Govinda Bahadur Malla “Gothale”
Kasanancha’s seven or eight-year-old woke up abruptly in the early morning. In the meantime, the crowing of a rooster loomed from the porch. Bisanancha lent an ear to the sound. All he could hear was the flapping of the wings of the bird followed by a ‘cock-a-doodle-doo’. His face beamed with pleasure and joy. Daybreak dawned and roosters shouting at their best one after another in succession from afar called in the day. Enchanted, Bisanancha intently listened to the sounds. After a short while, he could hear his own rooster flap its wings and crow with a ‘cock-a-doodle-doo’. He couldn’t control himself and sprang up in his bed. He had no idea why he was enchanted by the sweet note of his rooster. He felt a kind of soothing bliss at its melodious sound. He lent his ear once again and the rooster produced its symphony once again. “Surely, my rooster will surpass all the birds one day,” drowsily he pondered, “I’ll present it to the king of the birds. It will produce the same symphony before the king.” His heart swelled with pleasure and joy.
Again he ruminated, “Presumably, the king turns out to be rich! His single symphony could fetch a fee worth as much as fifty rupees. If it does happen…If it does happen so, I know how to treat Ramé, the crap of a person. How he flaunts himself…as if he is all-powerful!” He drowsed with these thoughts drifting in his mind.
In the morning, he picked up his rooster and ruffling its feathers, whispered, “You’re a brave cock! You will be a champion.”
The cock tiptoed. At times it flapped its wings and at times it cockled jerking its red crest with pride. Bisanancha would be mesmerized to watch all this marvel, so to speak. He couldn’t control himself, intoxicated by sheer joy. So, he felt like picking up the cock again.
Agitated, the rooster would hurry its own way, but after a short time it would be in his hands. “All right, there you go…!” he would just pat its back with reassurance and leave it free.
The rooster would eventually give up. Caressing its body, Bisanancha would reassure it, “Need you fear? Am I supposed to hurt you? Never!” He would set free the cock after a final hug. Sensing the chance, the rooster would run away. Thus went further this affair between these two innocent creatures.
“He will fight like anything, now,” Bisanancha hopped holding the rooster to his breast. He gained an interest in cock-fighting. He would get his rooster to fight with other roosters of his locality. The roosters bombarded one another with kicks. He watched the roosters with keen eyes as they stabbed each other with beaks. His heart pounded in his chest.
Incidentally, one day the rooster’s eyes got ruptured and a jet of blood effused from them, but all the same, it did not stop fighting. Bisanancha rushed forward for help. He grabbed the rooster by his chest and brought home. He said, “Alas, your eyes are ruptured! I didn’t realize ever this would happen!” The rooster was still zealous for a next round of fight, its wings still flapping. He grabbed hold of it forcibly and said, “It’s enough now.” He prayed to gods begging for a speedy recovery of its eyes. The cock gave in soon. As he applied the lotion of turmeric and oil around its eyes, he vowed, “I’ll never get him to fight henceforth.” Many a time the rooster also invited a row between his parents and his neighbors. Therefore, his father started to take him to the field to help him in the work.
On the first day, while going to the field, he cast an affectionate glance at the rooster and said, “Don’t go anywhere.” His father furtively said, “Let’s go! I’ll get your rooster slain in Bhadrakali. Then, you’ll know.” Grief and fear supplanted love, affection and bliss in his heart. He glanced his father’s face and started to follow him bowing his head in surrender. Suddenly, his father’s voice resonated, “Walk properly!” It startled Bisanancha. “Indeed, I’m not playing with the rooster. Rather I’m supposed to follow my father…to assist him in the field,” his thoughts roamed. “What if the rooster flies away never to return? Shall I run away? What will happen? My cock is not a coward to run like that…it is a brave cock!” he reassured himself. Dancing in imagination with the cock, he reached the field and embarked on planting potato seeds. After a while he started biting in the wilderness, his hoe still gnawing the field. “Maybe the rooster is pecking my toe?” In the meantime, his father’s harsh reproof invaded his ears, “Look at him! How lethargic he is! Looks like watching a banana. Why are you keeping mum, now?” He turned to his wife again and said, “Your son damn cares about me. How can I assume that this freak of a son will feed me in the old age?”
