The past of Nepal's indigenous Tharu people is held not only in the pages of books but also in songs passed down by word of mouth, in the names of rivers and in designs drawn on the body. A personal essay published on Global Voices about collecting Tharu oral culture in eastern Nepal brings up several such examples. In the author's view, further research into this material could bring many unknown aspects of indigenous folklore to light. The piece was published as part of the special series 'Indigenous Rights' in August 2026.
The river of two wives behind an official name
The river that official records call 'Behai' is known differently to Tharu elders in Saptari district. The author says that in conversation with Mahabir Chaudhary, an elder from that district, he learned that the river's real name is 'Biyahi'; Nepali-speaking administrators later changed it to 'Behai'. In Kochila Tharu, that is, the eastern Tharu language, 'Biyahi' means the first wife.
The tributary that flows into this river is called 'Samdahi', which in the same language means the second wife. So both the river and its tributary take their names from Tharu words denoting married women. After the two streams meet, the flow that continues onward is still known as Biyahi.
A map of routes hidden in a song
A folk song called 'Morangsair', also known as 'Morangesari', is still sung in the eastern part of Nepal's southern plains. While recording the song, the author realised that behind it lay a history of young men travelling seasonally in search of work. Youths from Saptari, the easternmost district of Madhesh Province, used to travel to Morang district in Koshi Province. According to the author, Morang's soil was more fertile and work was available, so the journey was made in hope of extra income.
At the centre of the song is a young woman who begs her husband not to go to Morang. She voices her anguish by citing the dense forest along the way, the scorching heat and the risk of crossing the Sursair river. The piece also mentions a video of this song sung by Chandrakala Chaudhary of Itahari in Sunsari district.
The Sursair river of the song is today known as the 'Sunsari river', and Sunsari district takes its name from it. The author says that before 1962, Sunsari district was part of Morang. So, to get from Saptari to present-day Sunsari, that is, the area of old Morang, one has to cross two rivers: the Koshi and the Sunsari. Before bridges were built, this route was even more arduous.
Here a question arises. On the way to Morang, the Koshi, Nepal's largest river, comes before the Sunsari river, yet the song does not mention the Koshi at all. On this point the author cites a finding from his later inquiries: the course the Koshi follows today lay considerably further east in the past, and in the Indian section the river has shifted about 100 kilometres west. In the author's words, the waters of both the Sursair and the Koshi eventually flow into the Ganges.
A lost food tradition in a hand tattoo
Interviews with several elderly women who speak eastern Tharu show that designs drawn on the body can also bear witness to the past. One of them showed a tattoo on her hand and identified it as 'sabudana ke gachhi'; in Tharu, 'gachhi' means tree. In her words, there was a time when sabudana was made from the pith of the tree. The piece also includes a photograph of Kashia Chaudhary of Sunsari district, whose lower arm bears a tattoo of a sabudana plant and marigold flowers.
The author later looked into it and learned that in the past, sago palms were cut down and the starch-rich inner part of the trunk was scraped out, after which the pearls were made through a multi-step process. In some countries of Southeast Asia this method still survives. Yet most of the sabudana sold in markets today is made from starch obtained from cassava roots.
Earning trust is the key to collecting
In the author's experience, collecting indigenous folklore is not a job to be rushed. One has to spend a long time with the people of a community so that they feel at ease sharing their stories, songs, ways of speaking, proverbs and various events from their lives. In this work, he had the opportunity to get involved with Amrit Sufi and Subhashish Panigrahi. According to his description, the two are preserving oral culture in India while also inspiring and assisting others who are keen to write down their own heritage.
The pull of stories heard by the fire
Behind this effort lies a personal regret. In childhood, on winter days the author would sit beside his grandmother, with a 'barais' in front of them, a small clay vessel used for fire. Sitting there he would hear of characters good and bad, jinns, spirits, ghosts, witches, sorcerers, and tales of trees, birds and animals; in Tharu culture each of these has its own significance. His grandmother would sing and explain the meaning, but while she was alive the idea of writing all this down never occurred to the author.
The author says he has since heard many more stories from Tharus that deserve to reach a wider readership. Yet what keeps coming back to him are those stories heard while warming himself by the fire beside his grandmother, and the longing to recover them remains in him even today.
Sources
- Global Voices বাংলা ভার্সন (CC BY 3.0)
