The Life and Times of Poet Jasraj Kirati: A Biography of Resilience and Verse
Jasraj Kirati is a name that resonates deeply in Nepali literature, often lauded as the quintessential rural poet whose verse is woven from the raw fabric of life and struggle. Having crossed the threshold of 77 years, Kirati's persona remains distinct and rooted, a powerful reflection of the life he spent traversing the hills and valleys of Nepal's eastern region. Though he has recently—and reluctantly—relocated to Kathmandu, his heart and his poetry remain bound to his ancestral village, Khotang Buipa. This biography charts his journey from a child laborer in a poor Rai family to a venerated literary figure, revealing the multifaceted identity of a man who was, at various times, a porter, a teacher, a political leader, and ultimately, a powerful voice for the common people.
The Foundations of Hardship: Early Life and Education
Jasraj Kirati was born on Shrawan 17, 2001 BS (July 31, 1944 AD), in Buipa, Khotang, to Dhanharka Rai and Dharmalakshmi Rai. He was the only son of Chhamling Rai parents in a settlement predominantly inhabited by the Rai community. Kirati's early life was overshadowed by profound hardship and the legacy of his father’s own difficult childhood. His father was effectively orphaned early: his grandfather passed away when his father was nine months old, and his grandmother subsequently left. “My Aappa (father) was truly an orphan,” Kirati recalls, and that adversity passed down to him.
His childhood was characterized by labor, not learning. He and his father carried heavy
The opportunity to attend school was a blessing, but also a source of domestic conflict. His father, shaped by a life of hard labor and poverty, did not believe in formal education for a Rai boy, insisting he focus on work. It was his mother's silent encouragement that allowed him to continue, often attending school secretly. Despite this, he had to leave formal schooling after the eighth grade to return to selling goods.
Kirati persisted, however, taking his School Leaving Certificate (SLC) examination privately in 2021 BS (1964 AD). He failed English on his first attempt—a failure that earned him a beating from his father, who scolded him for even attempting to study. He finally passed the SLC in 2022 BS (1965 AD). His academic struggles continued at the Intermediate of Arts (IA) level, where he failed English again, finally clearing the hurdle in 2024 BS (1967 AD). While English proved to be his "stumbling block," he excelled in Nepali, social studies, and political science, areas that would shape his future career.
The Village Leader and the Communist Heart
With his IA certification, Kirati put an end to the life of a porter. He began teaching at the very school he had attended, while simultaneously immersing himself in social activities. His life was now defined by guiding the young and uplifting the oppressed.
This social consciousness naturally led him into local politics. While residing in Buipa, he was elected as the Vice-Chairperson (Upapradhanpancha) of the Village Panchayat three times. He played a crucial role in upgrading his village school from a primary to a lower secondary, and eventually, a higher secondary school. He became a reliable source of support for the marginalized and downtrodden villagers.
Despite holding positions within the Panchayat system—the autocratic government of the time—Kirati harbored firm communist sympathies. This duality led to a quiet act of rebellion. He reveals a secret he kept for years: during the 2036 BS (1979 AD) referendum, he "quietly cast a vote for the multiparty system" against the prevailing Panchayat ideology. For him, the village position was meaningless compared to his commitment to the people. "What attachment to a small village post!" he reflects.
The Genesis of a Poet: From Secret Verse to Published Works
Kirati's transition to a writer began with the encouragement of his teacher, Gorakh Bahadur Shrestha, the elder brother of the famous folk singer Ramesh. Shrestha would lend him literary books, igniting his love for literature. Yet, the specific moment that sparked his poetry remains elusive to him. He concludes that it was an "existential need to express himself somewhere" that drove him to write.
Since 2022 BS (1965 AD), Kirati has been continuously writing. The central themes of his poetry are deeply rooted in rural life, personal joys and sorrows, and political commentary. He also possesses a distinctive skill for anthropomorphizing natural beauty, transforming the landscape into evocative poetic imagery.
For three decades, he wrote in isolation, not sending his poems for publication. It took ten years for him even to be recognized locally as "Jasraj, the one who writes poetry." His breakthrough came unexpectedly. His first collection, Ujyalo Khojne Aankhaharu (Eyes Searching for Light), was published in 2037 BS (1980 AD), largely due to the efforts of Parshu Pradhan, the then-CDO of Khotang, and poet Basu Shashi in Kathmandu, who coordinated the publication.
