Ghudigawn Gudi, October 3: The small whitewashed building stands alone in a large field, without a lock on the door or any of the normal visible symbols of religion. It is hard to think of this as a temple, and even harder to understand how it has brought the community of Ghudigawm Gudi to boiling point.

We have heard of this temple and understood there was a problem, but it was not until we cross the small river and visit the site that we began to understand. The temple belongs to a God called Divar. It is here that the villagers go if they encounter some serious misfortune, like a disease among their chickens.

All the villagers, that is, except for Dalit. Dalit are forbidden from entering the temple by the other castes. Somewhat incredibly, the ban lasted for several generations until it was broken two weeks ago.

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It happened like this. At some point Sita Devi Paswan, a Dalit woman of character and intelligence, realized that the temple was a public place and that she had a right to practice her religion there. She determined to challenge the tradition and asked to meet with some of the non-Dalit families.

The two sides held three encounters, and by the end Sita Devi Paswan had managed to convince about half of the non-Dalit that it was time to bury the old taboo. But the other half adamantly refused, and warned that if the Dalit entered the temple they would retaliate.

Act of sacrilege: this dead cow was dragged to a water well used by Dalit

Sita Devi Paswan and seven friends ignored the threat and crossed the mysterious thresh-hold. Once inside the temple they lit incense, prayed, and then left. They thought they had escaped without being noticed, but the backlash was quick in coming. Several influential villagers led by Baijanath Choudhuri told the villagers that it was time to choose between their own caste and the Dalit, and ordered a boycott.

When Sita Devi Paswan went to the market, she was unable to buy food and had to travel to the next town.

Even worse, unknown hands dragged the body of a dead cow to a water hole used by the Dalit (see photo). It was a crude threat to Dalit: respect the caste system or else.

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A group of women are weaving winnowing trays when we arrive, but their minds are clearly on the nearby temple. A crowd has gathered and the resentment starts to spill out. We are told that Dalit have been fined 551 rupees, or $8, for merely walking on non-Dalit land, and talking to non-Dalit children. That is a huge fine for these parts, but several people confirm the figure. One of then, Agana Paswan, tells us that he was recently waylaid by a group of villagers who threatened to kill him.

There is a lot of tension in Ghudigawm Gudi, and the ringleader appears to be Baijanath Choudhuri, a schoolmaster and landowner who clearly wields considerable influence.

Led by Sita Devi Pasan, we amble up to the temple, attracting more and more Dalit villagers along the way. Then Sita Devi Paswan and a group of women open the wooden door, enter the single bare room, and light a joss-stick or two before leaving. It is an odd, and rather anticlimactic, way to bring down a taboo that has lasted for centuries.

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I’m fascinated by the process by which Davi Sita Paswan became aware that she was the victim of an injustice.

This did not happen by accident. The Youth Club provided the spark by holding a series of meetings with Dalit villagers (men and women) over a period of three months. The Club used a training module known as Reflect. They didn’t exactly wave the Universal Declaration of Human Rights at the participants, but they certainly gave Davi Sita Paswan and the others a clear sense of their rights. The Reflect program is obviously effective.

Several international players have encouraged the Youth Club to play its subversive role. They include the UN Development Programme, which provided human rights training for Binod and others. The Club has also received 150,000 rupees of support from Action Aid, the international NGO which has made a strong commitment to funding Dalit advocacy in Nepal.

The Youth Club is one of many community-based Dalit organizations that serve as a bridge between villagers of Ghudigawm Gudi and national advocates like the Jagaran Media Center in Kathmandu. Binod and his colleagues fully understand the importance of information to their advocacy.

The Club deploys seven “social mobilizers” who have had some training in journalism. It is their task to collect information about discrimination and abuse against Dalit. This information is distributed about six times a month through email by the Club’s IT expert, Sunil Kumarsah, who studied IT for a year at the Lahan College of Software Engineering. Sunil uses a new computer donated by Action Aid, connecting to the Internet through a dedicated telephone line.

All ears: Parwati from the JMC hears complaints from the villagers

Sunil is proficient, but IT has yet to catch on with this group: only two of the Club’s staff use email. Still, a start has been made and this group would like further training in IT and information. On this encouraging note, we leave for the regional capital of Biratnagur and then to Kathmandu.

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The next day, Binod Bisunk emailed Suvash to inform him that fighting broke out near the temple between Dalit and non-Dalit shortly after we left. The police were called, and some arrests were made. There were some minor injuries on both sides. The non-Dalit have apparently become so angry that they have threatened to destroy the temple rather than see it used by the Dalit.

So the crisis seems to be coming to a head, in a very unpleasant manner. The one good thing is the flow of communications between Lahan and Kathmandu. Binod used his Internet connection to email the bad news to Suvash, who immediately informed the Kantipur newspaper. The next day the story is featured prominently in the paper. This will get some attention from the authorities. It reinforces the JMC’s view that the Youth Club would be an excellent partner for a more formal project of information-sharing.

But the real story is the way this small community is tearing itself apart over a temple. I can’t help but feel that our visit may have made it worse.

Tomorrow: work without pay