The Bonded Labour System in Nepal: An Empirical Study of

Haliya Labourers from the Untouchable Lohar Community

Abstract

Nepal is suspected to have up to 3 million agricultural bonded labourers under

haliya and kamaiya practices. The bonded contract is normally a voluntary
agreement, but if poor people, who often belong to the lowest castes, fail to pay
the amounts borrowed for their family sustenance, then, it can force them into
generational bonded labour. This empirical research focuses on haliya practice
in the far-western hill district of Baitadi to explore the low untouchable Lohar
communitys motives and rationale for entering into bonded labour, and the
ways in which they understand it and its significance in the sociocultural
context of their everyday lives. A particular attention is given to the working
lives of young people, including children. The findings on a thus far underresearched subject are expected to be beneficial to researchers and
policymakers, including the Nepali government, to initiate locally relevant
rehabilitation programs.

Key words: Bonded Labour, Haliya Practice, Lohar caste, Baitadi, Nepal

Total words: 10,085

Introduction

The term haliya is derived from the word halo, which means plough in the Nepali
language. In a literal sense, a haliya is someone who ploughs the field, which is why
international institutions like International Labour Organization (ILO) and the World
Bank often use the term tiller as the haliya labourers work on the basis of seasonal or
long-term contract to earn a daily or fixed wage. Yet, the United Nations (UN) Working
Group on Contemporary Forms of Slavery calls the haliya system as a form of modern
slavery.1 According to Anti-Slavery International (ASI), the haliya system affects an
estimated 12,000 Nepalese households (or about 84,000 individuals) in a few farwestern districts alone. Likewise, the UN Office of High Commission on Human Rights
(Nepal) puts the number at around 100,000 while the National Dalit Social Welfare
Organization and National Haliya Liberation Federation estimate show about 150,000
people. These kinds of claims make it clear that there is no agreed aggregate statistics
even though the haliya system is known to be widespread in the hill districts of
Achham, Bajhang, Bajura, Baitadi, Dadeldhura, Darchula, and Doti.2 Advocacy groups3
argue that over 90 percent of haliya labourers belong to the dalit community (i.e. the

1

There are reportedly some 27 million modern slaves worldwide, of which around 20 million

are reported to be found in South Asia (Bangladesh, India, Nepal, and Pakistan), but Nepal is
suspected to have up to 3 million such people under haliya and kamaiya (bonded) labour
systems.
2

To a lesser extent, it also exists in other parts of the country, and especially in the eastern Tarai

districts, where it is more commonly known as haruwa. It appears that apart from Giri (2010),
who studied haliya child labourers from Morang district, the haliya (or haruwa) practice in
other parts of Nepal is yet to be fully explored.
3

Here, advocacy groups refer to any non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and human rights

activists/groups, except UN agencies.

low and untouchable castes in the Nepali social hierarchy), around 97 percent of them
are landless, and an average household reportedly owes around NRs 8,540 in debt4
(Giri, 2010). However, the claims such as these are difficult to verify because so far a
comprehensive nationwide research on the haliya practice is lacking.
After years of lobbying by the advocacy groups, the Nepali government banned the
haliya practice on 6 September 2008, and the subsequently formed commission
suggested of conducting a thorough survey to establish the exact numbers and socioeconomic conditions of the haliya labourers in order to recommend sustainable
approaches to rehabilitate them. Even after two years, the survey had been completed
only in Kanchanpur, Doti, Achham, Dadeldhura and Bajhang districts, which showed a
total of 14,460 households. Among other causes for the delay, the geographic isolation
of the villages where the haliya families live is considered as a serious problem. For
instance, the volunteers who were supposed to collect data from all 62 VDCs5 of the
Baitadi district, but, as newspapers report, they declined to travel to as many as 15 of
the remote VDCs. Meanwhile, the government has insisted that it will initiate prohaliya activities only after surveys are concluded in all districts of the region, but the
frequent changes in the state leadership (already 4 times between August 2008 to
August 2011) has led to a complete failure in implementing any policies, especially if
they are too far from the capital and issues happen to affect politico-economically
insignificant poor/dalit communities like those under the haliya labour system.
In 2008, advocacy groups welcomed the governments step to free the haliya labourers
by exempting their debt, and have since allied with various organizations, including

4

As of January 2012, 1 was about NRs 103 (Nepalese Rupees) or US$1 was about NRs 78.

In Nepal, a Village Development Committee (VDC) refers to the smallest unit of local

government, which is normally divided into 9 subunits, called the ward numbers, and there are
almost 4000 VDCs in the country.

ILO, to provide (short-term) livelihood support. Yet, intermittent reports indicate that
most freed haliya families are facing negative consequences. That is, the kisan6
employers have largely restricted interactions with their former workers, especially in
terms of lending money, and thereby making them highly vulnerable to secure food and
other day-to-day necessities. In doing so, the kisan is free set out working conditions,
and in some cases, can compel people to pay the debt formerly owed. In the post-2008
haliya practice, then, even if an initial haliya-kisan agreement is made with consensus,
the work obligations may extend to other family members, and children are increasingly
acting like replacement to their parents to supplement their family income, and also to
avoid potential legal barriers as well as social stigma for the adults. This empirical study
is, therefore, aimed at filling such a crucial research gap, especially covering the post2008 haliya situation in the far-western Nepal.
This article is organized as follows. Firstly, it describes research objectives, design and
methodologies, including a brief overview of fieldwork locations and the participants
from the Lohar community.7 Secondly, it offers a detailed analysis of how Lohar
families perceive their daily life-worlds during pre- and post-ban period. Thirdly, it also
includes the views of haliya children regarding their life and work in the communities.
After exploring the future prospects of Lohar families, it makes concluding remarks on
the current state of bonded labour system in Nepal.

6

During the fieldwork, the Lohar participants mentioned various local terminologies like bista

(traditional client), kisan (lit. farmer but implied as landlord), malik (boss/employer),
mukhiya (chief), thulo manchhe (influential person), sahu (rich person), etc. All these words
refer to the people with whom they are dependent on securing their daily livelihoods.
7

About 83,000 (or 0.36 per cent of the total population) Lohar people are scattered across

Nepal, but the Mahakali zone, which includes field study district of Baitadi, has the highest
concentration.

