Himalayan Quest

9-Climbing

May 7 (cont.)

9-Climbing

The porter grunted. "Ah!"

The rock looked like it would hit him. His pack was so heavy that it took all his strength to keep from falling over as he attempted to dodge the falling boulder. It headed for him, but he moved his leg just enough. The danger passed by, missing him by only inches.

Adam sighed. "Phew. That was too close."

The porter's quick reaction averted disaster this time. Wearing only slippers, his foot had no protection. Had the rock hit it, he would have been out of work for days or weeks.

He had dropped to one knee after the near accident. His fellow porters helped him get up, then they continued on the trail as if nothing had happened.

He couldn't be getting paid much, yet no doubt has a family that he sees but once a fortnight. That would have been a tough blow to their income. I'm sure glad he got out of the way. I'll bet he is too.

Early in the afternoon, Adam entered a village near some fields that looked recently planted. He removed his pack and sat on a rock in the shade of a huge banyan tree. He slowly sipped some more water and took out his notebook to describe the day so far. Instead of being surrounded by crowds like in Kathmandu, only a handful of people moved around nearby. Some seemed curious about Adam, but all were too busy to bother.

Then, a little girl, maybe seven years old, approached as he jotted some notes in his journal. Her ebony bangs covered her forehead, almost touching equally dark but sparkling eyes.

She asked, ¨Yo ke ho? (What is that?)"

Adam answered her in Nepali, "I am writing about my walk here."

She seemed bewildered, ¨What is writing?¨ She looked at him without guile.

He felt stunned.

Surely she knows what writing is?

She continued to gaze at Adam, the question remaining on her face.

"Do you learn about writing in school?"

She shook her head. "I don't go to school. I help my family."

Adam nodded, comprehending.

The government-provided education is supposedly required, but it's an offer, not a mandate. Three years of schooling are compulsory, but in rural areas it's voluntary. They have to eat.

He looked at her and thought about how to communicate his answer.

What is writing? I've never described it. Who would have thought I'd ever need to do so? Weird. What might she understand?

Adam smiled and responded, "Writing is pictures of what we say out loud. What is your name?"

¨Devi.¨

He knew the name. It meant goddess. He wrote it slowly on a fresh page, printing her name one letter at a time, and simultaneously said it aloud as he wrote. "D-e-v-i. Devi."

I hope she'll see the connection between the sounds and the symbols.

She beamed, her eyes wide in amazement as if discovering a surprise. "It's a picture of my name!"

"Yes." Adam was delighted. "Yours is a beautiful name, Devi. Here." He tore the page out and gave it to her, an unexpected gift.

Devi's eyes opened wide with surprise. She accepted it, then tucked the paper under one arm. She grinned, her white teeth and sparkling wide eyes lighting her up. Devi put her dark brown hands together in thanks.