मेरो नाउ ठ्याउके ठिक

This one is  something that was played in a theater in the distant past and was written by one of our relatives for the play and am writing as precisely as I remember and without even trying to distort the main theme.

ठ्याउके दिक्क थियो आफ्नो नाम को कारणले ।" बुवा आमा ले किन राखे होलान मेरो यस्तो नाम्", यस्तै प्रकार ले सोच्दा सोच्दै उसले बाटो मा एउटा आइमाइलाई झाडु लगाइरखेको देख्यो र उसको मनमा यस्तो बिचार आउन थाल्छ,"यदी मैले यो आइमाइ सँग नाम साटे भने राम्रो हुने थियो" । यती बिचार गरी उसले आइमाइ सँग नाम सोध्यो र आफ्नो उद्देष्य प्रस्ट पार्यो । आइमाइको नाम लक्ष्मी थियो र दुबै जना बिच नाम साट्ने सहमती भयो र उसले खुशी भएर भन्यो,"आजदेखी तिम्रो नाम ठ्याउके र मेरो नाम लक्ष्मी कसैले सोध्यो भने यस्तै भन्नु" । दुबै जनाले गाँउ भरी आफ्नो नाम साटिएको बारे मा जानकारी गराउन थाले तर फेरी पनि गाँउलेहरुले उसलाई ठ्याउके भन्न छोडेनन । फेरी उस्ले एकजना भिकारी सँग नाम साटेछ । भिकारी को नाम धनपती रहेछ तर पनि गाँउलेहरुले उसलाई ठ्याउके भन्न फेरी पनि छोडेनन । एकदिन उसले एउटा मलामी जानलागेका मान्छेहरु लाई मरेको मान्छे को नाम सोध्यो र मरेको मान्छे को नाम साट्नु उपयुक्त ठान्यो । त्यो मरेको मान्छे को नाम अमर थियो ।अब उ फेरी सोच्न थाल्यो,"अब त सायद मलाई सबै जना अमर भन्छन होला,किनभने अमर नाम को मान्छे त मरिसक्यो",तर फेरी सबै जना उस्लाई ए ठ्याउके, ए ठ्याउके भन्न थाले । अन्तिम मा आएर उसले यस्तो बिचार गर्न थाल्यो:
 
                                    लक्ष्मी देवी झाडु लगाए
                                     धनपती मागे भिख ।
                                   अमर जैसा मर गया तो
                                   मेरो नाउ ठ्याउके ठिक ।।
त्यस दिन देखी उसले आफ्नो नाम जे छ त्यही नै ठीक छ भन्ने निस्कर्ष निकाल्यो ।

Horrendous situation I went through

I am trying to write the true account of this story which happened in my life and which I consider is one of the very few tragic incidents of my life, which leaves me in desperation even today after eight years being elapsed since it happened. The names of the characters,however, are altered with the view that the real characters' names might hurt the people involved.

The date was 2061-01-08 (Equivalent English Date: April 20,2004). Telephone of my house rang so early, maybe it was 5.00 AM or thereabout and as soon as I received the call I was shattered  by the news. It was Dhiraj, breaking that news and it left me in a horrendous situation. I just couldn’t believe that the friend, who was with us the day before and enjoying, cracking jokes, laughing, could face such an unprecedented fate. Our feet somehow took us to his house and the environment was so tense. Everyone was crying: his mom, dad, brother, and the one who seemed to have deceived by the destiny was Smritika. She seemed to have been overwhelmed with grief by the loss she had to suffer.

I could understand that she had by then started denying God. If there was a God, would he do this to him who had never harmed anyone? What kind of God lets innocent people die?


Though we know that that would break us apart, we went to see his body which was still in his room. Susan lay on his bed, his body eternally still. He looked as though he was peacefully asleep, his handsome young face filled with secret, far off dreams. We had seen that expression a thousand times. The vigor, the zeal and the tremendous energy he would show while cracking into jokes, seemed faded by then.


He seemed as if he was not dead and he would wake up from his sleep anytime and he would be amazed to see us all by his bed.Now that the cold was deep inside Susan’s body. He would never talk to us and we would never see him again. Those bright eyes, filled with dreams abound, would never open again and look at us and we would never burst into laughter, hearing him cracking into jokes, or hear his voice, or feel his comic appearance around.


I took deep shuddering breaths and I dragged my feet outside the room and the environment outside was unchanged; more people had joined the mourning by then. I saw a person, who perhaps was one of his uncles, talking about this mundane life and consoling people in grief and he sounded as if telling some verses from ”The Bhagwat Geeta”, the holy book of the Hindus.


Finally, out of sheer exhaustion, Smritika’s crying slowed and she kept numb. She seemed senseless; however, there was a murderous rage in her eyes and by then so was in my eyes; that why it was him, that why did that happen to him and the other times I would try to convince myself that this piece of chill, lifeless flesh was not my friend, that Susan was away somewhere, warm and happy, but I was unable to make myself believe it.It was Susan on this bed. My body began to shake. It was as though the cold inside Susan had gotten inside me chilling me to the marrow.

(To be continued....)

Personal

Writing has never been that easy for me. It always scares me whenever someone asks me to write something on a particular topic. However I  write well on my diary &  I don't think I should publish all that I write on the diary, coz i don't think I should publish that bit of information publicly. But the question is: what  do I write there that it scares me to publish that on the blog? And the simple answer to that would be that I am quite good at writing sentimental tones and sometimes I even get amazed at what I came up with and I would end up in thinking: oh my goodness, was that really written by me or something? I am kinda weird person: that is what I used to think sometimes, because I don't have this particular trait that I can explain myself with. Sometimes I feel like I am quite extrovert and introvert at the other time. Friends tell me that I am kinda funny person.