Research Objectives, Design, and Methodologies

This study was planned around the following two interlinked questions: What are
socioeconomic conditions of the haliya labourers in the far-western hill region of Nepal,
and how has the post-2008 haliya practice affected Lohar communities, including their
children? The first segment of the question sought to explore Lohar families views on
the overall circumstances of the haliya labourers, including the terms and conditions of
contract between kisan and Lohar families and their understanding of how haliya
system has evolved overtime. Following the claims of advocacy groups as well as
newspapers that Lohar children form the bulk of haliya labour force today, the second
part was concerned with their daily life realities alongside their families, including their
future aspirations through interviews, observation, and group discussions.
This research was carried out during the summer of 2010 and the winter of 2011 in the
Baitadi district8 a far-western hill district bordering Uttaranchal Pradesh of India. The
far-western region is known as the hungry corner of Nepal, where the vast majority of
population lives under absolute poverty (45 per cent according to a latest government
estimation), and even those with a lot of land heavily rely on unpredictable rainfall to
produce foodstuffs largely for their family own survival. With an area of 1,519 km the
district is divided into a municipality and 62 VDCs. According to 2001 census, it has
234,418 inhabitants belonging to various castes, especially Brahmin, Chhetri, Thakuri,
and Lohar. Although it was not easy to ascertain the exact number of Lohar population,

8

Baitadi district is about 700 kilometres from Kathmandu, and going via a public bus takes

about a day and a half if everything, including the condition of the vehicle, is fine throughout
the trip. Unfortunately, there are often ethnic or political protests along the highway even for
minor issues so the bus ride can become a painfully long journey, up-to 3-4 days.

this research fieldwork village, Radnus, as claimed by the village chiefs, has around
Lohar 40 families scattered into several hamlets.
The lack of in-depth studies, and, moreover, the increasingly hidden nature of haliya
labour practice, compelled me to rely on qualitative approaches,9 and make use of
purposive sampling as it allowed relatively easy identification of participants possessing
relevant characteristics for the study. By relying on the support of various individuals,
including local researchers and community chiefs, this research focused on 26 Lohar
families from the (incognito) Radnus village of Baitadi district (see next section for
fieldwork location), and their working children in particular. Although qualitative
researchers are advised to consider an equal representation of participants age and
gender, it was difficult to materialize in practice. The majority of haliya were men, and
for some cultural reasons, most women/girls were generally not given the chance to
participate in the research.10 Likewise, the majority of child participants were aged
between 13-18, as the younger ones were less accessible. However, several of them

9

To study social issues, as argued by many scholars, qualitative research is perhaps as one of

the most valid and meaningful way to study human beings but there is no consensus on data
sampling and sample size, especially the question of how many interviews is sufficient for a
qualitative study such as this one remains widely speculative (Flick, 2009; Kvale and
Brinkmann, 2009).
10

At the beginning of face-to-face interactions, it was not very easy to get Lohar participants

views on their daily life-worlds. Firstly, they speak a kind of Nepali dialect, which is mixed
with Garhwali language spoken in the border region of Uttaranchal Pradesh (India). Secondly, it
was not possible to observe them during their working hours at their employers home as the
latter would not allow a researcher (rather a disturber) coming to their properties to look for
haliya workers, especially after the practice has been banned. With the help of local assistants,
and by taking a good deal of time to build mutual trust, it was possible to manage issues like
these.

could either be above or below this age range, as none of the children, or their parents,
were able to say the definite age, and birth registration is still not common in Nepal.

From Traditional Occupation to Haliya Labourer

It is believed that those who were fleeing Mughal invasion in India brought caste
system to Nepal, but it had not become a nationwide policy until the 1870s. More than a
century after founding the kingdom of Nepal, the first comprehensive Muluki Ain (Civil
Code) was enacted in 1884, which, among other things, tried to vigorously
institutionalize the caste system according to the types of work people carried out. At
first, it appears as if the caste-based classification of people was deliberately invented
in terms of what they do for living (e.g. Bahun as preists, Chhetri as warriors), but, the
caste and class category made some groups (normally the ruling elites) as having higher
status, and hence they could easily secure sociopolitical power over others (Pradhan,
2011). Moreover, particularly impoverished communities (e.g. Lohar), who generally
engaged in 3D (dirty, demanding, and dangerous) activities, were considered as the
lowest (and often untouchable) caste in which they would not be able to participate in
sociocultural functions with their higher castes counterparts on an equal basis, let alone
moving along the politico-economic hierarchy.
Even though the caste-based system was officially banned by the 1963 Muluki Ain (and
by subsequent legislations), the actual practice, especially from the perspectives of
cultural etiquettes, had became so ingrained into the Nepalese society for generations
that it is still prevalent in many parts of the country, particularly in the rural areas
(Aaland and Haug, 2011).11 Being one of the most impoverished and also the lowest

11

As already noted that the caste factor may become less important if a person is well

educated or has managed to reach a certain economic status as other high caste people, and s/he

castes, Lohar families in the Baitadi district have been making metal-tools for others as
if it is the only work permitted to them by the Nepali society.
Our grandfathers and fathers made farming tools and household appliances
from metals like pittal (brass), taama (copper), phalam/loha (iron), and silawar
(aluminum or stainless steel). In return, our bista gave us certain amount of
foodstuffs, and also and additional gift during festivities.12 We possessed
small plots of land to grow a bit of farm products to survive. But in our times,
this traditional occupation became increasingly hard to sustain, and forced to
find all sorts of activities. (Marari, a man aged 58)
Besides aaranko kaam (metal-work), we also carried doli (palanquin), removed
sino (dead animals), or anything that other (castes) wouldnt normally do, to
generate extra foodstuffs and clothes for the family. But these are only
occasional activities (I mean marriages dont talk place frequently nor animals
die), especially during the dry season (from February to May) we had to
struggle to find any work, and were forced to beg with our mukhiya/sahu for
foodstuffs or even loans. (Shares, a man aged 63)

The problem with aaranko kaam is that if worked fulltime, a few Lohar families are
likely to make most of the necessary household and agricultural tools for an entire

may be treated quite differently from someone who struggles to survive everyday. Once a
person has gained certain economic (and hence political) power, s/he will find work as
personally degrading, and will search for others, regardless of caste or ethnicity, to work for
her/him.
12

It is believed that the term bista comes from bis (twenty) because a Lohar would receive 20

bhag (shares) from his bista client for his services. It is also known as bali (foodstuffs) system
in which a Lohar collects daily consumables like cereals, meat, salt, spices, oil, and, if his bista
belongs to a matwali (alcohol drinking) caste, then, homemade alcohol (Hfer 1976: 391392).

