Dinesh Poudel
Nepali Short Stories
1.
Unattended : Parashu Pradhan
2.
In a Village : Parashu Pradhan
3.
Chesta ! Chesta !! Chesta !!! :
Parashu Pradhan
4.
Expatriation : Pradip Nepal
5.
Trade: Sanat Regmi
(Parashu Pradhan, Pradip Nepal, Sanat Regmi)
Translation and Publication
Digital Edition2011
Dinesh Poudel
Itahari, NEPAL
1.
UNATTENDED
–Parashu Pradhan
I knew nothing of when and how I happened to land at the
Kathmandu Airport. I got conscious and unconscious by turns right since I
boarded the plane at the
But it's almost beyond hope. I've been trying to keep my
spirits up: I'll see the last looks of hers; I'll see my mother a last chance,
because I know she was at the last straw, at the last breath. The sinking face
of my father still bobs up into my dreams and keeps on pleading – 'I remembered
only you at my last hours, I dwelled only on you. I carried my thoughts only to
you, my Kanchhi Chhori Sirjana'.
I got a ticket immediately and flew right off. I had made a
solemn pledge not to repeat the sore history and fall in with the flame of a
grave mistake and repentance thereafter. A sentence kept ringing in me, 'Aama
siriyas hunuhunchha, bewaris hunuhunchha.' (Mother is serious, she's not
attended to.) Only two words from over the telephone struck me continually-
'serious' an English word and 'bewaris' a Nepali word.
Among those passengers in the plane I was all alone; as if
I were a bird lost somewhere in a jungle. While I was in Kathmandu I had always
felt some inexplicable inadequacy or emptiness within. And then I lived in
I reached the hospital. The stinking smell suffocated me. I
thought I had landed in some hell. Masking with a hanky I entered and went
upstairs. The foul smell from outside had reached every nook and cranny in the
hospital rooms. I was able to recognize Mother's face as soon as I saw her, and
I was horrified- it was a mere framework of bones.
'Aama! Darshan! I’m arrived!' I cried in a subdued
franticness.
When she heard me, she opened her eyes. They were dry.
There was no water in them.
'How are you now, Aama?' I spoke again. Once more she
opened her eyes and in blurred voice she said, 'Sirjana, you have arrived all
the way from
'I'm at my last time…' I had a lump in the throat. Tears
welled up. I felt as if I was squeezed into a horrifying tunnel.
'Aama, now I have arrived … I will take you to America and
get treated… Aama! My Aama…! Surely I will…!' I was thoroughly overwrought. I
wished I were able to howl and wail frantically, rocking the heavens; but in
such circumstances that wouldn't be an appropriate response.
Soon Eldest Brother popped out. He was shocked, 'Sirjana!
You here? It was just the day before yesterday we'd talked. There was no hint of
your coming. How come you are here all of a sudden?'
'She is my Aama as well as yours, Thuldai! She gave birth
to you and she gave birth to me too! Here Aama's faring this terminal … How
could I help coming?' I bowed to him.
I don't know why but I lamented within again.
'There was a fear of brain hemorrhage, but it didn't occur.
Paralysis is in one side. The doctor has approved of discharge and treatment at
home, but…'
Doctor Sahib appeared and his 'but- ' couldn't continue. The
doctor cautioned, 'Haven't I told you to take your mother home? It's already
been five days since I prepared the discharge sheet. What are you dawdling
for?'
He performed a cursory inspection and stressed once again
on the same old thing, 'I'm not seeing her any more. I've prescribed some
medicines to take at home. Take a good care of her.'
I observed Mother's face again. It was a setting sun. She
was at her critical moments. Meanwhile I journeyed deep into the past, where
Father too existed. How fit pair and loving couple Mother and Father's was!
They were the figures of some unspeakable envy of the neighbors. I, the
youngest daughter Sirjana or Sirju, was the spoiled child of Mother, Father and
everybody in the family. Whenever the household made preparation for festivals
or celebrations, palavers were on what new garments should be readied for me.
If a visitor dropped by, showers of honeyed phrases. They connected my
beautiful luck to beautiful looks and I myself didn't see through all this
stuff.
And now Younger Brother showed up. He too was
flabbergasted, ''Oh! You too could come?'
I made a deep bow.
The atmosphere in the room grew somber for a short while.
