Go-at it
Sep 26 - Let’s face it: Dashain is synonymous with meat. Goat meat, to be precise. And with everyone in a festive mood, the hustle and bustle in goat markets resembles the chaos medieval markets, and the only thing that grounds them to the present is the continually spiraling-upwards prices.
Buyers and sellers use every trick in their books to negotiate a reasonable settlement, while the animals themselves remain blissfully ignorant of the haggling over their fate. But the business itself is one of a kind, a seasonal menagerie that brings together caprines of all breeds from the mountains and the plains, and hominids tussle and bustle over the prices of a single animal.
But the key to a perfect sale remains with the seller. Just like Kamal Magar, who doesn’t hesitate to run after potential customers with a mob of 25 goats following him. “Look at my animals. They are not from the terai. They are from the hills, hardy animals. Look at the meat on them: prime quality.”
Magar spends the entire day guarding his animals, his investment, and his frantic running behind customers with his collection is the only way he can get ahead of the competition. “What to do? It only works when I make the effort. Standing and waiting for customers doesn’t work in this business.”
He would know, with an experience of two decades in the business. He estimates a profit of approximately Rs. 200 to Rs. 600 on every goat he sells. “It’s not much. Look at my job. It’s not just bringing the goats here. I have to tend to them for the whole year; feeding, cleaning—all the dirty jobs.”
But then, for a few, the animals are just another means to add to their incomes. There are many like Lekh Bahadur Khadka who are visitors to the Valley during Dashain, and seek to sell a goat or two from their collection in the villages during their tryst here. “I had come to Kathmandu from Okhaldhunga to shop for Dashain,” says Khadka, “I thought that if I brought along these goats, I might make some extra money by selling them and had planned to shop from the money I made from the sale.”
Unfortunately, no one so far had approached him, and his two goats sat innocuously chewing the grass on the side of the road.
Khadka paid Rs. 500 for each animal’s bus ticket to Kathmandu—more than the fare he had to pay for himself. “I should have sold these in my village,” laments Khadka. “The villagers were ready to pay me Rs. 8,500 but I became greedy and thought that I would get at least Rs. 10,000 here.” Nonetheless, Khadka hasn’t lost all his hope, for the footfalls at the animal market are steadily increasing, and he sees a potential customer in every passerby who glances at the animals.
On the opposite end of Khadka’s spectrum is Dinesh Sapkota, one of the contestants for the throne of goat sellers. Sapkota sells at least 500 to 700 goats every year—and this Dashain, he’s already sold 70. He is a nomad, wandering from place to place with his herd, and sells his goats as far as Lahan. For someone who had to drop out in the eighth standard, Sapkota clearly enjoys his trade. “I am fully involved in this business,” he gleams.
But despite the sales figures of Sapkota, there are times when the investment suffers an abnormal loss.
“About five years ago, I lost a lot of money when 13 of my goats died within a day of buying them.” And unlike the trade in regular commodities, goats do not have a buyback guarantee.
As the day picks up, potential customers such as Dhan Bahadur Tamang begin their scouting for the sacrificial animal of their family. They slowly pace up and down the different pens, and glance about, on the lookout for a goat that meets all their ‘needs’.
All this while, sellers like Magar scream at the top of their voices about the quality of the meat they are selling.
But Tamang is unfazed. He’s been through the process many times, and this retired Lahure casts a seemingly experienced eye over the hundreds of animals. “Meat has become very expensive,” he tuts, “I think we will all have to do with potatoes this Dashain.”
Nevertheless, he selects upon an animal of Magar, and begins the long process of haggling.
“How much does this animal cost?”
“Rs. 5,000, Dai.”
“That’s too expensive. Don’t you have a cheaper animal?”
“Well I do, but those aren’t as healthy or meaty as this. You tell me, how much do you want to give for this?”
“Not more than Rs. 3,000.”
“Hare, I won’t even recover the cost of the goat. Okay, I will give you a special price: Rs. 4,500.”
“No, no, that’s still a lot.”
Tamang begins shuffling his feet, nodding in
disapproval.
“La, la, Dai, I will give it at Rs. 4,000,” shouts Magar.
Tamang, it seems, has made up his mind about Magar’s goat, and is a bit more confident after the latter decreased the price futher. “Forget all this, I will give you Rs. 3,500. It’s a perfect price.”
Magar seems to be thinking to himself for a while, then agrees, and lets the chosen animal out of the pen to its uncertain fate.
A deal done, both parties happy, another round of negotiations begin at Sapkota’s corner. And the hustle and bustle of the festival continues, for everyone except the goat.
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