THIS NIGHT COULD BE THE LAST ONE (Translation)

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")  

                                                

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 71^st 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 bazaar; this school reminds us of the contribution made by Mr. Kul Chandra Gautam, the vice-director of United Nations. In the cold day of December we were listening to the literary readings deeply absorbed in them and also interacting till the sunset. The whole day we entertained ourselves with the outstanding poems of the region, songs and gajals and performances of music and dances. It made me wonder how many days and nights of efforts and how much energy were required for the preparation of this grand event and how much of enthusiasm, love, devotion and worship has been discharged on this day. It was indeed the biggest ceremony conducted after the people’s second mass movement for democracy (Jana Andolan-2) and it spoke of the fundamental feeling of the entire nation. In another hall Mr. Gangaram Gautam was conducting the English language training program.

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

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 of Dang started to sing. The flame of creation was spurring out of his heart who seemed to dwell in philosophy and grief. He sang-

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 was set ablaze by the Maoist rebels during the people’s war exactly a  year ago. Many verses uttered reminded of the horrible night of destruction. The poem ‘the night when the sky collapsed’ by Eknarayan Poudel bore the terror as experienced in that hideous night –

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.