On the D

During the entire one hour bus ride, and even before I made the trip to Pharping in the outskirt of Kathmandu, there was only one question on my mind: How do I interview her?

This, by far means, has been one of the most complex interviews for me. Here I wasn’t interviewing a high-profile person, a celebrity or an overachiever. Those kinds of interviews are easy—you know what to ask and more often you can expect the answers as well. But this interview was different for it was too personal—so much personal that I didn’t know how to frame the questions, I even didn’t know how to approach her and then how to start talking.

I mean, how would you go up to a 21-year-old nun who was gang-raped by five men inside a bus? How would you start a conversation, forget an interview.

Before the interview, I was told not to ask anything about the incident that has scarred her. I was told she is not in a state of mind to answer or comment on that topic, and asking her about it would only make her more stressed. I totally understood that.

Before meeting her, I talked to the in-charge of the nunnery where she is now. I asked the in-charge about her, what she does, about her conditions and how has she improved in the two-month time since that night of June 24.

Then the in-charge, Pemba ji, took me to her room that she shared with two other nuns.

When I entered, I saw her sitting on the bed: in her maroon robe, legs crossed, facing to the open window, reading Pecha, a Buddhist prayer book. She was small, medium-height and of average weight. The first question that popped my mind when I saw her was: Seriously, how could those men be so cruel, full of those animal instincts?

I didn’t want to disturb her prayer. Her roommates were around and so was Pemba ji. They told me that she spent most of her day praying, reading, and now a days makes little conversation with her roommates. So I told them I would wait until she finishes her prayer. And she did in some five minutes.

I greeted her to which she replied flashing a big smile on her face. That smile on her face was priceless. I was only thinking if she used that smile as a shield to forget what had happened, to make others realize that nothing has gone wrong.

I sat close to her on her bed. She was still faced toward the window. I explained her and said I just wanted to talk generally about her and why she wanted to become a nun. She smiled back and said it was fine.

She told me her story in short sentences, sometimes pausing, other times just gushing out a smile. Whenever she stopped, I tried and inquired more, told her to elaborate a bit. But then again, she would just say, “It’s like that..”

It had been more than five minutes of conversation, and it really felt like a long time. I still didn’t know how to ask some questions.

But eventually after I thought she was comfortable enough answering questions, I asked her when and how she came to Kathmandu, how did she end up in Pharping.

“I don’t know anything,” she said in a low tone, fidgeting with her handkerchief. “I came in conscious state of mind only at the hospital in Kathmandu.”

As we kept talking she said of her state: “Ma k bhayo hola bhanne yaad hunthyo. Malai k garda niko huncha. Malai pahila yasto kehi pani bhaako thiena. (I use to remember what happened to me. What would it take to overcome this. Before, I wasn’t in such a state.)”

Then I asked her what happened? She said she doesn’t really remember. Then I tried to ask her about what kind of sickness was it as she mentioned she wasn’t feeling well. She just said headache, weakness, vomiting, and added that she was recovering.

As a reporter, as much I wanted to know the information on what happened on June 24, as an individual, I didn’t want to ask her all that. At this point of time, I was trying to be in my best journalistic form—I asked questions, I tried hard to get the story from her. But I really knew where to stop.

And I did stop.

Then I diverted the questions not in any way connected to her sickness or the incident. I asked about her likes and dislikes, her family, siblings, what she likes to do, what she was reading and how she spends her day. I also asked her if she would forever dedicated herself to being a nun.

In her maroon robe, sitting on the bed, occasionally wiping sweat off her forehead by a handkerchief, she spoke with hope and confidence that she’ll continue her devotion in the field she has chosen.

“I just want to study and become a good Ani [nun] and devote myself to this,” she said.

Well, that was an end. I thanked her, thanked her again. I asked her to take care of herself and left the room.

She said bye. During the entire conversation until the goodbye, she smiled. Her smile was something. I was quite intrigued by it—I kept on thinking, again, and again, how much of pain is behind that smile, and yet she was smiling.

I really do hope that the men who have committed this hideous crime get punished. But then again, in Nepal, according to the Muluki Ain, the country’s legal code, there is an imprisonment ranging from five to seven years for raping a woman 20 years or above. There is a further provision for gang rape: an additional five years to the imprisonment mentioned.

So a maximum sentence these men would get is some 13 years. Come to think of it, 13 years is a long time. But then again, I really don’t know if 13 years is long enough for the crime they have committed.

But whatever it is, I hope the nun gets justice, and I really do hope that we never have to report on such stories in future.

Read the story on tomorrow’s The Week.