Keeper Of The Mountains

by Bernadette McDonald

  It was a strange kind of revolution – in part inspired by the population, in part by the monarchy. But despite his best intentions, Tribhuvan seemed unable to replace the oppressive Rana rule with anything other than unworkable, short-lived, compromise governing councils. To make things more complicated, his son, Crown Prince Mahendra, insisted on marrying a Rana woman named Indra. Defying his parents on an issue as important as marriage was unheard of, but Mahendra did it, marrying first Indra and then her sister Ratna after his first wife died. After several years of recurring illness (and probably exhaustion from his recent efforts at reform), King Tribhuvan died in a Swiss hospital.

  In 1955 Prince Mahendra was crowned king and his second wife became Queen Ratna. A precedent had been set – it was possible for a crown prince to choose his own princess. The significance of this became clear 50 years later when Queen Ratna was the septuagenarian queen mother in residence at the palace when yet another crown prince rebelled against his parents’ marriage plans. Only this time, it would end in a bloodbath such as the country could hardly comprehend, the slaughter of almost the entire royal family. But now, after a century of Rana rule, King Mahendra was keen to move his country into the 20th century, and so he gave his country its first constitution and held the first general election in Nepal’s history. It was these events that Elizabeth had come to observe.

  After several weeks of voting, victory was declared by the Nepali Congress Party (NCP), which won 70 per cent of the votes. Elie Abel of the New York Times had to leave Nepal, but not before he told his foreign news editor in New York about Elizabeth. She was flattered, and also pleased from a practical point of view because she was running out of money. She flew to Calcutta, where she wrote a report to the Time bureau chief in New Delhi and then began her long journey home. She took a cargo ship to Hong Kong via Rangoon, Penang, Singapore and Pusan, then from Hong Kong to Osaka on another ship, overland to Tokyo and its port of Yokohama, and finally San Francisco, arriving in time for spring.

  Elizabeth recalls a mélange of sensory pleasures upon returning to American soil after two years abroad – a rush of familiarity, but also the dawning awareness that her home country had less to offer her than before. After sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco – an event she remembers vividly – she went directly to Blum’s candy shop and soda fountain in Union Square and ordered a sundae smothered in chocolate sauce and walnuts. With that treat in hand, she wandered around the square, feasting her eyes on scenes of “typical” America that she hadn’t seen for two years. It was a pivotal moment. During that wander, she had a little discussion with herself: “This is a great place, but it’s not the real world. I would like to live a few years in the real world – a world that’s like what most people live in.” Her travels had made an impact. Her life would never be the same.

  But she was also practical. She wanted to live comfortably and it dawned on her that Kathmandu was the place. It had a pleasant climate, a low cost of living, beautiful hills that reminded her of Vermont and she would be able to hire staff to look after her everyday needs. (No need to cook!) At no point did climbing and exploration enter the equation in her decision-making process. She was blissfully unaware of the Herculean efforts taking place on the Himalayan peaks. The names Herzog and Buhl meant nothing to her. But in order to mobilize this new plan, she first needed to return to New York and find a job.

  She moved back into her apartment on Madison Avenue, settling in with the treasures she had accumulated in the far-flung corners of the world. She worked at a series of temporary jobs, just until she had enough money to depart for good. One of these was for Life magazine’s new book-publishing arm. As always, she did research. Then she did a stint for Nelson Rockefeller’s brief presidential campaign, where she proved to be a useful member of the staff because of her access to the morgue and all those files.

  In the meantime, she applied for a job at the U.S. Information Agency (USIA) within the State Department. This was the domestic name for what was known abroad as the USIS (United States Information Service). Its role was to understand, inform and influence foreign policies in promotion of U.S. national interests. Information activities in overseas operations included reading rooms and libraries, and personnel in missions, embassies and field posts around the world. President Eisenhower set up an Operations Coordinating Board to run the USIA, which consisted of several high-level people: the Undersecretary of State, the Undersecretary of Defense, the head of the Foreign Aid Agency, the head of the CIA and the head of the USIA. This tight group met for lunch once a week, speaking freely about what was going on in the world, which at the time included atomic energy tests, secret information relating to the Soviet Union, shifts in political regimes, and citizens movements.

