In a small village just north of Kathmandu, near Nagarkot, where the hills are steep and the mornings are cold, lived Sheelu and her five-year-old daughter, Barsa. Their house was made of mud with a tin roof that rattled when the wind blew hard. They had a small yard with a garden where they grew potatoes, radishes, and some greens to eat. On clear days, you could see the big, snowy Himalayas from their village—Langtang, Ganesh Himal, and sometimes even a tiny glimpse of Everest. Everyone in the village loved that view, but life here wasn’t easy. Everyone had to work, even the kids.
Sheelu was a young mom, always busy. Every morning, she’d get up early, before the sun, to start her work. She’d light the chulo—a small clay stove—in the corner of their house, boil water for tea, and cook something simple, like kodo ko roti, which is a flatbread made from millet, and some tarkari with whatever vegetables they had. Then she’d grab a gagri, a metal pot, and walk down the hill to the spring to fetch water. Her hands were rough from all the work she did—carrying heavy loads, washing clothes, and digging in the garden. Barsa was a little girl with messy hair and a red sweater her mom had made for her. She liked running around the yard, chasing the chickens or playing with sticks. But she also loved watching her mom work. She’d sit nearby, asking questions like, “Aama, why do you dig so much?” or “Can I try?” Sheelu would smile and say, “Soon, Barsa. You’re almost big enough.”
One morning, when the air was chilly and the ground was still wet from the night’s dew, Sheelu decided it was time for Barsa to start learning. They needed to get the garden ready for planting. In Nagarkot, the weather gets cold fast, so they had to plant early to have food for the winter. Sheelu called out, “Barsa, come here!” Barsa was playing near the bamboo fence, trying to catch a grasshopper. She ran over, her sandals flapping against her feet.
Sheelu handed Barsa a small trowel, one that was old and a little bent. “We’re going to dig the garden today,” she said. “You’re going to help me.” Barsa’s face lit up. She’d seen her mom do this so many times, but now she got to try. Sheelu showed her how to hold the trowel and push it into the dirt. The soil was hard and had little rocks in it, which made it tough to dig. Barsa’s hands got dirty right away, and she laughed. “It’s so muddy, Aama!” she said. “Yeah, it’s muddy,” Sheelu said, digging next to her. “But we have to do this. If we don’t dig and plant, we won’t have potatoes or radishes to eat later. You have to work hard to take care of the family.” She pulled out a big weed and tossed it into a doko, a basket they used to carry things. Barsa tried to copy her, but her hands were small, and the trowel kept slipping. Sheelu helped her, holding her hands and showing her how to push harder. While they worked, Sheelu talked about when she was a kid. “My mom taught me the same thing when I was your age,” she said. “We’d dig the garden, carry water, and collect firewood from the forest up the hill. That’s how it is here. Everyone helps. Even you, Barsa.” Barsa nodded, even though she didn’t fully understand. She just liked being with her mom and feeling like she was doing something important.
They kept digging for a long time. The sun came up, and the mist started to clear. You could hear the village waking up—someone’s goat was bleating, and down the hill, a man was hammering something, maybe fixing a fence. Sheelu and Barsa’s garden was small, but it was messy, with sticks and leaves everywhere. There was a bundle of pine branches by the fence that Sheelu had collected for firewood, and a metal bucket they used to carry water. Barsa kept getting distracted, pointing at bugs or trying to pick up the rocks she found. Sheelu would laugh and say, “Focus, Barsa! We’re almost done.”
After a while, they had a small patch of ground ready. The dirt was turned over, and the weeds were gone. Sheelu wiped the sweat off her forehead and looked at it. “Good job, Barsa,” she said. “Tomorrow, we’ll plant the seeds. Then we’ll have food in a few months.” Barsa smiled so big her cheeks hurt. “I did it, Aama!” she said, holding up her dirty hands.
“You did,” Sheelu said, giving her a big hug. Barsa’s sweater was covered in dirt, but Sheelu didn’t care. She was proud of her little girl. That night, they sat inside by the chulo to stay warm. Sheelu made Dal Bhat and some tarkari with spinach from the garden. Barsa’s dad, Bidur, came home from working in the fields. He was tired, but he smiled when Sheelu told him about Barsa helping in the garden. “You’re getting big, Barsa,” he said, patting her head. “Soon you’ll be doing everything like your Aama.”
Over the next few days, Barsa wanted to help more. Sheelu showed her how to carry a small gagri of water from the spring, even though Barsa could only carry a little bit without spilling. She also taught her how to sweep the yard with a broom made of pine twigs and how to throw grain for the chickens. Barsa loved it. She felt like a grown-up, even though her hands were so small.
Sheelu watched Barsa and thought about how fast she was growing. Life in the village was hard—sometimes there wasn’t enough food, and the winters were so cold the water in the spring would freeze. But teaching Barsa how to work, how to take care of the family, made Sheelu feel like she was giving her something important. Someday, Barsa would be strong and know how to survive, just like Sheelu did.
In their little village near Nagarkot, with the big mountains watching over them, Sheelu and Barsa kept working together, day after day, just like all the families around them. We can take you to the village. Contact us if you wanna see the family.