Even after his first book, he was hesitant to fully claim the title of poet, continuing to write and share his work only with close friends. He remained active locally, publishing literary magazines like Aakrosh (Anger) and Halesi Kunj. It was only after he started attending literary events in Itahari and Biratnagar around 2050 BS (1993 AD) that he gained recognition as a poet beyond Khotang.
His second collection, Jasraj Kiratika Kavita (Poems of Jasraj Kirati), appeared in 2057 BS (2000 AD). At this point, he still had not submitted his work to Kathmandu's major literary journals.
Political Disillusionment and Literary Acclaim
The political transformation of 2063 BS (2006 AD)—the establishment of democracy—brought Kirati to the national stage. The CPN (Maoist) party listed him as a candidate for proportional representation (PR) to the Constituent Assembly. Though he received over 24,000 votes in his region, he was ultimately not selected as an MP. This political betrayal led to his complete disillusionment.
Feeling cheated by the "game of deception" that he views modern politics to be, he ended his political association with the Maoists and chose to fully embrace poetry. This shift led to his work finally reaching Kathmandu's literary platforms, with poems appearing in prestigious magazines like Madhuparka, Garima, and Rachana.
The positive reception solidified his self-belief. "It was only when listeners liked my poems that I realized the poetic quality resided within me," he notes. His third and definitive collection, Jasraj Kiratika Pratinidhi Kavita (Representative Poems of Jasraj Kirati), was published in 2065 BS (2008 AD).
To encourage the next generation, he established the 'Jasraj Kirati Pratibha Puraskar' (Jasraj Kirati Talent Award) with his own funds, already having honored several prominent young poets.
His work is highly esteemed by contemporaries. Writer Parshu Pradhan describes him as a "sincere poet who sought the meaning of life and wrote poems of life itself." Poet Manjul poetically compares him to "an enchanting orchid blooming on a high tree in the solitary mountains."
A Remarkable Family Life
Kirati's personal history is as compelling as his literary career. He comes from a lineage where he, his father, and grandfather were all single sons for five generations. However, he was blessed with a large family, becoming the father of eight sons and seven daughters (with one son having passed away). In total, he is the patriarch of seventeen children from his three marriages.
His first marriage occurred at the tender age of 14, but his first wife died in 2021 BS (1964 AD) after giving birth to a daughter. His second marriage took place in 2022 BS (1965 AD). The same year, following family tradition and his in-laws' desire for him to care for their other daughter, he also married his sister-in-law (who was estranged from her soldier husband). He currently lives happily with his two wives and children.
The Kirati household has blossomed into a literary and artistic family. His son Dewan Kirati is a recognized young poet in Itahari. His youngest son, Anil Kirati, is also a poet based in Kathmandu and works in the civil service. His daughter Kopila Rai is a story writer, and another daughter, Babina Kirati, is a singer. He expresses immense joy in seeing his children embrace the arts, believing he instilled this passion in them.
Philosophical Stance and Critique of Modernity
Now in his later years, Kirati lives a life of reflection and simplicity. Despite his children being financially successful and settled, he remains fundamentally unhappy with the modern urban lifestyle. He dislikes the materialism of Kathmandu, stating, "The city is so beautiful and clean, yet I somehow dislike it. In the city, people don't see people... there is nothing but the pursuit of wealth."
He openly voices his disappointment with contemporary Nepali politics, which he views as a "game of deception" driven by a "spirit of looting." He champions the idea that true existence is found in struggle, a principle that guided his entire life—struggle to survive, struggle to educate his children, and struggle for his community.
His most pointed critiques are reserved for the current literary scene. He believes contemporary poets often "copy" and that their work lacks genuine depth or authentic lived experience. "The poems of our time were not copies. We were writing about the pain, the things we were seeing and experiencing," he states. He laments that many modern books, despite being physically large, contain "no core substance" and that the "politics" of self-promotion has infiltrated art.
He also expresses deep concern over the emptying of Nepal's villages, the lack of focus on national identity in education (English focus), and the growing dependency on foreign opportunities.
