Experiences of a common man!

Category: My Story Page 1 of 3

Satya tensed after listening to what he did while hallucinating

Satya-Part Five: Am I hallucinating?

Life has become better since I have stopped hallucinating. The doctor has stopped my medicines. He is worried I might suffer from another disease because of the weight I have gained.

Although I don’t have a job yet, I am feeling more confident. The interview I had taken the other day had gone well. The executives trusted that I would be able to cope with the work pressure. Meanwhile, I am taking Kalpana on a date today. We have distanced each other for so long that I think I need to make some effort to keep her happy. She is watching her favourite TV show. I block her view and say, “Do you want to go out on a date?”

Her eyes glow. I continue, “I don’t have a job yet, but who knows if I can give you enough time.”

Kalpana’s eyes tear up, which she wipes quickly. She stands up, hugs me, and asks. “What’s the plan?”

“Let’s see.” Pretending that I am reading a list, I say, “The first on the list is to go to a movie. Then taste some new food and come back.”

“It’s a simple one,” she says.

Isn’t she happy? What can I add to the plan? I’m worried.

“But I approve.”

I am relieved. Kalpana then opens the wardrobe, takes out half a dozen saris, and asks me to choose one from among them.

“Wear whichever you want,” I say.

“Don’t say that. Select one. I’ll wear whichever you choose.”

I pick a blue sari with beautiful golden flowers. Kalpana pouts. “I knew you’d choose this.”

“Oh, did you? So you know I’d make a terrible choice.”

“What? No! You don’t make terrible choices. I trust you.”

“After all that has happened?”

“Umm.” She nods.

Before we leave, Kalpana puts a pocketknife in her favourite handbag.

“Why did you put that pocketknife?” I asked.

“It will come in handy in case we buy some fruits.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Are you scared?” Kalpana asks.

“No,” I reply with a smile. “Why should I be afraid when you’re with me?”


We hurry and get into a microbus. “No motorcycle.” I had said because I had wanted to walk with her, looking into her eyes whenever I pleased. We go to a theatre on the top of a mall. The movie is alright in bits, but it’s a disappointment. Still, we sit all through the movie holding hands and hugging each other in the darkness.

We dine at a restaurant nearby. The food is delicious, and the live music is enjoyable. I ask for the band to sing a romantic song, dedicating it to Kalpana. To my surprise, they sang it so well—almost the same as the original.

The night had ripened when we left for home. Microbuses were no longer available. I wanted to hire a taxi, but Kalpana said, “Let’s walk.”

“But it’s a long walk. Almost an hour. And it’s dark in most places.”

“Are you scared of the dark?”

“No, I’m not,” I try to sound brave.

“Okay. Anyway, I don’t have to worry when I’m with you, Satya.”

We walk hand in hand, talking about the things we like—just like the time we were in love years ago. We talk about philosophy, religion, books, sports, movies, music, and so on. We sing and dance on the street. Finally, everything has become all right.

Is this happiness an illusion, though? I feel a strange tingle when we arrive at a dark street almost five minutes from home. It is a familiar street that cared for me while I was learning to walk with my parents. In this street, I used to burst into laughter when I kicked my friends, and then they came after me. The flowers on its sides had also bloomed the day I had first found love with Kalpana. But now, it seems unfamiliar. It feels uncaring and gloomy and smells not of flowers but of death and rot.

“What are you thinking, Satya?”

I turn around. Kalpana’s gait has changed. She seems to be mocking me. “What happened, Satya? There is always something going on in your head. What’s bothering you?”

Her voice is not the usual soft melody. It has changed into the vile tone—the one she used to have when she wanted to kill me. All of a sudden, she leaps at me. I dodge and slap her hard. She staggers. I hit her again and again until she drops on the cold pitch. I smirk, seeing her getting what she deserved. But she shocks me by getting up, stealing the knife from my pocket, and stabbing me in the stomach. One. Two. Three. “I should have done this earlier,” she whispers. “There is no point in living with a madman like you.”

She runs away as I collapse, waiting for death on the street that smells of death and rot.


I wake up to the sounds of footsteps. Somebody must have called up the ambulance. One of them performs first aid and carries me on a stretcher. One of the four men carrying me was saying, “I don’t want to save this man.”

“Me too,” says another. “Who’d want to help a guy who stabbed his wife, then stabbed himself, and put the knife in his wife’s hand so that it seems like she did the crime?”

The third speaks up, “Thankfully, some people saw him during the action. Otherwise, everyone would have blamed her.”

“I feel for the wife,” the fourth says. “Even when she was losing her consciousness, she was pleading not to do anything to this piece of shit.”

What? Why are they talking about things that have not happened? What happened to Kalpana? Did I really stab her? Fear creeps in. What if they are telling the truth? Will Kalpana forgive me as she has always done? Even if she does forgive me, how am I going to live with the guilt? How can I face my parents and friends? I can’t imagine the shame I have brought to them. I don’t want to live. I’d better be dead… Better be dead!

← Part Four

An image after Satya realises that Kalpana loves him

Satya – Part Four: She Loves Me?

Bright light hurts my eyes. It takes me some time to adapt to it. Have I died? Is this heaven? No, it is not. If I were in heaven, I should not have felt pain. I should have been free. But I can’t even move. I realise that I’m strapped to the bed. The sharp odour of spirit hits my nose. It’s a hospital.

Hospital?

Why am I alive? Kalpana, Chetan, Manas, Dad, Mom, everyone wanted to kill me. They trapped me and injected something in my blood, didn’t they? Yet, I’m still alive! They don’t want to kill me but torture me? Why? Do they enjoy seeing me in pain? How could they stoop this low?

I don’t remember their faces, though. Memories are foggy.

A woman comes into the room. She is wearing a white tunic. She checks my vitals and asks, “How are you feeling?”

“I feel…” I pause for a while. What should I say? Should I be happy for being alive? Or should I feel shit for being strapped? In the end, I said, “I feel nothing.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“I wish I could read all your feelings so that I can heal you.”

I stare at her as the nurse speaks. She looks familiar, but I can’t tell how I know her. The effort I make to remember her exhausts me. My eyes are heavy. I fall asleep before she goes out of the room.

I don’t know how many days, weeks, or months have passed in this white room. I sleep a lot. I am strapped except when I am escorted to the washroom. A small set of staff takes care of me. They are within earshot. They bring me food and medicine and leave nothing behind. The weird thing is that I haven’t seen that nurse again. I have inquired about her, but nobody knows her. I am not sure if the doctor can help me. But how do I ask him?

The doctor scares me. He is gigantic, bald, and has a big moustache. He asks me the same questions in his hoarse voice every day: Who are you? How do you feel? Do you want to meet your family or friends? Had I sustained any injury during childhood? My answers, too, are fixed: I’m Satya; I feel nothing; I don’t want to meet anyone; I had no life-threatening injury during childhood. Before he left, he would ask, “Do you have something to share with me?”

“No,” I said, as always.

He stared at me, and I stared back at him. The more I gazed into his eyes, the more I started feeling that he was not scary. I finally decide to talk. “I want to ask you to know something.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes. It’s important.”

“How long have you been wanting to say it to me?”

“Do you know what I want to ask?”

“Maybe.”

“What do you know, doctor?”

The old doctor strokes his chin. “Well, I’ve heard that you’re looking for a nurse. And that you’ve not found her.”

“So, you know. Why didn’t you do anything?”

He shrugs. “You never asked.”

I don’t buy it. “You could have helped me.”

“Actually, I don’t know how to help you.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know any nurse that entered this room that night. In fact, I had strictly ordered them not to come in.”

“What?”

“I’m curious as well. How did she look?”

“I can’t give you the details, but she felt familiar.”

“Familiar?” He strokes his chin again and murmurs. “Hmm… family? Friend?”

“Hmm. I don’t think so, doctor.”

“I feel she is important to you. I have no idea how I can help you, but I’ll try.”

The doctor has left, but our conversation lingers in my mind. I had denied any connection to my family or friends, but do I really know them? I struggle to recall the faces of my parents and Kalpana. My images of my friends are all blurred. I don’t understand anything. I feel helpless. Fear creeps in, then sadness. I can’t hold my feelings anymore. I bury my face in the pillow and spill out all the emotions in the form of tears.

“What happened, Satya? Why are you crying?”

The voice startles me. It’s that nurse. Still unable to contain my emotions, I wail. She comes closer, sits on my bed, and caresses my hair. She does not say anything until I let go of all my feelings and stop crying. 

“I don’t know… I don’t know anyone… I can’t remember anyone.”

“You will, Satya. You need some rest.”

“How can I rest when I don’t have memories of anyone? How do I rest knowing nobody loves me?”

“Look at me, Satya.”

I can’t look at her. I don’t have the strength to talk to her. But she keeps insisting. I turn around and see her smiling. A comforting smile. Looking into my eyes, she says, “Weren’t you looking for me?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you ignoring me when I am here with you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Where have you been?”

“I have always been with you.”

“Hmm… How?”

“I am in your heart, Satya.”

I am perplexed while her smile widens. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“It’s still not the same as being with you.”

“You don’t always need to be with the person you love. All you need to do is to spare a thought for them.”

I have heard that somewhere. Why does this nurse feel close to my heart?

“Because,” she says. “You know me, Satya.”

Is she reading my mind? Who is she?

“You know me, Satya. I’m the one you’ve loved.”

My eyes widen. I recognise her. “You’re—”

“I’m—”

“Kalpana.” We say in unison.

Memories flood into my mind. The faces of my parents became clear. Manas, Chetan, and all my friends smile at me. Kalpana is grinning with them. She looks just like the first time we met. I had been crazy to even think she was going to kill me. I hate myself.

“Don’t hate yourself, Satya,” Kalpana says. “We love you no matter what. You were ill. Now, you’ve become well.”

I am soaked in tears of joy. I sleep peacefully for the first time in who knows how long.

← Part Three

Part Five →

Satya restrained as he shouts, Kill Me with Chetan in the background

Satya – Part Three: Kill Me!

I escaped the slaughterhouse, but I had nowhere to go.

I had never before noticed how alone Kalpana had made me. She had gained so much influence over my parents that they were doing whatever she made them do. Her soft voice and cheerful nature had impressed them from the start. They had shared many secrets with her even before we had married. Sometimes, even I did not know the things my parents had told Kalpana. She had won their trust, while my miscommunication with them made us distant. They did not trust me with the family affairs. They thought I was unreliable with my decisions. They always said I argued aggressively while discussing things. Because Kalpana had become the daughter they never had, they abandoned me. They were supporting her in her murderous intent!

I had to go somewhere. But where?

I had lost communication with all my friends. It was my fault that I trusted her, that I gave her my full attention. I loved her. I used to share everything with her. I gave her my phone while she was not content with her small, low-tech phone. She then logged me out of all the social media and deleted my contacts. She never let me use the phone. She would chat with her friends and talk with her parents until the battery drained. If she saw me near the phone while it was charging, she would say, “Don’t use the phone while it’s charging.” I started using the phone after she slept. It was a successful move for a while. However, she used to wake up, throw the phone away, and say, “Why aren’t you sleeping? Hold me instead of that phone.” I would comply.

And where did that get me? Nowhere to go when I needed help!

Thinking hard, you popped up in my mind, Chetan. You were my best friend. Kalpana had cut me off from you. But I knew where you lived and worked. Since it was evening, I guessed you might be home. So, I came. As I ran, a thought came up in my mind. What if you, too, had been under Kalpana’s influence? What if you had turned into a predator? But I told myself to have some faith because you are my best friend.

You were home, as I expected. You greeted me with a smile. “Long time no see, bro. You really surprised me this evening. Let’s go out and chill. What do you say?”

“No, Chetan. I need your help. Kalpana is trying to kill me. Her brother and my parents are in it as well. I just managed to escape and come here.”

You scratched your brow, waved me in, and shut the door. “What are you saying, Satya?

“I don’t know, bro,” I said. “I’m confused. I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe you should talk to someone. Hey, who’s better for that than your best friend?”

I sigh in relief. “I can’t tell you how light I’m feeling right now. You’re the only person that can help me out.”

You took me to your living room and sat on the sofa facing the door. I got nervous that the door was behind me, but I reminded myself that I don’t need to be paranoid.

Before I began my story, you took your phone out of your pocket and texted someone as you said, “I had an important meeting, but I cancelled it. No meeting is bigger than my best friend in need.” You put the phone back into your pocket and scratched your brow again. “I don’t get it, Satya. Kalpana loves you. I’m sure she won’t do anything to harm you. And why would Uncle and Aunty want to kill their only child?”


When I finish telling you everything, you say, “I can’t believe Kalpana would ever think of murdering you.”

“How much time have you spent with her, Chetan? I’ve spent eight years with her. I know her better than you do.”

You shake your head. “You’re right, but why didn’t you let me know earlier? I could have helped you, Satya.”

“Kalpana cut me off from you, Chetan. She deleted my phone contacts and blocked you on social media. When I realised it and asked her about it, she said, ‘He’s become successful. He does not need you now.’ Can you believe it?”

His mouth gaped. “I can’t believe she said that. But I’ve heard it from you, so there is no reason I shouldn’t believe it.”

“Thank you…” I hear a clamour. “Wait… What’s the noise? Who’s coming in? Who have you called?”

You stutter. “N-nothing, Satya.”

The footsteps come closer. You are sweating.

“You treacherous swine!” I pounce on you and manage to land a punch on your face. “You texted them that I have come here?”

I want to kill you, but Manas’s goons catch me from behind and pull me back on the couch. I can do nothing but shout at you, “You’ve betrayed me. Everyone has abandoned me. It’s better to die than live this miserable life. Kill me! KILL ME!”

“We’re not trying to kill you, Satya,” you say. “We are helping you. Trust me. You need it.”

“This is your help? Your help is worse than death,” I scream. Manas and his goons overwhelm me. I am burning with rage as they jab something on my shoulder. My vision blurs. I…am…dying!

← Part Two 

Part Four →

Satya is scared because Kalpana conspires to kill him

Satya – Part Two: She Conspires to Kill Me

Kalpana has conspired to kill me, and her brother, Manas, is her major partner in the conspiracy. I’m sure of it because I heard them plotting against me. We had been to Manas’s place because of some festival (I don’t remember what it was). I woke up in the middle of the night to find that Kalpana was not sleeping beside me. I heard some murmur from another room. The siblings were talking about something. I went closer to the wall and then listened to their conversation.

“Satya has not been treating me well,” Kalpana sighed. “I don’t want to, but I have to stay with him.”

“No one is forcing you to live with him, Kalpana. You don’t deserve him! How many times have I told you that he has a darkness in his heart and that he’ll turn your life into hell? Yet, you don’t want to leave him?”

“Yes, I was wrong. You always said love had blinded me. How did I use to reply? Better be blinded by love than see the things that do not exist.” She sighed. “You were right, Manas. You read his personality better than I ever did.”

“So, what’s stopping you from leaving him? I’ll help you prepare the divorce files. Get him to sign them, and you’ll be free.”

“Satya will never sign those papers.” Kalpana sighed. “He will never let me go away from his life.”

“Is there no other way?”

“Okay. I’ll help you.”

My heart pounded fast. I was drenched in sweat. Should I run away? How? I had to go through Manas’s room. They would not leave me. Would they come to me after their conversation ended? The thought took my sleep away.

Later, when Kalpana came in, I lay in the bed and pretended to sleep. I had hoped that she would complete the job there, but she held my hand. I froze. Her touch was gentle, but my skin crawled. Was this tenderness—or was it the calm before the kill?

“I’ll never fall into her trap,” I promised myself.


But I failed to keep my promise. This evening, I was reading an article about a company when Manas entered my room. He shouted, “What are you doing?”

I turned my laptop towards him and said, “I’m looking for a job.”

“Really? You don’t remember what you did to Kalpana? How can you remain this calm after making her cry?”

Except for that one day—the one I already told you about—I can’t recall any other fight with her. But maybe we did. Maybe it slipped through the cracks of my memory. Or maybe it never happened at all. But maybe we did fight. I remember saying, “You and your brother want to kill me, and I can’t trust you.” But I don’t remember when and where I said that. Was it a dream? Or did it happen in real? What was wrong with it, though? It was the truth. Their truth!

“You don’t need to hide anything from me, Manas.” I said, “I know what you intend to do.”

Manas hesitated for a moment. Then he picked up the laptop and hurled it at me. I dodged it, but he kept throwing pens, notebooks, and bowls that were on the table. Luckily, nothing hit me. I pushed him hard and ran away. His white-clothed goons tried catching me, but I was too swift for them. Kalpana, Dad and Mom also tried stopping me. I flashed past them, too.

I ran with no plan, no destination—just away from the house, away from the trap. But where could I run when my own family was hunting me?

← Part One 

She hates me

Satya – Part One: She Hates Me

I can’t trust her. I want to, but I can’t. How much time have you spent with her? Occasional “Hi” and “Hello,” and a few sips of tea together. Is that enough to know her? I have spent eight years with her. She was my girlfriend before I married her four years ago. I know her better than you do. I have seen her beyond her smiles and sweet gestures. I know she hates me so much that she wants to kill me.

I have a vivid picture of the day she began hating me. That day, job hunting had exhausted me. The interview had gone awkwardly, and I had left before I could make a positive impression. I had slouched myself on the couch and tuned in to a cricket match on TV, but it was so dull that I was falling back to bad memories of the day. She came in, sat beside me, and said, “I saw a handbag while returning home. I wanted it so much, but I didn’t have enough money.”

“I wish I could give you some. But I don’t have much. There are other things to do, too. And my search for a job does not seem to end.”

I sighed. Kalpana said, “Don’t worry, Satya. Everything will be alright.”

“I wish I could get the bag for you.”

“You said that,” she smiled. “It’s more than enough for me. I don’t want it.”

“I wish I could give it to you. A man is supposed to provide, isn’t he? What am I if I can’t even do that?” I covered my face in shame. “I wish I could give you everything you want, but I can’t. I’m sorry I’ve ruined your life, Kalpana. I’m so sorry.”

“No, Satya. You haven’t ruined my life. You have blessed me with your love. I don’t want anything else.” She held my hand and kissed it. “You might not be rich, but you have a good heart. That’s why I love you.”

“I doubt I am a nice man, Kalpana. And… being rich would help, wouldn’t it? Even a job with a small salary would be a blessing. I should not have quit that job. I would not have become a burden upon you and my parents.”

“You’re giving your best, Satya. You left that job because they did not respect you. You’ll find another place where your potential will be better recognised. I’m also earning something by teaching. Baba and Mamu are supporting us. We’re not on the street; we are not dying of hunger. Once you get a job, things will get better.”

“Still, I’m worried. I don’t want to live off your income. And it does not feel right that you’re working while I’m spending your money.”

“Don’t think of it as right or wrong. We’re partners for life, Satya.” She turned my head towards her. “We must support each other. I’m supporting you while you’re at your lowest. You’ll support me when I fall.”

“I’m scared I can’t support you.”

“I know you’re troubled because I’m earning. But if you were earning and I was living off your income, would I be worried? I’d not.”

“Why should you bring that up? It’s a different matter.”

“How is it different? It’s the same. Only the roles have changed.”

“No, it isn’t the same.”

She smiled, albeit with questioning eyes. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“Yes, I am.”

Her smile transformed into a frown. “I can’t believe you’re saying this, Satya.”

“Well, I’ve said it. You’ve heard it.”

“I never thought your ego would get over you.” She stood up from the couch looking at me with disgust. “I always thought you could control it. But here you are.”

“What’s wrong in saying I want to earn, huh?” I raised my voice. “Why are you making a hill out of a mole?”

“It’s not only about earning, Satya. You need help. You think being a man means never needing help? I know you’re feeling low. But you don’t need to feel that way. I’m here.”

“Yeah, I have been feeling low,” I said, raising my voice, “But you don’t need to remind me. And you can’t do anything to help me.”

“I am just trying to help you.”

“STOP IT, Kalpana! I don’t need anyone’s help. I created the problem, and I will solve it.”

“Why are you screaming, Satya? What have I done?”

I could not stand her voice. I got off the couch and slapped her hard. She looked at me in shock as tears flowed down her cheeks. She then covered her face and started sobbing.

I immediately regretted hitting her and making her cry. I kneeled before her, grabbed her shoulders and said, “I’m sorry, Kalpana. I’m a bad guy, Kalpana.” I caught her hands and made her slap me, “Hit me, Kalpana. I deserve it.”

She pulled her hands and cried even more. I apologized many times. I tickled her and made attempts to talk to her, but she would neither smile nor talk. Furious at her and myself, I kicked the couch and barged out of the room. She did not stop me. I went to the roof and gazed at the stars thinking of the things I had done. I cried for a while. The night breeze helped me cool down. I don’t know how long I stayed there, but when I went back to the room, the lights were on, the TV was running, and on the bed, Kalpana was fast asleep.

We did not talk about it the next day. We haven’t talked about it yet. It’s too embarrassing, you know. But I know she still remembers that slap. She hates me. I can see it in her silence. And one day, she will kill me. I’m sure of it.

Part Two →

स्वतन्त्रता सङ्ग्राम

स्वतन्त्रता सङ्ग्राम

(समर्पण: नागरिक स्वतन्त्रता र लोकतन्त्रका लागि जीवन अर्पण गर्ने सम्पूर्ण योद्धाहरूमा ।)

कुनै कोठामा अरूले थुन्दा पीडा हुन्छ । त्योभन्दा ठूलो पीडा हुन्छ आफूलाई आफ्नै शरीरले थुन्दा । अहिले म त्यही अवस्थामा छु । एउटा खुट्टा काटिँदा नै यसको अलिअलि अनुभव भइसकेको थियो । अहिले त पूरै अन्धकार छ । हातगोडा चल्दैनन् । चिच्याउन खोज्छु तर बोली फुट्दैन ।

मन पनि प्रायः निष्क्रिय नै रहन्छ । होश भएको बेला कानले आवाज टिप्छ तर मेसिनको पिपपिप बाहेक केही आवाज सुन्दिनँ । नाकले स्प्रिटको बास्ना चिन्छ । अस्पतालमा छु कि भन्ने आशङ्का छ तर सत्य थाहा छैन ।

आफ्नै शरीरसँग मनले स्वतन्त्रता सङ्ग्राम गर्दै छ । यो निर्जीवजस्तो शरीरबाट मुक्त हुन चाहन्छ तर सक्दैन । कति दिनदेखि जिउँदो लास भएको छु ? थाहा छैन । यो शरीरलाई फेरि चलाउन सक्छु जस्तो पनि लाग्दैन । मलाई यो अवस्थामा राख्नेले छिटै मुक्ति देला जस्तो पनि छैन । कसले किन मलाई यसरी पाल्दै छ ?

मलाई यसरी राख्नुपर्ने कारण स्मृतिपटमा खोज्दै छु । केही दृश्य चलचित्र जसरी घुम्दैछन् ।

दृश्य १

खाना पस्केर मुखमा हाल्नै लागेको थिएँ, कसैले ढोका ढक्ढकायो । “को हो ?” भित्रबाटै सोधेँ । कोही बोलेन । ह्वीलचेयर गुडाउँदै कोठासम्म पुगेर कमप्युटर स्क्रीनमा हेरेँ । सीसीटिभीले खिचेको भिडियोमा दुईजना अजङ्गका अङ्गरक्षकका बीचमा उभिएको होचोहोचो मान्छेलाई कतै देखेदेखे जस्तो लाग्यो ।

“अर्जुन, ढोका खोल त ।” इन्टरकमबाट आएको स्वर सुनेपछि बल्ल चिनेँ । नवीन पो रहेछ । सँगै कलेज पढेका थियौँ । सरकारमा रहेको पार्टीले बुन्ने प्रोपागान्डाको योजना र प्रचार गर्न माहिर थियो । प्रधानमन्त्रीले पछिल्लो पटक निर्वाचित हुनेवित्तिकै गठन गरेको सञ्चार नियमन बोर्डमा ठाउँ दिएका थिए । केही दिनअघि रामेश्वर सम्पादक भएको आवाज अनलाइनमा सरकारको आलोचना गरेर एउटा लेख पठाएको थिएँ । नागरिकलाई सरकारले फैलाएको भ्रमबाट निस्कन अपिल गरेकै कारण नवीन आफैँ मलाई पक्रन त आएन ? मनमा डरले ढ्याङ्ग्रो ठोक्यो । हुन पनि नियमन ऐनको आडमा बोर्डले सरकारविरुद्ध लेखेबोलेकै कारण जोकोहीलाई जेल हाल्न थालेको थियो । सरकारको आलोचना गर्नु फलामको चिउरा चपाउनभन्दा गाह्रो बन्दै थियो ।

“के कामले आयौ, नवीन ?” भित्रैबाट सोधेँ । “मैले लेखेको कुरा पढेर समात्न त आएनौ ?”

“कुन लेख ? आज यता आउने काम पर्‍यो अनि पुरानो साथीलाई भेट्छु भनेर पो आएँ त ।”

के नवीन साँचो बोल्दैछ ? सँगै गएको आन्दोलनमा म घाइते भएको यत्तिका वर्ष हालचाल सोध्न नआएको ऊ अहिले किन आयो ? मनमा कुरा खेलाउँदै ढोका खोल्न गएँ ।

ढोका खोल्नासाथ नवीनले हास्दै भन्यो, “अर्जुन­­ ! मेरो दोस्त ! धेरै पछि पो भेट भयो त है । झुस्स दाह्री पालेर नचिनिने पो भएछौ त ।”

मैले पनि मुस्कुराउँदै भनेँ, “तिमी पनि फेरिएछौ । सधैँ साधारण कपडामा देखेको । त्यो पनि १०-१५ वर्ष भयो भेट नभएको । अस्ति फोटोमा त यस्तो अनौठो लागेको थिएन । तर यसरी अचानक कालो सुटबुट अनि कालै चस्मा लगाएर दलबलका साथ आएपछि कसरी पो चिन्नू ? बरू भित्रै आऊ न ।”

ऊ मुसुक्क हास्दै भित्र आयो अनि पछाडिबाट ह्वीलचेयर ठेल्दै भन्यो, “भित्र कति बस्छौ यार ? कहिलेकाहीँ बाहिरको हावा पनि खाऊ न ।”

नवीनले किन त्यसो भन्यो ? उसलाई थाहा थियो र म केही दिनदेखि बाहिर ननिस्केको कुरा ? नयाँ शङ्का उब्जियो । डर बढ्यो । “खाना खाँन लाग्याथेँ । खाना खाइसकेर हावा खान जाऔँला नि, हुन्न ?”

“हुन्न, हुन्न । फुर्सद छैन । जिम्मेवारी नै त्यस्तै छ । फेरि हेर न, तिमीले चाहेर पनि मेरो इच्छा बेगर केही गर्न सक्दैनौ ।”

केही बोल्न सकिनँ । मेरो हिँडडुलको साधन नै उसको हातमा थियो । नवीनले सुसेल्दै सरासर गेटबाहिर पुर्‍यायो । उसको कालो रङ्गको गाडी बाटो पारी देखेँ । ड्राइभरले गाडी घुमायो । सँगसँगै आएका बडीगार्डले मलाई जुरुक्क बोके अनि गाडीको पछाडिको सिटमा राखे । एउटा बडीगार्ड मेरो दायाँतिर बस्यो । नवीन मेरो देब्रेतिर बस्यो । अर्कोले ह्वीलचेयर घरभित्र पुर्‍यायो । एकछिन पछि अगाडिको सिटमा आयो । गाडी गुड्यो । मनमनै आत्तिएँ ।

“मलाई कहाँ लाँदैछौ नवीन ?

