RITES OF PASSAGE: Would-be Gurkhas are scrutinized during a rigorous selection process.

 because men in such areas generally aren't considered tough enough. Each gallahwallah is allocated a fixed number to recruit, usually no more than 80. These go on to the next stage, known as the hill selection, in which the tests--physical and mental--are more thorough and the elimination more ruthless. Of some 6,000 boys who attend the hill selection, only 789 make it to the final week-long examination at the British Gurkha recruiting center in Pokhara in west Nepal. Of that number, 230 will join the army while 100 others will be chosen for a select unit in the Singapore police. Elsewhere in Asia, one of Britain's two battalions of Gurkhas is stationed permanently in Brunei at the request of the Sultan. The unit rotates with the one in Britain every three years.

Most of Beni has come out to watch the gallah selection. The women giggle when the boys fail; they look on in awe when others pass. The easy part is when aspirants puff their chests out a few centimeters. Half are knocked out at the next test--25 sit-ups in one minute lying head down on a 35 degree sloping board. This is followed by 12 pull-ups on a bar with the support stand kicked away. When entrants pass this stage, the "cattle market" begins. The gallahwallah inspects the men like prize animals: their mouths are opened, their breathing checked, their teeth examined, their chests tapped, their muscles poked. Are they flat-footed, can they stand straight, can they use both eyes? Are they coordinated, can they read, are they deaf, do they have any diseases, are they calm?

As a precaution, the gallahwallah and his helpers pack up their equipment in case they need to make a quick getaway: candidates who fail have been known to throw stones. Pun misses out again. He suspects it may be because of his slight squint. He is on the verge of tears; others are angry. Those who passed are beaming, only dimly aware of the greater hurdles ahead--more grueling than for other recruits to the British army. The tests include a 1.6-km run in less than 9 minutes; a 4-km mountain race carrying 35 kg of stones in a doko, or rattan backpack, up 400-m slopes within 35 minutes; intelligence tests, mathematics quizzes, essay-writing exercises, X-rays and still more physical exams.

After years of fighting at the margins of empire, the Gurkhas have become a central part of the 113,500-member British army. They help fill gaps caused by a shortfall of domestic soldiers that currently totals 6,000 a year. Recruiting is now open to citizens from Commonwealth countries, leaving the British army with the curious prospect that it could look more imperial in the 21st century than it did in the 20th. Gurkha units are also an integral part of India's 1-million-strong army and are stationed along all of its borders.

A certain aura surrounds the Gurkhas, owing to their reputation for bravery and to the kukri--a small machete they carry that can slice off a human head in one blow. Their motto--"It is better to die than to live a coward"--also helps. Says India's vice-chief of army staff, Lieut. General Chandrashekar, an honorary colonel of the 4th Gurkha regiment: "They are excellent soldiers, physically fit, fearless, relaxed, hard working and with a natural aptitude for field craft."

Gurkhas have fought in almost every conflict involving Britain or India over the past 150 years: Afghanistan, Mesopotamia, Persia, Palestine, Tibet, China, Egypt, North Africa, Malaya, Burma, Borneo, Bangladesh, Pakistan, the Falkland Islands, Iraq. Their peacekeeping role within and outside the United Nations has taken them to Vietnam, Congo, Rwanda and Lebanon. This year they have served in Kosovo, Kargil and East Timor. An Indian Gurkha battalion is also on standby to join the new U.N. force in Sierra Leone.

Lately, though, some Gurkhas have been asking whether their service is adequately appreciated. The death in June of Sergeant Balaram Rai of the British Gurkha Engineers while clearing unexploded bombs in Kosovo focused attention on a disparity in pay and pensions between British soldiers and their Gurkha counterparts. Rai's widow received a lump sum of $31,000 and a pension of $1,500 a year, falling to $1,300 after five years--her husband's remaining period of service. The widow of a British soldier of the same rank would have received a lump sum of $90,000, a further $16,000 six months later and an annual pension of $25,000 until she died.

A British media campaign, backed by actress Joanna Lumley, whose father was a Gurkha officer, has forced the government to review compensation. When British Gurkhas quit Hong Kong and relocated to Britain in 1997, they were given "allowances" to bring their take-home pay on a level with British soldiers of similar rank. This was the first tangible recognition of equality. But pension levels remained fixed. "We give them a very shabby deal in retirement," Lumley told the British press. "It's all very well saying, 'Oh, you can live very cheaply in Nepal.' But we all know what that means--they walk for seven days to get to a hospital."

Last week, British Prime Minister Tony Blair announced that payments to the widows and families of Gurkha soldiers killed in action would match those of their British counterparts and be backdated to May to cover Balaram Rai. The pension issue, however, remains unresolved.

At Subathu depot, a Gurkha headquarters and site of the passing-out parade, the officers' mess is filled with trophies. The skin of a tiger shot by King George V on his 1911 visit to India and another bagged in 1938 by John Masters, a Gurkha officer, hang on the wall. These days Gurkha officers are more likely to spend off-duty hours playing hunt the yeti on their laptops. Not worthy of their reputation? Try telling that to a Gurkha.

With reported by Dhruba Adhikary/Katmandu and Michael Brunton/London