Letter from Kathmandu

Literary historian Shiva Regmi has compiled the editorials of this historic magazine in the book Saradaka Sampadakiye Bicharharu (Editorial Thoughts of Sarada). The editorials take us rapidly back into the past. Through its language, among other things. The not-so- perfect sentences of Sarada editorials (the translated editorial below might give one an idea) suggest that the Nepali language was just beginning to grow then. In fact, Nepali began to develop systematically in earnest after Turner wrote the first Nepali dictionary some three decades before Sarada came into existence. The editorials indulge overwhelmingly on topics such as how to write, what to write, what is prose, what is verse, etc. This indulgence is symptomatic of a language in the initial stage of development.

The Rana regime was in place when Sarada first came out. This regime used to discourage the publication of books, magazines and newspapers, and the opening of libraries. Even the newspapers published from India were also not spared. For example, the Ranas had requested the East India Company to close down the Gorkahli Weekly that was being published from Benaras, India. And it did close down in 1920 or thereabouts. In 1930 the then Nepalese Prime Minister Bhimshusmher had handed down public punishment to those who had tried to seek approval to open a public library. The atmosphere was by no means congenial for the dissemination of knowledge. Still Sarada came out. Obviously not without cozying up to the Ranas, and restricting itself in its scope. Any wonder that the editorials show complete apathy towards social and political issues and are riddled with words and phrases of servility to the Ranas.

The editorials spanning three decades reflect more facets of history than the example presented below.

Even this translated editorial has more to offer in terms of history.

"Why didn't Sarada run?

The importance and the usefulness of a thing is felt when it's not around. We found Sarada near us for twelve long years. We rejoiced in its qualities, got angry seeing its mistakes. Some of its issues may have been safely kept, while most of them may have been torn and thrown away. We did everything one could do to a callow magazine of a just sprouting language. But we couldn't quite realise its importance, as long as it was with us like our nails and flesh. (If we had understood its importance, we wouldn't have let it disappear from us.) And when it wasn't, we painfully realised, like fingertips without nails: Oh, where is Sarada?

We have been receiving the 'where is Sarada?' questions the moment Sarada closed down. It was difficult for us to reply to all those queries. What to say? It was the time of [the Second World] war; paper was not only expensive but also unavailable. And at times we had to resort to crude paper. We felt like responding with this. But that was not enough reason. The war was global and it had affected the whole world, not just Nepal. Newspapers, magazines in other countries, however, were continuously running even if they had thinned a little. Why couldn't only ours run?

One of the reasons for Sarada not running in those days [the period when it couldn't bring out its issues] was writers' indifference. We didn't receive enough good articles to fill even reduced-in-size Sarada. We started prodding writers by showing these letters. Ours writers had ample reasons to give. They showed us their sunken stomachs. The day just passes by while tending the stomach; where is the time to write? they said. And even when they wrote diligently, Sarada knew only to take, not to give. We went to writers who were doing well enough. They were evasive and gave us unsatisfactory answers. But we never stopped pestering them. And perhaps to evade our pestering that one good writer even said this: ' What to do. Those at the top don't like what we write.' One said to me just yesterday, ' Stop writing, if you want to prosper.' Surprising! But we didn't believe them. We said to ourselves, these writers lack devotion; these are not genuine writers. We had to, however, reply to the letters. The letters were from immigrant Nepalis, too. Should we answer citing these things? But this would be to clearly accept that good writers are not in Nepal.

Let's take our subscribers. We have few subscribers, and on top of that, 200-250 Messieurs neither pay the price of their subscription for a year or two nor deign to inform us to cut their subscription. As if they don't have any relationship with Sarada, their mother-tongue. Despite much disapproval, we didn't stop to knock at their door. Money, however, wasn't forthcoming. Why didn't money come? Because of stinginess? We Nepalis are not misers. Don't we drink? Don't we smoke? Don't we decorate ourselves? with snazzy clothes, nice, big houses, and the garland of 2-4 to 108 wives. Maybe we lack the courage to spend a one-fourth of a pice, to adorn ourselves with literature. No, definitely not. We are a brave race. We are brave and play fight. Yes, we play fight. Our policy plays fight (Not every language has the word fight conjoined with the word play). But it seems we don't have the courage to be interested in literature -- the delightful play of words, emotion, and imagination. Maybe we should write these as our reply to the letters.

We were anxious and finding it difficult to answer. In the meantime, the Ramband answer to all these questions came to us:

Sriteen Maharaja's annual help to Sarada and command to keep it running.

This help is a command to writers to serve literature, to do Saraswati [knowledge] pooja, and to readers, to help literature through donation. Now we are confident that Sarada will trample all the obstacles on its way and move ahead. We received the annual help on the condition that it will run continuously. Therefore, we have an exciting answer to our letter-writing well-wishers: there is no cause for worry; Sarada will run."

Ajit Baral is a frequent contributor to The Daily Star and various Nepalese newspapers. He lives in Kathmandu.