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Life of a priest

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By No Author
Every morning before the crack of dawn, 64-year-old Dilli Ram Koirala sits cross-legged on a carpeted floor, worshipping an array of Hindu deities. His prayer room has a small shrine filled with framed photographs of Hindu Gods and Goddesses, adorned with sacred clothes with religious symbols, and plastic flowers. On the wall are images of God Krishna playing flute with his girlfriend Radha, of his childhood mischief and that of God Ganesh, who is invoked for an auspicious beginning.

Clad in yellow Kurta and white trousers, Koirala, popularly known as Guruji, with his receding hairline and deep set eyes, radiates calmness and composure. He lives in a one-room apartment in the Roanoke Valley of Virginia in the United Sates with his wife, Savitra Koirala.


Among the growing number of Nepali immigrants in the US, Koirala is much sought-after because he is one of the few Nepali-speaking priests. Nepalis all over the US seek out his services as there is an increasing demand for performing special rituals, such as rice-feeding ceremony for infants, weddings, and even cremations.

In fact, Koirala just returned from a three-day trip to Charlotte, North Carolina, after performing rituals for inauguration of a new home. His itinerary for the next few weeks is full: flying to Texas for a week-long wedding; then to Chicago for another wedding. He is also booked for the summer, when he will oversee more weddings.

Until a couple of years ago, Nepalis in the US relied on Indian priests, but not anymore. They count on Koirala and other handful of Nepali priests to conduct religious functions. Koirala has traveled to New York, Ohio, Richmond, Syracuse, Georgia to perform such functions in the last couple of years. People invite him by purchasing his plane ticket and driving great distance to pick him up in their cars.

Life in a refugee camp

A native of Pataley block (village) of Chirang in southern Bhutan, Koirala was familiar with Nepal as he frequently visited the country to meet his sisters and other relatives. But when asked about his journey to Nepal seeking refuge, he said he would not like to go into the details of painful past.

After living in makeshift camps for several months in Jhapa district, on March 1992, the UNHCR took over the responsibility of looking after the refugees. Koirala and hundreds of other refugees were moved to Shanishchare camps in Morang district, where he spent 20 years before resettling in the US.

The move came following years of prolonged talks between Nepal and Bhutan. While the government officials from the two countries discussed their fate in Kathmandu and Thimphu, refugees like Koirala suffered hardship.

With no end in sight for the refugee imbroglio, in 2007, the United States offered to resettle over 60,000 refugees, more than half of the total population of 107,000. Soon, other English speaking countries—Australia, Canada and New Zealand—and European countries followed suit. By the end of last year, more than 80,000 Bhutanese refugees have been resettled across the US while thousands have left for other seven countries.

The Bhutanese refugees were permitted limited mobility outside of their camps in Nepal; however, whenever there was a need for a priest in the community nearby, Koirala was always sought after. He was never stopped or questioned. He was sought inside the camp and people escorted him to various events.

A new home

When Koirala arrived in the US in 2012, he was greeted with similar warmth. His youngest daughter, Narmada Koirala, who works at Walmart, had already settled in the Roanoke valley. He had heard about the hills and rivers in Roanoke and how it gave way to comparison with those of Nepal and Bhutan. About 150 families in Roanoke had heard about him and were eagerly waiting for him to come and help them continue their traditions.

Being a priest is a tricky

position to hold in one's community. But, for the Bhutanese refugees who had endured decades of economic hardship and social isolation in camps in Nepal, Koirala's arrival offered a feeling of reassurance. Having a priest in the midst of the close-knit community makes them feel at home. He is also actively involved in the community's activities organized by the Bhutanese Community in Roanoke.

During his childhood, Koirala's father served as the only priest in a town of about 500-600 families. After being homeschooled till he was eight, he then went through two years of apprenticeship with his father and was deemed ready to practice on his own. Since then, he has been working as a priest.

It's natural for tradition bound societies in Nepal and Bhutan to seek help from a priest, but that he is much in demand in the US might seem unusual. The man believes that it is a deeply-rooted desire to provide continuation of religion, language, tradition, and culture that prompts people to seek his services. In Nepal, most Nepalis tend not to think much about the tradition. But once uprooted from their land, they value and follow their tradition. It also stems from a desire to pass their heritage to their children, and a fear of tradition dying in their hands.

Continuing a tradition

Koirala's career as priest, despite its growing demand, doesn't offer him an easy way to negotiate with his clients. He charges no set fees for his services and neither does he compromise on his dietary preferences during his travels. He accepts whatever he is paid. He not only drives his own car, but also cooks his own meal during his trip. He carries ritual items with him and conducts rituals as per the rules and is careful not to let individual preference and conveniences interfere with it.

Shiba Bahadur Basnet, a retired government officer, hired Koirala to perform his daughter's wedding in West Virginia. Koirala also performed his grandson's rice-feeding ceremony. "No matter where we go, we tend to take our culture, language, and values with us. It is true that even if we had not met Koirala, we would have performed the wedding and the rice-feeding ceremony anyway. But, his presence meant we could follow rules like we did back in Nepal," he said. Basnet was impressed with Koirala's devotion to work and worship. "He made sure he not only performed rituals just on the wedding day, but also conducted several worships that begin from at least a day prior to the wedding," he said adding that though they could have arranged for clothes and jewelries from Nepal, they hadn't expected to find a Nepali-style priest in the US.

While his patrons admire his work, Guruji himself is wary of losing the tradition and culture in the long run. "Children don't want to learn Sanskrit or read Nepali texts. It is really hard to get them interested in our culture," he said. He has been trying to hold classes over the summer, but there are hardly any takers. He fears the practice might end with him. "I'm not sure whether our second and third generations will continue our tradition. Nevertheless, I'm glad to see the migrants wanting to continue the cultural practices." But he hasn't given up hope just yet. "As long as a leaf is intact in a tree, there is nothing to fear. Once the leaf falls, everything dies with it," he said.

From cash to credit card

Although Koirala enjoys his independence—he can go grocery shopping by himself and can perform many tasks on his own—he feels that his inability to communicate with Americans is an impediment. He hopes one day to be able to read the junk mails he receives daily. One such email arrived recently in his inbox with a credit card offer, which had to be translated by his neighbor. His neighbors suggested he throw those away as they keep coming, but he thinks they are worth saving.

Koirala will be eligible for citizenship next year. Then, he can apply for Medicare, a government-provided health benefit for elderly. He might want a credit card then, although he feels financially secure now. "If I need to pay for something in cash, I can afford to pay $1,000-$2,000 right away, but nothing beyond that. Maybe I will need a credit card one day," he said. There are many things he looks forward to for himself and his wife. He realizes that though he is financially stable (he hasn't applied for government benefits other than food stamps), his income is all cash-based, meaning he does not file taxes. "I know I should pay taxes, but I don't have a way to show my income," he said. At some point, the priest has to transition from traditional cash-based transactions to the modern banking system.

Dr. Silwal is an Assistant Prof. of Economics at Washington and Lee University, Virginia, US



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