12 January 2026
I asked him, ‘How did you end up writing Rupmati? Did you first work on its plot and then elaborate the themes or…?’
‘No. It didn’t work like that. There’s actually an amusing story. At the time, Shukra Raj Shastri and several other graduates used to gather in college. There was broad agreement that everyone would bring a piece of writing every Friday and read it aloud. That never happened but I had already started writing a story meant for the Friday programme. The story kept getting longer instead of concluding. I narrated whatever I wrote to Sama-ji. I wrote in strange places—during tuition classes I was obliged to undertake out of fear and hope; while commuting to work; whenever I found some free time, I’d whip out a copy from my pocket and write. I wrote quite a lot in this way and when I was done, I had the novel Rupmati instead of a short story. While writing, I had paid special attention to language. Narendra Mani-ji and Chakrapani-ji maintained that one can’t write without using Sanskrit words but I was determined to use colloquial language in Rupmati, and was rewarded by its success.’
‘How was Rupmati’s reception after publication? What kind of criticisms were brought up by polite society?’
I was sitting on one side of a table placed inside the Vice-Chancellor’s office and he was sitting across from me. Books occupied two built-in wall closets. But one of them was covered with a curtain and used to place daily paperwork and stationery. There was a telephone on an end table next to him and a few chairs surrounded three sides of a larger table. Curtains covered both windows that looked out into the garden, rendering the room slightly dim. A woman, probably his stenographer, intermittently appeared to rearrange files and bags. A peon also regularly entered the room to announce phone calls. Only a moment ago, the registrar Trailokya-ji had asked the Vice-Chancellor’s permission to leave in order ‘to attend to the electrical and telephone systems’. Despite these activities, our conversations didn’t get majorly disrupted.
He responded to my query: ‘Rupmati received a grand welcome. I also received a prize as well as letters (from Darjeeling too) reprimanding me for revealing household secrets. Those were actually indirect compliments. Rupmati became the first Nepali novel to be reprinted up to nine times. Chappa Kaji was also widely popular, and even our national patriarch Shree Paanch Tribhuvan had admired it. After its first edition got sold out, I’d given a copy to the Nepali Bhasa Prakshini Samiti but it didn’t get printed.’
‘How come?’
‘I don’t know the exact reasons. But after some time had passed, an officer with inside knowledge indicated that “I had survived”. Because Chappa Kaji’s character resembled that of an “important” person, he had stopped the publication of the second edition. If he had sought to investigate me, he might have been publicly humiliated but I still don’t know who that person is. I’m still planning on getting the second edition out.’
‘Just the second edition? What about other books?’
‘I have a few books ready for publication but haven’t found the time for a final revision.’
Rudra Raj Pandey, who was the first president of the now-defunct Nepali Lekhak Sangha, has a rather intriguing salaried life. Widely known for his professional acumen, he became the headmaster of Durbar High School about eighteen months after becoming a professor, and in 1938 was appointed as the principal of Tri-Chandra College. He has been working in this capacity for twelve years now. During his time at the high school, he organised the successful production of the play Mukunda Indira and gained fame in the theatre sector as well. After his stint as a principal, he worked as a secretary in the Education Department and after that, became the first director of the Archaeology Department. After taking a break for a few years, he worked as a Director of Communications during the 1960 elections and after completing the task, remained on call for a short period. The 1962 restructuring compelled him to retire. He had completely devoted himself to Hari bhajans after that but in 1966, he was appointed as the Vice-Chancellor of Tribhuvan University. He had begun his professional career in the education sector and after taking some detours, ended up in the highest seat in this field.
He regularly organises kirtans in his house, frequented by sadhus and sanyasis. To someone like him, I asked the question that needed asking, ‘What’s your take on religion?’
‘My religion is Gita’s religion—practical,’ he replied. ‘In this modern, materialistic period, due to a lack of spirituality, contemporary folks are conflicted and facing despair and difficulties. The world desperately needs an ethos that combines materialism with spirituality, the way King Janak and Gautam Buddha did. Only then can humankind make progress. We might even achieve world peace. Not by simply making proclamations; we ought to show by doing and the work ought to benefit the citizens and the country, conducted with utmost faith in God.’
‘You have the right to work only but never to its fruits./Let not the fruits of action be your motive, nor let your attachment be to inaction. (Bhagwad Gita, Chapter 2, Verse 47)’
‘My primary principle is based on that. Inner peace and prosperity is the highest form of self-love. But it’s not enough just to be spiritual; one ought to be practical as well as harmonious.’
‘And what is kirtan? A medium to attain spirituality? Certainly not a way to make money, as alluded to by some folks?’ I blurted out.
Without hesitating, Pandey-ji responded, ‘Kirtan is a supreme form of yoga. By facilitating concentration, it helps us gather our thoughts and emotions. In a way, it allows our soul to merge with the One and fills our soul with harmony. This kind of harmonious state is extremely pleasant. God is present in every experiential moment. Insects, vines, hills—God is present in everything. I believe that He is everywhere and that’s why kirtan has become extremely important to me. I don’t get bothered by what people say. The joyful state facilitated by kirtan when a soul merges with the One is beyond description. One has to fully experience it—it’s not enough to simply listen.’
And since there was another meeting and Pandey-ji also appeared a bit tired, I left.
—September 5, 1966