“त्यो त तिमी आफैँले थाहा पाउँछौ अर्जुन । तर कहिलेकाहीँ गन्तव्य थाहा नभए पनि यात्रा रमाइलै हुन्छ । धैर्य गर ।” ऊ मुस्कुराउँदै बोल्यो ।

“किन लाँदैछौ ?”

“तिमी प्रश्न धेरै गर्छौ अर्जुन ।”

“तिमीले नै सिकाको हौ नवीन ।”

“मलाई गुरु मान्छौ भने अबदेखि प्रश्न नगर ।”

“अहँ, मेरो विवेकले मलाई चुप लागेर बस्न दिँदैन । स्कुलमा शुक्रलाल सर र क्याम्पसमा तिमीले राजनीतिक चेतको साँचो नदिएको भए सायद म मेरो विवेकलाई ताला लगाउन सिक्थेँ होला । तर खै किन हो तिमी अन्धभक्त भएर निस्कियौ । हामी त नागरिक स्वतन्त्रता र लोकतन्त्रका लागि सँगै लडेका थियौँ । बिर्स्यौ ?”

फेरि मुसुक्क हास्यो । मुस्कान सबैभन्दा ठूलो हतियार हो भन्छन् । उसको हासोले मेरो मथिङ्गल खल्बलियो । उसको विगतको धोका सम्झिएँ अनि भनेँ, “हुन त कसरी पो सम्झिनथ्यौ र ? तिमी त आन्दोलनबाटै भाग्याथ्यौ ।”

मुसुक्क हास्दै भन्यो, “भागेको थिइनँ म । संयोगले बचेको थिएँ । तर तिमी बुझ्दैनौ ।”

उसको त्यो कृत्रिम बोलीमा फसिनँ । भनेँ, “आजसम्म त मलाई सम्झेनौ । के छ कसो छ कहिले पनि सोधेनौ । फेरि तिम्रो कला थाहा छ मलाई । अनि आफ्नो स्वार्थको लागि तिमी जे पनि गर्न सक्छौ ।”

ऊ फेरि बोलेन । मैले ऊसँग बहस गर्न खोजेँ तर ऊ हासेरै मलाई जित्दै थियो । म चाहिँ अवाक् हुनुपरेकोमा रिसले मुर्मुरिँदै थिएँ । ऊसँग हार्दै थिएँ ।

गाडी गुडिरह्यो । नवीनसँग वादविवाद गर्न उसको विद्यार्थीकालदेखि अहिलेसम्मका थुप्रै प्रसङ्गमा सवाल गर्न छाडिनँ । नवीनले जवाफ नदिन छाडेन । कतिपय कुरा त हासेरै टारिदियो । झन्नै दुई घण्टा गाडी रोकिएपछि उसका बडीगार्डहरूले मलाई जुरुक्क बोकेर भुइँमा बसाए । कालो शिशा भएको गाडीबाट घाममा आउँदा एकछिन आँखा तिर्मिरायो ।

“उज्यालोमा अचानक आएपछि आँखा खोल्न गाह्रो हुँदो रैछ नि हैन ?” नवीनले कटाक्ष गर्‍यो । “तिमी अँध्यारोमा यति अभ्यस्त भयौ कि हामीले देखाएको उन्नतिको चमकले पनि तिमीलाई बिझाउँछ ।”

अलि प्रस्ट देख्न थालेपछि नवीनलाई हेरेँ । ऊ डाँडाको छेउमा उभिएर पाइन्टका खल्तीमा हात राखेर परका फाँट हेर्दै थियो । मभन्दा धेरै नै अग्लो देखिएको थियो । भन्दै थियो, “धेरै भएछ यता नआएको । यी हिमाल, पहाड, फाँट नहेरेको । फुर्सदै नहुने ।”

मलाई उसका कुरा सुन्न मन थिएन । तैपनि सोधेँ, “यो कुन ठाउँ हो ? के गर्न यहाँ ल्यायौ ?”

नवीन फरक्क फर्कियो र मलाई एकछिन नियाल्यो । मुहारमा दिग्दारी थियो । उसले कोटको टाँक खोल्यो अनि मेरो छेउमा कसेर बस्दै भन्यो, “यस्तो मनोरम ठाउँमा आएर पनि तिमी अझै प्रश्न गर्दैछौ ? के, किन, कसरी जस्ता प्रश्नहरूले तिम्रो दृष्टिकोण नै दूषित गरेका छन् । एकछिन शान्त होऊ, प्रश्नहरू बन्द गर । दृष्टिकोण बदल यार ।”

मैले बुझिनँ ।

“भनेँ त । प्रश्नहरू बन्द गर । सरकारले गलत गरिरहेको छ भन्ने विचार त्यागिदेऊ । तिमीले सरकार र नियमन बोर्डको बारेमा गलत सोच राखेका छौ, अर्जुन । तिमी ठान्छौ, सरकार स्वेच्छाचारी बन्दैछ । बोर्डको प्रयोग गरेर स्वतन्त्रता कुण्ठित गर्न खोज्दैछ । त्यो बोर्डको सदस्य भएकाले तिम्रो लागि म भिलेन भएको छु । तर ध्यान दिएर हेर त, बोर्डले कुनै कुरामा बोल्न रोक लगाएकै छैन । कहिलेकाहीँ राज्य र सरकारका विरुद्ध अफवाह फैलाउने देशद्रोहीलाई पक्रेको कुरालाई ठूलो इस्यू बनाउन जरुरी नै छैन । भ्रामक समाचार र सूचनाले लोकतन्त्रको हत्या गर्छ । हामी त्यस्ता गलत कुराहरूलाई निर्मूल पार्न खोज्दैछौँ । तर पनि सबैलाई रोक्न गाह्रो छ । केही तिमीजस्ता प्रश्नकर्ताका दृष्टिमा परिहाल्छन् । अनि सबै कुरा नबुझी नकरात्मक दृष्टिकोण बनाउछौ । सरकार गलत छ, केही काम गर्दैन, जनतालाई दमन गर्छ, आदि इत्यादि । उफ् ! दृष्टिकोण बदल । हामीले गरेका राम्रा काम पनि हेर न ।”

“राम्रो कामलाई नराम्रो कहिले पनि भनेको छैन मैले । तर राम्रो छवि मात्र देखाउने अनि कमजोरीलाई अफवाह भन्ने सरकार प्रोपागाण्डावादी हो भनेर तिमीले नै सिकाको याद छ ?”

“किन नहुनु ? तर बेला त्यसो भनेको बेला परिस्थिति फरक थियो नि । तिमीलाई पनि थाहा छ कसरी त्यो बेला राजाले अधिनायक बनेर निर्वाचित सरकारलाई अनेक लाञ्छना लगाएर बर्खास्त गरेको थियो । स्वेच्छाचारी शासनको विरोध गर्दा हामीलाई “देशद्रोही” भनेको थियो ।”

“त्यति बेला र अहिलेमा के नै फरक छ र ? सत्य र लोकतन्त्रका लागि बोल्नेहरू अहिले पनि देशद्रोही नै त भनिन्छन् नि !”

“तिमी किन बुझेर पनि बुझ पचाउँछौ, अर्जुन ? हामीलाई देशद्रोही भन्नेहरू निरङ्कुश, अधिनायकवादी थिए भन्ने किन बिर्सिन्छौ ? अहिलेको हाम्रो सरकार जननिर्वाचित हो । हामीले जनताको म्यान्डेट बोकेका छौँ । तिम्रो दृष्टिदोषको कारण तिमी दुवैलाई एकै देख्छौ । तिमी अँध्यारोमा यति अभ्यस्त भयौ कि उज्यालो तिमीलाई बिझ्छ । आजकै उदाहरण लिऊँ न । तिमी सोच्दै छौ कि मैले तिमीलाई अपहरण गरेर यहाँ ल्याएँ । तर मैले तिमीलाई अपहरण गरेकै हैन । म त तिमीसँग केही समय बिताउन चाहन्छु अनि तिम्रो सरकारप्रतिको दृष्टिकोण परिवर्तन गर्न चाहन्छु । तर हेर न, वैचारिक मतभेदले एउटा पुरानो साथीसँग पनि समय बिताउन कति मुस्किल गराउँदो रहेछ ।”

“ह्वीलचेयर खोसेर यहाँ ल्याएका छौ, अपहरण पनि हैन भन्दैछौ । तिमी त ठ्याक्कै तिम्रो सरकारजस्तै भएछौ ।” व्यङ्ग्य गरेँ ।

“अघि भनिसकेँ तिमीलाई अपहरण गरेको हैन । केही प्रमाण पनि छैन, अर्जुन ।” नवीन फिस्स हाँस्यो । “तैपनि साथीसाथीमा यस्तो त सामान्य नै हो नि ।”

मौनता छायो । एउटा सिन्काजस्तो घाँस चुँडेर दाँत कोट्याउँदै नवीनले भन्यो, “तिमी अझै पनि इतिहासमा रुमल्लिएका छौ, अर्जुन । तिम्रो मनमा अझै पनि त्यो सामन्ती सरकारका कर्तुतहरूले डेरा जमाएका छन् । तिमीलाई शङ्का छ जनताको यो सरकार पनि त्यस्तै बन्छ कि भन्ने । शङ्काले डर पैदा गरेको छ, कतै यो सरकारले पनि जनताका अधिकार खोस्ने त होइन ? नियमन बोर्डमार्फत् सत्तामा टिकिरहन विरोधीहरूलाई दमन गर्ने त हैन ? शङ्काले लङ्का जलाउँछ, मित्र । तिम्रो शङ्काको आगोले देशलाई खरानी बनाउँछ । त्यसैले शङ्काको निवारण गर्न जरुरी छ ।”

नवीनले मलाई सम्झायो सरकारका योजना र कामकारबाहीहरू । कुन योजनाले के परिवर्तन गर्छ र जनताको जीवनमा कसरी फरक पर्छ । अन्त्यमा भन्यो, “फेरि भन्छु, शङ्का र प्रश्न गर्न बन्द गरिदेऊ, अर्जुन । यसले हाम्रो समय मात्र नाश गरिरहेको छ । फेरि पार्टी र सरकारले प्रश्नलाई निषेध गरेको पनि छैन । तिमीले गर्ने प्रश्न त हामी पनि उठाइरहेका छौँ । छ्लफल गरेका छौँ सदन र सडकमा । समस्या समाधान गरेका छौँ । सरकारको विरोध गरेर तिमीले आफ्नो मात्रै हैन, देशकै समय र स्रोत बर्बाद गर्दैछौ । त्यसको साटो हामीलाई निश्चिन्त सहयोग गर । सबैलाई फाइदा हुनेछ ।”

लामो प्रवचनपछि नवीनका गार्डले गाडीबाट खाजा निकाले । खान मन थिएन तर नवीनले नखाएसम्म घर लगिदिन्न भन्यो । आफ्नो लाचारी अनि नवीनलाई मनमनै सरापेँ । खाइसकेपछि मुस्कुराउँदै भन्यो, “यो कहिले नबिर्स कि तिमीले सरकारी नुन खाएका छौ । सरकारले तिमीलाई पालेको छ । तिम्रो ह्वीलचेयर, तिम्रो दानापानी, सब सरकारी देन हुन् । यीमध्ये कुनै एकको कटौती गरिदियौँ भने तिम्रो अवस्था के हुन्छ होला ? कल्पना गर त ।”

एकछिन भाउन्न भयो । बसिरहेको भुइँ भासिएझैँ लाग्यो । सरकारसँग जीजीविषाको लागि मैले केही मागेको थिइनँ । जसोतसो आफ्नै कमाई खाएको थिएँ । सामाजिक सुरक्षा सरकारको दायित्व थियो । सरकारले दिएको भत्ता लिँदैमा सरकारको गुणगान मात्रै गर्नुपर्छ भन्ने पनि त थिएन । नागरिकले दुःख गरेर तिरेको करबाट तलबभत्ता लिनेले नै देश बर्बाद पारेका थिए । म देश बचाउन खोज्दै थिएँ । नागरिकको करको सदुपयोगको कुरा गर्दै थिएँ । तर यी कुरा भन्नुको कुनै तुक थिएन । नवीनले हाँसेरै टार्ने थियो । रिसाउँदै उसलाई हेर्न बाहेक केही गर्न सकिनँ ।

ऊ अझै भन्दै थियो, “यो पनि नबिर्स कि हामीसँग कसले के गर्दैछ भन्ने सबै जानकारी छ । जनताको सुरक्षाको लागि जनताले दिएको अधिकार प्रयोग गर्दा हामी कसरी तानाशाही भयौँ । हाम्रो सरकार लोकतान्त्रिक छ, अर्जुन । यहाँ प्रतिरोध गर्न पाइन्छ, बोल्न पाइन्छ, प्रश्न गर्न पाइन्छ । तर स्वतन्त्रताको पनि त सीमा हुन्छ नि, हैन र ?”

जनताले वैधता दिए भन्दैमा उनीहरूकै अधिकार कुण्ठित गर्नु जायज हो र ? नवीन किन देखिरहेको थिएन स्वतन्त्रताको अपहरण ? किन सुनिरहेको थिएन स्वाधीनताको चित्कार ? संविधान संशोधन गरेर स्वतन्त्रताको सीमा तोक्ने सरकारलाई अझै किन लोकतान्त्रिक भनिरहेको थियो ? कतै म नै गलत त थिइनँ ? के मैले सत्तारूढ दल र व्यक्तिहरूलाई बुझ्न नसकेरै प्रश्न गरिरहेको थिएँ ?