VDC, and if the surrounding villages are not densely populated by people who need the
service, it becomes very hard to rely on their traditional methods of surviving. In this
situation, the Lohar community would also have to find alternatives to secure their daily
needs, which is by offering additional services (e.g. being doli men, taking care of sino),
or by accepting khali labour (receiving food-stuffs as dictated by kisan for
sharecropping). Over time, however, these kinds of activities also proved to be
insufficient to support large families, and they increasingly became more dependent on
their kisan or anyone powerful in the village to save themselves from possible
starvation.
Our aaranko kaam was very important when there was no road, and people had
to travel far away to get their household tools. After roads were built (linking
district headquarters), it became possible to buy these things much cheaper
from elsewhere. Also, wealthy (and generous) families started to move away
from villages. So, gradually, we stopped earning much form our old job to
maintain our livelihoods. (Maran, a man aged 41)

Some Lohar household heads explained that their community started to lose traditional
services was not simply because of the decreasing demand, but also due to their
population increasing rapidly (perhaps even faster than that of other castes). In addition,
they lament, the construction of roads and modern communications lines, though not
per se in the vicinity of Radnus village, also gave impetus to other well-offs to seek
better services elsewhere, while Lohar families were unable to make any adjustments in
their living and working conditions.
Making metal tools was hard, but it paid okay to survive (when combined with
other activities). As bikas (infrastructural development) started to bring new
opportunities, those who were capable, started to reap benefits. We, low caste
and totally illiterate people, had no chance. Our family size was growing quite

fast, and aaranko kaam wasnt helping to meet our daily sustenance, let alone
buying farmland. (Shakap, a man aged 36)

With the help of foreign donor agencies, among other things, the government of Nepal
made concerted efforts to minimize infant mortality rate in the 1960s, and within a few
decades, the country witnessed an exponential population growth. In remotely poor
regions, where children are the main economic assets, low caste communities, including
Lohar families, also became overwhelmed by ever increasing household size, which
subsequently compelled them to seek all sorts of alternative occupations. Among Lohar
fieldwork participants, the family size ranged from 7 to 48 members living in a terraced
single storey mud hut, but there may over 100 persons living in a single house.
The practice of generational division of land to the sons as their inheritance rights also
made those who supposedly to had lots of land also less rich to give generously to
their service-people (e.g. Lohar caste). Thus, since the modern form of cash-wagebased labour contract was (and still is) rare in the villages, the only way to earn income
for family survival is to work as a haliya in return for foodstuffs, second-hand clothes,
adhiya (sharecropping) land agreement, and in the event of sociocultural rituals or
family tragedies, a certain amount of cash with a considerably high interest rate. Lohar
participants explained their livelihood tactics in the following ways:
As far as I can remember, we never had enough of our own. Weve worked for
other people to earn daily meals. Most Lohar families are indebted while trying
to survive Weve too many people without work, and lenders in the village
dont want to do hard labour, or they dont have workers at home as their
children have gone elsewhere. We fill this gap. They also help us in times of
hardships, and for this, they expect our loyalty to work for them. So, whether
we like it or not, accepting a haliya labour contract has been the only possibility
to survive. (Jaral, a man aged 57)

10

If we borrow foodstuffs or cash, we must pay it back somehow. The only way
we could do is by working. Its also good for mukhiya as they face labour
shortage. For those who couldnt clear the debt, theres no other choice than
accepting haliya agreement. Once youre trapped in debt, no one, other than
your own lender, would offer foodstuffs. This meant becoming completely
dependent. (Lapag, a man aged 64)

It appears that Lohar people were historically unable to secure enough land as they
perhaps felt that they had their own traditional occupation, and also did not foresee the
changes brought about by rapid demographic growth along with gradual infrastructural
developments. As aaranko kaam, including other rudimentary activities, were no longer
able to support their large families, borrowing ensued, and eventually entrapped them
into haliya labour system. In one sense, Lohar families were already in a bonded
relationship by way of bista tradition, but it was generally based on a socially
reciprocal manner, largely free of any strict conditions for their services (Hfer, 1976).
However, as they begin to take loans frequently while unable to pay the outstanding
amounts, Lohar men, and by extension their entire family, become subservient to the
lenders. This evolved the haliya-kisan relationship in strictly economic terms an
inescapable ambush that would go on for generations. As well shall shortly see, Lohar
people continue to accept bonded labour contract even after the haliya system was
banned some 3 years ago.

