This Night Could Be The Last One !
Be Together !!
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Author: Prof. Dr. Govinda Raj Bhattarai
Translation into English: Sandhya Regmi
(2011, HCMC, Vietnam
(...from Govinda Raj's travelogue "Sangai Basaun Yo Raat")
(...from Govinda Raj's travelogue "Sangai Basaun Yo Raat")
We
opened the window and started gazing outside after crossing the Bartung hill.
Palpa glimmered with supernatural beauty. The hills stood upright chained
together under the clean sky with twinkling stars. Somehow its silhouette
looked extremely mysterious and terrifically fascinating. It appeared as if the
fields were glowing with electric lights. The moon smiled above the silhouette
of a mountain resembling a thin slice of cucumber. How beautiful this crown looked
above the mountain. Our aged bus was slowly rolling uphill, but we were not
worried about journeying late at night. We only wished to reach Tansen bazaar.
We were travelling courageously – our heart free of all the doubts, all panics
and all the terrors. Today even the wind seemed to be celebrating its freedom.
We
had travelled the same road last year under fear and fright pounding our heart.
Everything seemed so fearless this time. The environment was pleasant and the whole
surrounding seemed to be welcoming us – the romantic wind, the road, the
villages, the people we passed by and the sky that stretched endlessly above
the mountains.
This
time too, the Nepalese English Language Teachers’ Association (NELTA) and the Nepali
Literature Society were working together. The NELTA Palpa had organized English
language training programme and the Art Critic Society zonal level literature
utterance programme.
Most
of the distinguished talents from across the region and further away had
arrived to participate in the programme arranged on the auspicious 71st
Bhupi Birth Anniversary. A grand ceremony it was. Writers and poets
participated with great enthusiasm and zeal breathing the sweet air of freedom.
Early in the morning we entered the huge and impressive hall of JVT school of Tansen
Palpa
had quite recently found solace to her heart overcoming tears of pain and
despair. She was yet unable to cheer out of excitement. Palpa was unfolding her
wounds of struggle for democracy and revealing them to the nation and
cautiously laying beautiful dreams for future. Poet Ganga Nath Koirala spoke of
it –
Why is there still sorrow O! Mother Nepal smile
Why is there still sorrow O! Mother Nepal smile
How long
would you dwell in this grief and distress
A new era has
begun spreading joy and gladness
The evils are
gone, new hopes have emerged.
I
was familiar with the names of some distinguished literary figures, but was
unaware of how prestigiously and prosperously
this region had grown up with such adorable talents. Tansen bazaar was
witnessing the sentiments of the whole of Lumbini nation through the joint but
diverse performances of dance, music and poetry. It was evident how restless
our consciousness was by the thirst of expression. The poets and artists
revealed themselves with tides of expression amidst new boundaries of joy of
liberation and fear of imprisonment. How dedicated we civilians are for the
enhancement of the civilization of our nation in moments of sunshine. At the
same time we fear of dark clouds covering the sunlight. Murari Parajuli
expressed his feelings –
Moments
earlier released from prison
My
torture-victimized stories
Are in the
process of returning home
Caressing
their wounds near the district capital
And crossing
the bar of the village gate
Are desperate
to enter in like a procession.
Literature
is really and truly the reflective mirror of age. It is only time that survives
in the creation of every writer. Our sorrows and desires are spontaneously
reflected in our creation. Many creators uttered their poetry throughout the
day. I could feel the tears boiling in their heart out of grieve. It was not
different from what Shelly had once said: “Every
poem is a song of suffering.” The same pain sighed deeply under the pine
trees in the cliffs of Palpa. Nonetheless, this time there were no songs of
anxiety, terror or melancholy, nor of brutality or death. This reminds me of
grief-stricken poem uttered by Indira Gahatraj during my last visit to Palpa.
This time, it was different.
This
is the time when the country has just begun to breathe in peace and we have
started growing hopes for future. Most of the poems uttered were of democracy,
caution and carefulness. ‘Smile O! flower’ by Dadhiram Sapkota was a remarkable
poem. All hearts throbbed with emotion when Narayan Nepal
Darkness pierced and prickled me over and over
again
I
would dare to purchase light by burning myself.