पलभरमै झसङ्ग भएँ । नवीनले यही चाहेको थियो । ऊ मलाई भ्रममा पार्न खोज्दै थियो । म कसैगरी पनि उसको जालमा फस्नु हुँदैनथ्यो । प्रश्न र तर्कहरूले घेरे । यस्तैमा नवीनका मान्छेहरूले मलाई फेरि बोकेर गाडीमा चढाए । घर पुगेपछि फेरि अघिजस्तै गरी बोकेर ह्वीलचेयरमा राखे । नवीन मुस्कुराइ नै रहेको थियो ।

दृश्य २

रामेश्वरको फोन आयो, “अर्जुनजी, तपाईंको लेख प्रकाशन गर्न बोर्डले अनुमति दियो । किन, कसरी नसोध्नुहोला । म आफैँ छक्क परेको छु …तर तपाईं सतर्क रहनुहोला है ।” 

नवीनले टाकुरीमा प्रवचन सुनाएको केही दिन भएको थियो । नवीनको कुरा सुन्दा त त्यो लेख निस्किने कुनै आशै गरेको थिइनँ । रामेश्वरको कलले चकित भएँ । उनलाई धन्यवाद दिएँ । एक मनले त खुशी भएँ तर कताकता डर पनि लाग्यो । यस्तैमा नवीनको मेसेज आयो, मैले त्यत्रो सम्झाउँदा पनि तिमीले त्यस्तो लेख छपाएरै छाड्यौ ? तिमीले त आफूलाई मात्र हैन, मलाई पनि अफ्ठ्यारोमा पार्‍यौ । भन के गरूँ म ? 

पढ्दापढ्दै नवीनको अर्को मेसेज आयो, तिमीलाई कसैले फोन त गरेको छैन नि ? 

रामेश्वरले फोन गरेको नवीनले थाहा पाइसकेको थियो । स्वाभाविक थियो । सबै सञ्चार माध्यम सरकारको निगरानीमा थिए । तर कतै ऊ आँफै समस्यामा त परेन ? उसको मेसेजले त्रास बढायो । मेरा औँला मोबाइलको किबोर्डमा चल्न लाग्दै थिए, स्क्रिनमा अडिए । मनमा नयाँ विचार आयो–नवीनजत्तिको चलाख र सरकारको विश्वासपात्र कुनै समस्यामा पर्न सक्दैन । ऊ पक्कै मलाई झुक्याउन खोज्दै थियो । रिसले डरको ठाउँ लियो । केही लेखूँ कि नलेखूँ भयो । लामो सास तानेँ । केही जवाफ दिइनँ भने नवीनले जित्नेथ्यो । उसलाई यत्तिकै जित्न दिन सकिन्नथ्यो । उसको हतियार ऊमाथि नै प्रयोग गर्ने निधो गरेर टाइप गरेँ, मुस्कुराऊ  । अनि मोबाइल फुत्त ओछ्यानमा फालेँ ।

दृश्य ३

“सरकार जनताको समर्थन चाहन्छ । सँगसँगै जनतालाई नियन्त्रण पनि गर्न खोज्छ । अवैधानिक तरिका वा कूमार्फत गरिएको नियन्त्रण दिगो हुँदैन । जनताले उकुसमुकुस महशुस गर्छन् अनि अधिनायकवादी सत्ताविरुद्ध ढिलोचाँडो क्रान्ति गर्छन् । जननिर्वाचित सरकारले वैधानिक तरिकाबाट जनतालाई नियन्त्रण गर्छन् । एक पटक चुनाव जितेपछि पाँच वर्षसम्म कानून बनाए पनि नबनाए पनि मनपरी निर्णय गरे पनि जनताको नाम लिएर जनतालाई मूर्ख बनाउन सरकारले वैधानिकता पाउँछ । अन्टसन्ट कानून बनाएर, मनपरी लागू गरेर विरोधीलाई तह लगाउन पाउँछ । उसलाई यो पनि थाहा छ कि जनताका आधारभूत आवश्यकतामाथि नियन्त्रण गर्न सक्यो भने जनता सरकारको गुलाम बन्न थाल्छ । चाहेर नचाहेर जनताले रासन, इन्धन, सामाजिक सुरक्षा लगायतका आधारभूत कुराका लागि आफूलाई बेचिसकेको हुन्छ । त्यसमाथि जनताका प्रत्येक विवरण विदेशीलाई बेच्ने  सरकारले देश नै बेचिदिन्छ । अफशोस, जनतालाई आफू र आफ्नो देश बेचिएको थाहापत्तो हुँदैन ।” 

रामेश्वरको हातमा जाग जनता शीर्षकको मेरो लेखको प्रिन्ट थियो । उनको मुहारमा चिन्ताका रेखा देख्दा बुझेँ–अन्य सम्पादकझैँ यिनी पनि त्यो लेख प्रकाशन गर्न तयार थिएनन् । भन्न थाले, “लेख त राम्रो छ, अर्जुनजी तर केही नपुगेजस्तो …अलि बढी निराशावादी । अलिकति आशावादी भएको भए त पक्कै छाप्ने थिएँ ।”

“आशावादी कुरा पनि छन् त तलपट्टि ।”

एकछिन गमेर सानो स्वरमा भने, “हाम्रो अनलाइनमा छाप्न पाए केही हलचल त हुन्छ होला ।” यसरी प्रशंसा गर्दा त लेख छापिने हो कि भन्ने आशा पलाएको थियो तर त्यो आशा हुर्किन नपाउँदै निमोठे, “तर यस्तो लेख कसरी प्रकाशन गर्ने ? तपाईं आफैं भन्नुस् त अर्जुनजी ।”

“तपाईं आफैँ भन्दै हुनुहुन्छ त यसले तरङ्ग पैदा गर्छ भनेर अनि फेरि आफैँ हिच्किचाउनु हुन्छ ।”

“अर्जुनजी, तपाईँलाई थाहै छ सरकारको कामले देश शान्त तलाउजस्तो बनेको छ । यस्तो शान्त तलाउमा ढुङ्गा फालेर अशान्त किन बनाउने, हैन र ? जे भइरहेको छ, राम्रै भइरहेको छ । यत्तिकै चल्न दिऊँ न ।”

“के भन्दै हुनुहुन्छ रामेश्वरजी ? तलाउ शान्त भएको हैन । जलकुम्भी उम्रेर पानी नै नदेखिने भएको छ । तलाउ जोगाउन जतिसक्दो छिटो जलकुम्भी फाल्नु नै बुद्धिमानी हुन्छ । तपाईँलाई पनि थाहा छ मेरो लेख सत्यको उद्घोष हो । त्यसैले त तपाईं त्यसको माध्यम बन्न खोज्दै हुनुहुन्छ । तर किन डराइ पनि रहनु भएको छ ? अलिकति आँट गर्नुस् । हामीले सत्य उजागर नगरे कसले गर्छ ?”

“हुन त हो ।” उनले आँखा नजुधाई भने । “तर यसरी लेखहरू हामीकहाँ छाप्नुभन्दा आफ्नै ब्लग वा वेबसाइटमा राख्नुभए हुन्थ्यो नि । जति कमाई हुन्थ्यो आफ्नै हुन्थ्यो । रिस्क पनि तपाईँलाई मात्रै हुन्थ्यो ।”

“मेरो वेबसाइट ब्यान भएको थाहा छैन र तपाईँलाई ? नयाँ वेबसाइट बनाउन पनि अनुमति पाएको छैन । जहिल्यै झुलाइराख्छ्न् । तैपनि उनीहरूले दिएको टेम्प्लेट चलाउनुको विकल्प छैन । सामाजिक सञ्जाल पूरै सरकारी नियन्त्रणमा छन् । भीपीएन चलाउँदा महिनौँ इन्टरनेट बन्द गरिदिन्छन् । अनि नबोली नेलेखी बस्न मन लाग्दैन । आफैँ पब्लिस गर्न पाएको भए गरिहाल्थेँ नि । किन यसरी रिस्क लिन्थेँ र ?”

रामेश्वरले गालामा हात लगाएर एकछिन गमे अनि भने, “प्रकाशन गर्न गाह्रो छ  नि, अर्जुनजी ।” एकछिन चुप लागे अनि एकै सासमा साउती मार्दै भने, “हामी पनि कहाँ सुरक्षित छौँ र ? अनलाइन सामग्री मात्रै हैन, कल र मेसेजसमेत सरकारी निगरानीमा छ । अघिल्लो महिना सरकारले गरेका भ्रष्टाचारसम्बन्धी समाचार बनाएका सोनम र एकेन्द्रको अहिले कुनै अत्तोपत्तो छैन । म नै कहिले समातिन्छु थाहा छैन । म समातिएँ भने मेरी बुढी आमालाई तातो पानी दिने पनि कोही हुँदैन ।”

अक्कमक्क भएँ । मेरो लेख कतै प्रकाशन होला जस्तो लागेन । केही छैन । पर्चा बनाएर टोलटोलमा छरेँ भने पनि कसैले त पढ्छ नै । राणाकालमा त्यसो गरेकै हुन् दशरथ चन्दहरूले । हामी आफैँले पनि पहिलेका आन्दोलनमा यस्तो गरेकै हौँ । अब त्यसै गर्छु भन्ने निश्चय गरेर रामेश्वरको अफिसबाट निस्किन लागेको के थिएँ, उनले “एकछिन पर्खिनुस् है” भन्दै रोके । कसैलाई फोनबाट मेसेज गरे अनि खुईय्य गर्दै भने, “अर्जुनजी, तपाईँले ठीकै भन्नुभो । सत्यको उजागर गर्नैपर्छ तर सबै लेख बोर्डमा पठाउनै पर्ने नियम तपाईंलाई थाहा नै छ । बोर्डमा फर्वार्ड गरिदिन्छु । लेख नछापिन सक्छ । छापिए पनि नछापिए पनि प्रतिकूल परिस्थिति आउन सक्छ । त्यसको जिम्मेवारी चैँ तपाईं आफैँले लिनुपर्छ, हुन्छ ?”

नियमन बोर्डको अनुमतिबिना कुनै पनि मिडिया र व्यक्तिले समेत कुनै पनि सामग्री प्रसारण गर्न सक्दैनथ्यो । सामाजिक सञ्जालहरू समेत सरकारी नियन्त्रणमा थिए । वर्तमान सरकार र नियमन बोर्डको विरोध भएको लेख बोर्डले पास गर्ने सम्भावना नै थिएन । लेख लेखेको कारण ममाथि र छापेको कारण रामेश्वर र उनको अनलाइनमाथि जस्तोसुकै कारबाही हुन सक्थ्यो । सायद लेख प्रकाशन गरेर भाइरल हुने लोभ थियो तर धेरै रिस्क लिन चाहँदैनथे । उनले सरकारमा रहेको कसैलाई मेसेज गरेपछि आएको निर्देशनबमोजिम काम गरे कि भन्ने शङ्का पनि लाग्यो तर यो एउटा मौका पनि थियो । त्यसैले भनेँ, “ठीक छ । म तपाईंहरूलाई अफ्ठ्यारोमा पार्दिनँ ।”

रामेश्वरले एउटा कागत प्रिन्ट गरे । मलाई दिँदै भने, “यसमा हस्ताक्षर गरिदिनुस् । प्रकृयामा गएन भने बोर्डले अफ्ठ्यारो पार्छ ।”

सम्झौता पढ्दा झसङ्ग भएँ । कतै रामेश्वरजस्ता इमान्दार भनिएका पत्रकार पनि सरकारको लागि काम गर्दै त छैनन् ? जे सुकै होस् । सत्य र स्वतन्त्रताको आवाज अब दबिनु हुँदैन । निःश्वास लिएँ । “मेरो लेख नितान्त व्यक्तिगत हो । यसले सम्पादक र प्रकाशकलाई कुनै अफ्ठ्यारो नपरोस्” लेखिएको त्यो सम्झौतामा हस्ताक्षर गरेँ ।

दृश्य ४

मोटो चश्मा लगाउने शुक्रलाल सरले मञ्चबाट मुठी कस्दै भन्नुभयो, “सत्ता सधैँ प्रशंसाको भोको हुन्छ । थोरै आलोचना पनि उसलाई बिझ्छ । राम्रो काम गरे धन्यवाद दिन कन्जुस्याइँ गरिँदैन तर ऊ असाध्यै लोभी हुन्छ । उसलाई डर पनि हुन्छ, एक पटक उसले आफ्नो कमजोरी स्वीकार गर्‍यो भने उसको शक्ति क्षीण हुन्छ । त्यसैले सत्य बोल्नेहरूमाथि आक्रमण गरिहाल्छ । हामीसँग छन्, हाम्रै श्रमको मूल्य लुट्नेहरूको प्रमाण। हामीसँग छन्, हाम्रो पसिनाले बनाएको देश बेच्नेहरूको दस्तावेज। हामी चुप लाग्ने छैनौँ, हामी लड्नेछौँ। सत्य बोल्न डराउने होइन, सत्यकै लागि सिङ्गो देश उठ्नेछ।”

परर्र ताली बज्यो । शुक्रलाल सर ओर्लिनुभयो । उहाँको उद्घोषले मेरो जीउमा काँडा उमारिदिएको थियो । अरूहरूमा पनि उत्साहको सञ्चार भएको देखियो । यस्तो लाग्यो कि उहाँका शब्दहरू स्कूलको चौरबाट वरपर रहेका सबका मन-मनमा गुन्जिए । चौध वर्षको मैले उहाँको एक घण्टाको भाषण केहीकेही मात्रै बुझे पनि मनमा अनौठो उत्साह छायो । जिम्दारहरूको शासनबाट मुक्ति मिल्ने अनि नयाँ हुने आशा पलायो ।

चित्रपटमा चौर धमिलियो अनि म आफैँ देखापरेँ । बाटाभरि जानीनजानी शुक्रालाल सरकै भाषण दोहोर्‍याउँदै थिएँ । आफू अघिअघि लामा छायाँ पार्दै उत्साहित भएर दौडिँदै बाआमाले दुःख गरेर बनाएको खरले छाएको सानो छाप्रोमा पुगेँ । आमा भान्सामा धुवाँ फुक्दै हुनुहुन्थ्यो, बा पिंढीमा बसेर बिँडीको धुँवा तान्दै । मलाई खुशी हुँदै आएको देखेर बाले भन्नुभयो, “के भो आज ? निकै खुशी देखिन्छस् त ! जाँचको नतिजा आयो कि के हो ?”