Livelihoods from the Haliya Labour Practice

Since the 1960s, the government of Nepal empathized cash crop for export, but the
rapidly growing population and unequal land holding was forcing many communities to
become subsistent farmers (ILO 2005; Wiley et al., 2009). Particularly in the hill region,
without irrigation and modern agricultural techniques, mono-cropping on the basis of

11

unpredictable rainfall was (and still is) the only option. These conditions resulted in a
massive food shortage, especially in the far-west, forcing many marginal farmers to
submit themselves to kisan or any other thulo manchhe for survival. As soon as
traditional activities failed to meet their daily needs, as Lohar participants explained,
they had no alternatives to borrowing foodstuffs and money from kisan families, which
in turn forced them to follow the working rules of their lenders.
Weve small plots of land for our joint family (of 15 members). In the rugged
hill slope, we need a large area to farm as the soil in not productive. These
terraces are so narrow that it is even difficult to build a house, or an animal
shed. So, how can we survive without work? If we become sick, or have to
perform cultural functions like marriage or death rituals, we need foodstuffs as
well as a certain amount of cash. Theres no one to go to, except sahu. They too
dont give us anything if we dont promise our labour (thats all weve got).
Since sahu families dont do heavy work, especially dont plough (and for high
castes Brahmin, they are traditionally exempted), we offer to become haliya
labourers. (Marak, a man aged 55)
As daily workers with no valuable assets, we of course couldnt pay the loans
we borrowed. In the villages, wages are very low but interest rates are high. For
instance, because of family difficulties, I borrowed NRs 3000 twice within 3-4
years, but my earning would never pay. Depending on the length of daily work,
I earned only 1-2 kilo chamal (readymade rice)13 plus some (dry) vegetables
from my sahu, and my wife and older children would just get a kilo of rice

13

It should be noted that haliya labourers did not always receive chamal. They normally got a

sack of grain (40-50 kg), which could be maize, millet, unhusked rice, or wheat, and other
vegetables, beans, spices, etc. Lohar participants mentioned of getting 1-2 kilograms chamal for
ploughing the field when they were asked how much they would earn in day. Everyone was
eager to mention rice, as it is the most valued staple-food in the hills of Nepal, where it is less
feasible to produce due to harsh geographic and climatic conditions.

12

each. Its barely enough for us to feed the family I had to take additional loan
instead of paying the previous loan back. (Danob, a man aged 46)

Once Lohar families entered into haliya contract, they naturally had not much to say in
their daily work activities, as they would be commanded by their kisan for every little
task, or worse, they could even face physical as well as psychological controls from the
employers. The intensity of their work largely depended on seasonal variations (i.e.
during monsoon, they may work around the clock and much less tasks during dry
season). The most commonly mentioned working schedules of Lohar families were as
follows:
As haliya labourers, weve to do all kinds of agricultural tasks. During
plantation and harvesting, we may work 16 hours a day, while other times, it
may be just 6-7 hours a day. Monsoon season is the hardest because the demand
for aaranko kaam is also very high, as everyone needs farming tools. During
high seasons, children and women also work as many hours as men. Weve to
stand ready to help our malik anytime they need workers. (Gangsi, a man aged
43)
Our women and girls go to malik to help in the farm. Normally, men plough
and dig, I mean, do the heavy work, and women (and children) engage in other
activities. They dont work in the house (because of their untouchable caste
they are not allowed to enter their employers kitchen). But their work varies
across seasons. They may be carrying animal wastes (to be used as fertilizer),
planting rice, maize, vegetables, or helping during harvesting. (Bidega, a
woman aged 39)

Lohar families become economically depended on their kisan when they enter into
haliya labour contract and subsequently are indebted. It becomes naturally easy for the
employers to demand their labour at will, and women and children offer complementary

13

services (i.e. as a part of the adult male haliya). The following section further explores
the working lives of the Lohar community after the prohibition of haliya system in
order to understand how the bonded labour practice has evolved, and how it continues
to affect them.

Survival Strategies of the Lohar Community in the Post-2008 Era

Particularly since the 1990s many changes (or rather sociopolitical upheavals) have
taken place in Nepal, largely through external forces backing the internal political
strives. Despite widespread poverty and unemployment, increased level of basic
education and awareness through schools and media, has also prompted grassroots level
movements (Carney and Rappleye, 2011). Although relatively small by any measure,
the advocacy groups campaign against bonded labour practice is one of such notable
examples in which affected bonded labourers also took part. Unfortunately, when it
comes to rehabilitation programmes, as Lohar men argued, NGOs tend to be quite
selective, and the frequently changing government pays largely a lip-service (later
section also elaborates on this issue). During the discussions, the majority of Lohar
participants expressed their displeasures in the following manner:
Some people came to us saying that we shouldnt remain as haliya labourers
and be normal people like others. The (anti-haliya) organizers told us that
haliya people in other districts also went to protest to make our future better.
Were unsure about the outcomes, but some of us did join the demonstrations.
After some years, we heard from people (and also on radios) that were free
we dont have to pay our debt. That was, we thought, good news for our poor
community. But as time passed, we got nothing to rely on. We still dont know
if well get anything. (Marann, a man aged 34)

14

Many came to our village telling us to help with this and that. But not much has
happened so far. They (NGOs, human rights groups, political parties, etc.) give
us lots of hope. They come to tell us well do this, or that, but we dont know
if theyll come back again because many didnt keep their promises. Some of
our children joined janakranti (insurgency) thinking that the maobadi (Unified
Communist Party of Nepal-Maoist) would really change our life, but now they
are acting just like other parties (only concerned with taking state power). We
sometimes feel that those who were killed during the conflict, died for nothing.
(Marak).

At first, Lohar participants were not expressing positive views about the banning of
haliya practice, arguing that freedom without better alternatives has made their lives
miserable. They were perhaps unable to trust strangers or they expected certain
benefits (i.e. someone coming with money or at least certain development plans like
NGOs seem to do), but they did mention that even though their struggles for survival
had not changed much, the government did exempt their past debts, and also their kisan
now gave somewhat more flexibility than before - some were even able to migrate
seasonally with the hope of earning extra income, or to pay loans.
Our situation is the same, but it feels like were freer than before. Now, we can
choose to go to work elsewhere even migrate if we can. We work mostly
during the day, and we dont take all family members to work. If I cant work,
for instance, I can send my older son, and they accept it. And we get paid for
each labour (rather than as one family) even though the wages have not gone
up a lot... What to do? There arent many opportunities here. We still have to
rely on thulo manchhe to gather family meals. (Maradri, a man aged 45)
Most people became fearful of each other (during the conflict years, 19962006). Now, everyone is trying to live a normal life. But the conflict forced
even our (Lohar) people to go abroad so our mukhiya have even less people to

15

work for them. Theyre willing to pay a bit more, and help us in times of
hardships, without harsh treatments. Of course, we must keep our promise to
pay, by working. (Bided, a man aged 26).

