Brushfire Fairytales (15 February 2010)

Today was my day off and Mem was conspicuously absent.  I spent my morning trying unsuccessfully to hit the elusive combination of power, mobile phone network availability, and some yet to be determined third factor necessary to access the internet, and when that failed, took a walk around the neighborhood.   Samibhanjang is situated, as I have suggested, on a hilltop, or rather on a ridge which meanders along for two or three kilometers, cascading down on either side into valleys from which similar hills rise up, lifting similar villages sprawled over similar ridges.  From any crest of this ridge, or any break in the trees I am afforded breathtaking views of the valley on one side and the Himalayas on the other.  I have yet to notice any of the locals paying any special attention to these profound wonders and they often seem confused when I stop to examine the beauty of a landscape that to them is just Main Street.

Beauty takes on an interesting new dynamic when I’m traveling without a camera, which has been the situation since my batteries died and I found out that the off-brand AA version available in the local market is insufficient to power my old Canon.  When I’m not looking for an interesting shot or admiring a shot I just took, I am forced to pursue the spectacle of nature for the sake of my own enjoyment, a pursuit that is purely personal, fleeting and experiential.  I set out for the top of a nearby hill today, taking along my notebook and a novel, looking for a beautiful view in a secluded place with the hope that I could sit for awhile and ponder what that beauty meant, if it meant anything.  After about a half hour I found The Spot; an unterraced, unplanted section of the hillside, close to a crest, free of trees, with 180 degrees of jaw dropping views.  I sat there for almost an hour while the clouds flowed over the enormous masses of ice and stone that rule over the valley with indifference, watching as the peaks disappeared, one by one, for a few moments at a time, making me almost doubt their existence until they suddenly materialized again.

After awhile I started fidgeting a little and decide to write a few things down.  I noted the birds diving then climbing again directly across from me but hundreds of feet from the ground.  I noted the sound of cattle and chickens in the distance.  I noted the smell of cooking fires, and then glanced to my left and noticed smoke drifting up over a rise in the grass.  I didn’t think I was near any houses, but I ignored it and looked back to the mountains.  Then I noticed heat coming from the same direction and decided I’d take a look.  I wandered over and saw that the field that I had been sitting in was burning and five children between the ages of 5 and 8 were trying to put it out with tree branches.  Around fifty square meters of grass and small shrubs had been blackened by the fire and as I watched in morbid fascination the flaming line of the edge of destruction raced towards me.  The flames being only about a foot high, there was no danger to anyone, but I wondered briefly about the adjacent jungle and the more distant homes.   I also wondered why these children where the only firefighters.  As the line reached my feet I tried to stamp it out, but it kept leaping past me and the heat was occasionally quite intense.  In a few moments my perfect sitting place was consumed.  After watching helplessly for a few minutes, I noticed that where the hill sloped down into the jungle the flames were smaller, so I tried again to halt its progress there, this time successfully.  The children were also winning their share of battles and by the time I finished stamping my line of defense, the fire was pretty well contained, taking out a mere 100 square meters of grass and no trees or homes.  I sat at the edge of ruin watching two 7 year olds beat the ground in the distance while the other brave volunteers came to join me.  We exchanged as much information as we could in Nepali, which wasn’t much.  I shrugged, said “Namaste”, and jogged back down the mountain over the ashes of the field.