This story is again from long time back,when the conflict was in its climax.This is written for a special purpose..it is more a development story(rather than pure literary)..So..Please enjoy..and I will complete it in another episode)

 

बस रोकिन्छ ।ऊ ओर्लिन्छ । दुवै आ-आफ्नै गन्तब्यतिर लाग्छन । ऊ अनि बस । उनीहरु छुट्‌टीदाखेरी बीचमा एउटा साठी डिग्रीको कोण बन्छ ।

छ बजेछ । आठबजे त घर कसो नपुगिएला । तेतिबेला भान्सा उठिसकेको हुनेछ । केहि छैन, गुन्द्रुक जिन्दावाद । मुग्लिनको सोडा हालेको भातलाई पनि धन्यवाद, अहिलेसम्म भोक लागेको छैन । फेरि ऊ घरिघरि भोक लागिरहने मान्छे पनि होइन किनकी ऊ खानका लागी बाँच्दैन । गाडी डिजेल खानकालागी गुड्छ र ? ऊ अगि आएको मिनीबस तल घुम्तीमा पुगिसकेछ ।

आजको यो उकालो सातवर्ष अगाडि ऊ काठमान्डु जानलाग्दा ओरालो थियो । एउटै बाटो कहिले उकाली त कहिले ओराली बनेर तेर्सिदिन्छ । अचम्म । जिवनपनि यस्तै हो । यसबिचमा आँधीखोलामा निकै पानी बग्यो र रगत पनि । बाग्मतीमा ढल बगेझैं । भैगो, यो सब समयको खेल हो ।

ऊ आज गाउँ फर्किएको छ । केहि ज्ञान,अनुभव र एउटा नौलो क्रान्तिको सोच लिएर। क्रान्तिको नाम सुन्ने वित्तिकै झस्कनेहरु धेरै छन यहाँ । क्रान्ति भनेको बन्दुक, ढुंगामुढा, पार्टीको झण्डा या अराजकता होईन भनेर उनीहरुलाई बुझाउन निकै गाह्रो पर्नेछ उसलाई । तर त्यो असंभव छैन ।

ब्यक्तिगत, आर्थिक र शैक्षिक उन्नतिलाई जिन्दगीको प्रमुख मुद्दा बनाएर देशभरीका लाखौं यूवाहरु काठमान्डु भासिए । विदेश जानेहरुको त झन् कुरै नगरौं । उनीहरु पद र पैसाका लागी बाँचे । तर ऊ केहि अलग किसिमले,केहि अलग प्रयोजनका लागी बाँच्न चाहन्छ । त्यसैले, आफ्ना प्रत्येक जिजीविषालाई स्वाभिमानी र सार्थक तुल्याउन ऊ आज गाउँ फर्कदैं छ। काठमान्डुका लागी ऊ बोझ थियो, गाउँका लागी खाँचो ।

ऊ निकै रोएकी थिई उसले गाउँले फर्कने निर्णय लिंदा । अँ… ऊ को भने; उसकी साथी भन्दा थोरै बढि र प्रेमिका भन्दा थोरै कम । यस्तो नाताको कुनै परिभाषा छैन । प्रस्ताव नराखेको होईन उसले । तर जतिसुकै गहिरो प्रेमको बाचा हालेपनि यो पहाडी पाखोमा आएर एउटा सामान्य जिन्दगी बिताउन तयार भइन् ऊ । केही छैन, प्रेमलाई त्यति पनि लम्ब्याउनुहुदैन ताकि त्यो पट्यारलाग्दो बनोस् । आखिर प्रेम कुनै अंकुश हैन । यो रक्तपातमा के? मर्न जाने गाउँमा? उसले तर्क राखेकी थिई। तर खोक्रो ।पलायनवादीको आक्षेप लगाउन पनि भ्याई उसले । मोरी! कस्ती घमण्डी ।

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I wrote this story in 2060 B.S.,when the armed conflict was at its climax. It’s my first and only published story in Nepali .It was published in a local magazine of my hometown.I was seventeen when I wrote it. When I read it now, I feel a sort of humiliation, I was so radicle and fanatic tetibela…But I feel it close to my heart.Some scholar has said, if you want to write good, go through humiliation as much as you can , the more you feel humuliated , more you can catch up with your true creativity.so, I read it time and again,again and again, undergo more and more humiliation, so that I reckon my mistakes, mistakes of instinct and frailty of crativity…….And whoever read it, Please share me what sort of humiliation you feel .