Regardless of the legal ban, it appears that haliya labour is still the major source of
income for Lohar families. However, unlike in the pre-2008 era, not necessarily the
whole family works for an employer similar findings on Musahar haliya labourers in
Morang district are also reported (Giri, 2010). Research participants report that both
older and younger members of their families are likely to be working as a haliya while
most young adults seek to migrate elsewhere for manual labour. Some of them,
however, do come back during farming seasons, especially those in debt, and children
may also be working in the absence of adults (see later section for details).

Seasonal Migration as a Post-2008 Alternative?

Income from migrant workers has been the lifeline for many rural families in Nepal, and
particularly since the mid-1990s, the migration volume has skyrocketed. In the
impoverished regions like the Baitadi district, the so-called peoples war rebellion
(1996-2006) also brought widespread sufferings, forcing many to abandon everything
they had to find more secure shelters within the country, and for some, to seek
temporary security and employment elsewhere. In this process, rural migration in search
of seasonal labour has increased exponentially among young people, there is not a
single person who does not want to migrate to earn better family income. In Radnus
village too, several Lohar adults (mostly in their pre-40s) have tried to seek alternative
means of survival by seasonally migrating to the Indian cities like Chandigarh, Gujarat,
and particularly to Delhi. For them, apart from the political turmoil, the post-2008
migration had other reasons as well, most notably issue of caste and income. Firstly, as
long as the Lohar migrants were able to hide their actual caste by way of not disclosing

16

their true surnames and family histories, it was possible to avoid caste discrimination in
their workplace it is something also noted by other researchers (e.g. Brusl, 2007).
Many of Lohar participants informed that they would present themselves as Chhetri (i.e.
middle caste) without showing their official documents,14 which prevented their
employers from figuring out (un)acceptability of caste by their family names.
The good thing about migration (to India) is that nobody knows about who
youre. We dont tell our personal details. So, we can work just like others.
Also, income is better than here (in the village). We eat in work places, or try
cheap options. We live in one room as a group (5-6 people) so our living costs
are also low. (Nabip, a man aged 26)
In India, we can avoid our jaat (caste) issue better. As long as we work hard,
thats enough for them We can earn more than twice the income in our
village. So, going to India has now become a trend here. (Ranak, a boy aged 19)
I migrate to Delhi (seasonally) because in big city know one knows who is who.
Also Ive been lucky to find good malik to earn some extra cash, which I really
need. Im trying to pay my family debt a bit by bit. But its not always the case
that a migrant earns better income in India. I know many negative stories too.
(Sanim)

Secondly, most of them claimed to earn better income (i.e. compared to the wages in
their village) even if they largely worked as porters, domestic workers, or at
construction sites. In fact, the payments were not necessarily very high, but the

14

Under the Treaty of Peace and Friendship of 1950, Nepal and India allow free movement of

people across the border, without having to show their national identities, unless they are on the
suspect list. This allows low caste Lohar people to easily enter into India, and present
themselves as any caste or group as long as they work in the informal sector.

17

exchange difference the Indian and Nepalese rupees (e.g. IRs 100 = NRs 160) did mean
that they would potentially earn more than in Nepal.
As it has become a culture all over the country, seasonal migration seems to the Lohar
community a hope of higher return in the post-haliya 2008 era, but, as Sanim points out,
there were a number of issues related to migration, which not everyone was openly
talking about. Firstly, there was an uncertainty of finding a job throughout their stay,
and even if they could earn relatively good income, saving was an issue. As (illiterate)
temporary labourers, they could not open a bank account, and in many cases, they do
not even trust such institutions. In fact, to save their income in a bank or send it home
via a legal remittance channel, they certainly required official documents, which they
would not want to reveal either. So, they were often at the mercy of their employer to
take the whole amount by the time they would return home, or take the monthly wages
and try to somehow save it by themselves. In these scenarios, sometimes the employers
would prey on their vulnerabilities by not paying, or giving a much lower amount than
what was initially agreed. At other occasions, the workers themselves would lose their
earning (or got stolen by colleagues or strangers).15 Secondly, since they are away from
their families, some would be tempted to start drinking alcohol, or visiting prostitutes,
and hence, they had a little chance of saving their wages. A group of recent returnee
from India gave examples of some of their friends problems like this: Those who went
with us, two did not want to return home at all because they liked to spend a
hedonistic life, one came back as an alcoholic, and the other had contracted sexually
transmitted diseases (though they were unsure what exactly it was). Indeed, World

15

In fact, even if they were able to save and bring home a fairly good amount of money, they

still faced risks of looting and extortions on their way home. Some of Lohar participants
reported that the even Indian border police would not let them cross into Nepal unless they paid
a good amount of bribe.

18

Food Programme (WFP) has also noted that in spite of the prospects for better earnings,
migration can have devastating effects in vulnerable communities. It summarizes a
general situation in Baitadi district in the following way:
Every year, thousands of men and women in the Baitadi district of far-western
Nepal are forced to leave their families and land to search for work in India in
order to survive. While remittances from out-migration have played a major
role in decreasing poverty over the past 10 years, for poor and unskilled
labourers the financial benefits are often negligible and come with significant
health costs. Women often suffer the most. Those who are left behind are
forced to manage the double burden of farm work and child raising, often
without knowing when their partner will return with money or food. Those
women forced to go abroad are highly vulnerable to exploitation and
abuse (WFP 2010).

Lohar participants were a bit hesitant to talk about the negative impact on their families,
who would be left behind as a result of their migration. In a separate discussion held
among a group of women, they nervously expressed many negative impacts in their
households, as also noted by WFP. For some women, whose husband disappeared for
years, begging with kisan or mukhiya families for work was the last place to feed their
children. As for female migration, they said that the Lohar community does not favour
such ideas, unless their husbands accompany them something that was rarely
happening so far. Now, it also important to explore the lives of Lohar children vis--vis
the post-2008 haliya labour practice.