  Although she had good credentials to work for the USIA, it didn’t look promising, as revealed in a letter from Deputy Director Washburn: “She made a very good impression here, but jobs for women in the Foreign Service are extremely limited.” This was tough to accept for a woman as independent, experienced, knowledgeable and capable as Elizabeth. She was also waiting on a decision from the Ford Foundation Foreign Area Training Fellowship, for which she had applied. She proposed a study of Nepal’s postwar history – its political and economic development since World War II, with particular emphasis on its penetration by influences from outside its borders, specifically India and Tibet. Albert Furth, assistant to Time magazine founder and editor Henry R. Luce, wrote an effusive reference letter for her:

  Elizabeth Hawley was among the top few researchers on Fortune’s staff … she was always in demand by our ablest writers.… The writer knew he would not only have the benefit of thorough, penetrating reportage; he also knew he would have the benefit of a mature and uncommonly intelligent mind in debating the implications of the material gathered.

  In early December Elizabeth was asked to come to Washington to appear before a panel of three USIA men: one from personnel, one from the press section and one from the cultural-affairs section. They grilled her for an hour and a half about her past experience, her views on American foreign policy, what she would do if she were running the USIA and whether she understood what her duties would be. She obviously made an impression because 10 days later she received a letter asking her to proceed to the next steps: a security check, medical examination and psychological–psychiatric examination. She was being seriously considered for a Foreign Service appointment.

  In April 1960 she received a “no” from the Ford Foundation because they felt she didn’t have enough academic background in South Asia. The USIA eventually did offer her a foreign posting, but because she was not allowed to choose the country, she turned it down. Her mother also discouraged her from working for the USIA, as she was convinced it would be too bureaucratic for Elizabeth’s free spirit.

  By this time, Elizabeth had become fixated on Nepal. Fascinated by the country’s politics and the idea of an isolated state emerging into the 20th century, she decided to live there for a few years. She wanted to watch the country change and develop. She described it as “a place where you can see what the world is becoming.” During the summer, she hammered out an arrangement with Time Inc. in which she would return to Kathmandu in September of 1960, accredited as their part-time correspondent. Two years later her accreditation would be for the Reuters news agency. In the meantime she was also offered fairly lucrative work with an organization calling itself the Knickerbocker Foundation. She accepted the offer – an arrangement that would cause some raised eyebrows back in New York, since many of her colleagues and friends assumed she was really doing intelligence work for the U.S. government under the cloak of a foundation. With her contacts made and her contracts signed, Elizabeth was off.

  CHAPTER 7

  A New Life

  The mountains hereabouts are infested with men mad enough to want to slog to the tops.

  — Elizabeth Hawley

  Now that she was to make it her new home, Elizabet
h explored Kathmandu and its environs with even keener interest. She discovered the adjoining ancient city of Patan. Bazaars filled with tiny shops selling exquisite silk, silver and gems were the reward for navigating its maze of narrow lanes and alleys. Along each brick-paved street, spacious houses were decorated with dragons, gods and goddesses carved into wooden frames.

  She drove to Bhadgaon, where hundreds of gilded roofs glared in the harsh sunlight. The distinctive styles of both Buddhist and Hindu temples intertwined in evocative imagery. Religious festivals were common and it seemed to Elizabeth that the entire valley seemed to embrace ancient religions of all kinds.

  And of course she went to Bodhnath, the holiest Tibetan sanctuary outside Tibet. The cone-shaped Buddhist shrine, known as a stupa, was dazzling in its whiteness, topped with gold and emblazoned with the unblinking blue eyes of Lord Buddha at its base. Surrounded by prayer wheels, it resonated with the sound of their turning, and the smell of lamps floating in clarified butter permeated the air. Elizabeth observed the great number of Buddhist pilgrims milling around the stupa. What a sight: monks in maroon robes, pig-tailed hermits, scholars and peasants crowding to the sacred site, accompanied by the sounds of bells, gongs and horns – and the ever-present smell of butter. It wasn’t just pilgrims who thronged the site; Tibetan refugees had flooded into the area after the Chinese takeover of Tibet, and the streets swarmed with fierce-looking warrior figures.

