Jagadish Ghimire
It was midnight. In the morning, Kumari checked my pulse and temperature and said, “You remain here, taking rest. I will go to my nursing home and finish my assignments quickly, and come back as soon as I can. We cannot remain in Janakapur anymore. I will bring bus tickets while returning. We are moving to Kathmandu early tomorrow. We shall dispatch our resignation by post after reaching there.”
Kumari went to work, leaving our daughter Shanti at her school. I wrote in a piece of paper the decision I had taken many days ago.:
Belove Kumari,
I thought very deep, and ultimately decided to free myself from all attachments of life. I have no one, besides you and Shanti. I love you so much that I can no longer think of being a burden upon you both. Kumari, all I gave you in life was hardship. Pardon me, if you can. My life has become a burden now, which I cannot withstand anymore. I am going to seek liberation from the entanglement of all hammers pounding upon me from one, two or three directions. Do not make any search for me. Let God keep you in happiness and peace for ever.
Kumari, you are a capable person. I know, you will show Shanti the best of ways. One day, this country will become worth living.
Yours
Sharad
In my notebook, I have written things I haven’t revealed even to Kumari. But now on, their remaining secret or going public will make no difference. It will not affect me in any way, whether she or anyone else reads it, keeps it safe, or burns it down. My back still has an irking sensation. I am seeking freedom from that too. I have no more attachment with this notebook and its content. I am now on the way to renounce every desire, doubt, fear and craving.
I met Kali Baba and took leave of him. To Kumari, I had written the letter of leave. I was free now. I left home.
I went on the rooftop and invoked Jiba, my dead godfather. He appeared in the sky. He was flying. He stretched both his hands and said, “Come this way.”
I took off, and started flying with Jiba. After hovering in the sky for a few days, we went to Kathmandu and started flying in the sky above Singha Durbar. He bent my head and said, “Look there.”
From a window in Singha Durbar, five huge feet—like those of Agnivarna—were dangling out. On one of those feet were four stars, while four others bore huge marks of sickle-and-hammer. The feet were moving in response to the reverence people were paying from the streets.
Every foot ordered in succession, “Release all the great murderers of my party, whom the Supreme Court has sent behind bars.”
The criminals walked out of the jails, flanked by party men fluttering party flags and showing their rifles.
Again the feet roared turn by turn, “Confer the title of martyr and pay a million rupees each to all those great murderers of my party, who were themselves killed while attempting a murder.”
Miraculously, murderers of every party changed into martyrs, and came forward to shake hands with the martyrs of 1940.
Jiba asked, “What’s wrong with you, my child?”
I said, “Jiba, I feel, I am asphyxiated.”
“What happened?”
“Extreme agony. Are the Nepalese people never destined for peace and prosperity? They didn’t get it from the Shahs, nor form the Ranas. Coming of democracy or republic didn’t change their fate even by an inch.”
First of all, the feet marked with four stars disappeared. It was followed by two others, with sickle-and-hammer. Two of the rest, marked with sickle-and-hammer, remained there, moving for a long time.
Nepal had been engulfed by a thick smog. Jiba and I started flying through it. Down there, the entire nation was burning. With us in the sky, many birds and animals were flying—brown monkeys, black crows, and yellow owls—in groups and flights. Down on earth, wolves and jackals were mauling the flesh of living men.
We flew all over the country. We saw that in every district headquarter, important market s and villages, local Singha Durbars of their own sizes had come up. From the windows of each of them, legs of local Agnivarnas were dangling.
People got divided along the lines of regions, castes and communities. They came out into the streets with whatever weapon they had at their disposal—club, log, khukri, khurpa, sling, gun or pistol. Homes looked like haunted places, devoid of people. The supporter of one region or community got ready to clash with the supporter of another region or community.
Far away in the space, an old man clad in daura-suruwal was saying with his right forefinger raised, “This country is a garden of four castes and thirty-six communities. Let everyone know that.”
From all Singha Durbars in every part of the country, only two feet, marked with sickle-and-hammer, were seen dangling now. They were displaying a loathsome, intricate smile. Aggressive countrymen, filling every inch of space in each of the roads and streets, were raising slogans in a fit of frenzy, as if under the spell of a tantric’s spell:
“One Madhes, one province: We’ll take it at every cost!”
“One community, one province: We’ll take it at every cost!”
“Special rights to ethnic group: We’ll take it at every cost!”
“Right to self-determination: We’ll take it at every cost!”
“Nepal in fragments: We’ll own at every cost!”
“A united Nepal: Our ultimate call.”
“Down with federalism: Nepal remains one.”
“Kill Bahuns and Chhetris now: Drink their blood and soak your throat.”
Thunder roared in the mountains: “Mission Accomplished”
My face turned dark. Jiba said, “Have patience, my child. However dark and thick it is, the cloud never lasts long. With time, it gets blown away. Light will dawn; it surely will. I can see peace, writhing in a pool of blood, right now. But I know for sure, that however painful the suffocation at present is, future belongs to the reign of peace.”
I was assured. I said, “Jiba, allow me to write my last message.”
“Do it.”
And then I wrote, “Adieu, forever.”
(Last portion of Jagdish Ghimire’s novel Sakas. Trans: Mahesh Paudyal)
[Late Jagadish Ghimire, winner of Madan Puraskar for his memoirs Antarmanko Yatra, is also an accomplished poet and storywriter. His other works of acclaim include Lilaam (1971), Sabiti (Novel, 1976), Jagadishka Kathaharu (1973), Kehi Katha, Kavita ra Sansmaran (1978), Santan (Play, 1979), Antarmanko Yatra (2008), Agnisutra (Collection of poems), Bardi (Collection of short stories, 2010), Sthan, Kaal, ra Patra (2010) and Sakas (2011).