Eldest Brother examined the younger one's expressions and made a lame attempt
to open his lips, but they failed to yield to him. Likewise, Younger Brother
studied my face and said, 'But you come without any hint? At least you could
have phoned that you were ...........'
'I was in a wild rush, Sandai! How to arrive here at the
earliest was my only thought. I had a
premonition I wouldn't be able to meet Aama for the last. But the stars were at
my side. Now I could have her darshan at least.' I did my best to ease myself.
And then Eldest Sister-in-law turned up and we all were
alert. My being there gave her a jolt.
'Nani too here from
Time came to a standstill. Mother's eyes opened, probably
stung by Sister-in-law's words. They scrutinized each of us once from her bed.
She scanned everything in the room and closed them. I transformed myself into
her and journeyed far into the future- a moment like this will eventually
befall me too. The character is the same; time, place and setting may vary. I
cursed us all. Before I could speak, Younger Brother opened his mouth-
'Whatever Bhauju says is the fact. I never suspect its truth. But mine too is
not the state of affairs good enough to take Aama home. It's been years my
wife's contracted uterine cancer and she's bedridden. I've not been able to
render due attendance on her. What shall I do with one invalid and the other
incurable?'
'Can one say that after accepting Mother's pension
property?' Eldest Brother stopped him. Meantime, a nurse entered. 'What are you
discussing on? The boat may sink before the boatmen are able to arrive at some
conclusion. Are you taking your mother home today or not?' The nurse remarked.
She measured the fever with a thermometer, asked to give Mother a capsule and
left the room.
'Shall I take Aama to
Brothers' eyes met. I gathered they'd desired this very
thing. I left the room to meet the doctor for further consultation. As a child
that has learned his lesson by heart pours out in front of his teacher I
begged, 'Doctor Sahib, I'd like to take Aama to
The doctor was among a crowd. Patients and their relatives
were thronging around. But he directed his eyes towards me, 'So you live in
'We've been living in
Instead of caring about my request, he begged, 'I've not
the least interest in working in this hospital. What's the use of remaining
here? Could you please help me out to there?'
I saw: not only Doctor Sahib here, but the whole nation,
all people are pleading with me, begging of me.
'Doctor Sahib, I'll do whatever I can! What's impossible if
you wish! But for now, I'm serious about my mother…Doctor Sahib, what is your
suggestion?' Again, I repeated my story.
'Such an elderly with brain hemorrhage. How can you take
her all the way to
'We are off, one must attend the office,' they excused
themselves and walked out of the room. I was at my wit's end. I could not
decide what I should speak or do. I was thoroughly nervous, to be honest. I
couldn't well discern what was going on about me.
'Aama, how are you?' I asked. Mother opened her lackluster
eyes. She stared at me as if she couldn't recognize me. She must have felt she
had arrived at some strange land.
'Let me die… I don't want to live any more… It's enough.' I
read these words in Mother's eyes. She pulled the saline water pipes, oxygen
pipes and all quite wildly. I tried to restore them. There appeared the wrath
of Death in her eyes. I shouted out to the nurse for help. But probably they
were Mother's final moments. Her eyes were shutting for ever. But I kept on
howling and wailing, 'Aama, Aama, my Aama…. My Aama…'
Translated by Dinesh Poudel
2. IN A VILLAGE
Here began a village. This one was a lot more different
from many other villages. The trail was almost nominal. Somehow my steps
proceeded. Thick nettle bush flanked the way. A step aside and you'd be stung
by them. And more, it was too dirty and odious with human dirt. My concept that
villages are among the greenery had failed here. No green was in sight except a
few bunches of twigs in some branches of lifeless trees. It looked as if the
jungles were cleared and all trees were uprooted years before, and the village
was going to be a desert soon. Maybe that's why it was such a sweltering hot.
Small stone-roofed houses stood by the trail. The windows and doors of those
houses were a sickening sight. How could one get through such small doors and
windows! I came across some old people, simply waiting for their death. Their
poor dresses were horrible. Patched at dozens of places, they were not washed
for ages. Their eyes carried nothing but gloom.
I asked one of the old men, 'Ba[1]! How old are you?'
He tried to force a little beam, but to no avail, I don't
know why. He mumbled something in the local dialect. I couldn't make it out. At
least I could gather it that he didn't know his own age.
