Hating, Being Hated
Suraj made a living off his hatred. Hating came naturally, especially when it was directed at cops.
His gang stored weapons, mostly knives and machetes and steel rods, in the home of a local shopkeeper who also supplied Suraj and his gang with pot. Benefitting from the protection, the shopkeeper was loyal, but his wife was uninformed of the weapons in her home. One day she discovered the weapons hidden in the bedroom. She called the police, who showed up in civilian clothes just as Suraj was arriving at the shop for a new supply of marijuana. The police appeared and immediately suspected Suraj as the owner of the weapons. He was arrested on the spot.
“As soon as I entered the police station, every cop beat me as if I was a football. Then I was locked behind bars. In Nepal there are few human rights for criminals; they can kill you. They tortured me and put me in prison for a month until my family came and paid my freedom, what was for them six-month’s salary.”
His release caused further tension in his family and more angry fights with his father. And the police beating did nothing to entice him away from the gang life. It actually fueled his rage and unlocked new depths of hate.
“When I came out of jail, because of the torture, I knew I would kill the police officers who did this. Every year in Nepal, there’s an annual festival to celebrate the new year, a big festival that often results in riots and fights with police. In past years some policemen were found dead in the street gutters. I planned to do the same, and went to the celebration looking for the policemen who brutally tortured me in jail. I didn’t find them, but my rage had now spread against the whole police force. I started throwing stones randomly. Police were hurt and were furious, and they pursued me and I ran. Eventually they trapped me, surrounded me, and nearly killed me with another round of beatings. They were hurt and furious. I nearly bled to death. Some of the policemen stopped the beating because they assumed I would die in the street.”
Suraj was taken from the street to the hospital and recovered enough to be arrested and thrown in a holding cell for 26 days. “My family, who is not rich, brought more money to set me free again.”
Dark Despair
After his second arrest, his infamous reputation reached new heights of intimidation. Never was it easier to recruit, never was it easier to mug for money.
But after his second imprisonment, and with little hope of a third financial release from his family, Suraj took his mother’s advice and returned to school. He found ways to get into fights there, and would often just wait for a teacher to get deep into a lecture before jumping out of the classroom window to waste the day with drugs and drink. Only the fact that a police station was next to his school deterred him from beating teachers.
By this point, the joy and thrill of the gang life was eroding, exposing a dark despair in his heart.
“I often thought about killing myself,” he said. “I took no pleasure in my life. I had no satisfaction. I had no love from my family. I fought often with my father. I knew I was going to hell based on Hindu teaching. I was a disgrace to my gods and to my family and to my village. They were praying for my death. Everyone was telling me I was not worthy to live, but I could not kill myself because I was more afraid of death and hell. I had no hope.”
Suraj was too empty to live, too scared to die, too despised to be loved. “When I was most detested,” he recounted, “God acted on me.”
Collision With Cow-Eaters
Joy came to Suraj by surprise, through a classmate and local neighbor he walked to school with, a closet cow-eater.
“Cows are sacred in Nepal, and Christians are cow-eaters. Since all Westerners are Christians, they were all cow-eaters. That was my background. I honored cow as a goddess and worshiped her. But my neighbor and I became friends, and then eventually one day he told me about Jesus. When I discovered he was a cow-eating Christian, I got so angry I almost knocked him down. But because he was very humble and kind, I did nothing to him. He told me Jesus could forgive my sins. I argued with him and tried to provoke his anger by accusing Christianity as a religion of money, since most churches in Nepal are supported by Americans. But nothing I said could provoke him. That amazes me to this day.”
The intimidating hatred of Suraj had met unflinching courage.
This same friend invited Suraj to church for Christmas, a risky move with unpredictable consequences. But Suraj agreed. More than anything, he was enticed by the modern music. He was drawn to American bands like Nirvana and to instruments like the electric guitar and drums, sounds rarely experienced in Nepal.
“So I went to the church during the Christmas of 2006 to see the instruments and hear the music and to see the musicians—especially the girls. I walked in the church, for the first time, dressed like a thug and with tattoos, and the congregation was frightened. But they did not cast me out. I was the outcast—a disgrace to my gods and goddesses and to my family. But this church cared. I started going to church every week, but I firmly rejected Christianity and kept my focus on the instruments and the music. But I could feel something in my heart, a voice drawing me. But I suppressed it.”