फेरि आफैँ सम्झिनुभो, “अस्ति भर्खर पो फस् भएँ भनेर सुनाको थिस् क्यारे ! त्यसो भए तँ खुशी चैँ किन छस् ? लु भन् त ।”

“आज शुक्रलाल सरको कुरा सुनेर मन त्यसै खुशी भयो । उहाँ भन्नुहुन्छ, अब छिट्टै क्रान्ति सफल हुन्छ रे । जिम्दारहरूको हालीमुहाली सकिन्छ अनि हामीजस्ता किसानको आफ्नो सरकार बन्छ रे ।”

“त्यसका कुरा धेरै नसुन् अनि पछि पनि नलाग् ।” बाले आदेश दिनुभो । “नुनको सोझो नगर्नेको भर हुन्न । आफैँ सरकारी शिक्षक भएर सरकारको विरोध गरी बस्छ । फेरि त्यसका क्रान्तिले त्यसकै नेता अघि बढ्ने हुन् । हामीलाई हुने केही पनि हैन ।”

भान्साबाट आमाले हाम्रो कुरा सुनिरहनु भएको रैछ । भन्नुभो, “पहिला पनि धर्ती नै उलटपुलट पार्ने जस्ता गफ दिएर जिम्दारहरूको विरोध गर्न लगायो । गरियो पनि । अर्को साल बाली बिग्रियो । ऋण दिने कोही भएन । तिनै जिम्दारको शरणमा जान पर्यो । हामी जस्तालाई जिम्दारको विरोध गरेर केही फाइदा छैन ।”

“हो नि ।” बाले सही थाप्नुभो । “तिनै जिम्दारको कृपाले दुई छाक खान पाइएको छ, गतिला कपडा लाउन सकिएको छ, तँलाई पढाउन सकेका छौँ । अरू के चाहियो ?”

“यस्तै सोचले गर्दा त हो नि उनीहरूले हामीलाई पेल्न सकेका ।”

“चुप लाग् । धेरै जान्ने न हो । त्यो शुक्रेका कुरा सुनेर जिम्दारसँग जोरी खोजे भोकै परिन्छ । त्यो शहरबाट आएको मास्टर शहरै जान्छ । दुःख चैँ हामीले पाउछौँ ।”

“त्यस्तो हुँदैन । हामीले थोरै मात्रै आँट गर्‍यौँ भने आफ्नो भाग्यको मालिक हामी आफैँ बन्न सक्छौँ ।”

“भो भो परेन मालिक बन्न । हामी किसानले जति नै आँट गरे पनि जिम्दारले गाउँ छाड्दैनन् । ल गइहाले भने हामीलाई मर्दापर्दा कसलाई गुहार्ने ? त्यो भोकमरी शुक्रेलाई ?”

बाका कुरा सुनेर मेरा कान कन्सिरी ताते । कोठामा गएँ अनि एकछिन एक्लै भुत्भुताएँ । आमाले खाना खान बोलाउनु भयो । खान मन थिएन तर कर गरिरहनु भयो अनि भान्सामा गएँ । खाना पस्किँदै आमाले भन्नुभो, “धेरै क्रान्ति भन्दै नहिँड् है, अर्जुन । गाल आइपर्छ । अस्तिसम्म कसैले भाषण गर्यो भने धरपकड हुन्थ्यो । शुक्रेले अचेल दिनै भाषण दिँदै हिँड्न थालेको छ । जिम्दार काजीहरू जाँच्न चाहन्छन् कोको उनीहरूको समर्थन गर्छन्, कोको विरोध गर्छन् । एकदुई दिन पख् । काजीका विरोधीहरूलाई पाता कसेर लैजान्छन् । तँ सानै छस्, दुनियाँ देखेको छैनस् । काजीहरूसँग त्यस्तो शक्ति हुँदा पनि किन शुक्रेलाई बोल्न छुट दिइरहेका छन् त ?”

भान्साको त्यो दृश्य अलप भयो । स्कूल जाने बाटो देखियो जहाँ म हतारहतार हिँड्दै थिएँ । घाँसदाउरा गर्दा ढिलो भइसकेको थियो । चौतारानेर आइपुग्दा तलतिर केही कल्याङमल्याङ सुनेँ । कोही भन्दै थियो, “अब पनि चेतिनस् भने सिधै माथि पुग्छस् ।”

“तिमीहरूजस्ता भुस्यहासँग डराउँदिनँ । जे गर्न सक्छौ, गर ।”

पछिल्लो स्वर शुक्रलाल सरको जस्तै लाग्यो । आमाले केही दिनअघि भन्नुभएको कुरा याद आयो । डर लाग्यो । हत्तपत्त चौतारीको पीपलपछाडि छेलिएर उभिएँ । प्रहरी पोशाकमा भएका दुईजनाले शुक्रलाल सरलाई लात्ती हान्दै, लघार्दै, कठालो समात्दै लगे । म चिच्याउन खोजेँ तर कसैले पछाडिबाट मेरो मुख थुनिदियो । फर्केर हेर्दा आमालाई देखेँ । नबोल्, आँखाले इशारा गर्नुभयो । डर र आश्चर्यले कि बोली फुट्नै दिएन ।

“खेतमा काम गर्दैथेँ,” एकछिनपछि आमाले साउतीमा भन्नुभयो । “शुक्रेलाई पक्रेको देखेँ । कता चैँ लान्छन् भनेर छेलिँदै पछि लागेको त तँ पो भेटिइस् । तँ पक्कै कराउँछस् भनेर तँलाई रोकेँ । नकरा, बाबु । कराइस् भने तँलाई पनि लैजान्छन् ।”

आमा घुँक्कघुँक्क रुनु भयो । उहाँको अनुमान सत्य भएको थियो । काजी जिम्दारका विरोधीहरू समातिँदै थिए । पहिले श्याम सरलाई लगे, शान्ति दिदी रातारात काठमाडौं फर्किइन्, मीने काकालाई घिस्याउँदै लगे । वरपरका गाउँबाट धेरै धरपकडमा परे भन्ने सुनिएको थियो । गिरफतारीले त्रास बढाएका थिए । क्रान्तिको आवाज दबिएको थियो । म किंकर्तव्यविमूढ भई शुक्रलाल सरलाई लगेको दृश्य हेरिरहेँ । आँखा रसाए । केही गर्न नसकेकोमा पछुतो लाग्यो । अबदेखि कहिले पनि विद्रोहको आवाज थुन्ने छैन, मनमनै प्रण लिएँ ।  

दृश्य ५

“जनआन्दोलन अब छिट्टै उत्कर्षमा पुग्नेछ ।” युनिभर्सिटी क्याम्पसको एउटा कोठमा भेला भएका विद्यार्थीलाई नवीन भन्दै थियो, “अब हामी पनि विश्वविद्यालयबाट पनि जुलुस निकालेर आन्दोलनमा सहभागी हुनुपर्छ । तर जुलुसले मात्र हुँदैन, हाम्रो रणनीति बलियो हुनुपर्छ। पुलिस आउनेछ, तर हामी पछि हट्नेछैनौँ। परिआए तिनलाई पन्छाउँदै पनि अघि बढ्नुपर्छ । सबै समूहमा बाँडिऔँ, नारा लगाउने, विरोध गर्ने, खबर फैलाउने सबै भूमिकामा तयार होऔँ।”

“अस्ति प्राध्यापक र विद्वानहरूको भेलामा पुलिसले धरपकड गरेको थियो ।” कसैले अँध्यारो भएतिरबाट भन्यो ।

“कतिजना थिए त्यो भेलामा ?” नवीनले सोध्यो ।

“त्यै पच्चीस तीसजना थिए होलान् ।”

“अनि त्यति सानो कुनै प्रतिकार नगर्नेहरूको भेला बिथोल्न पुलिसलाई के गाह्रो हुन्छ त ? हामी यहाँ झन्डै अढाई तीन सय जति छौँ । भोलि आन्दोलनमा स्थानीयसँग जोडिँदा हज्जारौं हुनेछौँ । फेरि आइलाग्नेमाथि जाइ पनि लाग्नेछौँ । यत्रो क्रान्ति भइरहेको बेला हामी हात बाँधेर बस्ने कुरै आउँदैन ।”

“आज दिउँसो पुलिसले अन्धाधुन्ध गोली चलायो रे ।” हाम्रै ब्याचकी अस्मिताले भनी, “सडकमा रगतको आहालै थियो रे ।”

नवीनले उसको आँखामा हेर्दै सोध्यो, “डर लाग्यो अनि तिमीलाई ।”

नजर अलिकति झुकाउँदै उसले भनी, “लागिहाल्छ नि डर त । मान्छेको जीवन, उसका सपना एकै पलमा नाश गरिदिन्छन् पापीहरू ।”

“तर यसरी डराएर त पशु पनि बाँच्दैन । हामी त मानिस हौँ नि । डरले बाँधिएर बाँच्नुभन्दा मुक्तिको लडाईं लड्दै मर्ने हो ।”

उसले नवीनलाई हेरी । मुहारमा बेग्लै चमक आएको थियो । उसले सायद आफूभित्र पनि हिम्मत बढिरहेको महसुस गरी।

“जुलुसको सबैभन्दा अगाडि चैं को हुन्छ ?” एक वर्ष जुनियर विवेकले सोध्यो ।

“विवेक हुन्छ सबैभन्दा अगाडि ।” मैले भनेँ । सबै गलल्ल हाँसे । विवेक रातोपिरो भयो ।

“यो विवेक भनेको हैन हौ ।” चुकचुकाउँदै भनेँ । “तिमीहरूले कुरै बुझेनौ ।”

“को विवेक भनेको त ?” कसैले सोध्यो ।

“हामी भित्रको विवेक जसले साँचो झुठो, राम्रो नराम्रो छुट्याउन सघाउँछ । त्यो विवेक जसले हामीलाई पीडाका बीच पनि सुखको बाटो देखाउँछ । शुक्रलाल सर भन्नुहुन्थ्यो, हाम्रो विवेकले नै हामीलाई प्रश्न उठाउन, प्रतिरोध गर्न र परिवर्तन सम्भव छ भन्ने नै हुन्छ । हाम्रो विवेकले नै हामीलाई क्रान्तिको लागि नैतिक बल दिएको हुन्छ । हो त्यही विवेक हुनेछ भोलि पनि सबैभन्दा अगाडि । जबसम्म हामीसँग विवेक छ, हामी कसैको पछाडि छैनौँ, हामी कसैको अघि छैनौँ—हामी सँगै छौँ, एकै मोर्चामा छौँ !”

हलमा गडगड ताली बज्यो, सुईय्य सिट्ठी बज्यो । नारा घन्कियो, “लोकतन्त्र जिन्दावाद !! गणतन्त्र जिन्दावाद !!!”

दृश्य ६

“लोकतन्त्र जिन्दावाद !! गणतन्त्र जिन्दावाद !!!”

टियुबाट बल्खु जाने सडकमा नाराहरू चारैतिर गुन्जिँदै थिए । अघिल्ला दिनका तुलनामा ती अझै चर्का भएका थिए ।नवीन र म जुलुसको अग्रपङ्क्तिमा थियौँ । पुलिसहरू खासै नदेखिएकाले हामी निर्भीक भएर स्वतन्त्रताका नारा घन्काइरहेका थियौँ । जोस्सिँदै, नारा लाउँदै, गीत गाउँदा गाउँदै उत्साह यति बढेछ कि म जुलुसभन्दा अलि अगाडि नै बल्खु पुल पुगेछु । पछाडि फर्केर साथीहरूलाई हातको इशाराले बोलाउँदै थिएँ, दाहिने खुट्टा प्याट्ट पड्कियो । लड्खडाउँदै भुइँमा बसेँ । वरिपरि रगतको आहाल बन्यो । होश आउँदा हस्पिटलमा थिएँ । दुई दिन बितिसकेको रैछ । इन्फेक्सन फैलिँदै गरेको दाहिने खुट्टा डाक्टरले काटेछन् । एउटा खुट्टा नभएको थाहा पाएपछि बेस्सरी रोएँ । तर जे हुनु भइसकेको थियो । मरेको थिइनँ, दिमाग खुस्केको थिएन। आफूले आफैँलाई सम्हालेँ । दावा, विवेक, साधना, रञ्जु र अरू साथीहरूमा आँशु छ्चल्किए ।

सबैभन्दा नजिक रहेको नवीनलाई देखिनँ । केही त भएन उसलाई, प्रश्न गरेँ ।

“नवीन दाइलाई त हामीले अस्तिदेखि नै देखेकै छैनौँ । कुनै चौकीमा हुनुहुन्छ भन्ने पनि सुनेको छैन ।” विवेकले भन्यो ।

“कतै पक्राउमा पो पर्यो कि ?”

“मैले त तपाईंसँग हुनुहुन्छ होला भन्ठानेको थिएँ ।” साधनाले भनी । “केही भइहाल्यो भने तपाईंहरूले एकअर्कालाई सहयोग गर्ने बाचा पनि त गर्नुभएको थियो ।”

“हुन त हो ।” मैले भनेँ, “तर अचानक गोली चल्यो । बेलामा म पनि भाग्थेँ होला । अथवा धरपकडमा पर्थेँ होला ।”

“तर…” दावाले केही भन्न खोज्यो अनि अड्कियो । अरूहरूले टाउको हल्लाएर नबोल्न इशारा गरे ।

“के हो हँ ? के कुरा लुकाइराख्या छौ ?”