I kept going ahead, the path uphill mostly. One felt a bit
relieved when on the level. On the ascent, the body was thoroughly exhausted. I
encountered some middle-aged men. The doko2 they carried things in was slightly
different from ones I’d ever known.
'What are you carrying?' I asked.
'Rice'.
'How long have you been carrying it?'
'Say, some seven days.'
'Rice doesn't grow in this village?'
'There is no farm good enough for paddy. Just a little
wheat grows. We live on that. We are bringing this only for the Dasain[2],' he explained in the
local dialect which I could understand some, and some I failed to.
By now, I'd got well into the village. What else could there
be: a few stone huts, runny-nose children in their filthy rags, their shabby
threadbare dresses with patches on patches, and their limbs resembling that of
a leper. They looked as if the limbs are rotting and they are dying. I asked an
old man, 'What's wrong with their limbs?'
'It's the pipso[3] bite, hajur. Not leprosy.'
'Can't we eliminate pipso?' I asked again. He had no
answer.
But the children's hands and legs were so foul and
disgusting that I had nausea for quite some time. There, everyone's legs looked
swollen with pus and the poor children couldn't even walk. I asked them if they
went to school. Soon I realized I’d asked a silly question. The school was far
and they were not in a position to go.
Time to eat. I was already starving. Feeding me, a single
person, was an uphill task there. Flour roti[4], salt and chilly, that was
all they could prepare. There was a big rush in search for rice. Somehow the
meal was ready in a few hours- just daal[5], bhaat[6], a little salt and chilly.
As for vegetable, it was out of question- neither they knew the need nor they
had it by tradition.
In the house next door, a woman was struggling to prepare
some wheat rotis. She must be quite ill, I figured. She was, you may say,
struggling against life itself for one roti. A bit further away a newborn baby
was whining. The woman was on all her fours and squirming about. I took this to
be her labour pain for another child. But later I could see it was nothing of
the sort. She had delivered a child that day and now had been the victim of the
tradition that nobody else should prepare food for a sutkeri5 mother. She was
thus forced to prepare her food herself. And she was to go to reap wheat from
the other day on. I reckoned the child was dying soon and she would be rescued
from the sea of suffering. Whenever she couldn't do the job, she'd howl, wail
and fret wildly. I rested my head on my palm and prayed to the Supreme God.
No youths were available in the village. They would
probably come back home during some jatra[7] or fair. The women's
breasts were all flat. Their form carried no trace of youthfulness. Women in
their twenties looked as if they were old hags in their fifties. They were
utterly repulsive. They knew nothing about themselves. They were born to breed.
They had no love for life. In their eyes- where there were no saplings of
dream, sentiments or hope- danced shadow of nightmare. Were they women really?
Thoughts flowed through me for a long time.
I was to go much further. Small villages appeared and faded
away. All similar. They looked more settlements of the dead than villages-
there was not a scrap of spirit and optimism; they were lifeless. The villages
looked dead and deserted as if it was a village devastated by the war that has
just ended. Very high, barren, naked and red mountains. Nowhere a green patch
or a tree. Neither fountain nor brooks. It was almost evening and I was against
time, and my legs refused to carry me any further. I was thoroughly exhausted.
My only wish now was a good rest and a peaceful night. My heart was heavy and
spirit quite low.
The same narrow path, the same nettle growths, and filth-
there was nothing new anywhere. The atmosphere was horribly stinking and
suffocatingly foul. And more, very cruel and sharp stones greeted all along.
Stepping over them was treading on coals of fire. I wished to see the Seti
Himal from there- there was no sign of it. The Himal was far, far away. I was
restless; the night was almost falling. I plodded on and on dreaming of a good
sleep and things like that.
I came across a few men coming down the slope. They were
drunk. They had lost their balance. Their legs were unable to carry them well.
They were quarreling, probably about a game of cards they had played earlier.
They tried to stop me. But I could avoid them and took another way. I knew they
were on the way back home after playing card and drinking raksi[8] all day. Now their ritual
at home would be to beat their wives.
The path I'd now chosen was more rugged. I was doubtful I'd
be able to reach my destination. But I had to reach there. The nettle thickets
flanking the way was thicker here. A woman appeared. She was busy plucking the
nettle buds with a tong. It was almost dark. I reached up to her. I couldn't
help asking- 'Sister, what are you doing?'