Life-worlds of Lohar Children as Haliya Labourers

Some Lohar men claimed that only males work as haliya, implying the term literally,
and especially girls work was not seen as an important one, and hence were not freely
permitted to take part during interviews and group discussions. The majority of the

19

views presented below are, therefore, of boys, and as for girls, it is based on
observations and only informal conversations. In relation to their daily work, the
following excerpts represent the typical working days of Lohar children:
I plough khet-bari (irrigated/unirrigated land). This is my main work. Along
with it, I must also do all sorts of planting and harvesting activities. I also
collect firewood, help build animal sheds, or to construct parkhal (stone wall)
on the field terraces (which often gets damaged due to heavy monsoon rain).
My father and older siblings also come to work during busy seasons.
Sometimes, I sleep in the goth (animal shed) of my malik, but otherwise I come
home after finishing my work. (Dranje, a boy aged 18)
During the day, I go to work as haliya, Ive to do all tasks given by my malik.
But when I come home in the evening, Ive to work as well (taking care of
animals, fetching water, etc.). My parents are having health problems (even
though theyre in their 40s) and unable to work everyday. Also, having many
small siblings adds further responsibility. I feel my life is harder than that of
other (Lohar) children. (Marate, a boy aged 17)

Lohar children are also engaged in all sorts of adult chores (with the exception of
kitchen work), and working hours, depending on seasons, can be dusk to down. As it is
common for most poor rural families in Nepal, the work of boys really depends on his
household size rather than age. If need be, he will be performing adults tasks that are
banned by both Nepali and international laws. As for the girls, unless they are married,
it appears that they do not go to work for a kisan unaccompanied. Such a control may
have to do with the fact that the Lohar community is more culturally strict, or also
attempting to prevent them from potential risks such as sexual abuse, which can bring
great shame in the family. Lohar participants would not explain the exact reasons, other
than saying our girls have enough work at home, but a local teacher did claim that
securing ijjat (dignity), combined with the lack of domestic, especially related to the

20

kitchen, work available for the untouchable castes, has spared Lohar girls
involvement in haliya work at an early age.
I dont go to work alone. My mother, sisters, or my relatives also go with me.
We work in the field like planting, weeding, harvesting. We also help our malik
to collect grass/fodder or firewood, or look after his animals... We dont do
kitchen work (as were not allowed to enter maliks house) How many hours
I work depends on seasons. During farming time, I work from 5 am to 7 pm,
otherwise 10 am to 5 pm, or just few hours a day. Unless my family members
also stay there, I come home to sleep. (Bidera, a girl aged 16)

Some boys, who migrate elsewhere relatively early with the hope of earning a better
income, still come back to the village to work as haliya in order pay the debt (money or
foodstuffs) taken from kisan by their families.
I decided to migrate to India... Poverty at home forced me to make such a
move. My parents couldnt pay for my schooling, and working in the village
was not enough to feed my family. I hoped to earn more in India and went
there. But when my father became ill, I had to come back I hadnt earned
much money. We took loans to pay for his medical costs, so now, Ive to work
as haliya to pay it back. Even if I go back to India Ive to come back during
farming season (Lanis, a boy aged 18)
Since the last two years, Ive been going to work in India, but Ive to come
back every summer. Because my father took loan for sisters marriage,
promising the mukhiya that well plough his field. Weve to keep our
promise Ive 5 older sisters and my father is getting old to do hard work so I
must take over. Ploughing is my main work, but Ive to do everything like
digging the field, carrying farm outputs, etc. During planting and harvesting
periods, children like me do very hard work for long hours everyday. (Sanim, a
boy aged 17)

21

In terms of treatment, Lohar children were aware that some forms of scolding would
take place, and they tried to internalize it by saying that it would be the same at home if
they were not properly following their parents orders. As a haliya, there was an
additional reason to ignore negative treatments: they were earning something for the
family to survive that would otherwise be impossible. The majority of Lohar child
participants shared the following views.
If we dont work well, our sahu scolds. Thats true. But our family also scolds
saying there is no food at home, go to work and do it well. (Ramar, a boy
aged 16)
If we (children) dont work like adults, our malik does scold. Work like your
father or leave, they demand. If I plough less than expected, then, they say
you dont work like other haliya (labourers I had before). Weve to accept
remarks like these without any complains. (Lanis)
Scolding is normal. If we dont go to work for a day, our malik asks us to
payback his money (the loan). But I think the verbal physical abuse is much
less than in our fathers time. Our employers are more educated (and hence tend
to treat people better). And I didnt experience beating. (Sanim)

In many industrial societies, scolding, and especially beating children is no longer

accepted and is prohibited by law. In Nepal too the government is trying to bring laws
to discourage corporal punishments, but it is unlikely to have a practical effect because
most people still believe that children should be disciplined, if necessary, by force to
prevent them from doing bad things. As in the cases of Musahar and Tharu children
working as bonded labourers in the Tarai regions, who felt that punishment was not
discouraging them from working for a kisan as long as it was not very harsh, or if the
rewards were greater than the penalties (Giri, 2010), Lohar children also argued that

22

since parents also scold and even beat them up sometimes, it is not unusual to expect
similar punishments from their malik. Besides, children seem to express the views that
the impact of negative treatments would be lessoned if they get better food, moral and
medical support in times of illness, or higher incomes for their families latter being
their top most family duty (ibid.). Most Lohar children shared their views as follows:
Since we dont have much at home, we cant complain about food. And what
they give us is not bad at all. (Maram, a boy aged 13)
We get the same food eaten by our maliks family, normally dhido
(maize/millet/wheat flour dumplings), rice, curry, lentils, etc. The quantity is
also fine. As for clothes, we mostly get second hand, but in some special
occasions (like marriage), we do get new ones. (Maraw, a boy aged 16)

