The Quiet Burden

I was peddling down a dusty road on the north end of Phewa Lake outside the center of Pokhara in central Nepal when he appeared in front of me as I rounded a bend in the high cliff wall. We were alone out there. It was not obvious where he was coming from or where he might be going.

It was a warm day and the heat radiating off the stone made it even hotter. I said good morning as I passed but he did not respond. I got off my bike a few yards ahead so I could capture the moment as he moved toward me.

He saw me. He saw what I was doing and he understood why. He did not smile. He did not have the energy to smile and he did not have the energy to tell me to leave him alone as he strained forward under his heavy load. His rubber soled sandals quietly scuffed along at a steady pace. He used his forearms, forehead and neck to hold his overflowing basket of rice clippings high and centered on his back.

A few yards forward and he turned with no added effort off the road onto a balance beam of a path leading into the hills above the lake. The path was lined with tall grasses and bordered by short streams of cold water coming down from the mountains. 

I still couldn’t see his final destination, but his pacing suggested it would be a long carry and that there would be many more before sundown.