'Plucking nettle,' she was pretty busy.
'Why pluck it?'
'This is the thing we eat. There is nothing else…..' She
confessed her helplessness.
'Why? Don't you grow even wheat?'
'No…., we don't …..' She was ashamed of it. There was
nothing to be ashamed of.
I knew they ate only nettle. I found her to be of a better
understanding. I blurted out, 'What do you need in this village?'
'……….' She didn't understand me.
'You couldn't understand? Do you need water, roads, school
or what else?' I tried to put it clearly.
'We don't need anything……' she made a short reply. It was interesting
to talk to her. She must have been out for some time: she spoke a bit more
intelligibly.
'However……' I pressed her.
'God has not granted us this nettle too. An insect eats it
up. The lai pest attacks it and not a leaf remains. We've to live on thorns….'
She almost sobbed.
'And ……?'
'Please give us some insecticide to kill those that eat our
nettle… Our need is only this…..' Now she was impatient to be off.
'You need nothing else……?'
'No, nothing else……'
By the time I came to senses the woman had already gone. I
fixed my thoughts upon something for a long time and brooding on it I trudged
slowly up the hill.
Translated by Dinesh Poudel
3. Chesta! Chesta!! Chesta!!!
The old coat is still hanging there on the wall. I have not
been able to claim it to be mine, nor is it anybody else's. It is permanently
there on the hanger of a twisted nail. The sky blue colour is fading away. My
best colour. There should be a letter a boy sent to me last year. Only six
months ago could I dare open it, and with a great care; and somehow could read
just first five or six lines. And then, to my horror, I found I was reading an
unfamiliar one's writing. I was reading a young man's love letter. I put it
back into the envelope before I'd read any further, and closed it as it was
before. I could never again gather my courage up to reopen it. This is my
weakness. I thoroughly know this is a defect in me. But I can't help it.
Once I woke up at midnight. Unexpectedly the coat caught my
eye. The young man who had written the letter was standing still. Say only an
imagination: I haven't really chanced to have a full sight of him. The man
attempted to get into my bed quietly. I laughed off.
I said, 'I haven't even read the whole of your letter.
Moreover, it's almost one year and I've not felt it worthwhile to reply to it.
Anyway, never do this indecent attempt….. '
'This is not an attempt. I'm your coat. I want not the love
letter but my body. Who would ever like to remain shivering all l alone in this
cold? I'll come, by and by. Agree?' Maybe it was the coat's voice.
It was the dead of the night. The experience was
enthralling, and I wished to submerge in it. Probably the coat knew it.
Clinging on to me all night long it slept with me. It was soft. It was a soft
heap of flesh. I felt the flesh. I caressed it's warmth, and kissed. It
murmured, 'You'd asked not to come before, hadn't you…? But I had merely
attempted…..' For some more nights I enjoyed that attempt. The only vexation was
that I always had to take bath in the morning. The tap was quite far. I was
compelled to go that far.
Now the attempt changed in this fashion. I don't like
change. I don't want to change. But it happened. I found a man's ring while
bathing early one morning. He too had come there to bathe. There are public
taps in the mountains. I fiddled about with the ring for the rest of the day.
Everybody said it was a gold ring. But it wasn't: it had a
balmy fragrance of a male fresh. I smelled and smelled for long in my room; in
privacy. This aroma was not there in a rose. This aroma was not there in a
jasmine. It was striking but a loving smell. In the daytime, I kept it in my
tankard or else some others too might see. But at night I slept with the ring
at my pillow. Owing to the fragrance, I didn't wake up in the night. I got a
real sound sleep, as if a strong man held me tight with both of his muscular
arms. As if his red, red lips pressed hard against mine. Next morning, I came
across that very man at the tap. He gave a chuckle and attempted to broach a
conversation with me. I didn't like the least of his chuckle. I almost snapped,
'Who the hell told you to arrange your bath time with mine?'
'I can't get a wink of sleep the whole night. It's only six
months that my wife died, I can't do away with a morning bath….' he replied.
'Oh…. That's why….'
After a while he said he'd lost his ring. I laughed it off.
After this incident, the man kept on following me. Persistently right behind.
Whenever I tried to catch a bus, he'd be already there. When I tried to cross a
bridge, he'd be already across. His eyes constantly followed me. They'd bar my
way whenever I tried to get up. But I didn't like those eyes- not a bit of hem.