एकादेशमा….. सायद, कथा यसरी नै सुरु गरिन्छ क्यारे! म पनि यसरी नै सुरु गर्छु । तर पनि मलाई थाहा छैन यो कथाको वास्तविक सुरुवात कसले,किन र कसरी गर्यो । यो कथा मेरो हो अनि हाम्रो हो ।सर्वप्रथम यो कथाको परिवेश तर्फ लागौं । यो कथा बाँचेको परिवेश पनि यो कथा जत्तिकै विभत्स थियो ।

त्यतिबेला न्यूयोर्क र वासिङ्टन डी सी का गगनचुम्बी भवनमात्र होईनन् ईराकी शासकका बगदादस्थित बंकर र शालीकहरु पनि ढलेका थिए । बुशहरु, लादेनहरु र हुसैनहरु त्यो यूगका चालकहरु थिए । त्यतिबेला अफगानिस्तानहरु लथालिङ्ग थिए , ईराकहरु भताभुङ्ग थिए । इजरायल र प्यालेष्टाईनहरु जुद्धै थिए,  भारत र पाकिस्तानहरु बाझ्दै थिए । अब फेरि यो कथाको पृष्ठभूमीतिर जाउँ ।

पृथ्वीको पूर्वीय पाटोमा, विशाल हिमवतखण्डको  मुटुमा एउटा सानो संसार थियो । यति,काँडे भ्याकुर, चेपाङ्ग र सतार देखी म/हामी सबैलाई बास दिने त्यो सानो संसार विश्व मानचित्रमा गुन्द्री झैं पसारिएको थियो । त्यो प्यारो देशले हामीलाई सहनशिल हुन सिकाएको थियो । देशका शासकको वंश नै सखाप हुँदा होस् या संविधानकै बलात्कार हुँदा होस् , महँगीले आकाश छुँदा होस् या भ्रष्टाचारले सिमा नाघ्दा होस्  , हामी चुपचाप लुरुलुरु अर्मपर्म , मेलापात धाईरहन्थ्यौं । देशभरी जताततै घाउ नै घाउहरु थिए, ती घाउहरु राजनैतिक अस्थिरताका , मेलम्चीका, कृष्णभिरका खुदुनावारीका, कालापानीका ,लक्ष्मणपुरका अनि सारा कर्णालीका घाउहरु थिए । मानेभन्ज्याङ्ग देखी चाँदनी दोधारासम्म महसुस गर्न सकिन्थ्यो त्यो घाउको पिडा । त्यो माथी पनि त्यहाँ एउटा याम आएको थियो ; सामरिक विभीषिकाको याम । त्यतिबेला त्यहाँ इजिप्टको पिरामिड जस्तै कंकालको सगरमाथा थियो । त्यहाँ आँशुको मेची बग्थ्यो , रगतको महाकाली बग्थ्यो । अब म मेरो आफ्नो मुल कथा सुरु गर्छु ।

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Please read the last part of the story (Contd……..)

When I finished reading everything she wrote , another mountain of challenge stood , where could I find her. At first I thought I can find her college…but that seemed impossible , this was to be done secretly , if I talked loud about her possession , she would not be happy with me , that was for sure . The college-job was only her part time job , she worked for an NGO too ( but she didn’t name it ).

There were few professional stuffs too, in  the Prescy , they were research reports  about children. There were so many organizations in Kathmandu that work for children, so where to contact? I was confused, I could send it as a public notice in the local FMs and newspapers  but I knew it would offend her , as the world would get interested in what exactly was there  in her MP3.

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Last time , This young man was waiting for somebody at the rear of the Bagmati bridge and was recalling how he  found a purplish portable player .What’s more happening and going on ? Please read out .

That night I slept with my jacket, Jeans and shoes on . I slept like a log for more than 13 hours.  Sleep was never sound like this , was it because a great source of boredom was cleared away of my path or because of the good omen that purple little thing brought into my life ?

That afternoon , I took the Mp3 player out of my pocket and into my hand….with a little inspection , it occurred to me that it must not be malfunctioned for it seemed wholesome , never been trampled but only the color was receded away faintly . I wanted to play it . But it would need a jack that I did not had. Portable players never fascinated me even as a teenager and a simple pen drive would work these days. I went to new road and bought a jack.

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This is the story I wrote almost two years back, out of anxiety . The story is about a mans romantic and erotic fantasy and journey towards the Black Whole..I happen to write it by recollecting my fancies when a purplish MP3 Player of mine was half-trampled  by the tire of a micro-bus( But it functioned anyway).I have shown this story to few of my friends, my close readerships, thats all, and this is not some big affair, not some big emotion, just some emotions and anxieties in fragments. And Hey , I must mention that ,I wrote it after reading Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri .Back then, a strong passion for short stories had surged up irresistibly, fanatically .Thanks to a friend of mine who encouraged me to post it in this blog.I will post this story in 3 parts , turn by turn, because I want to have some curiosity raised. And Thanks for everyone, who would read it .

My pace was never swift like this. Direction was never decisive like this. Dream was never close like this. Air was never evoking like this. Every step I moved was taking me a mile ahead. This my journey was towards the final settlement. This my journey was towards the black hole. This my journey was towards the Bermuda Triangle. This my journey was towards the quicksand. This my journey was towards the Far farther farthest..Deep deeper deepest towards somewhere I belong.towards somebody I truly belong.

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