Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} The following is based on a true story. This gaunle inspired me to want to become a writer. Euta Mamuli Gaunle ko Anautho Sapana Mahesh looked around at the chiya pasal. It was a dismal poorly lit place. All kinds of characters came through here. The chiya pasal was a corner hole in the wall in Boudhha. It was hard work serving out tea. Drunkards would come through. All four of Mahesh’s children and his wife were active in making sure the chiya-pasal ran smoothly. Their oldest daughter, Devika, was a smiley girl with a great attitude. She laughed easily and with such rambunctiousness that the parents sometimes found it disconcerting. They fretted that she was too simple and easy going to survive Kathmandu. Mahesh looked at the hard wooden benches and tables of the chiya-pasal and felt good that he could at least give his family this much. Establishing this store had given them a lot. This was where he had poured the money that he had brought from his village after selling off the ancestoral lands. Mahesh had his own problems while moving to the city. He had gotten cheated while establishing this store. Cheated by a man from his own village who had come to Kathmandu ten years ago. That had been Mahesh’s first harsh lesson. Villagers, once they came to Kathmandu, changed. And in many ways, they became more wily and corrupt than the local Kathmanduites. These villagers felt the pain of their lackings a lot more and the thirst from their hunger seemed to squeeze their hearts tighter and smaller. And it is with these beady eyes that they looked at the new villagers coming to Kathmandu. The established villagers looked at the new ones as easy prey to be exploited. The villager’s established in Kathmandu functioned as dalal’s. They spoke the languge of both the village and of Kathmandu. Trusting the common familiar vernacular of the their village back home, the new villagers instantly trusted the settled villagers. But they came to soon know that the voice is a treacherous thing that can change like the fiddle. Within the changing pitch of the voice contains all the slickery and magic that is known as life in Kathmandu. It scared the daylights out of Mahesh to realize this. It took a piece of his humanity and innocence out of him. It unsettled something deeply sacred within him. Mahesh avoided thinking these dark thoughts and tried to focus on what he had around him. He puttered around the chiya pasal, cleaning the chhanne, washing the tea pot and washing the dirty cups. As he squatted down to run the water coming out of the black pipe over the cups, he wiped the sweat off of his eyebrow with his left sleave. Mahesh looked up and absent-mindedly smiled at the passer-by’s on the sidewalk. He observed the dust that was rising and filled the tea pot with water. Mahesh dipped the tips of his fingers in the tea pot and sprinkled water all along and shutter opening to his tea shop. He continued to toss his fingers, sending puddles of water flying through the air over little goblets of dust. It looked like it had rained only in front of the store. It would get muddy, but at least it would prevent the film of dust from screening into his store. Mahesh didn’t know this when he established the chiya-pasal here, that this was a tough neighborhood. It later made sense to him why the rent was so cheap here. Drunkards and rowdy gangsters would come to the chiya-pasal at all kinds of times, day and night. They demanded baksheesh in exchange for not hurting Mahesh’s family and for not smashing up the store. Mahesh had told his children that if ever one of these gunda’s were to come, they were never to fight them or do anything stupid. “Your lives mean more to me than all the money or even the chiya-pasal. Please don’t risk it. Just give them what they want.” The chiya-pasal got robbed time after time. Sometimes Mahesh had friends from his village who were visiting Kathmandu and living with the family, man his store. Govinda dai was one of them. He had come from the village only one week ago and was actively looking for work. Mahesh had offered him a job in the chiya-pasal. Late one night around closing time, Govinda dai was washing the last glasses and the tea pot. His back was turned to the opening of the store. A gunda, seeing that no one was in the store, came from behind and stabbed Govinda twelve times one after another. Govinda dropped the glass he was holding on the floor and fell to the ground, writing in pain and screaming. The gunda ran out before anyone could intercept him. Someone telephoned Mahesh about what happened. The floor of the tea-shop looked like the floor of a Kali temple that had just celebrated the Dasain festival. Mahesh and other men of his village flagged down a taxi and put Govinda Dai in a taxi. Govinda Dai was wailing and moaning that he was dying. “Please take care of my little children Mahesh daju…,” Govinda said, the clotted dark blood on his cheek getting muddier, mixed with tears. “Don’t speak like this. Everything will be ok by the grace of God,” Mahesh said, putting a gentle hand over Govinda’s trembling mouth. The taxi sped on towards Teaching hospital, waving white hankies from the window and beeping horns to let the traffic know that this was an emergency. Somehow, they made in time. And Govinda dai did not lose his life. But Mahesh felt extremely stressed by this kind of hooliganism. It was already difficult to run a business in Kathmandu without having to brave through all of this. He feared for the life of his family. He had sold valuable ancestoral land to make it in Kathmandu. This chiya-pasal was all he had. He couldn’t leave all the sacrifices he had made to establish this chiya-pasal. But he valued his families life and health and well-being also. If he lost them, he would also lose everything. What could he do? But he never gave up hope. And he never stopped praying to God no matter what happened to him. Mahesh focused on the positive and the opportunities that he had rather than to let the issues of this crazy city drag him down. No matter how difficult things were, Mahesh made sure that he was home for both the 10 am rice dahl and bhaat and the 7pm roti tarkaari that his wife prepared religiously. Mahesh took this time to know how his children were doing in their school and if they were obeying their mother at home or not. Once Mahesh knew they were all ok, he finally allowed himself to relax. <div style="color:maroon;font
Homeyji · Dec 16, 2011 7:56 PM · 112 views
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