By LB Chhetri
As soon as the government tabled its annual budget, the modern ritual of debate, discussion, and comments by various organizations on the budget started. In such programs, the speakers continue to honk their convictions and the listeners continue to listen, even if there is no consonance between the speakers and the listeners.
The program commenced one hour later than the stipulated time. The trend of chair-taking continued right till the end, moments before the closing address of the chairperson. However, the listeners were leaving the hall one after another, and by the time the chief guest stood to speak—moments after the distribution of tea and snakes—three-fourth of the hall had been rendered empty.
An irony associated with the event was that the coordinating committee had invited Mr. Pokharel, the headmaster of a school, as the chief guest. However, in the midst of other guests seated on the dais, the headmaster was finding himself alone. By the time the programme entered the phase of speeches, the headmaster looked quite hesitant and uneasy.
During his speech, Aman Shrestha, a prestigious businessman of the town expressed his views on the budget. The sound of applause from the audience made a knot appear on the forehead of the chief guest. When Mr. Dinesh, the historic spokesman of the University underscored the historical details of the budget, the hall once again resonated with a heavy round of applause. The pair of the hands of the chief guest were getting together and parting in succession. Finally, it was his turn to speak.
“Dear listeners,” he started in a soft tone. “I remained a schoolteacher all my life, and in that capacity, maybe I wrote a couple of poems, a couple of stories. Every year, the annual budget is tabled, and there are discussions every year. I have little knowledge about the budget; so, I am unable to decide what I should speak, and what I should not. If you won’t take it otherwise, I would love to share with you an incident that occurred in my life in reality.
“Once, a student of mine, upon returning from America, gifted me a furry dog. I liked the dog very much. I myself gave it a bath, fed it with my own hands, and took it out to stroll every morning and evening. I managed the feed for the dog as prescribed by my student. As time passed, the dog grew up, and with it, its feed increased. That resulted in more expense. I had to slash a lot of family budget to keep the dog alive. I cut down the annual allocations for food, children’s education, expense of clothes, medical expenses, cost of entertainment and travelling expenses. For some time, the family meekly tolerated my dictatorship, but before long, voices of rebellion started emanating from nooks and corners of the family. Soon, the noises developed into a commotion and lo, there was total turmoil in the family. Yet, I didn’t yield; I felt, I could not henceforth live without that tiny, furry creature with hair that covered all its forehead. However, I was finding it quite a task to contain the brewing rebellion from within the family. They opined, it was imminent to remove the beast immediately and bring the ailing budget of the family back on the track. However, my blind love for the dog had its own worth, estimation and glory.
On the other hand, it was not easy for me to singly contain the flame of mutiny rising from inside the family. In every room, placards and banners were placed with slogans against my blind love. Slogans were written on the walls, which, in their gist said, “Do not maintain unnecessary hobbies; limit your budget, if the income is limited. It’s wise to move according to the tune of time.” On the dining tables, demand cards of innumerable things were placed.
At last, I was obliged to go for a referendum inside the family. Our family, consisting of myself, my wife, two sons and three daughters—altogether seven—discussed the matter thoroughly and decided to go for voting. I somehow convinced my wife to vote in my favour. I lured the daughters with golden rings in the upcoming Teej festival, in case I won the referendum. The sons, however, were not in any mood to support me.
Finally, voting was over. I got two votes against five in my opposition, and thus, I was defeated. I was obliged to send the dog back to the student who had brought it for me from America.
On the day the beast was sidelined, everyone in the family, except myself, was extremely happy. I could not manage even a short nap even by the time everyone else was fast asleep. Two thoughts were bothering my mind. One, if my budget did not allow me to go ahead with a hobby of petting a dog, how could people afford to rear elephants? How could they manage the budget for it? And two, was it really necessary for me to get rid of the dog? I could have retained it by using my veto power on it. Unable to decide what was good and what bad, I tossed left and right for a long time, until I fell into deep sleep.”
After the chief guest concluded his speech there was a silence in the hall for about five seconds. Then was heard a clap and then the second one then another and then another and in another few seconds the people present in the hall stood up and continued to resonate with big rounds of applause for a long, long time.
—o—
[L.B. Chhetri is the author of the poetry collection Bheed Ma Harayeko Manchhe and three short story collections Trishanku Ko Deshma, Indramaya Ko Deshmaa and Bratabhanga. A retired professor of Tribhuvan University, Chhetri is the president of Kavidada Literary Society Chitwan, and Chief Editor of Charaiveti Literary Fortnightly. He lives in Chitawan, Nepal with his family.]