I hated them. I refused them.
Once I wished to look myself in a mirror. It had been ages
since I had seen myself in a mirror last. To my horror, the more I looked the
more illusion that my face was transformed gripped me. Somebody had smeared my
face with black. I felt a chill inside. A burn. I tried to cry. But now there
was no strength in me enough to cry. I tried to scream out so hard that the
blue shuddered. But no strength remained in me to do so. Had I been so weak,
ugly and worthless? Nothing was left in me other than a big question mark of my
confusion.
Somebody had already made off with the ring. And now I had
only the remnant or illusion of the smell. I searched for the same masculine
smell. But it was not anywhere in the room. It was not there in the tankard. I
fretted. I attempted to go out of my mind. I believed I heard someone say, 'Her
marriage is out of question.' I made out what he meant, and I agreed, as I'd
never wished to get married. I took it to be an encumbrance. To me, the shadow
of each man was fiendish, ogrish. I encountered the man that once dogged me on
the way every now and then. He looked serene and I never knew of his laughter.
He was worried. Now his eyes were neither pricks nor pikes. I felt a relief. He
had grown old: the father to six.
The letter in the coat usually drags me through the long
trails of my life, shoves into pits. Once I desired to bathe in a pond- believing
one could be cleansed of sins by a bath there. I hadn't committed sins that
needed such cleansing, though. It was a dream- I was relieved. I dipped myself
for an hour or so, washed myself and came out. Oh dear! No breasts on my chest!
So often I had caressed, and treasured them up. No man's rough hands were
allowed and able to touch them. I was panicked. I was shocked. There were two
large scars instead, as if they were by a fire shot. I tried to urinate.
Gracious! This too was not a vagina any
more! It was transformed into a long and curved penis. There was not any trace of vagina, which I'd
counted as my everything; my virginity. I felt I'd fallen into an abyss. Ran
home from the pond. Rushed into my room and closed the door behind. I felt like
going thorough that very man's letter. The letter was there- the letters were
not. It was quite old and the letters were rubbed off. I cried. I screamed
within. I wriggled. I was robbed.
Standing at he door early next morning, Mother was
muttering- 'Child! Don't take yourself as an overripe. Just yesterday we
betrothed you. The boy is of your choice I guess. He had written you a letter
years before, they say. You never replied to that.
How could I relate this to Mother– that I've become a man!
That my femininity is no more! That I dipped myself in the pond and
metamorphosed!
How could I say– that all his attempts at me will go
futile. How can I strip off? How shall I present myself? How……!
'You must marry,' Mothers' voices are lost in me…… echoing
in me….. Reverberating in me.
Translated from original Nepali by Dinesh Poudel, Itahari
4. Expatriation
–Pradip
Nepal
Sita found it hard
to remember her own name. Can such change take place in mere fifteen years?
Does the world run truly this way? No, Sita couldn't understand any thing.
The letter that came
at ten in the night is still lying there, but the news it brought has carried
Sita into all four corners of the space. She remained completely hollow inside.
'Is it written truly?' her heart kept
on asking. Her heart could not believe the language. But the letter couldn't
have any other purport.
It was dark outside.
Her heart grew darker than that.
'I'll call on the
President of the Village Development Committee,' Sita thought. She caressed
both her children lying on the bed, her eyes laden. 'He is the representative
elected by us. To this day, the old man has been the one who shared tears in
distress and cheers in jubilation. I'll go and talk; and I'll follow his
instructions.'
When misfortunes hit
you, they chase you as the monsoon rains do. Misfortunes were falling on Sita
this time. 'Life is joyful' she used to think. She had never harmed anybody;
she didn't have to live on other's pittance; she didn't have any high hopes.
Whatever she had, she was content with that.
Her teacher, Mr.
Diwakar, used to say, 'Sita chhori, there's no limit to man's material needs.
You'll suffer if you can't satisfy with whatever you have. If you have a rupee
note in your wallet, two rupees seem a lot; and once that becomes yours, it
becomes nothing; and your heart craves for four. Heart is always like that. A
million is a lot until you don't have; no sooner than it is yours it is a mere
smidgen. Therefore, never make material comforts an endless necessity.' His
philosophy has been her guiding principle.
