12 January 2026
This people’s poet became popular and revered in the year 1952, the year he roamed along every alley, humbly selling cheap booklets at dabalis and courtyards in order to promote Nepali literature and folk songs; to the extent that if anyone attempted to write a poem, they made it about him. But sometimes, a poem can be a curse. He was jailed for writing a similarly popular poem. There was an unsuccessful attempt to ruin his poetic sensibility. But sensibilities do not expire, do they? Out of many examples, Dharmaraj Thapa himself is a living example.
* * *
‘I became a poet because of the Seti Ganga river, Machhapuchhre mountain, Phewa and Rupa lakes; because I was responsible for reading Bhanubhakta’s Ramayan aloud to the villagers, as well as details of rituals from various texts; because I read aloud chapters from Swasthani at night to my mother and sisters. I became a poet because of Muna Madan and “Pinjada ko Suga”.’
These were the words of the poet Shree Dharmaraj Thapa, whom I went to meet only a few days ago. He was tall and well-built with masculine features, but his voice was soft and sweet, and could have belonged to a woman.
‘I used to employ the Shardulavikridita meter while composing but I also love folk tunes and after moving to Kathmandu began using those while portraying rural lives. Perhaps that’s why I rely on the realism of Nepali lives and nature.’
I began by asking, ‘Do you still portray rural lives or are you now immersed in your imagination?’
‘Well, I’ve limited myself to the pastoral domain to this day. I’ve decided to write a book titled Devchuli using every folk Nepali meter. I’ve already travelled to several places where I have relatives with the intention of portraying village life successfully. Even then, I still haven’t managed to visit two districts?’
‘Which two districts?’
‘Ramechhap and Jumla. These days, I’m trying to arrange a trip to Jumla. Let’s see what happens.’ Then he became quiet, leaving future prospects to the future.
Taking advantage of the pause, I asked, ‘A poet like you must be pretty facile with words. Do you manage to write whenever you feel like it?’
‘No, I only write when I get in the mood. But this mood is quite treacherous; sometimes it strikes while walking and sometimes in the middle of the night! Usually, I get in the mood when I’m away from the family and once I begin, I stop only when the poem is complete. Another thing—I never cross out words while writing; to me, that’s tantamount to killing one’s soul.’
I was quite amused by his reference to the mood as treacherous. But I didn’t want to be rude, so I suppressed a laugh and simply retorted, ‘It seems your timing is quite amazing! I think your wife is with you these days; does that mean you haven’t been writing?’
He replied in a hypnotic tone: ‘It’s not like that. I can write whenever the situation demands. Today, I completed Panchayat Shashan. I was being a bit careless earlier.’
‘I see. And your family? I hope your family hasn’t interfered with your discipline?’
Taking a deep sigh, he began, ‘One partner…’
‘You only have one partner?’ Because there are plenty of rumours concerning his romantic life, my question was intended to get to the truth.
‘Ha! Ha! She is the same one whom my father got me married to in 1939.’ Saying, ‘The only one; you can ask her,’ he pointed towards his wife. And there was indeed a lady, smiling softly. I had already noticed her but assumed she was an elderly Brahmin helper. Turns out, she was the one married to our popular poet!
Picking up an earlier train of thought, he resumed, ‘Yes, one wife and five school-aged children. I’m not involved in agriculture, nor business. A salaried job isn’t enough to make ends meet. That’s why, rather than contemplating literary ideas, I’m compelled to worry about my family. So, one can deduce that my family indirectly hampers my discipline. What to do—I can’t starve my family. I have to provide food. And in order to fulfil this selfish need, I’m forcefully using poetry as a means; but I haven’t succeeded.’ He sighed, but not a long one, and stopped speaking.
After listening to Thapa-ji’s moving response. I asked, ‘Thapa-ji, your life must be intrinsically connected to literature, right?’
‘More or less. Literature is a domain in which I attempt to resolve the conflict between my direct lived experiences and Nature. Because a butterfly hovers above a flower, alive, just like Life hovers on Earth – I merely try to close the circle.’
