By Deepa Rai Pun
That moment dreams had flown off and gone,
when time had come to a sudden halt
and you had cared for me at a stolen moment
your love for life
and your guiltless feelings for me
seemed lovable to me, my Nepté!
From that land so far off
when you sing the symphonies of life
narrowing further your already narrow eyes
it occurs to me—
instead of hardening the heart
and wiping tears with palms
to feign living with faked smiles
I should know the worth of your honour and respect
and the thought makes my heart swell
with love for you, my Chimsé!
You are away in a distant land
whereto my dreams do not reach
back home here, upon the hills
there are marks of your foot’s heels
and of your palms
all over these trees—figs, goguns and poplars
or on grasses, creeping or erect.
When eyes soak in reminiscence
I trod up to the pastures
to hear the melody of your flute.
Where, in fact is your patuki—the girdle cloth
where you tied my love and tucked your flute
as you prodded the herd home shooing and whistling
and smiling,
as I was clasped in your bosom?
It still seems like today
when one day, returning with the cattle
I had caught cholera
and you, to ward off the possible Jungali’s attack off
had tucked in khurmi—the little knife
in my girdle
unable to stand my trouble.
I did not know then, it was your heart
that you had tucked deep inside me.
Back home restless with my heart instead,
you had urged Aama and Appa
to send Koping and Khidi to ask for my hand
with two babups full of votive drinks
loaded on their heads
When Appa divided the pitcher’s drink
and you knew he had already agreed
you glanced at me and I had blushed
all but crimson both cheeks turned;
the blush lingers even now.
Knotting a stripped hankie to make the deal
you had taken me in a propitious time
amid a clamour of Naumati band.
Time, however, thwarted our dreams.
You loathed the moon stealing a look
you hated worse when cold poked on you.
Your Ama and Apa assigned on you
the task of seeing Tongma and Khuse settle well
and to live as their brother.
One night, as you were sneaking away across the bend
you had tucked a champa blossom on my hair
and having dropped torrents of tears at the deurali
you had fled to lands unknown
beyond the farthest horizons.
I see each morning drift away from me
I don’t know where you have reached
but with me, each problem is as nascent as it was then.
When tears fall intermittently,
I feel like lying and dozing off
on the sloppy rock, as hard as your chest.
Come home now, my Nepté!
My Ama and Apa are but setting moons on a hilltop.
They say, they will give my Bagdata when you return.
Kongpi Khidi : the elderly people who go to ask a girl’s hand for a boy
Jungali: an evil spirit that makes people sick
Bagdata: giving away a daughter in marriage
babup: pitcher
deurali: a holy place along a trail where travellers offer flowers and leaves
Trans: Mahesh Paudyal
[Deepa Rai Pun (b. 1968) is a US-based Nepali poet and lyricist. Originally from Pancthar District of Nepal, Pun is a poet of huge popularity. Her published works include Timro Sapanako Ma, Spandanka Ragharu and Chhuteko Bagdata and several music albums. She lives in Boston. Many of her poems have also been translated into English.]