  Her new home seemed uncomplicated, peaceful and contented, centuries removed from the hustle and bustle, strife and warfare and rapid rate of change in the rest of the world. Of course, that was not the case, as Elizabeth would discover. But for now, she revelled in the novelty of making a home in such a foreign place.

  While staying at the Royal Hotel, she began searching for an apartment. Within a week she found what she was looking for – a two-bedroom apartment in a central part of town. It had spacious rooms and plenty of windows, three of which had balconies. She was pleased to find electricity in every room although the power was a bit feeble. The kitchen was somewhat spartan, with just a sink and cold running water. The bathroom boasted a small hot-water tank, as well as a flush toilet. This place could be hers for $95 a month. She rearranged the basic furniture, removed the heavy draperies off windows and doors and purchased some brass vases to fill with colourful flowers from her garden. The overall effect pleased her.

  To make it feel like home, she had brought a few “essentials” with her from the United States, such as the record albums My Fair Lady, Oklahoma and The King and I. She had her autographed copy of The Joy of Cooking and a recording of Handel’s Messiah. She had also brought a Bible, but joked to her mother, “God knows what reason.” On the practical front, she had a plastic dinner set, some sheets and towels, an atlas, the Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, a thesaurus, a condensed paperback encyclopedia, a book on English usage and a Finnish hot plate.

  By mid-October she reported to her mother that she had not only settled in, but had acquired a cook, a general-purpose servant, a man to do her laundry and another to tend her very small garden. Her staff was complete. She soon moved on to her second cook, Kumar, who had worked previously for some Americans and spoke a little English. She reported that he was already trained in “our ways of cooking and cleanliness.” She was pleased he could bake bread and sugar cookies, make soup and mayonnaise, keep the household accounts and “do all sorts of things I couldn’t possibly do.”

  Kumar was soon replaced by Ram Krishna as cook, but he remained to take on other responsibilities. Kumar and Elizabeth had what can only be described as a “difficult” relationship. Looking back, she admits she treated him badly: “He simply exasperated the hell out of me.” According to Elizabeth, he was completely disorganized. This was a recipe for disaster because Elizabeth is extremely organized. She mocked him routinely, but now acknowledges her behaviour was inexcusable. The simple fact was that he annoyed her, and in return, she was mean to him. Still, they continued to work together for 40 long years. Many of Elizabeth’s friends describe her as “very much memsahib,” or someone who thinks of Nepalis as people you hire to get work done. Her cousin’s son, Will Kneerim, views her relationship with her Nepali staff as classic 19th-century master–servant style. When Kumar retired in 2003, he thoughtfully hired his replacement, his well-educated and organized grandson Baween, six months in advance in order to fully train him. She appreciated that parting gesture and realized she had underestimated Kumar all along.

  Kathmandu at that time had only a couple of shopping streets and few “useful” stores. One was called The Blue Bucket. It was somewhat like a country general store, with tinned and packaged foods. Most foodstuffs came from the markets and street vendors. The choices of vegetables were limited: cauliflower, carrots, radishes, potatoes, onions and garlic. There was a bakery (it still exists) named Krishna Loaf that was the first to bake bread in the valley. Western-style clothing was unavailable, since there was no place to buy it; everything was individually tailored or brought in from abroad. There were no streetlights and few paved roads. Most people walked or rode bikes. There was no international mail service, although there was a post office for domestic mail. Elizabeth sent and received her mail through the American embassy and sent telegrams at the Indian embassy.

  It was unusual to see a single Western woman in the streets in 1960. Once, when she encountered some Tibetan refugees on the street near her house, her knee-length skirt and nylon stockings caused them to flee, giggling like schoolgirls as they scampered away. Years later she was chatting with a young office clerk who admitted, “I remember you from when I was a little boy 20 years ago.” Elizabeth initially rode about town on a bicycle, but that all changed when she borrowed a bluish-green, 1952 Fiat 500 convertible. She was thrilled to get out of the rain and it was the perfect size for her. Finally, in 1965, she bought a used robin’s-egg-blue Volkswagen Beetle from Prince Basundhara. It was two years old and she paid him $1,500 for it. That car became her trademark in Kathmandu and it was still parked proudly in her garage in the spring of 2004. She drove it herself until 1996, after which she employed a driver.

  As a young, single, American woman, Elizabeth was embraced by the Kathmandu social scene. Social occasions took place in private homes rather than restaurants or hotels. One hotel she did frequent, however, was the Royal, run by the famous Boris Lissanevitch. This spacious but not very comfortable watering hole occupied one wing of a former Rana palace named Bahadur Bhawan. Most often it wasn’t the hotel or restaurant that she frequented, but Boris’s fabulous apartment above, the scene of many parties. Of all the fascinating characters she would know in Kathmandu, Boris was one of the more colourful. He was dark and good-looking in a mysterious kind of way, with hair parted straight down the middle. His past was almost unbelievable: he had grown up in Russia, escaped during the Russian Revolution, became a celebrated dancer with Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes, travelled the world as a performer, launched the exclusive 300 Club in Calcutta and befriended royalty and adventurers alike. While running the 300 Club, he became a close friend and confidant of Nepal’s King Tribhuvan, as well as a number of the people who assisted Tribhuvan in overturning the Rana rule. It was this friendship that brought him to Nepal. Now he was in partnership with Tribhuvan’s son, Prince Basundhara, running the Royal Hotel, which was sometimes described as “Kathmandu baroque.”

  Despite his royal connections and friendships with the most powerful people in the country, Boris had already done a stint in prison for bad debt. Debt was something he was familiar with, since he had an extremely impractical business sense. Shortly after being released from prison, he was asked to produce a series of lavish banquets for the coronation of King Mahendra. Entertaining on a scale never before seen in Nepal, Boris quickly became the centre of the social elite.

  His scene also included mountain climbers, since virtually all the expeditions coming through the valley stayed with Boris. He boasted a unique rock collection in connection wi
th his mountaineering friends: a bit of the summit of Everest from Barry Bishop, a rock from the top of Makalu from Jean Franco, and more. In return for high-altitude rocks, he gave the alpinists fruitcake; his famous Genoa fruitcake was standard fare on the early expeditions to all the highest peaks. It was in Boris’s apartment that Elizabeth first glimpsed the exciting things that were happening up in the mountains. And it was there that she began to meet climbers.

  Elizabeth supported her lifestyle with two sources of income. The first was as a stringer for her former employer Time Inc., the publishers of Fortune, Time, Life and other magazines. Her job was to research political news and other stories and send that research to New York or the New Delhi bureau so that one of their writers could do a story.

  The rest of her income came from the Knickerbocker Foundation, which hired her to send them regular reports on the political scene in Nepal. Elizabeth was uncharacteristically incurious about the work she did for Knickerbocker. During the early 1960s, in many parts of the world and particularly in strategically located Nepal, there was an enormous amount of intelligence-gathering going on – by Britain, the United States, the Soviet Union and others. This mountain region was considered an essential buffer between powerful nations and had long been a place of intrigue. Every foreigner living in Kathmandu was aware of this. According to the 1967 Facts on File yearbook, the Knickerbocker Foundation was suspected of being a cover organization for the CIA. But Elizabeth remains adamant that if her monthly reports to the Knickerbocker Foundation were used for government purposes and analysis, it didn’t bother her. “Why not? What’s wrong with that?” she asks. She never thought of her work as “espionage.” She believes it is natural – and expected – that governments will gather intelligence in other countries in whatever way they can. She was happy to help.