There were four of us —Mohita, Khusbu, Isha and I— when we boarded the bus to Tansen from Kathmandu. It was filled with men back from Dubai.
Their huge suitcases wrapped in tapes and splattered with names and addresses gave them away. While hoarding one such suitcase inside, its wheel hit my head. It was numbed for the rest of the journey. This however didn’t stop me from enjoying the cool highway wind or munching on freshly picked cucumber.[break]
Huge boulders that have a history of falling down, unexpectedly, line the strip of road from Butwal to Tansen. But we arrived safely in Tansen at around six pm.
We stayed the night over at Isha’s aunt’s house. The next day, waking up early in the morning we headed to Barangdi – her ancestral home. Manju, her cousin, guided us through the woods, past streams and rich green fields. We arrived in Barangdi at around 9 am. Her other aunt, our guide to Rani Mahal, was waiting for us with lunch. We couldn’t have been happier.
Around noon, we started our journey to Rani Mahal. The heat was scorching, and if we hadn’t carried umbrellas, we would have regretted it.
We took the path from Khani village, past the ‘Buffalo Eating’ jungle. The jungle was infamously named so during the People’s War when rebels occupied the area and buffalo carcasses were found as proof of their consumption. Khani village, on the other hand, previously had an iron mine and little pieces of iron could still be found scattered on the pathway.
Our hands slowly started swelling in the downhill trek, and Isha, of all, had a rough time. She quit a couple of times and we were the last in line, lagging far behind.
“If there was a bus to take me back, I would take it,” she kept saying. I knew I would remember her plight and we would have hearty laughs later.
Resting every few steps, emptying water bottles on our faces, and walking barefoot on dry leaves, we finally reached Rani Mahal. I recalled the words of two old men with whom we had crossed paths earlier, “What sins have you committed, that you’ve come to see this place?”
Deserted, secluded and left to ruins, the two-storied palace appeared lifeless. An unrecognizable, rusty signboard stood in front of the crumbling stables that must have borne some information about the palace. There were no signs of a caretaker or authority around.
A few men, who had come to participate in the last rites of a deceased person beside the Kali Gandaki River, sat on the palace steps playing cards. Besides them, no one was around.
Entering the palace, we were more disappointed. The walls were filled with political slogans, obscenities, and mostly names of individuals and lovers. Not an inch of the walls has been spared.
The corners of the palace balcony were littered with whisky bottles. Its wooden doors were rickety with old age. We couldn’t find a single object that reflected the legacy of Khadga Shumsher and Tej Kumari.
The outer red steel roof of the palace had faded while the Shiva temple in front of it had broken gajurs (finials). The little ponds had no water in them.
It appeared to me as if even the ghost of Khadga Shumsher had deserted the Mahal. I tried to imagine what it looked like during its heydays. Who was the late Khadga Shumsher? How did he live? What had happened to the palace during all these years?
The questions remained unanswered. All I could do was spend some time on one of its balconies and contemplate on its surroundings. The view of the confluence between Kali Gandaki and Barangdi Rivers was mesmerizing. It was hard to imagine how a palace could have existed in such rugged surroundings. If ever the palace was a residence, it was long ago. It bore no sign of a rich past.
After strolling around the palace, full of questions in our heads, we went down to the Kali Gandaki River. The water was cool and we played in it for a long time. Then we headed uphill to Barangdi. It took us another four hours, but the sun was setting and the forest was cool and inviting.
We immediately went to bed and woke up early in the morning. Our plan was to climb the Shri Nagar Hill; and so we decided to walk to Tansen Bazaar. The road however was under construction and very dusty. We were regretting our decision when a truck stopped by.
We jumped on and got off at the foothills of the famous picnic spot. Although we missed the sunrise from Shri Nagar Hill, we were able to catch a glimpse of it while we walked.
That Saturday evening, we strolled around Tansen Bazaar, enjoyed the ambience of Nanglo West and were thrilled by the performances of Manju and her friends who had decided to give us a farewell.
The next morning we took the bus back to Kathmandu, still in awe after Manju’s performance but disturbed by the plight of Rani Mahal.
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