Today, Jasraj Kirati leads a simple life, eschewing luxury for public transport to "understand people's lives." He maintains his rural diet of dhido (millet porridge), chyankhla (cracked wheat), mohi (buttermilk), and, crucially, a small, required measure of pure kodo (millet) liquor in the evening to aid sleep. His struggle has subsided, but his deep-seated desire to return to his village and write poems of "unblemished and heartfelt emotion" like the village itself remains his final, defining aspiration.
Jasraj Kirati’s life is a testament to the idea that a poet’s greatest education comes not from institutions but from the mountains, the fields, and the profound, shared suffering of the human condition. He stands as a towering figure in Nepali poetry, a voice that speaks for the soil and the soul of the nation.
ट्याम्के, परशु र म उताबाट ट्याम्केलाई तिमीले हेरिरहेछौ मैले यताबाट हेरिरहेछु परशु ! निःसन्देह हामी एउटै कुरालाई दुई तिरबाट हेरिरहेछौं। आकाशलाई अलिकता ढाकेर यसो भनौं- आपस्तमा हामीलाई छेकिदिएर त्यो आफू अग्लो हुनुको अभिमान बोकिरहेछ र हाम्रा हेराइको किनारामा आ-आफ्नै विन्दुको आकाश ओढेर तिमी उभेका छौ शायद म त्यसै छेउमा उभेको वा नउभेको आकृतिमा छु यो चाहिँ सत्य हो कि त्यो ट्याम्के एउटा आकाशलाई दुई फब्ल्याँटा पारेर हाम्रो बीचमा उभिएको छ। ट्याम्के- एकातिर उकालाहरू चढेर त्यो अग्लो पनि छ अर्कातिर ओरालाहरू झरेर त्यो होचो पनि छ तिमी उकालाहरू चढ्छौ म ओरालाहरू झरेको छु परशु ! निःसन्देह एउटै ट्याम्केमा हामी दुइटा यात्रा हिँडिरहेछौं। त्यहाँ ट्याम्केमा देख्नेहरूले इन्द्रेणी लागेको पनि देखेका छन् डढेलो पनि भेटेका छन् र त्यो इन्द्रेणी त्यो डढेलो यता मेरो यात्राको पदचापमा दुख्छ मेरो सपनाको आगोमा त्यो फुस्स खरानी खस्छ र परशु ! मरेका मेरा सपनाका आगाहरू टाँगेर आकाशमा म ट्याम्केलाई छोप्न खोज्छु शायद यो विडम्बना हो कि ! आफ्ना नियतिहरू उचालेर म ट्याम्के उभिन खोज्छु। मैले आफ्नो उचाइमा ट्याम्केको घाम-झुल्का र भुवादार मौसमलाई बोकी हिँड्न खोइ, कहाँ सक्छु र ? खोइ, कहाँ क्षितिजको अडेस गरेर म विश्राम लिन सक्छु र ? मैले ट्याम्केमा देखेको इन्द्रेणी आफ्नै रङहरूमा मेटिएको रिक्तता देख्छु मैले हेरेको क्षितिज पनि आफ्नै शून्यतामा क्षतिग्रस्त देख्छु र हरेक पटक मेरो ट्याम्केमा केही न केही दुर्घटना हुन्छ केही न केही विघटन र विध्वंश भइरहन्छ अर्थात् हरेक पटक म आफ्नो आकृतिमा कहीं न कहीं मरिरहेको हुन्छु। परशु ! तिमीले ट्याम्केको लालीगुराँसका रङहरू