tail and flee.’

General Madhav Shumsher knelt down and took his leave. His head was held high, and determination was clearly visible on his face. The news spread in all directions immediately, accompanied by concern. Most of the residents around Devpatan were Newars and Brahmins. They all followed my father. Here, the word ‘followed’ means that the Kshetris gathered by General Madhav were positioned at the very front. The sattal above the bhajan mandali to the north of the golden bull and its calf became the headquarters of General Madhav and his associates. Wealthy Ranas had abandoned all their comforts and stayed there in the name of protecting the Hindu religion. At the same time, Ambedkar’s statement that he was equally determined to enter the temple was also made public. He claimed that since he had embraced Buddhism, he was no longer a Chamar. After abandoning Hinduism, he had freed himself from the chains of the caste system. There was no restriction on Buddhists entering the temple. However, Hindu hardliners argued that once someone became a Chamar, they would remain a Chamar forever, and that Pashupatinath could not tolerate its land being touched by the feet of a Chamar. The then government of His Majesty the King, led by the ‘living martyr’ Tanka Prasad Acharya, chose to remain a silent spectator.

It was a cold day in November. At around 2:30 p.m., my father returned home after completing the daily worship rituals at Pashupatinath. He hurriedly took off his clothes. After taking some time to urinate, he passed gas loudly. He drank a cup of milk. He put his clothes back on and went outside to find out what was happening. Apparently, he had been holding his urine and gas for nearly six hours. This was the regular routine my father followed throughout his adult years spent in the temple as a priest.

The old steel gate at the western entrance had just been newly constructed. It looked magnificent and was different from the other old structures. The gate had been reconstructed on the orders of King Mahendra. Surveillance in that area had already begun at around 3 p.m.

The gate had been locked from the inside. My father stood at the main area behind the gate, wearing his priestly attire, a rudraksha mala around his neck, holding a water vessel filled with water in his right hand, and wearing wooden sandals on his feet. Behind him, all the other priests and Brahmins stood in rows. The open space between the gate and the golden Nandi, who was kneeling, was filled with priests, Brahmins, saints and ascetics, yogis from Gorakhnath, sadhus, and others.

General Madhav Shumsher stood outside the locked gate, holding a pistol in his hand and a khukuri at his waist, looking toward the road from which people were approaching. He was wearing a snow-white daura-suruwal, a coffee-coloured waistcoat, and a Dhaka topi. The crowd standing in front of him was gradually growing. There were no women there. Men wearing ornaments of various colours and styles were gathering. Some were dressed as though they had come to a festival, while everyone had gathered there with some kind of striking expression on their face. Poor farmers, beggars, and physically disabled people were also gathering there. I was one of the children gathered there, and my eyes were fixed on my father’s lieutenant.

For me, it was a great festival. I participated in all the conversations that took place at home. I was involved in almost all the conversations that took place during the process of making that historic decision. Whether it was Radio Nepal newsreaders Bhogya Prasad Shah or Hari Shrestha, or All India Radio’s Devaki Nandan Pandey or Indu Wahi, by listening to them read the news, I had already become able to clearly recognize the name Ambedkar.

In Delhi, a person who was Krishna had been turned into Kansa by Singha Durbar in Devpatan. And a battle of Kurukshetra was about to take place right before my eyes. Every minute began to feel like an hour. Just then, there was some commotion. People’s heartbeats quickened. At around 4 p.m., five cars and jeeps came rushing like the wind and stopped by the roadside near the Dakshinamurti Temple. Five or six people got out of the vehicles, all wearing monks’ robes and counting beads on brown-coloured malas in their hands. The small group was led by a dark-complexioned and heavily built man. His manner and other characteristics were somewhat different from those of the people accompanying him. His eyes were glowing intensely. I thought—this must certainly be Ambedkar. The other people looked like fully grown young goats.

The people sitting outside the gate began shouting slogans. I had never heard the slogans they were shouting before. The people gathered inside the gate were shouting, ‘Har Har Mahadev’, ‘Long Live Pashupatinath’, ‘Long Live Bhole Baba’, and ‘Dharma Protects Those Who Protect It.’ Those slogans, however, were ones I had heard before.

The group of five people wearing yellow robes slowly moved forward. General Madhav Shumsher J.B. Rana said something. A man wearing grey clothes turned toward the General, saluted him, turned around, and moved toward the visitors.

The man pointed toward a white line drawn with chalk. Until he pointed at the line, I had not even noticed it. The visitor, however, continued moving forward slowly but without stopping. The man wearing grey clothes ran back toward the General. The General issued an order, raised his pistol, and prepared to fire. His associates hurried toward the visitors. They walked slowly for a few steps and stopped just behind the Lakshman Rekha. They remained there.

The leader of the group turned toward his fellow monks. The other monks were a few steps behind their leader. I only learned the word ‘courtesy’ much later, but that was what I experienced at that moment. After an indescribable moment in time, they turned around and walked away with their backs toward the Pashupatinath Temple. Even in the cold November evening, I began sweating profusely. In the end, the confrontation between General Madhav’s ‘soldiers’ and the monks ended non-violently. But as Ambedkar turned back with dignity and compassion, the commotion that followed was extremely unpleasant. That evening, I heard a voice burning with ingratitude and jealousy say, ‘That Sarki will receive the punishment of divine condemnation from Pashupatinath and be destroyed within four months.’

Ambedkar passed away on 6 December 1956.

(Translator: Neeraj Lavju, translated from https://kathmandupost.com/miscellaneous/2016/08/22/childhood-memory-on-br-ambedkar)

Courtesy: http://esamata.com/archives/insight/