He his not any more.
Heart attack snatched him from his students the very year she'd got married.
But he didn't live a mere mortal life. Well after fifteen years of his death,
he was still living among his students. This night, Sita kept on thinking of
Mr. Diwakar.
Mr. Diwakar had
filled a smack of politics into them. He never urged them to join politics; he
didn't encourage them to join the processions. Sita and her friends didn't
remain aloof from the politics though: his teaching had transformed them.
'Man is born to
accomplish some commission,' once Mr. Diwakar said, 'or else where lies the
distinction between a man and a beast! A beast cannot distinguish between
virtues and vice. But man understands what is what. Therefore, to re-establish
this distinction, too, one has to undertake some enterprise.'
Sita didn't know how
virtuous deeds would be accomplished; but once the vocation she was looking for
appeared in the village. The cousins who came from towns sang songs fro them.
They told the stories behind the songs before they sang. Sita calculated the
virtuous deeds were what the songs had asked to do; to realize the teachings of
the songs into one's life.
It wouldn't be fair
to say Sita played politics, yet politics came into play on her life. Politics
those days fought for freedom of knowledge and expression, and right to
assembly and association. People were divided into parties, factions and
individuals. Their dreams and aspirations were one. They couldn't unite for
truth, thus they failed to establish it. Yet they knew what the truth was, and
so they fought for it.
Sita became a little
soldier in the same struggle. The aim was freedom- and the dissemination of
consciousness its gun. Sita kept on marching along aiming at her target, the
gun on her shoulders.
Pluralism was come
by, and with this the world of Sita's responsibilities too changed. Soon after
the declaration of multiparty democracy she was married. Nobody understood
whether Sita left politics or the politics discarded her. But Sita and politics
ceased to appear together. Sita shrunk politics into a ballot paper and
politics squeezed her into housewifery.
Sita's husband was
in the police. Junior all right, but he was an officer. A Sub-inspector he was.
Employed in the police after the advent of democracy, Sita was naturally proud
of her husband. She had thought the policeman now was not the policeman before
'ninety. Therefore when he proposed his plan to join the police, Sita was
delighted.
This delight Sita
never then knew would convert into such a suffocation and agony. The very
happiness of his being employed came to be her life's most painful torture. Why
so? Who was behind it? Sita knew nothing at all. The night melted. Sita's
wakeful nights melted away by awakening the already dead memories.
Cocks woke the
village in the morning. Sita was not asleep, so awakening was out of question.
The children who had not caught a glimpse of the turns of life were still in
deep sleep. The cruel and sinful apparition of the world had not yet appeared
even in their dreams.
'Sunita!' For eight
months her sister had been living with her. Waking her she said, 'Get up, I'm
gone off the President Kaka's for a while. The children may wake up. Take
care.'
'Do wait till the
first light!' Sunita suggested.
'If I become late
and he happens to be out, there will be no chance to talk. The day breaks in
mere ten minutes. I'll return in to time.'
'That's right.'
Sunita spoke popping out of the door.
It was not yet the
crack of the dawn. The hills looked like a silhouette. The stars in the sky had
already begun falling; and from the eastern heavens the dull chariot was plodding
along towards zenith.
Sita didn't fear
going out in the dark, as she was wont to, fear had not touched her. A quandary
was ceaselessly gripping her. She had altogether forgotten the sense of fear.
The President's
household was already awake. The President loved Sita dearly. Before she'd been
able call out from his courtyard he called her in.
'I wish I hadn't
troubled you, kaka[9], but my
troubles have never let go of you!'' Sitting by the fireplace, Sita said. This
sort of letter has arrived. I've called in on you to discuss what we can do.'
The President went
through the letter by the oil lamplight. It was a short letter; he did it in a
jiffy.
He spoke, 'This is
not fair!'
'Politics….. We too
were in it once, kaka!' Sita spoke at fever pitch. 'But did we ever act in this fashion?' She
felt her question was ridiculing her. She thought out an outright answer, 'We
never did like this! We never reckoned the tactics of pestering, threatening
terrorizing people and declaring the sentence to exile them as people's
politics.'
'Without doubt!' In
a confused mien the President spoke, 'Seems, you haven't a wink of sleep all
night. Have a cup of tea first.'
'Why call round so
early, chhori[10]?'