‘Oh…You have already experienced harsh aspects of life, gone through a thousand episodes of shade and sunshine. You were acquainted with only a couple of writers before; now, you engage with numerous writers. That’s also a sign of progress, don’t you think, Kabi-ji?’
‘You are right. There’s been a lot of progress in literature. Because these days, the world is our home, not a strange yard. Another important aspect—we’ve received a poet in the form of a king.’
I was curious about another aspect in which he was lacking, ‘You must be frustrated due to a lack of support while compiling this collection of folks songs, right?’
‘I’m looking for a strong candidate who is able to sift through tender truths and beauty inherent in authentic folk songs; a visionary who can reach out, organize, edit and revise. Already, quite a few potential colleagues are walking on Nepal’s fertile land. Someday, they’ll compete to get that job; some have already been attempting.’
Shree Dharmaraj Thapa has launched a sort of a revolution in order to realise his goal of compiling Nepali folk songs. Even if one chooses to, one can’t forget his sacrifices and obstacles he has faced in this mission. His melodious voice is certainly assisting him with the task at hand. He hasn’t backed off even when it comes to collecting the sorrows of migrant Nepali workers in India. To achieve a personal goal, he even established a museum of Nepali folk songs in 1953 and became a founder of Danfe-Chari. He has recorded 32 rhythmic songs for the project. When it comes to poets who have penetrated Nepal’s mainstream audience, his name is at the top.
In 1956, the King formally bestowed the title of Jana Kabi Keshari, The People’s Poet, to him, acknowledging and honouring his immense mainstream popularity. Jealous of his fame, numerous detractors began circulating rumours about him, but that effort has backfired, making him more famous. During the coronation ceremony of His Majesty the King, he successfully conducted his duties as the Deputy Chairman of the Folk Dances committee. When he travelled to China as a member of the cultural team, he impressed large swathes of the Chinese people with his dulcet singing. In India, he is referred to as the ‘Pahadi Sehgal’, a moniker that combines his hilly origin with a famous Indian singer. To get a sense of his personal taste, I asked, ‘You probably love Muna Madan quite a bit, don’t you?’
‘Not only Muna Madan, I love Devkota, Lekhnath, Ghimire, Siddhicharan, and various other poets. And also, Sumitranandan Pant and Rabindranath Tagore. While I am at it, allow me to name some of my own pieces: ‘Mero Maya Tyati Chhan’ and Ratna Juneli are my best works, and I also think ‘Ghar Samjhi Gayeko Nepali’ is up there.
‘What are your thoughts on the Nepal Academy?’
‘Nepal Academy! I feel like it hasn’t done any work! The Academy needs industrious folks like us, do you understand?’
Expressing agreement, I began to ponder. His response had a grain of truth. Then I quickly followed up. ‘You know some colleagues say your voice might be sweet, but your poems don’t have literary depth?’ I was still sipping a cup of sweet tea his wife had offered to me.
Without fumbling a bit, he began to clarify, ‘Those are the jealous ones! I can also compose works of literary depth despite those not being conducive to my singing voice. But that kind of writing typically doesn’t reach the audience; it stays within the bounds of my notebook. That’s why I aim to compose rhythmic lines suitable for singing. I don’t want to step back from singing merely to please my detractors. My primary accusers are quite small-minded. Only time will reveal the significance of my work.’
We had covered a lot of ground and time was also running out. So, I made my final request, ‘Do you have any messages for your readers?’
‘Yes, Nepaliness–’
‘No. In the form of a poem, since your readers prefer that.’
And the message flowed poetically:
Nepali rhythms, exquisite like the mountain breeze
May it flow relentlessly, seeding emotional flowers,
Spreading its scent, filling hearts, it’ll take root on earth
Peeking out of clouds, it’ll shine like the waxing moon,
The light gets bright when it encounters form
To worship Mother Nepal with our full hearts
Truth and Creativity are Beautiful, they reflect Divinity
They confer Immortal Power, everywhere, all around.
Expressing gratitude, I also headed towards my rented flat from Dilli Bazaar.
—21 February 1962