Again children did not have much to complain so much about the food, and even for
work-related injuries, they hoped that their malik would provide them necessary aid, but
they were aware that a more serious illness would put them into a big trouble.
Farm work in hill slopes is very hard and also dangerous. We do get injured
many times while ploughing or digging the field. These days, as opposed to
pre-ban period, malik says go home and come back after you can work. If we
get (minor) injuries during the work, our malik provides medicines. (Ramar)
If were injured or became ill, our malik gives NRs 50-100, which is just
enough for basic medicines. For serious or long-term illness, weve to depend
on our family members or relatives. Sometimes weve to take loans promising
to work for the malik in the coming year. (Maraw)
We go to the (government) health post in times of big injury or illness. Doctor
(i.e. health assistant) looks for seconds and gives a prescription to buy
medicines from the private pharmacy. How can we buy it? Our relatives are
also like us In case weve serious family problems, we must make a special

23

loan request with the mukhiya, which is now much harder to get. (Tinsab, a boy
aged 19)

The continuous emphasis on commercial agriculture, and quite recently, the ban on the
haliya system itself, has deteriorated the traditional social relation with kisan in which
both parties would mutually agree to abide by their rights and obligations. In fact, it has
increasingly become an economic relationship in which lenders/employers refuse to
provide any supports if Lohar families fail to accept their conditions. This, of course,
has greatly spiralled the vulnerability of the impoverished people, eventually forcing
them to accept lenders demands in borrowing anything even if they are officially free.
In other words, until the haliya system was outlawed in 2008, the Lohar community
basically relied on their kisan for their everyday survival, and the accumulating debt
resulting from their families sustenance prevented their movements to think about other
alternatives. Today, they are relatively free to seek different sources of income, and
even if they still work as haliya or owe to their employers, as already discussed above,
they try to migrate elsewhere with the hope of earning better income. The following
section further elaborates on how Lohar people try to make sense of their past, present,
and future life-worlds.

Reflections of Lohar Community on Pre-and Post-2008 Life-worlds

In the mid-1990s, Anti-Slavery International conducted a survey regarding landless

people in Nepal, which also included the practice of bonded labour in different parts of
the country. At the time, it was perhaps the only inquiry that was able to collect
personal stories from the Lohar community in Baitadi district. The most commonly
expressed views of Lohar haliya labourers at the time was as follows:
I (Jhari Ram) borrowed NRs 3,000 for survival, for food. Its a big problem to

24

feed the family. I work just to pay the interest on the loan. When I need more
money I go back to the landlord. The loan is increasing all the time. God knows
how I will ever pay it off. If I dont work, then I have to pay five per cent
interest a month.
The hardest months are Jestha and Ashar (May, June and July). Sometimes I
have to work from dawn until its very dark. If necessary I start work at
midnight and continue through. I do all the work on the farm, ploughing,
harvesting and the rest. I am busy for about eight months of the year, but I have
to be around to do other jobs too like portering, taking goods to the market (a
days walk to the nearest road).
Usually I get two meals a day and at harvest time I get a sack of grain (40-50
kilograms, worth NRs 200 (US$4). I cant go for wage labour or the landlord
would kick up a fuss and say You owe me money so you must work for me.
Usually the landlord is good. He treats me with respect. It is the system that is
very unfair. We are under pressure from all sides because of the loan and
because of our caste. (Robertson and Mishra, 1997: 174)

People like Jhari Ram were declared free in September 2008, and his community had
high hopes when they heard of debt exemption as well as end to haliya labour contract.
Within a short time, they found out that their freedom was not really realizable in
practice. As they were unable to find other alternatives, they started to reach out the
same previous kisan to secure survival means in return for the same old work. Having
received a little material support from the advocacy groups, and especially the
government, they have faced an uphill battle between maintaining an independent life
and the uneasy relationship with their kisan in the post-2008 era. Hence, most Lohar
families tended to look back, instead of a bright future that the advocacy groups had
told them about. During the discussions, their moods were clear when they reflected
upon their lives after the government intervention.

25

Before the government ban, a haliya got meals plus a sack of grain, sometimes
maize, and vegetables. We felt it was too little to feed our large family. Now,
they give us only NRs 80-90 per day. This is not better than in the past. These
days, everythings so expensive, and we cant buy necessary foodstuffs for our
family with NRs 100. Working as a (seasonal) manual labourer is not possible
in the village, but migration to the cities or India adds costs, and also other
problems. So, you can judge whats better for us. (Daneb)
Today, kisan counts each member separately (like wage labourer, receiving 2
kg rice or NRs 80-90 per person). Payment is strictly based on amount of work.
If my son cant work as much as me, he may get less pay... In the past, our sahu
felt responsible to feed us even if there was not much work, but now, they can
ask us whenever they need, and otherwise forget. Its not so easy to go
elsewhere (as there is no other suitable work) and this situation makes us worse
off. (Lapag)

If we recall the story of Jhari Ram with that of current research participants, it appears
that Lohar people do not really talk about what the relationships with their kisan was
like, but rather in terms of how much they would generate from their labour to support
the family. Lohar participants do realize that there are some differences in the way the
haliya-kisan relationship works today, but instead of arguing whether they are free from
slave-like situation or not, they were trying very hard to exploit whatever
opportunities available to secure day-to-day basic necessities.
In the past, we followed whatever mukhiya said. We had to be standby to take
his order. Anyone in the family would have to go to work. But now its not like
that. For instance, if my father takes loans, he will go as a haliya and I dont
have to go. Of course, if he cant go, I need to (go to continue paying the debt).
Were not compelled by mukhiya. Yet, our daily situation is the same Weve
to force ourselves when we cant find alternative work (and accept haliya

26

labour) Id say our inability to get out of poverty makes us worse-off.