Making room for Sita to sit, the kaki[11]
inquired. 'Children are all right?'
'They are okay so
far, but nobody knows what is in store,' Sita sighed. 'We are made a yam between boulders. He was
driven into the Maoists-ridden areas yesterdays. He was harassed so much just
for being my husband. He had to lose life just for dedication to his job.'
The President's
heart was badly perturbed.
……………. …………
As if a thunder
rumbled, a boom was heard. Maybe it was the electricity in the sky. The sky was
illuminated. People talked of veri light: they knew now what a veri light was.
'Guards of the reactionary dictatorship! Each of you shall surrender
with your arms! You'll be taken to prisoners of war,' a loud mike blared out
breaking the hush of midnight. 'Those who refuse to surrender shall count this
the last night. This is the declaration of the People's War.'
'Saa'b[12]!
Seems the Maoists have arrived.' The Head Constable frantically pronounced.
'We won't attack first.' The
Sub-inspector of Police, who was in charge of the office stated, 'but if
anybody attacks us for no reason, we can't surrender our dignity to them. If
there is no reverence for life, it's not life; therefore, prepare yourselves
for counter-attack. Don't fire first, but don't wait for a second one. Take
care of yourself and charge at the assailants for your self-defense.'
The warfare continued for three hours. The policemen hardily fought;
inspired by their officer's unflinching and determined countenance. In the
morning, everybody knew nine policemen were wounded, one of them won glory and
on the other end an unidentified young woman's body was in the eternal slumber
embracing a tree.
---------------
-----------
The Sub-Inspector's words struck President kaka as vividly as of now.
'Kaka, the killing of a young woman just in her early twenties is badly
haunting me. Politics is no interest for me, I don't want to meddle with it.
But a very bitter feeling is overpowering me. A young woman of so much prospect
is killed in an attempt to raid the post under my command! Poor thing! She must
have her mother and father and brothers and sisters.'
President kaka had heard his opinion at length and had responded, 'Man
is ready to live and die for his conviction. You are prepared to live and die
for your duty. Therefore, your conscience never to attack first and not to
forgive the assailants is the final truth for you. Stand resolute in your duty.
Never once think of quitting your job. The problems won't go with your resignation.
A power crueler than you may replace you and devour many more lives A man with
dead conscience can burn villages to ashes with bullets, bombs and gunpowder.
Hence, learn to live in your position, keeping your conscience alive.'
But the Sub-Inspector's life didn't learn to live. Or let's say this
way: it didn't chance to live.
President kaka couldn't sleep for nights because of the murder of the
Sub-Inspector who he had counseled not to quit the job to. The realization that
his own counseling took his life rendered him in no peace of mind. For this as
well, he was worrying about his responsibility towards Sita.
'Kaka, what the hell was our fault and we are to suffer the
consequences this way?' Sita's question brought him back to the present. As he
was sinking deep into his own world of memories, he couldn't well hear her.
'Please have tea,' Kaki said. 'It's no use troubling yourself. Maoists,
too, must be humans. How could they exact that you desert your won home?'
'That they have already done,
kaki!' Holding the tumbler of tea Sita said, ''Your husband has killed our
squad commander Rekha and so you have to submit to the Party whatever
compensation or financial support you will obtain from the government and leave
the village for good.'' their letter reads. Yesterday night, a boy came with
the letter. He said they themselves would come to get my response.'
'And whatever they say would happen to the one who murdered your
husband?' Kaki spoke disdainfully. It didn't hit her that some boy is due to
come to get her response..
'Why should they bother when they murder others?'
'What the hell type of politics is emerging?' Kaki eyed President Kaka
quizzically.
'None of us can get the hang of this political stuff.' Kaka said
sighing and sipping his tea. The noise of his slurps of tea was louder than his
words. He saw Sita with half an eye and replied to his wife's question.
"First I'll dig up whether this letter is authentic or not . If it's
really from the Maoists, it can't be called politics. They attacked the police
post. Both sides fought. In the battlefield a policeman and a guerrilla were
dead. That's all. And then they slaughtered one of your boys on his way to the
marketplace. That was too much. But their raging fire muzzled everyone.
Shuddering with fear we proved the killing a natural death and performed the
final rites and thus we carried out our formality. If the order to evacuation
is for the same old incident, that's too much. They should be paid back in
their own coin.'