“केही हैन ।” सबैले पालैपालो भने ।

“तिमीहरू पक्कै केही त लुकाइराख्या छौ । तिमीहरूको मुहार र हाउभाउले नै सबै कुरा भनिसक्यो ।”

केही छिनको मौनतापछि विवेकले भन्यो, “खासमा तपाईं अगाडि जाँदै गर्दा नवीन दाइ सानेपातिर तर्किँदै हुनुहुन्थ्यो । तपाईंलाई गोली लागेपछि भागाभाग भयो । कोही भिडमा किचिए । हामीले तपाईंलाई बचाउन घेरा हाल्न आयौँ । अस्मितालाई त्यही बेला गोली लाग्यो । दावाले तपाईंलाई जसोतसो बोकेर प्राथमिक स्वास्थ्य केन्द्र पुर्‍यायो । त्यहाँ संयोगले एम्बुलेन्स पाइयो अनि त्यसमै यहाँसम्म ल्यायौँ । नवीन दाइलाई फेरि देखेको छैन तर उहाँलाई सम्भावित झडपबारे केही थाहा थियो जस्तो लाग्छ । झडप सुरु हुनेबित्तिकै उहाँ जुलुसबाट हट्नुभयो । उहाँले सावधानी अपनाउनभएको पनि हुन सक्छ । तर हामीसँग सम्पर्कमा त आउनुपर्छ नि ।”

अरूले सहमतिमा शिर हल्लाए । म चैँ आत्तिएँ, “अनि अस्मितालाई के भो ?”

“ऊ त…” साधना भक्कानिन थाली । अरूका आँखामा पनि छहरा बगे ।

मेरो मन चिसो भयो । शरीर त गलेकै थियो, मन मस्तिष्क सबै गले । मैले आफ्नो हात हेरेँ । अस्मिता­ ! ऊ सायद यिनै हात समाउन आएकी थिई । यी हातमा अब उसको बलिदानको रगत लागेको थियो । आफैँसँग बाचा गरेँ, “यी हातहरूले अन्याय सहनेछैनन् ।”

दृश्य ७

ह्वीलचेयर छिटोछिटो गुडाउँदै सुन्धारा पुगेँ । साँझ पर्न लागिसकेको थियो । रामेश्वरको अनलाइनमा छापिएको लेख एक हप्ता मात्रै इन्टरनेटमा बस्यो । सामाजिक सञ्जालमा दुईतीन दिन राम्रै बहस भयो सरकारका पक्ष विपक्षमा । सातौँ दिनसम्ममा बहसका लागि अर्कै कुरा निस्कियो । रामेश्वरले सुटुक्क लेख आफ्नो वेबसाइटबाट झिक्यो । भन्यो, “लेखको विपक्षमा रहेको एउटा समूहले रिपोर्ट गरेपछि त्यसलाई डाउन गर्नुपर्‍यो ।” नेट र अनलाइन पत्रिकाको भर पर्न नसकिने भयो । सरकारले गरेका र गर्न खोजेका छलछामका सूचना केही इमान्दार राजनेता र कर्मचारीबाट लिने गर्थेँ । तिनलाई आफ्नै हातले लेखेर, फोटोकपी गरेर, लुकिछिपी छर्न थालेको थिएँ । शहरभरि राखिएका सीसीटिभीबाट जोगिँदै, मानिसका आँखाबाट जोगिँदै पर्चा छर्न कम्ता सकस थिएन ।

नयाँ धरहरा अघि राखिएको ठूलो स्क्रीनमा एउटा कार्टुन दोहोरिरहेको थियो । कार्टुनमा एउटा मानिस जोडसँग कराइरहेको थियो । आवाज त थिएन तर स्पीच बबलमा लेखिएको थियो, “सरकार मुर्दावाद ! लोकतन्त्र मुर्दावाद !! गणतन्त्र मुर्दावाद !!!” उसलाई वरिपरिबाट आएर अरु मानिसले घेर्न थाले । उसले कतै भाग्ने ठाउँ पाएन । पुलिसले उसलाई समातेर लग्यो । अरू मानिसहरूले उसलाई उसलाई पालैपालो चड्‌कन हाने अनि पुलिसलाई सलाम । “देशद्रोही को ?” प्रधानमन्त्रीको आँखीभौँ खुम्चिएको गम्भीर अनुहारको दाहिने छेउमा जवाफहरू आउँदै, जाँदै थिए । “देशद्रोही त्यो, जो लोकतन्त्रको विरोध गर्छ ! देशद्रोही त्यो, जो गणतन्त्रका उपलब्धिलाई स्वीकार गर्न चाहँदैन !! देशद्रोही त्यो, जो सरकारले दिएको सुविधा भोग गरेर सरकारकै विरोध गर्छ !!!”

काठमाडौँ आउने नयाँ मानिस र साना केटाकेटीबाहेक शहरका चोकचोकका स्क्रीनमा चलिरहने त्यो कार्टुन प्रायःले वास्ता गर्न छाडिसकेका थिए । आज पनि ६, ७ वर्षका दुई केटाकेटी ध्यान दिएर हेरिरहेका थिए । उनीहरूको हात समाइरहेको ३३, ३४ वर्षको मान्छेलाई प्रश्न गर्न थाले ।

“कार्टुनको त्यो मान्छेलाई किन पिटेका बाबा ?” केटोले सोध्यो।

“त्यो सरकारको विरोध गर्छ । गणतन्त्रका उपलब्धिलाई मान्दैन। त्यसैले।”

“कसैले सरकारको बारेमा नराम्रो भन्यो भने त्यसलाई पुलिसले लान्छ हो, मामा ?” केटीले सोधी ।

“हो नि । सरकारको विरोध गरेर बोल्नु हुँदैन, लेख्नु हुँदैन, विरोध गरेर लेखेका कुरा पढ्नु हुँदैन । त्यस्तो काम गर्नेलाई पुलिसले समाएर लैजान्छ ।”

“सरकारको विरोध चैँ किन गर्छन् मान्छेहरू ?” केटोले एकछिन सोचेर भन्यो ।

“कोही त्यस्तै विरोधै गर्न मात्रै जन्मेका हुन्छन् के बाबु । तिनको अरू काम हुन्न । नचाहिँदा झिनामसिना कुरा निकालेर बस्छन् । त्यस्ताका कुरा सुन्नुहुन्न । देख्यौ भने पुलिस बोलाऊ है ।”

केटाकेटीले हस् भन्दै टाउको हल्लाए । म झसङ्ग भएँ । शिक्षितहरू पनि सरकारी प्रोपागाण्डाको प्रभावमा परेका थिए । लडाईँ अब सरकारसँग मात्रै छैन, सरकारका हरेक कुरा पत्याउने मानिससँग पनि छ । केही विशेष गर्नैपर्छ । यिनीहरूको मनमा सानै भए पनि विद्रोहको झिल्को बाल्नुपर्छ, निधो गरेँ । ह्वीलचेयर र झोलामा लुकाएका पर्चा दुवै हातमा समातेँ । झोलाबाट म कागज मात्रै निकालिरहेको थिइँन । निकालिरहेको थिएँ–हिजोको विवेक, आजको साँचो र भोलिको चेत खोल्ने शब्दहरू। भएभरको बल लगाएर एक झट्कामा पर्चाहरू आकाशतिर हुर्‍याएँ अनि चिच्याएँ–

“जाग ए, सुतेकाहरू !

बिउँझिएर हेर तिमीहरूमाथि गरिएका छलहरू !!

उठ, जुट

खत्तम गरिदेऊ अन्यायहरू !!!”

कार्टुनमा झैँ मलाई मानिसहरूले घेरे । केही पुलिस आए । तीमध्ये एउटाले एक मुक्का मुखमा बजार्‍यो । कसैले ह्वीलचेयर लडायो । टाउको थिचेर कसैले भुईँको धुलो चटायो अनि पाता फर्काएर हात बाँध्यो । कोही डराइडराइ पर्चा उठाएर पढ्न थाले । बच्चाहरू पनि तिनको नक्कल गर्न थाले । कोही मलाई सहयोग गर्न अघि बढ्न थाले । ती पर्चा उठाउने, पढ्ने र सहयोग गर्न आउनेहरूले पनि वर्दीधारीको गोदाइ खाए । बच्चाहरूलाई पनि छाडेनन् जल्लादहरूले । बेकारमा पिटाइ खानु परेकाहरू प्रतिरोधमा उत्रिए । बच्चाका अभिभावकहरू उल्टै पुलिसमाथि मुक्का बर्साउन थाले । सानोतिनो झडप नै सुरु भयो । धेरैजसो भने रमिता हेर्दै थिए । कोही तर्किँदै पनि थिए । तिनीहरू लाचार थिए जसरी म शुक्रलाल सरको गिरफ्तारीको बेला भएको थिएँ । त्यसैले तिनीहरूमाथि दया पलायो । बेस्सरी कराएँ, “दास मात्रै भयौ भन्ठानेको थिएँ, मानव पनि हुन छाडिसकेछौ ।”

कसैले च्यापुमा एक लात्ती बजार्‍यो । जिब्रो टोकियो । झनन्न भयो । बोल्न खोजेँ तर बोली लर्बरियो । बारम्बार कुटाइ खाइरहेँ । शरीर गल्यो, शिर थिचियो, होश गुम्न लाग्यो । तर पनि कराउन छाडिनँ–

“मर्न अब मलाई डर छैन,

डर छ त केवल मौनताको !

डर छ त पलपल मरिसकेकासँग

सक्दैनन् सवाल गर्न जो !!! …”

***

दृश्यहरूको शिलशिला रोकिन्छ । मन मात्रै चल्दा पनि थकाई लाग्दो रहेछ । धेरैपछि मेसिनको पिपपिपबाहेक अर्को आवाज सुनिन्छ —

टकटकटकटक… जुत्ताको आवाज । कोही मतिर आउँदैछ । को होला ? उसले केही भन्छ कि ? ऊ रोकिन्छ । थपथप थपडीसँगै उसको बोली सुनिन्छ,

“डाक्टरहरू भन्छन्…”

नवीन ?

“… यतिखेर तिमी मलाई सुन्न सक्छौ तर तिम्रो होश केही छिनसम्म मात्र रहनेछ । त्यसैले अहिलेलाई सफलताको धेरै धेरै बधाई, अर्जुन । थाहा छ नि केमा सफल भयौ ? … सरकारको विरोधी बन्न । कथा बन्न । उदाहरण बन्न । … यो सफलताको लागि के पुरस्कार पाउँछौ, थाहा छ ?  … त्यो चैं तिमी आफैँ खोज । केही प्रश्नहरूको उत्तर तिमी आफैँले थाहा पाउने कोशिस गर्नुपर्छ । सफल हुन्छौ हुँदैनौ, समयले बताउला । अहिलेसम्मको सफलताको लागि फेरि पनि बधाई ? … अनि याद गर, कतिपय प्रश्नहरू त उत्तर खोज्नै नपर्ने हुन्छन्, किनकि उनीहरू आफैँ उत्तर बन्छन्।”

यति भनेर ऊ फेरि टकटक जुत्ता बजाउँदै गयो । मन उथलपुथल भयो । चिच्याउन खोजेँ, बोली आएन । शरीर चलेन । मन थाक्यो । मेसिनको पिपपिप मधुरो भयो । फेरि अन्धकारमा जाकिएँ ।

तर अर्धनिद्रामा कल्याङमल्याङ नयाँ आवाज आए । क्रान्तिको नारा सुनेँ–”स्वतन्त्रता जिन्दावाद ! निरङ्कुश सरकार मुर्दावाद !” साइरन बजे । सतर्कताका रेकर्डेड सामग्री बज्न थाले । के भइरहेको छ ? के साँच्चै क्रान्ति सुरु भएको थियो ? कतै भ्रम त हैन ? चिच्याउन खोजेँ । पर क्षितिजबाट आफ्नै बोली गुञ्जिएझैँ लाग्यो । उठ्न बल गरेँ । पटकपटक कोशिस गरे अनि हार खाएँ । बन्धनमै मर्ने भएँ भन्ने डर पलायो ।

ढ्याम्म ! आशा सबै मर्न लागेको बेला नजिकै केही ढल्यो । आँखाले धुमिल दृश्य देखायो । बेडछेऊ कोही आयो । भन्यो, “नआत्तिनुस् अर्जुन सर, निरङ्कुश सरकार ढलिसक्यो । तपाईंका प्रश्न र स्वतन्त्रताका आह्वानले ढिलै भएपनि हाम्रा आँखा खोले । तपाईँलाई साथ दिन हामी आइपुग्यौँ ।”

ऊ को होला ? प्रष्ट चिन्न सकिनँ । सोच्दै गर्दा आँखा फेरि लोलाए । कान बन्द हुन लागे । होश जान थाल्यो । तर उसको बोलीले मन केही शान्त भयो, “तपाईंका प्रश्नहरू, शब्दहरू बाँच्छन् सर । तपाईंको चेतना बाँच्छ । स्वतन्त्रता सङ्ग्राम सफल हुन्छ ।”

I’m the Devil! (Revised)

(Warning: Contains scenes of drugs and violence)

‘Where is it?’ Juan whispers in his usual creepy manner.

It must be here. It’s dark due to regular power cuts. I have not carried my torch and mobile in accordance with our plan. I run my hands on the base of the kitchen cupboard. ‘You had kept it here before you went to bed, hadn’t you?’

I frown.

He continues teasing, ‘Have you forgotten where you kept it?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

I find it. I smile and grab the knife’s handle. I bring it closer to my lips and run my fingers along its blade. “Ah, here you are,” I say in a low voice, “you Devil’s friend! Where were you hiding?”

‘Why do you have to speak out? What if someone listens? You’ll foil our plan,’ Juan scolds me.

I get angry at him. He says he is psychic and never leaves me. He knows everything about me. When I ask him how, he does not answer. He had once said, ‘Only you can hear me.’ I like him when he suggests what I should do. When he becomes authoritative, like he is now, I absolutely hate him.

‘I’d not be awake at three in the morning if I didn’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want you to command me.’