(Marann)

The above interview excerpts may indicate the saying old habits, die hard yet the
views are perfectly understandable from the perspectives of Lohar families. After
declaring them free, the successive governments have done noting more than claiming
that they fully understand the urgent need for freed haliya labourers to have housing,
farmland and employment opportunities in order to live a dignified life. This sort of
false promise has not helped the Lohar community to envision an improved future.
Since my grandparents time, our life has been to work everyday to manage two
daily meals. For this, weve to work from morning to the evening in all kinds
of circumstances. Id like to think that I can save something for my children,
send them to school, and help them find other alternative work I mean,
anything that is better than what I am experiencing now. But so far, I havent
been successful, and so are many other families like me. (Marari)
Whether we work here as a haliya or migrate elsewhere for manual labour, we
find it so hard to save anything. Some people (from other communities) talk
about opening bank accounts, going to khadi muluk (Arab countries), etc its
just a dream for us. Because of the huge inflation (of basic goods), I feel, our
life has become much harder than that of our parents. (Gangsi)

It is only natural that the poverty-stricken Lohar community is unable to feel a

considerable change in their daily life-worlds without the external support, but they are
eager to find right set of circumstances for a better life. For instance, they are trying to
take part in the UNESCO-backed education for all programme with the hope bringing
positives changes in their childrens lives.16

16

It may be worth noting that in a society where barely half of the population is literate, the idea
27

Education as Way Out of Haliya Labour for the Next Generation?

Education is normally seen as a way of uplifting poor economic conditions, by way of
finding alternative and better-paid jobs in secondary and tertiary sectors. Particularly for
the poor Lohar families, school qualification is associated with elevating not just the
economic status, but also prestige in such a way that an educated person may suddenly
identify her/himself as belonging to the elites. After the ban on haliya practice, various
advocacy groups have encouraged Lohar people to take part in the literacy programmes,
and in particular, to send their children to formal school. Lohar participants were
enthusiastic to stress that, in spite of the acute poverty at present, their children (or
young siblings) will have more opportunities if they can be schooled.
This (haliya) work is our compulsion. Were not happy to see other children
attending school, and ours have to work. If they work even when theyre
enrolled at school, they cant study. When malik asks for work, weve to
request them to go. They cant think of studying at their workplace. Theres too
much work to do. (Marag)
They (advocacy groups) say dalit family must send their children to school. But
schools ask money (even though the government says its free up to high
school). We dont have money to pay all kinds of fees, including books and
dress. Besides, our educated (literate) people dont get work. They dont know
thulo (aaphno) manchhe. They havent got any sarkari (state-related) jobs. So,
how can we educate our children, and why should we send them to school if
they cant better than us? (Ramrin, a man aged 38)

of schooling has kept such a misconception that a person is educated to act as boss rather than to
become a (qualified) worker, and hence it is possible for an illiterate person to hope that if he is
able to obtain a certain level of formal education, he may eventually be able to command others
to work for him.

28

During the discussions, it did appear that the Lohar community has managed to reduce
analphabetic population among their young members. Among the research participants,
a relatively high literacy rate (about 50 per cent as opposed to advocacy groups stating a
mere 34 per cent for all hill dalit population) in one of the lowest castes and extremely
poor families with many offsprings is a positive sign (Giri, 2010). Contrary to their
expectations, however, even the secondary education completed youngsters were
finding it hard to better paid work to support their families a grim reality that also
applies to many other communities, especially those lacking close links with the higher
layers of state bureaucracy (ibid.).
As participants suggested, there might be a number of reasons for this. Firstly, they are
from a low caste, which means their social network (aaphno manchhe) is not strong
enough to get a job that is taken by higher castes with similar or even lower education
levels (Pradhan, 2011). This sort of discrimination happens in all societies, but it is
much more prevalent in Nepal, especially it is not so much based on meritocracy, but
nepotism and favouritism that still rules the sociopolitical arena. Secondly, having a
certain level of formal education is insufficient to find work when the country is rife
with a very high un-and-under-employment. According to ILO figures, there are around
300,000 jobseekers annually while the job market is able to observe no more than
50,000 (ILO, 2005). Thirdly, peoples standards of living in far-western hill regions are
grimly low even by the national barometer, and hence hardly a few opportunities are
forthcoming for the youth to find alternative means of livelihoods (WFP, 2010).
Fourthly, the idea of education has such a surreal understanding in Nepal that many
youngsters, who have a certain level of education (especially above secondary level),
appear to find their traditional occupation, including farm work as dirty job and
aspire for a neat and clean service sector profession that is largely absent in the country.

29

In fact, the general psyche among the educated Nepalese is that it is fine to work as a
cleaner in foreign countries, but even if they cannot, they must show-off in their own
community that they are in command over others; otherwise, they do not see the value
of being educated. In such an environment, the idea of seasonal migration within or
outside of the country becomes a compulsive choice. As far as Lohar youngsters are
concerned, just like their adult counterparts, they are yet to find ways to move to the
selected destinations to earn preferable income for the family.

Conclusion

This research offered an in-depth empiricial analysis of Lohar bonded labourers from
Baitadi district. The findings show that up to the 1960s, Lohar families and their higher
caste kisan employers viewed their relationship in a more sociocultural context in
which both side would mutually reciprocate each other in whatever ways they could.
After the 1964 Land Reform Act, along with the governments attempt to encourage
cash-crop, gave rise to a haliya relationship that was more of a profit-seeking nature in
which the lenders would target the borrowers to accept advance payment thereby
increasing latters vulnerabilities to even stricter pre-conditions than before. Although
the official abolition of haliya practice in September 2008 informed the affected people
that their debts were also cancelled, most people have failed to escape from the pre-ban
era contract agreements because they could not receive sufficient help from local and
international organizations, and in particular, from the government. Migrating
seasonally was a new option, but it often added more costs than earning better family
income. In fact, the Lohar community was unhappy with the sudden ban on the haliya
practice, as the next best thing for them was to search for an insecure and even less paid
manual labour elsewhere. Instead of saying that they cannot be haliya labourers

30

anymore, Lohar people, including children, argued that it would be better if activists,
researchers and policymakers alike tried to understand their everyday realities by
consulting them. They feel that their views and needs are not taken seriously as all antihaliya decisions are made at the behest of local leaders, who, even if they come from
the same caste/ethnicity, are often more interested in pleasing the higher authorities for
the sake of their own personal and political gains. While Lohar families certainly would
like to receive some concrete support to improve their livelihoods as quickly as
possible, they are taking all chances available to secure family needs without alienating
their kisan employers, as they perhaps have to depend on them for a foreseeable future.

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