'You cannot counteract?' Kaki's tone hadn't yet lowered. 'The warriors
should take death and survival naturally. Where is the practice of taking
vengeance on the entire world for the death of one's comrades in a war? This
sort of revenge was neither in Ramayana nor in the Mahabharata. But none of you
have guts to utter a word against this. To call the spade a spade, it is only
Sita's tribe to meet with the nasty blow.'
'Kaki!' Sita interrupted in a faint voice, 'It's not only me to face
the grim reality. Just look now we all are having the same hard time.'
'Leave it at that!' Kaki stopped Sita, 'Although I haven't gone with
politics, I've fared with it. Your kaka was sent to jail four times. I was
alone. The people ridiculed and backbitten. I didn't lose heart though. Friends
used to manage time to come and they used to comfort and encourage me. I found
reassurance, there were others like me. Your brother regularly paid visits to
me. 'Kaki, don't be obsessed with grief,'
he said I consoled myself. I didn't pester your kaka. He would be back home
from jail; all smiles. I dismissed my woes and worries to see him smile. I would
comfort myself because I knew well that all this was for the people, for us.'
Kaki's gush of words came to a halt. Grabbing the opportunity Sita slurped some
tea. Kaka heard her slurp and carried on, 'Yesterday, you betted your life,
today, too, it's your life that is at stake. For a minute let's suppose your
husband was wrong, but what was your crime? What crime could the budding
children who not yet have the slightest of knowledge and wisdom do? What sinful
acts have they to abandon the village for? Even the Panchayat didn't ask me to
leave the village yesterday. The Village Head himself gave utterances of
sympathy, 'What can be done, Daughter in law, you are harassed for your
husband's deeds. I've been trying my best help you out.' But now these are punishing
the family, relatives, friends and neighbours and all for a person's alleged
fault.'
And what's the use of your getting irritated here now?' President Kaka
explained to his wife. 'Our path was different, theirs is a different one. We
had fought for everybody, they for themselves. They are the stray travelers.
They have lost their way Therefore, my point is simply this: we should bring
them round! They stab and murder. Can we do that? If we did the same, where
would the difference between the two remain?'
'Where remains the meaning of differences? They keep on instructing us
to evacuate, and we are to keep on yielding promptly to them, aren't we? Today
they issue orders to uproot Sita. Tomorrow they may confront us with an order
to abandon the village for the crime of offering her a cup of tea. The other
day, who knows, they can bear down upon all the villagers to force to evacuate
the village for the crime of electing you the President of the Village
Development Committee. The real import is this!'
'Kaki!' Sita spoke in a tone to convince her, 'Kaka has said he'd probe
into it, he hasn't told me to leave, Therefore, let's not worry on such distant
things. They rendered me a widow. They made widows to hundreds of others like
me. Can we speak for rendering all theirs into widowhood in retaliation? No we
can't.' As if this explanation was enough to convince kaki she now turned to
the president. 'Then what shall I do? If they ever happen to come to my door,
what shall I reply?'
'For now don't utter a word.' Kaka replied. 'If anyone of them comes in
a day two, tell them to see me. I'll inquire whether their letter is authentic
or not. If they affirm, I'll set to with questions. I'll put up an argument
that their tactics are mistaken. I'll declaim against their war as it is waged
against the people themselves. How could they not concede to my points!'
The sunrays crept into the yard and Sita got out in higher spirits.
Kaki stood at the end of the yard and blurted out, 'Sita I've not liked ideas
of you two. One shouldn't keep thing like these under cover. I'll bruit this
abroad. Is this fair? Let them murder. Let them murder you! Let them murder me.
Let them murder our kith and kin. Let them murder our children! And let them prepare a cozy bed out of our
corpses and rule most comfortably!'
Sita smiled at it. There was no a trace of grief on her smile.
0000
[1]
Father
2. a wicker basket
[2]
the greatest festival of Nepalese, falls on Autumn, on the sixth month
according to
Hindu lunar calendar
[3] a
maggot
[4]
flat wheat bread
[5]
lentil soup
5. a delivering mother
[6]
rice
[7]
fair, or exhibition
[8]
home made rice wine
[9]
one's father's younger brother, uncle
[10]
chhori: daughter
[11]
kaki: kaka's wife, aunt
[12]
saa'b: sir
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