‘I wasn’t commanding you,’ he says. ‘I was just expressing my concern. You need to be careful. We selected this time to carry out our plan because everyone would be asleep. What’ll happen if they wake up—if they see you’re playing with a knife in the kitchen? Please be careful.’

I am amused. He knows exactly what calms me down. I become a little more cautious as I hide the knife inside my jacket. The house is dark and silent, but I don’t want to stumble upon anyone. If such a thing happens, I don’t want to look suspicious.

I walk out into the dark corridor. Sticking to the wall on my right, I walk eight steps and reach a door.

‘You’re outside her room. Get in.’

I nod and grab the doorknob. “One, two, three… forty-five, forty-six,” counting each second under my breath, I rotate it slowly to the left. Click. The door unlocks at forty-eight. My heart leaps up. I look around. ‘Boy, that was loud,’ Juan whispers. 

I had not expected the door would open with such a big noise. But there is nothing to worry about. Nobody heard it in their sleep.

I grin.

I push the door and look into the room. It is dark except for the faint light coming from far off outside. She is asleep on her bed. She must be sleeping peacefully. Peace, however, is like a guest—never stays for long.

***

I fasten the door, grab a plastic chair resting on the left wall, and put it beside her bed. I dig my hands in the jacket and pull out my collection from the pockets. I look at each object and place them carefully on the bed. The faint light helps me look at them: a handkerchief, ropes, and a knife. Perfect.

‘Yeah,’ my friend whispers, ‘you cannot fail.’

‘I must not fail,’ I say back.

‘I doubt. You didn’t agree to use chloroform. With it, your task would’ve been easier.’

‘That’s why I didn’t use it. I don’t want it easy. I want her to feel the pain I have felt…’

She stirs in her sleep. I quickly grab the handkerchief and pounce upon her. I pin her hands under my knees and immobilise her. I tie the handkerchief around her mouth. Then I fetch the ropes and tie her hands and feet together.

I sit on the plastic chair again. I can’t see her face, but I can listen to her short breaths. I touch her wrinkled forehead. She is sweating. I can feel her tremble. I can feel her fear.

I lean towards her and whisper into her ears, “I wish I could see your face now, old lady.”

‘Tell her why you’re doing this. But be quick,’ Juan says.

***

“You’ve ruined my life,” I tell her in a low voice. “I was carefree and outgoing. I had a decent group of friends. Sujal, Dinesh, and Manoj were always good to me. We bunked schools together to play on the streets and smoke cigarettes on the grounds. We never disturbed anyone, but you, teachers, neighbours, and everyone else called us bad.

“Why did you call us bad?” I whisper into her ears, “You called me bad because I used to steal sometimes. But how dare you call my friends bad? They supported me when I was low and laughed with me when I was happy. They used to do things you or my parents would never do for me.”

Resting my back on the chair, I continue, “You know about eighteen months ago I had been selected for the school football team, right? To register, each player had to deposit five hundred rupees. I seriously wanted to play for my school, but the lack of money was in the way of my dreams. You didn’t have the money and when I asked my parents, they said they would never spend on my sports activities. After all, they just want to earn money. Did you know how dejected I was?

“When I felt that I had lost, my pals gave me a glimpse of hope. They said they would help me raise the money to join the team, and they meant it. By the next morning, they collected the required amount and gave it to me. I don’t see any “badness” in them, and I absolutely hate you calling them bad.

“The interschool football competition went on well for my school. I could not make anyone feel my presence in the team, however. They were probably ignoring me, for I had been the last to register my name in the competition. I was a substitute for Manish—the coach’s nephew, who was not impressive in the field. His uncle was the only reason for his inclusion in the team as a forward. He had scored mere two goals in three matches. If I had spent nearly as much time on the field, I would have scored more. I’m sure.

“When I told you my problems, you suggested talking to the coach. Before the quarterfinal match, I did. Do you know what he said? He said, “You have skills, but you lack stamina.”

“I suggested that if he would let me play at the start, I could score rapidly and we would have an early dominance in the game. When he asked which player I would like to replace, I immediately said, “Manish.”.

“His eyes narrowed. He pointed his finger at me and shouted, “If you say that again, I’LL DROP YOU OFF THE TEAM. He’s the best player we have. Who do you think you are? Because you have scored in easy times, you think you can handle the pressure, huh?” He continued on and on, supporting his beloved nephew.

“Words got stuck in my throat. I felt like crying. I only suggested a possibility to the coach, and he sent me off rudely. I first cursed him and then cursed myself. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I ever think that he would prefer me over his own nephew? I went to the junction where I often met with my friends. There was no one there. I couldn’t keep my tears any longer. When they came, they found me wiping off my tears and asked what had happened. At first, I did not want to speak about any of it. But they wanted to know the truth. So, I told them everything the coach had said.

“Sujal—you know him—the tallest guy among my friends? Well, he asked, “Where do they live?”

“I hesitated, but I had to surrender to their continuous pestering. I gave them the coach’s address. Their expressionless faces hid their intentions, but I felt they would do something wrong. Before they left, I said, “Please don’t do anything that causes trouble.”

“The next day, the coach came up to me. He looked worried. “Manish is hospitalised because of an accident,” he said. “You’ll play as forward in the starting eleven tomorrow.”

“I could not believe my ears. How did he think I could endure longer in that match? I didn’t care. I had a chance to prove myself. And I did it. I practiced hard that day, and the next day I scored a goal early in the first half. I also created three opportunities. In the second half, I scored one more goal and missed a chance before the coach decided to play a defensive game. He took me off. Once outside the field, he patted me on the shoulder and said, “Come with me.”

“He took me some distance away from the rest of the team. I thought he was going to congratulate me on my performance, but he said, “You did it, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t understand what he was saying. I just gave him a questioning glance. He said again, “You got your friends to attack Manish, didn’t you?”

“I was surprised by the accusation. I told him, “I don’t know what has happened to him. You told me earlier that he is in the hospital due to some accident. I know nothing else.”

“Learn your manners, boy. I got a call from my brother. When Manish gained consciousness this noon, he took your name. And because you were insisting on me keeping you in the starting eleven, I have very little doubt that he is lying. You would get a chance if anything happened to him.” He paused for a moment and said, “Now tell me the truth.”

“Excuse me, sir,” I said, “but I haven’t done anything to him.”

“But you asked your friends to beat him up.”

“No, sir, I haven’t seen them again since the day of the quarterfinals.”” In a flash, I remembered that I had given their address to my friends. My heart raced—faster than it had during the game. ‘Did they do anything wrong?’ I felt extremely nervous when that thought came into my mind. The coach saw me trembling and didn’t say another word. He had won. I sat on the player’s bench, burning within.

“The victory in the semi-finals encouraged the team. I don’t remember how I reacted to that situation. While everyone was congratulating me, I had something else on my mind. I had made a mistake—one that I had not committed myself but had still happened because of my wrong decision. I hated myself; I hated my friends.”

***

Grabbing her shoulders and shaking her violently, I say, “Are you happy knowing I had hated them at least once?” I throw her down and smile. “I didn’t hate them for long, though. They had helped me play in the starting eleven. They might have done wrong to Manish, but only for me.”

I stretch my legs, walk a few paces, and say to her, “Do you still want to call them bad, old lady?”

‘I would not if I were her,’ Juan says. I grin and dismiss him.

I sit on the chair and continue, “That evening, when we reached school, the coach informed the team that I was suspended. Everyone was surprised. They all asked the coach what wrong I had done. I didn’t wait to hear what he said. I just slipped off and went to the junction where I had met my best companions three days ago.

“When they saw me, they ran towards me and asked if I played the match well. I don’t know why they had not come to watch the match; I never asked. I said, “I did what I could do today.” I sighed loudly. “But I have been suspended from the team. I can’t play in the final.”

“Sujal quickly apologised. “I spoke out your name by mistake while beating up the boy. You’d not have been suspended if we had been a little careful.”

““It’s all right, Sujal,” I said. “You have done nothing wrong. You did it for me. I can’t be angry with you. I got a chance to play because of you. I can never think ill of you.”

“The boys could not believe I had forgiven them. “We’re friends, aren’t we? And I’m not sad I can’t play the final,” I said.

““Let’s smoke a different stuff today,” Dinesh said and produced a cigarette. He tore it up and threw away the tobacco. As I looked, he took out some green leaves from his pocket and prepared a cigarette. Other boys did the same. I asked them what it was. They said, “Weed.”

“Dinesh passed it to me. I took the weed-stuffed cigarette between my fingers, lit it with a lighter, and took in a puff of smoke. It immediately reached my mind and gave me a pleasing sensation. Everything around me looked beautiful. I felt I was in heaven. My friends turned into angels. I looked at the birds, and I was also flying with them among the clouds. For the first time in my life, I realised that I was not meant to stay on earth but to fly. I was the happiest man alive!”

***

“Knock, knock. Somebody knocked on my heaven’s door that day. Do you know who he is?” I don’t need light to know that she shakes her head. “His name is Juan. He’s talking to me right now. But you can’t hear him.”

‘You shouldn’t have told her about me,’ Juan says.

‘She won’t be alive to tell anyone about you anyway.’

‘But I wanted you to keep my presence a secret.’

‘Who cares?’

“See? I was talking to him.” I pause and think about the words I had chosen to speak. I grin at myself, shake my head, and then say, “Can you even see me in this darkness?”

I pause for a moment and continue, “Darkness. Night. Dream. You dream when you’re asleep. The drugs I took helped me dream with my eyes open. It helped me dream of flying high with the birds and of creating a society of equality. I gained confidence even to rule the world. To make those dreams true, I needed money. My pals had been generous enough to provide weed free of charge, but they had started bringing some new stuff. They said the stuff was expensive and I had to make contributions as well.

“You know how difficult it is to ask for money for my parents. The amount you used to give me was not sufficient. I asked them to help at times, which only left me feeling guilty. “Necessity is the mother of invention,” wise people have said. I sought out a solution to my problems of money and guilt. I started stealing little amounts from my classmates. But that was still less than what was required. Also, I could not steal every day. Otherwise, they would suspect me.

“So I started searching drawers and cupboards at home. I used to discover wads of notes hidden under the bedding, inside coat pockets, and between some clothes. I wondered why my parents had hidden money like that and then hated them even more. Anyway, I had the money that was all needed. I did not bother to listen to any of their dumb explanations. I started making full payment, surprising my friends.

“To support our finances further, we took trips to Pokhara, Dharan, and other major cities. We traded different types of drugs. It was a risky business. We had to evade people like you and my parents. We could never use what we’re supplying. Sometimes we would get caught. Bribing police officers worked most of the time. But if they could not be corrupted, we used political power. Sujal’s brother helped me get out twice. Luckily, on both occasions, I only had weed with me.

“I thought I never left a trace of my drug use. But I was wrong. You noticed carelessly throwing cigarette butts and started following me. You told my parents, and they caught me red-handed last week.”

I whisper into her ears, “How long had you been spying on me, huh? Why did you convince my parents to send me to the rehab? You killed all my dreams; I’m going to kill you now.”

                                                       ***

Juan and I had agreed not to bring a torchlight, but now I wish I had brought one. I want to see in her eyes the fear of death. “Aha!” I exclaim. “You always keep a torch under your pillow.”

I run my hands under her pillow and find it. I focus it on her face. She has closed her eyes to prevent the glare. The wrinkles on her face seem to have increased. She is sweating. A little later, when she opens her eyes, she has tears on them. “Do you want to tell me something before you die?” I ask.

‘Of course she wants to,’ Juan says. ‘But don’t let her scream.’

I pull down the handkerchief from her mouth a little and shut her mouth with my hands. Surprisingly, she does not even try to scream. Her tears fall on her pillow as she sobs. “I didn’t know I had raised a devil,” she says. “You’ve gone crazy. If killing me makes you happy, then just kill me.”

I stuff the handkerchief back into her mouth, but I forget what I should do next. I had never thought that she would beg me to kill her. Juan immediately whispers, ‘That’s exactly what you want. Remember the dream she has tried to steal from you? You must kill her. You’re the Devil.’

‘Am I the Devil?’

‘Yes, you are.’

‘Indeed, I’m the devil!’

I smile, stretch, grab the knife on the bedside table, and take an aim at her heart. She is breathing heavily.    ‘Lub-dub-lub-dub,’ I can hear her heart pounding hard. I remember her calling my friends bad. I recall the day she had busted me and had talked about sending me to rehab. I shut my eyes and stab her. One, two, three,… I lose count. When I’m tired, I stop and look at her. She does not move. She is dead.

Killing her should have made me happy, but I’m not. There is a sort of emptiness. I look at her dead body, not knowing what to do next. ‘Get out and take a shower,’ Juan scared me.

My hands shiver as I open the door. I run towards the bathroom. The door opens all of a sudden, and my uncle’s son comes out and holds his torch at me. He had come here to stay for a few days. He gazes at me, laughs, and says, “Hey, what’ve you been doing? Did you kill the chicken I had brought yesterday? Isn’t it too early?”

He had teased me the other day, saying that I could not even kill a fly. He had then challenged me to kill the fowl he had brought. Juan says, ‘You’ve killed a woman. You’ve won the challenge.’

‘Cock-a-doodle-do,’ the cock he had brought screams on the top of its voice outside.

My cousin looks baffled. “Haven’t you killed it?” He asks. “Then where did all the blood come from?”

He then gasps, pushes me aside, runs down the corridor, and dashes in to her room. He knew we had a strained relationship. My head spins. I shiver. ‘Kill him before he knows you killed her,’ Juan says.

I want to kill him, but I can’t move a muscle. As I stand still in the middle of the dark corridor, he rushes out of the room, points at me, and says, “You killed her?”

Before I say anything, he shouts out, “Oh my God! Uncle, aunt, call the police! Your son’s gone crazy. He killed Grandma!”

What’s the Point? (The Last Part)

Pointless

It took me a while to get to the stage, find the CD player and run the CD. Meanwhile, my act grabbed attention of some of the people around. They kept asking what I was doing. I was too overwhelmed to say anything adding to the fact that I was as clueless as they were.