Bishnu Narayan’s hand worked pretty fast in the soil but what about his mind?
Days were passing like this. One day while he was engrossed in the usual thoughts, a cock approached him cackling. He just couldn’t control his mind. He even forgot that his father was around him. He ran after the cock. It ran away terrified. He strived hard to reach the cock but with no avail. “Isn’t it mine?” Bisanancha wondered. Meanwhile, his father got hold of him by the ear and lifted him, and slapped him twice over. Bisanancha was just taken aback but he didn’t even shed a tear. His innocent mind formed an inference, though: “For sure, my father is after killing the cock. With a sigh he repeated again, “He’s gonna kill it!” He glanced at his father’s countenance with panic-stricken eyes.
Whenever his father would be smoking a pipe, he would reassure his cock, “Don’t panic. Nobody’s gonna kill you.” Even the cock looked panic-stricken and sat brooding. He would persistently reassure the cock, “Don’t panic! I’m with you.” Then he would ponder with perturbed eyes, “Perhaps I should buy him a felt hat.” “Who could see it then?” By the same token, Bishnu Narayan would be engrossed in a reverie. The cock would also glance at him furtively. When these thoughts culminated, he would get carried away and say, “Don’t cry, my boy! Everything will be all right!” With these words tears would roll down his eyes.
One day Bishnu Narayan entered the house, crying, with ruptured head. His mother rushed downstairs muttering, “What happened to my child?” Presently, he ceased crying. He stared at the cock with amazement – its body, its red crest and its gait.
“Who broke your head? Tell me who broke?” His mother’s words penetrated his ears and invaded his heart. Convulsing, he said, “It broke without a reason. I slipped and it broke.” He wiped his face and started bewailing.
“How many times did I tell you not to go out to play, but you never heed me. You always mess around outside.” With these words, she stroked her brow and rushed upstairs.
In fact, he had not slipped. Rather, his head was broken by Ramcha with a stone. They had had a row so many times about the rooster. “Whose rooster crows earlier?” they would debate. Both of them would claim that their roosters crowed earliest. They would even fist each other on this matter.
But on this occasion, Ramcha challenged him, “Bring your rooster to fight with mine.”
“No. I won’t!” Bishnu Narayan refuted this idea. Ramcha jeered at him, “You never dare to get your rooster to fight with mine!”
Bishnu Narayan got provoked and said, “You can merely flaunt. You never know! Mine fought even with a ruptured eye in the last occasion.”
“Let’s see!” the other retorted.
“Watch this!” Bishnu Narayan set free his rooster. But unfortunate was it that it got kicked ten times in a row. Everybody burst into laughter and started to clap their hands.
“You flaunt?” Ramcha chortled. Bishnu Narayan could bear the shame no more. A duel followed soon, as a result.
Next day early in the early morning, Bisanancha went to the cage to see the rooster, but he couldn’t see it there. He then began to look for it everywhere. He asked his mother but got no clue. Nevertheless, he kept searching for it. In the meantime, the feathers of the bird drifted in front of him. Suspicious of something amiss, he climbed on the roof. He saw the crested head of the cock lying peacefully – its blood-stained half-open eyes stared at him, as if wanting to say, “Fare thee well! Fare thee well!”
He felt as if his blood froze in his body. But, he didn’t utter a word. He didn’t even weep or move. His feet agitated, but he stood stupefied. After a moment, as if in trance, he picked up the head. It was the same head of his rooster – the same beak, the same crest, but this time the cock did not seem to look at him with the typical affection it cast. It didn’t either attempt a meek demonstration of affection. Eyes still fixed on the head, no sooner had he tried to get down the roof, his trembling feet slipped off the roof and, somersaulting, he fell down with a thud on the yard. One of his hands was still holding the head of the rooster that was casting a charmed look at him, but Bisanancha had already closed his eyes forever.
[Trans: Indra Bahadur Ter]
[Govinda Bahadur Malla Gothale (1922-2010) is known for his serious psychological fictions that deal with sexual complexities. Born in a literary family in Kathmandu, he inherited literary interest from his father. His story collections include Prem ra Mrityu, Kathai-Katha and Barhrakatha. He also wrote a few novels and plays. His novel Pallo Gharko Jhyal is considered a landmark in the history of psychological fictions in Nepali literature.]