Narayan
Prasad Gautam of Gulmi, Banmali Nirakar of Bhairahawa and Harihar Sharma of
Kapilbastu were there in the ceremony. Also present were Dhundiraj Aryal and
Geeta Panth of Butwal. It felt as if it was the representation of the whole nation
through the diverse participation. But seeing me arrive from Kathmandu they
wanted to express their worries, grief, dilemmas and sufferings which were
unseen and unheard of by Kathmandu . Rudra
Gyawali poured out these sentiments in one of his verses to which I responded -
“Palpa with all her energy, power and capacity is in herself a big Kathmandu . Do not feel inferior to the Capital or think
yourself as incomplete, rather stand bold making Lumbini strong and powerful as
Kathmandu . There is no need to beg or call out
for her. Palpa has enough strength to outstand successfully and prosper on her
own. Do not underestimate your inner strength and values. Have you not realized how talented you are and
what outstanding abilities you possess. Perhaps Kathmandu
has never heard of such excellent literary works before. Unfortunately, most of
the talents have not been rewarded and their valuable manuscripts have not yet
been published.”
There
were personalities from diverse background in the event - an experienced writer as Krishna Dev Sharma,
classic sensations as Mahendra Panthi and late Kamal Koirala and a young talent
as R. B. Nishchal. Ninety of them in a group constructed the image of the mighty
Kathmandu representing the core sentiments of
Lumbini as a whole. It is impossible to mention the names of all the
individuals here.
The
city of Tansen
Hands
and feet are trembling
It seems like
a hallucination
Hypnotized
with brightness and cheerfulness
Dreams are
haunted by sounds of gunshots
Last
year Indira Gahatraj had read aloud her verse ‘the explosives’ in Palpa reminding
of the terrifying night of calamity and Dinesh Rawal had sung melodiously the
grief-song of the same disastrous night – Palpa
Palace went up all in flames and smoke…
Early
morning while heading uphill we had observed the most devastating scene.
Palpa’s glory stood there as a ruined castle - roof, doors and windows all
blown away, residuals left burnt by thick black clouds of smoke, partly
fallen-down and still crumbling away, half of it stood erect amidst the ruins,
but valueless. A corpse it was. The glorious Palpa Durbar had once been the
national monument. This destruction, an atrocious act of brutality, resulted
from the conflict between the two uncivilized and violent forces in the
country. While the cruel monarchy controlled government force was deceitfully
conducting election in the country, the unrestrained rebellious force
retaliated against it by destroying the ancient Dhankutta and the crown of
Palpa simultaneously. The civilians of Palpa suffered the torture, humiliation,
agony and pain combined together all at the same moment, without any fault on
their part. It was the consequence of the brutal and deadly rebellious attack in
retaliation against the cruel dictatorial rule, creating the dark history.
While
returning in the evening, our eyes stopped on it again, though the visibility
had dropped down. Palpa Durbar looked as if it were the image of a trembling
human smeared with blood from gunshots, partially collapsed. We glanced from
the inner courtyard and could see the stars and moon in the sky through the
panelless doors and windows. We wanted to leave for the guesthouse, then
suddenly heard Rudra Gyawali’s voice –
Be together, this night could be the last one
Once
separated, this friendship could be the last one.
In
order to be together that night we went down to Ek Narayan’s rented apartment
and then to the hospitable couple Buddhiraj and Sharada Nepal. There I sadly
started unfolding the pages of ‘Palpa Gaunda’ by Dr. Karna Bahadur Baniya.
Thousands of our ancestors’ soul could be heard speaking. It had imprints of
our precious and prestigious history characterized by tears and sweats.
However, it only remains as sacred remains now in heaps of ashes. In addition
to ‘Palpa Gaunda’ there were many other pieces of creation in my hands –
‘Jyotsana’ by Hari Raj Sharma, ‘Nepal’ by Nilkantha Neupane, ‘Dronacharya – the
Guru of ages’ by Narayan Chalisey, Ganga Nath Koirala’s ‘Himalaya and Waterfall’,
Eknarayan Poudel’s ‘Wounds of the cloud’ and Narayan Nepal’s ‘the song of my
heart’. But there was hardly any time to open and read them, nor was there any
wish to.
We
started indulging ourselves one more time in songs and Gajals. We played
‘Dohori’ (song sung by singers splitting into two groups responding to and
competing with each other), discussed philosophy, read aloud poetry and played
‘Antakchhyari’ (a game in which songs are sung continuously starting with the
last alphabet of the song sung by opposing partner). Sitting together and
amusing ourselves amidst the hindi Karaoke by Narayan Nepal and Dhan Raj, the
Nepali readings of Tanka Panth together with the patient listeners Banmali
Nirakar and Krishna Chalisey, the folk dance performed by Eknarayan and the humorous
laughter of Gopal Bashyal we were trying to forget the unconscious pain
experienced earlier. After midnight we went to bed. However could not fall
asleep that night as the rich melodious sound of Anupam Roshi started sprawling
its waves –
Plucking the
flower I had once planted, one early morning
With tears in
your eyes why have to come to this grave.
This
sad song was somebody else’s wound but my heart was filled with the wounds of
Palpa Palace, and Palpa Durbar kept coming into my mind the whole night
repeatedly.