All the chit chats stopped as Bishwas’s recorded voice greeted us. “Good evening, my guests!  First of all, let’s applaud the one who found this recording.”

There was a brief period of silence. “Did you clap?” The voice continued. “I hope you did. If you didn’t, my request has been pointless. You should’ve clapped. You don’t know how fortunate you are to hear my voice. Had nobody cares to look at that target board, you would have left, angry and confused. You’d never have known why you’re here. The time I spent in recording would have been pointless. So, please appreciate the person who made this interaction possible. Let’s give a big round of applause.”

A few people applauded, maybe because they thought they should follow the voice. Most of us were still confused.

“Thank you,” Bishwas’s voice said. “Now, it’s time to let you know why you’re here. You are here to bid me farewell from this world. Yes, you heard that right. A proverb says: “Even if your birth was ordinary, make your death extraordinary.” Extraordinary death! That’s what I am trying to accomplish.

“I’m so sorry for what I am making you witness this evening. I always remained mysterious. Never told everything about my life and feelings. And then I brought you here and literally kept you in dark. Please forgive me.

“I lived a meaningless life, trying to keep everyone happy. But no one ever was. I worked hard in school all through my childhood to keep my parents happy. But they wanted more. I worked harder, just to see them smile. But they didn’t ever truly smile. Their smiles were fake. An act so that I would make more effort in order to kill my childhood.

“I made some friends during my Plus Two days. They celebrated my successes and moaned my failures, without anything else in return. They also introduced me to the entertaining side of life: drinks, smoke, night clubs and dohoris. I met my first love in one of these settings.”

I took a glance at the lady in red dress, paying attention to the words coming from the record. “She was beautiful. I met her a few weeks ago. She has become more beautiful. Her melodies have helped me fill the emptiness my heart suffers from. She kept me happy. Her presence was a blessing. I wanted to be with her forever but it was not to be. My parents once again came on the way of my happiness.

“”We won’t let you marry her,” they said. “She sings at a restaurant at night. Her character is questionable. Besides, she belongs to a lower caste. She can’t be our daughter-in-law.”

“Only I know how hard I tried to convince them. I begged, I cried but their heart did not melt. They threatened to stop paying for my studies. I had a dream to study medicine. Without their financial support, I would not be able to pursue my goal. To keep them happy and to keep my dreams alive, I decided to sacrifice my happiness. I acted like an ass in front of the girl I loved the most and pushed her away from my life.

“I have lived in regret ever since. I could not be with the girl I loved, I could not pursue my dreams and never did my parents become happy. After I failed two rounds of entrance exams, I joined a college. There I made a few friends. One of them thought I was perfect, that I could never make mistakes. I have made mistakes, my friend. I’m so sorry to let you down.”

The Lady looked at me and raised her eyebrows, as if saying, “What did I say?”

It hurt. More than Bishwas’s words. I almost teared up.

Bishwas’s voice was still echoing in the warehouse, “I went up the Himalayas when everything became too much for me to bear. I pulled off all the money from my bank accounts, crushed my phone and SIM and went off radar. I heard of a monastery beyond the Himalayas. I finally found peace.

“But the Lama kept saying that I had not found peace. He said that without facing everyone who suffered because of me, I could not find true peace. Even Buddha had to face his family after returning to Kapilvastu. Although I am nowhere close to Buddha, the Lama advised me to talk to everyone whom I had caused pain.

“I came home and apologized. They said they would not forgive me because of the pain I had given them. If my parents are not forgiving me, I thought, nobody would. What’s the point in living if your parents do not love you, are never happy no matter you do? What’s the point in loving someone, only to remain at a distance from her? What’s the point in getting appreciation from the world when you don’t have a family to celebrate your success?”

Feeling uncomfortable, I looked around. A woman fell on the floor. Some people, including the lady in the red dress went to help her. Others started looking worried. The recording continued, “I’m leaving you all, forever. I’m tired of leaving this pointless life. At exactly eight o’clock today, I will take a leap from the cliff behind this warehouse…”

I looked at my watch. It read 7:58. I ran towards the exit, Bishwas’s voice trailing behind me.

“… There is no point in blaming others for my decisions. Baba, Aama, I’m so sorry I turned you into villains. But I had to say everything so that nobody in the future suffers the way I did …”

The exit door was too far. Can I still save him?

“… My love, I have been terrible. I deserve your hate but please try to forgive me. …”

I barged out into the open and ran towards the cliff.

“… My friends, I’m sorry. I’m leaving you again.”

I went behind the warehouse and looked towards the cliff.

I saw the silhouette of a man above the cliff. How lean he had become! Bishwas was ready to jump. I called him out but he did not listen. I sprinted to reach him. He stretched his arms. “Bishwas,” I screamed at the top of my voice. He looked towards me, shook his head and jumped.

I stood still, shocked and confused. I could not save him. If only had I found that CD earlier! I went closer to the cliff. “No, no, no. I should have saved him but could not save him,” I said to myself.

I returned to the warehouse. What I saw baffled me. Little children were running here and there and dancing to the tunes played by a DJ. Jokes, cackles and laughter filled atmosphere. In contrast, those who had heard the recording were mourning, scolding the children and getting out of the warehouse.

The lady in the red dress came towards me. Behind her was the woman who had collapsed earlier, supported by her husband and a handsome gentleman. We both asked each other the same question, “What happened?”

After some awkwardness, the lady answered, “At exactly eight o’clock, these children and caterers rushed in from another chamber. That was where the feast was. A DJ removed the CD while it was still playing and started playing party songs.”

She gestured towards the woman and her husband. “Bishwas’s Baba and Aama have had hard time. They just won’t believe Bishwas killed himself. You saw what happened, didn’t you.”

“Yeah, he jumped down the cliff.”

Her feet staggered. Bishwas’s parents gasped.

“But he did not die,” I added.

“What?” They all said at the same time.

“Yeah, he dived into the lake and swam to the shore. He changed into a monk’s robe and then looked at me. I could not see him clearly but he must have smiled. Others may say he died but he did not. He is an excellent diver and swimmer. How can he die?”

“But he said he was leaving the world forever,” Bishwas’s mother said.

“Yes, he left us and entered into the world of monkhood. Just like the Buddha. He can now go closer to the truth. Besides, what’s the point in grieving about the man who has finally found peace?”

What’s the Point? (Part Four)

Lights on!

A flash blinded me. It’s strange how sudden darkness and brightness both have affect our vision. As my eyes adapted to the brightness, I saw the lady in front of me. She was elegant in her scarlet dress. The make-up was loud but complemented the dress well. Her looks demanded attention from the attendees. I could see why Bishwas felt insecure.

“Nice to see you,” she said.

“Yeah, me too.”

I turned around to see the party venue. It had been so well-decorated that it did not seem like a warehouse. Balloons, stars origamis and lights hung from the ribs of the tinned roof.

Before I could take a view of everything, I got distracted by the crowd. Bishwas’s guests ranged from young to old, rich to poor (as I could make out from their clothes). Some were in the middle of conversation and some were alone, probably contemplating why there were here.

“Quite a mass he has gathered,” the lady said.

“Seems like he invited everyone personally,” said an old man behind us.

We turned around to face him. He had thick round glasses over his eyes and held a black cane. He looked wealthy. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I overheard your conversation. I didn’t intend to, I swear. I heard other stories, too. All of them said Bishwas met them and gave the invitation.”

“Who are you?” I asked, “How do you know him?”

“I sponsored this.”

We looked at the old man doubtfully. Without paying heed, though, he continued, “A month ago, we had adverstised a vacancy. Bishwas applied and came for the interview. Before we could ask anything, he said, “I’m organising a charity programme in a couple of months. I don’t have a job. I don’t have anyone who can help me out.”

“I was shocked. “If you want to do a charity, do it with your money. Also, this is not the way you ask for sponsorship. You can not do that in an interview.”

“But Bishwas has this special quality of convincing people. He convinced us in no time. And I personally decided put ninety percent of the money for this programme. Only Bishwas hasn’t shown up and I’m a little worried.”

I could swear the old man was hiding something. I’d rather love to hear his secret than him boasting about his wealth. I looked around to see if I could find something more interesting. And I found it.

On the farthermost wall was a target board. I could not exactly make it out but the board did not look normal. As I went forward, I discovered why it was different. It had the centre point (the golden-coloured portion) removed. It was pointless! What an idea, Bishwas! I smiled. But why was it there?

Upon closer inspection, I saw words written along the circumference of one of the circles. The tiny printed letters said, “Take this board off and look on the backside. You will find a CD attached by a tape. On the stage is a CD player. Run it. Bishwas has a message for all his guests.”

What’s the Point? (Part Three)

Bishwas and the Lady

“What nonsense!” the lady snapped at me. She had sounded cheerful before but now she was furious. Why this sudden change of mood?

“You misinterpreted my fury as excitement,” she said. I was finding it difficult to believe her as she continued, “I wanted to see if there is somebody else who finds his catchphrase pretentious. I came here to punch him on his face for what he did. But you’re just praising him. You’re so naive. No wonder he tricked you into believing he is good. You don’t know him at all. He is a man with zero commitment. He never keeps his promises. Does not even try. It’s so ironic that you saw bravery in that coward. “

“Calm down, please. What happened? Why are you so bitter against him?”

“If you’d been in my place, you’d have been bitter too.”

“Oh, is that so? Tell me your story then.”

“It’s not the story I want to share with a stranger but I will tell you.”

The lady narrated her side of the tale–

After I completed my SLC, I convinced my parents and came to this City of Dreams to continue my studies. The money my parents sent was never enough. So, I started to work at a restro as a singer. It was not easy to work there. Drunk men with lustful intentions scared me everyday. But as it was helping me in paying rent and fees and I had trouble finding another job, I could not leave it.

Life was continuing in this mundane way until Bishwas came to me after the end of my singing session that Christmas evening, and said, “I have seen you before, haven’t I?”

Because that’s one of the most cliched ways to talk to a stranger, I didn’t give much attention but as soon as he took the name of my college and said, “I have seen you there”, my eyes widened.

“I go there myself,” he said adding more to my shock. I had never seen him before. Neither here, nor in the college. Could he have been stalking me? I was shaking from inside.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

I tried to speak but no word escaped my throat. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I had no intention of doing that. I came here with my friends for the first time and we all thought you were familiar. That’s why I came to talk.”

*

“He does not sound bad to me,” I could not stop myself from commenting.

“What’s wrong with people these days?” The lady grimaced. “Always jumping into conclusion without knowing everything!”

Having got the taste of my own medicine, I smiled sheepishly. I felt exposed. Thank God she could not see me in the dark! Without waiting to think anything, however, she continued–

You were right, though. He did not sound menacing at first. He had an extraordinary charm. . . .Ugh! Why am I praising him?. . .. Anyway, he used to come regularly, sit on the table close to the stage, and praise me after I sang. One evening, Bishwas came with a stranger and said, “What’s the point in singing here? Nobody seems to recognize your talent. My friend, Sarun here makes music and sells them pretty good. You should now be a professional.”

We made three songs within two months. Everyone who listened to those songs, praised them. We could not earn more, however, because we lacked money. Sarun’s studio was small and I put a lot of money in the recording. Bishwas provided help from his pocket money but it was not enough for aggressive marketing.

Meanwhile, Bishwas and I fell in love with each other. (Yeah, fell in love because it only gave pain afterwards). Neither of us confessed at first. Whenever we were together, Sarun used to tease, saying, “You two are in in love and I can see that in your body language. Why do you keep denying?”

We would just smile and brush it off. On the New Year eve, after I finished singing my song (I had become a local celebrity) a year after we met, Bishwas climbed on to the stage with me and confessed his love for me in public. A lot of emotions came rushing on my mind and I broke into tears. I confessed my feelings, too. Sarun could not stop smiling. His gut feeling had been proved.

***

A couple of months later, just as I was about to climb on the stage, Bishwas said, “You don’t need to sing. What’s the point? Nobody wants to hear you sing. All they want is you.”

“But you’re the one who has me,” I winked.

“I don’t know. What if someone takes you away from me?”

“No one will take me away.” I went closer to him and looking into his eyes, asked, “Don’t you trust me?”

He did not answer. I felt cold inside. Bishwas had always said he trusted me. I had always believed his words. That day, however, I saw a different Bishwas. It’s not that I had not been noticing that he had changed. I had chosen to ignore because it didn’t seem like big deal. After all, change is inevitable. But his lack of response was something else.

When I ended my performance, Bishwas was still at the back stage. He came to me, grabbed my hand and said, “What’s the point in singing like this, dear? I can meet all our needs even if you stop singing.”

“But you supported my journey and it has just begun. Why do you want me to stop?”

He looked at his feet and said nothing.

“I want answers, Bishwas.”

He did not utter a word.

I lost my patience. Furious at him, I said, “How do I know what’s happening in your head if you don’t say anything? Why do you want me to follow you without a question?”

“Because I love you and I want you to be with me. If you continue singing, I can’t be with you.”

I felt like he pushed me off a huge cliff. I lost words. I could not believe what I heard. Bishwas had said many times before that his parents would not let us stay together because of my caste. But he had always said that he would convince them. Even if he could not convince them, Bishwas had assured that he would never leave me. His name means trust but I should never have trusted him.

He left me. Never even looked back. I cried for days. Sarun helped me during that hard time. I completed my studies, learned English, Korean and Spanish, got a scholarship at a reputed university and returned a month ago. I had almost forgotten about Bishwas but he would not let me forget him. Last week, he knocked at my door. (Oh my God! How did he found where I was living? I don’t know. I should have asked!)

“I’m here to invite you to a party,” he said. “I have hurt you and I understand. But would you come just for the good times we had?”

I stood dumbfounded. “Should I go or not?” I asked myself a number of times. When I finally realized that I could actually punch him in public, I decided to come. But where is he?

Page 1 of 3

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén