Let peace reign every day. Let love kill hatred every day. Let border disappears every day. Let heaven help the poor child everyday. Let God bless us all everyday. Let there be no wait for the auspicious day. Let every next day be your new year's day.
Teaching is the best job on this earth and those who deserves are the greatest. And, Those who leads and inspires teachers are beyond any words. Congratulation Mummy in completing 39yrs of your outstanding career. You have not just made us proud, you are inspiring us.
It took total three weeks to get fragile hut on its bare skeleton shape. That singed and sodden kitchen transformed into a new look. Thanks to old customers who came down with self-slashed daily wages. Sometime I thought they felt as bad as Kaki. They wanted to get back her on feet. They wanted no more Kaki crying, staring her smashed hut. After all, She was the lonely women. I heard they were kind enough to offer the credit. And I heard, She thought of compensating with it but was scared of stranger.
It was just a week back Kancha mum insisted her to let him, hoping in return he will at least have two decent meals a day, nothing more than that. She desperately need one. Furpa had left in Besi bazar and there was no sign his returns. She accepted it. Asked him to come tomorrow early morning.
Though its been almost now 2 weeks, none of new faces showed up. For a first week, it was like a day when she started her Bhatti a decade ago. The very first day, none of showed up to even order a single glass of wine. She thought the village might have forgotten the spot usually referred infamously Kaki ko Bhatti. She thought her days probably was over but was furious over those laborers, they didn't show up knowingly. It was like a Bhatti back in Basantapur none even a single person came down for a drink, at the time, she even thought of putting her own life at risk. The hut was terribly lonely. Eventually, It took a month to notice in upper village. She thought this might not be case. Hope, It just a first day.
Thanks god, it just took another day to see the crowd. She sighed and thanked the god. All same old hardy workers, who came down to gulp few pack of local rice wine told Kaki that they heard the Bhatti is now open. She gave her dimpled smiled.. She knew all she need is a month of good business.
Good news just not far away for her. The contractor in the river side had brought few outsiders to load the river gravels in the truck. She noticed from the window.
She predicted the coming days will be fine to recover her last week loss. As she thought of that in the day, by evening, she found half a dozen laborers came down for a drink. Kancha gave a squinting glimpse to her, but she gave a hint that usually refers ok. They took the last 3 tables and ordered for a glass wine for all. Kancha quickly served them.
An old National battery powered cassette player with AM radio was playing in background. The only memory her sweetheart brought from India and the only things left before he passed away with chronic cirrhosis. The same radio was playing Narayan Gopal song while his honey was sleeping dead. There were probably a dozen stories on this radio. She often felt why she can't live and work without it. Its been almost a decade that the radio has proven that its made of tough parts. It has not given up for Kaki. Still looks brand new as its rear steel looks glossy, feels like she polishes it every single day. People find photo for past but she sees it in old battery powered AM radio.
Kaki reduce its volume as she knew the sound may be interrupting their talks. She kept staring two of middle age man who seems to be jabbering about the comrades. But she acted like she wasn't listening at all. They order choyala and rice flakes. She quickly fill the plates and gave to Kancha. Few regular customer showed up. They took their regular table and order same old menu. In fact, Kancha knew that whats the starter for them.
Kaki with the hot pan and firing stove turning her face full of sweats and radiant red. Kancha who had no idea how dishes are prepared jumps with his smile to give his first ever math to Kaki. She was surprised to see it, had no idea how can be that correct.
Kancha, as told, was staring strangers faces as they were talking in whispering voices. Kancha turned his eyes towards the door, he found two comrade from the barrack were landing straight towards him.
Wake up hardy boy.
You looked wiry.
Here come home.
You dreamed about.
You talked about.
Wake up son.
Here come, mum.
Here come, dad.
You loved & cared.
Wake up buddy.
Here come friends
To see you like a rebel
Wake up sweetheart.
She missed you lot.
Waited years.
Not let her cry forever.
Wake up dear son.
Here I Yell.
I know.
Its just a nap.
Like you did on my lap.
Like you pretend always.
Not let me cry my boy.
Wake up my honey.
Wake up my friend.
Wake up my love.
Wake up,
here come your sweet home.
Harkay claimed. He killed a filthy-hungry-vulture near the mound of obnoxious garbage where carcass often thrown out from the Slaughterhouse. They flew from the rocky Kuheray hill, desperately gathered to rip off the bone meats. Legend has it; He aimed his target from Tinau shore boulder, shot with such an impeccable blow. In just a wink, one of the innocent hungry vulture met twitching death.
'What did you do?' I asked.
'I didn't eat that,' He said.
'I didn't mean that,' I said. He laughed.
***
This season's game is worth to play and I knew he got impeccable skill, a talk of town certainly. I never acquired the knack of properly tossing the top. He was just not limited in swinging, but was better known for holy top breaker. He told me once he smashed almost a dozen in just a day and swallowed all bet money. I hardly believed it until I saw once wrapping his home made top with the hard string around the lower part.
Oh Boy! How he bend his torso while releasing it on the ground, tossing with a hard jerk, clearly aiming the top head of the jyapu who was staring Harkay when he was hunching in style.
The sharp nail of Harkay top landed and ripped off jyapu top in pieces, Harkay’s top deflected towards a side near the circle where it had to be as per the rule, and it was there swinging gracefully. Jyapu top scattered in pieces. Jyapu faced turned pale dark, and a little furious, but just couldn’t let that out. He lost his Indian made top along the pocket money. Well, this time no gypping. It was clear who lost the match and who will eat money. We couldn’t burst our joy as we felt that jyapu could whine shamelessly.
That day we went in wildly infamous Kaki ko Bhatti, not for a local gin, though it has everything to offer, but we only loved her Choyala, Kachila, Sukuti, Chuakauni, Momo, Machay ko chantni, samaya baji, fried chauchau… yummy! Bet money was just not enough to gulp all, but we smelled irresistible aroma, chewed it and even licked pretty much to burp.
Kaki once said 'Literally you boys turned my plates as sparklingly bright as I just brought from the Haat Bazaar.' We laughed.
***
The season for marble was perfect. Boys could draw a shape of the board over the dried mud. But Right now just need some smooth, plain and water resistant ground and for that they had to come down in street where they find the asphalt, a long back municipality had managed to do it.
From the corner of yet another street of Pari Butwal, a group of kids playing marble that has its own rules. Nobody knew how Kids seed the rule and bring it back in each season. This summer, for sure, Kids will hang with marble, and will last for 3 months. Summer was off air, but the game has peaked up. Every macho player looked busy with the marbles. The trends were right in the corner. Shopkeeper knew it well that the season has started. Harkay knew marble are not Tire jockey but he need money to buy. Tire & top were different stories. He could have brought it free from the town where tire workshop had piled up to dump, Sometime people used it for Winter and just sell it to recycle. And he could have asked his dad to make a top for him. This is about marble and boy, you need glossy glass and hot fire to melt it, and device to round it. Nobody had done it here and none will.
***
Money! is what marble needs. And I have my lovely mum and aunty or sometime grand ma. Either, I had to make a reason that makes sense or make them pity about me. The money is difficult. Perhaps, if there was easy way to make Marble Harkay could have managed it. Harkay thought often making it but once heard the making of marble none other than my words of wisdom, he dropped his plan. Those were the day, Once, we searched the street corner of marbeler junctions for broken marbles, We thought the Tire patching art would work for it. We accumulated few of pieces and tried to paste it together. Obviously, It didn’t work out. The glasses were just delicate to patch. We thought it. However, We often managed to play with scratches one, but it hurt hard in the fingers, easy bruise everywhere. The glossy silky marbles has its values. And we need it desperately.
I had one way but to extract out of aunt or grandma was a herculean task. All these were my best probabilities but I had to Solve equation slyly. Aunty was the one if persist with the demand sternly with a made up reasonable reason, could bear some fruits, but only after at least 1hr begging chasing creeping, And then she will drop few paisa or Rs. I had to follow her shadow, from ground floor to top to everywhere. Sometime she blew up with a blast of decades frustration spewing everything on me just because I triggered it, Her impetuous display sometime terrified me, the grandma was with her, often chased me with the broom and I had to run back in Tinau river.
***
Later that night I dreamed marble. Marble everywhere, in Harkay bed, in his bag, sacks. All friends chasing him, begging him. He brought full of in the school bags & gave hand full and remind due date. He formed a board in the ground. And invited the superior and the 3 guys to play against him. He took away every last remaining marbles from their pocket. Superior was so furious that he brought his bag of marbles from his shack and asked him to play other game not the board one. He threw, scattered the marbles over the ground and challenged him to hit the targets. Harkay kept hitting each one without a single miss. He kept hitting without letting him to get a single turn. In every turn, the marbles were being hit hard, the collision echoed shrieks, like Superior just cried. The more he hits the more Superior faces flushed in red, blue and the color. You could have seen in his face. In face I saw him sobbing like a little child…! People staring his game, was amazed and gave big applaud. Every single people in the town were desperate to have a glimpse of the greatest player. People had rumors that every single marbles in the market was in his marble bank. He took one more sacks in home. Everyone was chasing him. He got a nickname. The day when he steps on the playground for the Marbles, nobody dare to challenge him. The people who were playing will pause for a moment and leave the ground for him. He was a king of marble. Dare not ever ask him to come and play? The Hakray the great marblers. The name gone far from the place where he could have never imagined. Harkay the great. Harkay the best. Harkay the……
'Get up you little beast,' I heard somewhere.
'Get up, or I will splash the cold water,' I heard a familiar voice. In fact it was my brother.
***
It was not easy day for me. I had to get back to game again. . Harkay was standing near my home and I knew I had to have some money to get the marbles. I dare not to steal, not to ask again and not to cheat. I had no choice.
We landed up near Haat Bazar, where Indian stores offer glossy marbles, including the big one which has higher values. Guys like us from various street of Butwal have landed there to buy their choices of Marbles. We both, keep staring them. Their collections, keep listing their talks. I never made a plan for any. I kept staring the marble. Harkay in crowd, pinched me, gave me a some marbles and winked his eye. I dare not to do that but I took it and kept adding it in my pocket. The moment a group turned back, I followed them, projecting the store owner that I am part of that group. The pounding heart and my desperate to go as far as possible had left Harkay in place with his full pocket of marbles. I turned back and saw the store owner had caught him. I ran away keeping two hands in my pocket.
I was panting. I was sweating. But managed to hold my two full pockets of marbles. I went to Grandma house and hid it. Came back and took a deep breath and started wondering about Harkay fate. I was so afraid of going out, I hid all day in Grandma house.
Tomorrow morning, I set for school but managed to peek around Harkay home near Fullbari. I found he was alive and smiling.
He came close to me and asked 'Do you have those marbles?"
'What did they do you?' I nodded and asked.
' They locked me in the toilet and set me free,' He smiled.
'Gosh, they didn't beat you?' I asked and sighed.
'That's not a first time sir,' He said and laughed.
That day on wards, I forgot school route. Rushed towards the Pari Butwal street for the Marbles. We played whole days. Won and lost and won. Two of boys completely lost their share. By evening, we managed to add two dozen new marbles in the bank. I told Harkay, I saw dreamed like that. He said I saw that too. We have now two dozen clean marbles which I think we really deserved it. I felt we achieved such a height in the game that we could be like those superior. I insist Harkay to play against Superior. But we never managed to do that.
I landed school after 2 days of absence. The class teacher dragged and asked me Why I bunked it. I lied but he told me my friend saw me playing Marbles. He vowed to punish that will set an example. He shouted to remove my dress. I was left with a naked chest, bare foot and a pant. I was in sniveling tears. He dragged me to the open ground and made be stand with one leg, catching two of my ears. I could not last, And he brought his pale stick and bombarded on me. I made my position back and denied to follow his any instructions. He dragged me and I cried.
But while I was being beaten by cruel senseless class teacher, The Marble Bank went consistently high. Harkay manage to collect almost hundred marbles. It was an achievement I had never seen in my whole life. 100 marbles in the bank, that's a wow! factor. We can sell it out or play it out. We played, added more and more. Until the Marbles season was about to over. We felt this will be enough for next season and asked Harkay to keep it in his underground bank.
Harkay notice bruises and my dried tears. I told him I got a punishment because of Marbles.
'That's alright but I didn't cry,' He replied and gave lopsided smile
****
It was almost early September. My exam has started. I bunked few of them. I didn't learn how to pass exam. I learned how to play and win the game. May be of this month, which screams all sort of festivals. The Dashain was the one which Harkay asked me to come his home. I have seen his decrepit hut. Like a camp someone had setup to stay a day. An adult can easily tilt it down with just a single kick. I saw his dad had brought a goat from the village, tamed outside the hut with piles of leaves brought from the near Jungle. He told me that its the one his Dad will chop for Dashain and will eat for one whole week. I never liked killing but looks like it’s all the best part of this festival. I asked Harkay whether Marbles will be safe with him. He promised.
' What’s the season now?,' I said.
'of course Kite,' He smiled and said . I saw he had home-made one.
'Thanks God, we don't have to steal it,' I said. We both laughed.
'And you know what?' He paused and stared me like he had seen me after years. 'You don't have to cry again,' I giggled
Harkay the inscrutable friend of mine, raised the spool threads and ran away to make kite fly.
Gray clouds hovered over Butwal denim blue sky, took just 10 minute to shed drizzle incessantly. As it had to rain, rained insanely. Thunder sent jitter, and droplets hisses over the tin roofs, turned the class chitchats to dead silent. And slowly, Tinau wind veered to engulf every door-less class-rooms with strange whispers, whispers that flapped the edge of tin roof, whispers that sounds a like ghost breathes. If I were with Mama, the tale of crushing neck by a sharp tin flying from the sky could be just one of monsoon scary tales. She usually repeat the story of early 80's, When a group of kids defied their Mama warning and stubbornly escape for magnetic marbles games. That fateful evening, they were helplessly trapped in a middle of the fierce storm. Out of windy black sky, A sharp tin flew and crushed on them. They were dead on the spot. I don't know that is true but it always projected some kinds of picture in my eyes. I see them right away.
But today, all this windy and rainy game made clear that she will do it again because the fierce wind will not miss beloved Headmiss eardrum.
"Lord, this rain, Why they had to build school near the bank. ", With her two soft palm grabbing her small bald head, at first looks like crushing herself, said loudly but it heard like she was chanting Mantra.
Headmiss, a bit hunch and an average height, obviously unmarried. Always tugged up in home-spun yellow and orange attire with soft clutch bag cling on her shoulder. She wore a horn-rimmed glass and exude soft and calm voice. As descended from Shakyamuni family, she had carried deep influence of Buddhisism. Following her puberty, she decided to follow the footsteps of Buddhism , few of her ages dare to choose this path. But as Shakaymuni had a rule, dispatching at least one of their family member for a year in monastery.. She made her mind to become Bhiksuni, and ardent follower of Buddhist. No one ever knew why she choose Nun path, perhaps it was her family or perhaps it was the grief that she thought will overcome . She never revealed her past and nobody knew except she was nun.
She eschewed not only vanity but individualism. Her bald scarf made her unique. Sometime we ask her , She often responded that shaving the head is a symbol of leaving worldly concerns behind but a small kid like us hardly had a clue what she was actually saying.
She stared towards the river though she cannot see it from her pigeonhole. But she knew very well the river is just not gentle. Her depressed expression usually reveals her wrinkles forehead, shows her much ages than she was. “Tiffin time is over, When it stops, ring the bell. I don’t trust this river at all”, said in a voice that she often promise to not repeat again but as monsoon arrives, her all promise of soft, calm, peace voice turn filled with frustrations. She could not stop her anguish against senile Tinau. She sat in and up the chair, two her staff lady, unmarried stare her, listen her as they know what going to happen next. They knew it had to be that way and they liked it as usual, without a single hitch, they ran back to class and spread the news.
After rain, As always the green hills reveals its darker green texture like it had enough quenching. The wet afresh after bath hill and clear sky made place beautiful and breeze that still surf through it carries coldness like mid winter. The gorging echo of the insane Tinau collide with the school wall and some of the wave entered through open door classes. It felt like a whole class room is above the river, on the fragile bridge and it is rocking all.
“First let this rain stop and wait for the ring”, that’s what the news was and that’s what Bajey had heard too. He saw rain turning back to drizzle drops, took the shovel and hit the center of the bell. The clanging metal waves sent unseen energy to burst a noisy excitement from every class rooms. The school violently turned pin-drop-silent. The foot stamp all over the school muddy field showed a clear sign of desperateness of an hour patients. Bajey expression had its meaning. He in fact never liked day rain that especially litters mud all over the cemented floor. Before the evening school starts, he had to neat up the floor again. His wife never liked it either. The second school fondly he had named it, Night School, somehow managed to add in his day shift meager salary. He never felt it as a job. The whole school like his own home but often he feels that the income he gets had lead him way back. He sometime regrets not listening to his dad. He had became old man, carrying mounting pressure of 3 little kids and his irritated chiding wife.
A silent reign school compound and Bajay returned his hut to check todays income of his quarter- cum-cafeteria and teachers returned back to staff room. [ To be continued ... ]