तिम्रो सानो फूलबारीमा सारेका छौ कमसेकम केही पुतली र भमराहरू त्यहाँ उडेका गुनगुनाएका सुन्दै, हेर्दै गरेका पनि छौ तिम्रा आँखामा ट्याम्केको जून रेशा-गाजल जस्तो छ तिमीलाई त्यो खुलेको छ राम्रो छ तिमीले हेर्दा ट्याम्केमा वसन्त हेर्छौ लालुपाते फूलहरू हेर्छौ शायद म त्यहाँ ठिहीले लछारेको जिङरिङ्ग एउटा जीर्ण रुख हेर्छु र शायद म बाँचिरहेको यो विदीर्ण आफ्नै रूप हेर्छु उकालाहरू चढ्दै उक्लिनु यौटा यात्रा ओरालाहरू ओर्लदै झर्नु यौटा यात्रा। परशु ! हामी एउटै ट्याम्केमा दुइटा यात्रा हिँडिरहेछौं यो शाश्वत सत्य हो कि हामी एउटै समयमा दुइटा मृत्यु मरिरहेछौं। |
मेरो जीवनबेदनाको बटुकोमा थोपा–थोपा आँशु घोलेर पिउनुपर्छ मात्छ– हो, त्यो मातेको क्षणजति मेरो जीवनको भागमा पर्छ । धेरै घाउ– धेरै चोट र धेरै पीडाहरु भेला भएपछि छातीमा आर्तनादले रोदन शुरु गर्छ हाय, गरीब भाषा ! निरीह अक्षर हाय, मेरो सहारा !! म रुन्छु रुँदा जुन आँशु झर्छ त्यो झरेको आँशुको बोली मेरो जीवनको आवाज हुन्छ । सपनाको आगोमा रहरका झिक्राझिक्री बालेर ताप्नुपर्छ त्यसकोे रात घरि धिपधिप् घरि फुस्स फुस्स आखिर खरानीको फुङ्ग उडेको रंग र त्यो उडानको सानो कोण मेरो जीवनको क्षितिज बन्छ । एक क्षण पछाडि रोकिने हो कि आफैंमा ठोकिएर मुटुमा सानो ढुक्ढुकीले म कति चल्मलाउँ ? म उभिउँ कि हिडूँ ? यो संदिग्ध मनस्थितिको आकृति मेरो जीवनको स्वरुप हुन्छ |
पहाडकी केटीहिमनदीहरू बोकेर मेरो शरीर बगिरहेछ म हिमाल भइरहेछु कहीँ म ढुङ्गाबाट ओर्लिएको हुँ कहीँ म रूखबाट झरेको हुँ अक्सर पग्लिएर/बगेर पहाडकी केटीलाई जिस्क्याउँदै/जिस्किँदै हिँडिरहेको हुँ। छिटको गुन्यू लगाएकी पहाडकी केटीलाई म त्यस्तै हिमाल जन्माउन दिन्छु त्यो हिमालसँग बोल्न सक्ने ओठ पनि हुनेछ त्यो हिमालसँग हिँड्न सक्ने पाइताला पनि हुनेछ अक्सर योद्धाजस्तै त्यो बहादुर र फराक छातीको फरासिलो पनि देखिनेछ त्यो बोलेको र पहाडहरूलाई गीत सुनाएको बेला म लाटो हिमाल भएर उभिनेछैन चिसो हिउँ भएर पग्लिने पनि छैन मेरो शरीरमा जीवनको रङ्ग चढेर म रङ्गीन हुन्छु ममा प्राण चढेर म जीवित हुन्छु हो, म पहाडकी केटीलाई त्यही हिमाल जन्माउन दिन्छु आफै बगिरहेका छाल रोकेर एक अँगालो छोरो समातेर झुल्के घामजस्तै म मुसुक्क हाँस्छु। पहाडकी केटी, जसको कम्मरमा पटुकी भएर सपनाहरू बाँधिएका छन् पहाडकी केटी, जसको छातीमा रगत भएर भविष्यहरू जाम भएका छन् नदीको किनारजस्तै मस्त भएर गर्भदान माग्न मसँग त्यो केटी आउँछे हामी अँगालोमा बाँधिनेछौँ प्रेमी र प्रेमिका मस्त भएको बेला नआए हुन्छ जूनले देखा नपरे हुन्छ ताराले। यस्तोलाग्छ— त्यो केटी दस हजार सूर्यका पाइतालाहरू कपालमा सिउरिएर एक डोको जून बोकेर हिँड्छे यस्तो लाग्छ— त्यो केटी एक अँगालो क्षितिजको घाँस काटेर दस अँगालो जुनेली बटुल्छे हिजो बेलुकी एक पेट मरुभूमि बोकेर त्यो केटी हिउँहरूमा चिप्लेटी खेल्दै घर फर्की उसले त्यही हिमाल भइरहेका ढुङ्गाहरूमा आफ्नो खसेको आँखाको सम्झना गरी उसले त्यही हिउँ भइरहेका भुइँहरूमा आफू सुतिरहेको आकाशको सम्झना गरी त्यो केटीले रातभरि उँभो लेकतिरको डाँडामा दगुरिरहेको आफ्नो जवानी सम्झी गीतहरू सम्झी । म उसलाई पग्लिँदै बगिरहेका हिउँहरूबाट बोलाउँछु मेरो स्वर बाँसुरीको धुन हुनेछ बिनायो वा मुर्चुङ्गाको आवाजजस्तै म उसलाई बोलाउँछु। ऊ आफू उनन्तीस हजार अग्लिन्छे र उनन्तीस हजार फैलिन्छे म विश्वस्त छु ऊ आमा हुन्छे आफ्नो काखभरिको छोरालाई यो नेपालको व्यथा र हिमालको कथा सुनाउँछे म ढुक्क छु उसले म लाटाको कथा सुनाएर छोरालाई जिन्दाबादको आशीर्वाद दिन्छे। |
मेरो जन्म झुप्रामा ज्युनु र दस लाख अँध्याराहरूमा मर्नु रुनु र बीस लाख मृत्युहरूमा विसर्जित हुनु देश हुनु र देश नहुनु बाटाहरू सर्प–रङको पल्टिनु र यात्रीहरू तारा–रङमा हराउनु लहरहरू हुनु र किनाराहरू नहुनु एउटा राष्ट्र हुनु लाग्छ— म त्यस बेला जन्मिएको थिएँ। सम्मानित तर सडकमा उभ्याइएको पुरानो सालिकजस्तो म आमाको चेहरामा हेर्छु हिउँद भइसकेको आँखाबाट मेरी आमाको नतमस्तक मन्जुरी र विवशता बोकेर हूलका हूल हिँडिरहेका मौसमहरू हेर्छु सायद यो विरक्तिबाट छुटकारा मागेको बेला अझ आफ्नो जवानीको अँगालो थापेर आमाले आकाशसँग निर्मल उज्यालो देऊ भन्नुहुँदा मेरो जन्म भएको थियो। माटोसित अँगालो मारेर सुतिरहेको बखत मैले त्यहाँ मुठी बटारेर सङ्कल्प पनि गरेँ म लाटाहरूलाई बोली दिन्छु बहिराहरूलाई शब्द दिन्छु र अन्धाहरूलाई आँखा दिन्छु तर पछि आएर मैले बिर्सें मेरो जन्मको अर्थ यहीँ कतै हराएँ। |
आज रातिवैशाखमा ओभरकोट ओढेर आलो घाम, मरुभूमिको यात्राबाट आज राति मेरो कोठाभित्र वास खोज्न आइपुग्दै छ । आ, कत्रो अत्यास लागेको मलाई सम्पूर्ण आकाश मध्यराततिर नाङ्गिएर ऐठन गर्न आउँछ प्यारा प्यारा सम्झनाहरु र मीठा सपनाहरु अङ्गालोबाट उम्किन्छन् भागे तिनीहरु मर्ला निहत्था ठानेर भित्ता, कोठा वास्तवमा मेरो कङ्काल राष्ट्र तकियाको चिहानमाथि पराजित मल्लकालीन साँझ जस्तै धूर्त हुन्छ मानौँें – मेरो बोधिसत्व कम्बलले मुख छोपेर ह्वाँ…ह्वाँ…रुन्छ । एउटा सानो न्यानो संसार काखीमुनी च्यापेर एकरात निदानउनसम्म नपाउनु सायद श्रापित सिसिपस आज म भित्र वास बस्न आउँदै छ सायद मैले कुनै ढुङ्गा हैन खुद आप्mनै लास बोकेको छु अफसोस, शिवको पिठ्यूँ मसँग छैन म यो अँध्यारोमा देशान्तरको यात्रा कसरी प्रारम्भ गरुँ ? कुहेर फतफत खसेको लासको प्रत्येक चोक्टामा खोई मैले कस्तो पिठ निर्माण गरुँ ? अँध्यारोनेर कोही यतिबेला झुण्डेर मर्दैछ भने उसले मेरो अभिनय गरिरहेछ ठीक मेरो आकृतिमा म जस्तै…… अफसोस, यतातिर म फाँसी जत्रै एकक्षण बाँचेको छु । आकाश रङ्गको मृत्यु आँखामा अटी नअटी शायद नियात्रामा आज राति म कहाँ आउनेवाला छ झ्यालको खापा अलिकता खोलेर उसको भयावह आकृति मैले हेर्नु छ – म भाग्न सक्तिनँ अलिकता शीवी राजाको नलीहाड आफ्नो पासुलाबाट काटेर ओठमा राखिदिन्छु त्यसो त आफ्नो मासुको माया लाग्छ नै यद्यपि आफ्नै मासुको गन्ध मलाई त्यति मीठो लाग्दैन लाग्छ – यो सिनो भै सकेको छ स्वास आफैमा पिरो धुवाँ दुख्छ आगो फुकेर ह्वारह्वार्ती अगेनाको डिलमा स्वास्नी त्यसै झोक्राएकी छे सायद लोग्नेको मासु उनलाई पनि मीठो लाग्दैन वास्तवमा कुहेको मासु धेरैलाई मन पर्दैन उफ ! यो सिङ्गो लास त्यो पनि जिउँदो मासुको ह्वास्स गन्हाउँछ नाक थुनेर मृत्युको नजिकै पल्टिन्छु आज राति । ओ ! आपूm सल्किदै जल्दै गरेको यो विभत्स क्षणमा मलाई बिङ्नै प्यास लागेको छ सिङ्गै एउटा नदीभित्र डुबेर तिर्खा मेटिन्जेल पानी पिउन पाए पनि हुन्थ्यो एकक्षण शीतल छातीमा हात राखेर जिउन पाए पनि हुन्थ्यो ओ नदीको पानी ! ओ सङलो पानी !! खोई, खोई ! नदी कता छ ? कहाँ छ पिउन हुने बगेको सङलो पानी ? लौन, कसले खायो बग्दै गरेको नदीलाई ? किन रगताम्य पारेको नदीको पानीलाई ? उफ, आकाश पनि आफै झुण्डेर मरेको बेला म कसलाई अलिकति सियाँल मागूँ । खोई, कता सियाँल खोजूँ ? ओ वायु पुत्र यो बल्दै गरेको आगो शरीर बोकेर म कुन समुद्रमा डुबूँ ? चोखो समुद्र कता छ ? म सङलो समुद्रमा डुबेर मर्न चाहन्छु । |
उसको भागमा जिन्दगीजिन्दगी उसको आर्तनाद कराउँछ भित्ता, पर्खाल र ढोकाहरुमा जिन्दावादका नाराहरु टाङ्दै, झुण्ड्याउँदै कोही यता आउँछ कोही त्यसलाई च्यात्दै, मिल्काउँदै र बदलामा मूर्दावादका नाराहरु थपाथप राख्दै उता जान्छ यो सडकमा चोक र चौरस्तामा रङ्गीचङ्गी पोशाक भिरेका हुलका हुल मान्छे नर वा वानर यता दौडिन्छ उता दौडिन्छ कसले कसलाई कुल्चियो को, कोमाथि लड्यो वा पल्टियो कसैलाई कसैको ख्याल छैन कसैको पनि छातीमा स्नेह वा ममताको धड्कन छैन फगत् आ–आफ्नो जर्जर स्वर झिकेर कोही जिन्दावाद कराउँछ कोही मूर्दावाद कराउँछ यता एक छेऊमा खर्पनमा खरेटो राखेर अघिदेखि टोल्हाइरहेको ज्यापूको जिन्दगी भित्रभित्र आर्तनाद कराउँछ (ख) जिन्दगी उसको बारुद गन्हाउँछ न त कहिले ओंठमा मुस्कान खुलेको छ न त छातीमा वसन्त फुलेको छ तैपनि– बाँच्न त पाइन्छ भनेरै उसले ठेलागाडी मरी–मरी घचेटेको छ बगरको ढुङ्गा र गिटी सकिनसकी अचेटेको छ अफशोच ! न उसले अघान्जेल भात खान पाउँछ न उसले न्यानो रात बिताउन पाउँछ हो, यसरी आजकाल त उसलाई आफ्नै जिन्दगी पनि कसो कसो बारुद गन्हाउँछ । |