In the literary tradition of Sanskrit, every creator is a kavi (poet) and all verbal expressions are kāvya (poetry) irrespective of their feature, form or function. All literature is then poetry that finds its fullness in the performance of the creator and the participation of the audience. Compulsions of the marketplace have increased the pressure upon publishers to bring the creator, the connoisseur, the consumer and the critic together to confront each other in the amicable atmosphere of literary festivals. The literary publishing industry, however, often lacks the resources to support promotional events. Without generous sponsors, it would be impossible to hold literature festivals.

Prospective patrons have their own limitations. Even literary events can’t refuse to deal with contentious issues. Some controversy is inevitable when intellectual exchanges are held in a free, frank and open manner. It is almost impossible to restrain artistes, writers, critics and intellectuals from kicking up an occasional storm. Businesses are wary of spending their publicity budget upon practices of punditry that offer very little direct benefit.

Business enterprises with considerable turnover have to dedicate part of their gross earning for what is somewhat pompously called corporate social responsibility (CSR) to support civic initiatives for the larger good of society. Since successful business are also resourceful enterprises, many of them are associated with friendly “foundations” that handle their CSR funds in a mutually advantageous manner. Despite the enthusiasm of the organisers, it’s not always easy to mobilise resources for literary fêtes.

Whatever be the nature of the gathering, an assembly of recognisable names, familiar figures and a few celebrities does help in elevating the profile of the place. A congregation of artistes, singers, literary masters and media persons enhance the image of the destination. Such events can improve domestic tourism, draw the attention of federal authorities, and may even attract some enterprising investors. For provincial and local governments, literature festivals are relatively low-cost promotional events. That partly explains the popularity of such programmes in recent years even in small towns such as Ilam. It certainly helps that many media persons of Nepal are themselves established, struggling or aspiring litterateurs.

Rebranding exercise

The Cheltenham Literature Festival began as a modest attempt to earn an intellectual reputation for a spa town famous for hosting horse racing competitions. Its programmes now draw some of the greatest writers, poets, politicians, thinkers and celebrities of the world. The Jaipur Literature Festival has become a global brand of informed conversations. The newly constituted Tikapur Literature Society can’t be faulted for assuming that an annual event of arts and literature can whitewash the shady past of the town, brighten its blighted present, and help chart the course towards a prosperous future.

By itself, Tikapur is a nondescript town in the middle of nowhere. It was accidentally discovered, whimsically conceived, grandiosely planned, sloppily established, selectively populated and arbitrarily governed till the 1990s. The credit for raising the aspirations of Tharu self-rule and the blame for crushing their ambitions must go to the Maoists.

The simmering discontentment between indigenous Tharus and Khas-Arya settlers ultimately led to the violent eruption of August 24, 2015 that consumed the lives of seven security personnel and an innocent bystander. Months of mayhem ensued as the dominant community indulged in retaliatory arson, looting and prosecution of the indigenous population under the benign eyes of law enforcement agencies. None of it would have happened if King Mahendra, or Queen Ratna as some whisper, had not been taken ill during a hunt at Shukla Phanta in March 1968.

Upon the advice of attending physicians, the royal couple chose to rest and recuperate on the banks of the Karnali in a little known Tharu village of Kailali. A wood-and-thatch cottage was hastily erected from where the monarch issued commands to the court in Kathmandu for nearly three months. Khadga Bahadur Singh, a street-smart politician of the region, seized the opportunity that the ill-health of the royal visitor had created in its wake.

A settlement was proposed to be built at the spot to commemorate the royal retreat. Khadga and his fellow sycophants soon formed the Mahendra Ratna Sthali Town Development Committee and received a royal land grant to clear the forest, sell the timber and populate the new-found town with internal migrants from the upper reaches of the region. The name was a mouthful, and everyone referred to the place just as the “Town”. The Tharu name of Tikapur was restored when the town development committee was reconstituted and given more wide-ranging powers.

More trees were felled to create a garden in the forest and build a cottage for King Birendra and his consort. The town began to attract pensioners from Doti and Achham, the upwardly mobile middleclass from neighbouring villages and carpetbaggers from everywhere that wanted to benefit from the royal connections of the place.

Tikapur was orphaned after the death of its godfather Khadga, and lost considerable political significance with the emergence of Attariya (since renamed Godawari) further to the west as a second-tier town of Kailali district. The opening of Karnali Bridge, completion of the westernmost sector of the east-west highway and the connectivity of Rajapur further reduced its touristic allure of being an accessible birdwatchers’ paradise near Bardiya National Park.

Ethnic polarisation had been brewing for a while since arrogant campaigners of the Akhanda Sudurpaschim (Undivided Far West) project and aspirants of the Tharuhat movement began to confront each other over the controversial constitution in 2015. The volatility and structural violence persists as exemplified in the silent rage of a Tharu girl, “When Pahadi neighbours ask me ‘Nanu, how are you?’ I grit my teeth.”

Therapeutic deception

All forms of arts possess therapeutic properties. Even when it agitates, music has the energy to channel the rage into bodily movements of a dance. Lines and colours of a painting elevate the viewer to a plane where the personal loses its power to remain political. A picture indeed is worth a thousand words, but it often conveys its meaning without necessarily convincing. The impact of the written or spoken sentence is more direct because the intended audience also perceives the world in terms of words.

A clever use of rhetorical flourish can incite, ignite, douse, calm or clear the mind depending upon its intentions. In the literary form—the poetic expression of the Sanskrit tradition—the text invariably becomes theoropatics (postmodern perspective on theology) which, in the words of American writer Jay Parini, “…when properly absorbed, becomes part of our private vocabulary, our way of moving through the world.”

These are the times of multiple crises in the economy, society and politics; a time to read, listen and prepare for the inevitable apotheosis. In the interim, there is no choice but to endure and ponder over the words of Anglo-American poet WH Auden, “There is no such thing as the State / And no one exists alone; / Hunger allows no choice / To the citizen or the police; / We must love one another or die.”

On that tearful note, good riddance to the decade of ethnonational derangement (Bikram Sambat 2070-79) and may the new year herald a period of peace and joy!