Issue –3

Layalama Online Magazine

Quarterly

Nepal Bhasa poetry & prose in English

Volume 1 – Issue 3

15^th. January 2003

Editor:

Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar

(mailto:pushpatuladhar@hotmail.com}

Co-editer:

H.K. Kapali

(mailto:kapalihk@hotmail.com)

Publisher:

Amir Ratna Tamrakar

(mailto:tamrakarar@hotmail.com)

All rights reserved

In this issue 

1.       From the Epic “Sugat Saurav” by late Chittadhar ‘Hridaya”

2.       Poetry collections – Suresh Kiran Manandhar, Nabin Chitrakar, Madhav Mool, Narad Bajracharya, Shree Ram Shrestha and  Mohan Kayastha

3.       Short Story (Modern short story in Nepal Bhasa)  – The Crown (1999) by Saraswoti Tuladhar

4.       Essay (Prose) – I cannot sleep by Amir Ratna Tamrakar

LUMBINI

top

Each of the moisture-laden banks

Was overgrown with canes and reeds

But they looked like parts of the brook,

When tossed, swung And swayed by the wind.
 

Around here the wind speed could be judges

By looking at the peepul tree,

Whose leaves recorded honestly

Each single movement of the air.
 

In one corner was a banana tree,

Standing erect like a pillar

With its bunches set in tiers

As if in mute prayers profound.
 

Some nectar-bearing blooms, it seemed,

Were decking themselves out in gold

To have themselves crowned as the queen

In the contest now in progress.
 

Proud the stags were of their antlers

Which were shaped like branches of trees:

And happy, too, as shown by their eyes,

Which gleamed and sparkled like diamonds.
 

The woodland was dotted with ponds

Full of sweet water, cool and clean,

Their domains were extensive

Like the cloudless autumnal sky.
 

They formed a suitable retreat

For the elephants in the heat

To mingle with their amorous mates

In the passionate sport of love.
 

The drakes and ducks in a playful mood

Were snatching at the lotus leaves;

While the herons stood here and there,

Waiting for the fish to show up.
 

Heedless of the impending doom,

The fish were darting to and fro;

The crabs were out in such numbers

That none could say how may there were.
 

The red lotus was suffused with

The rays of the sun, her lover –

A sight, which forced the white lily

To hang her head in confusion.

To be CContinued …
 

This is from “Sugat Saurava”, an epic on the Life and Teachings of the Buddha. It was written while he was imprisoned (1941-1947) by the autocratic Rana regime for his Nepal Bhasa Literary Movement and activities aimed at keeping alive the Nepal Bhasa language and its literature. It was translated into English by Tirth Raj Tuladhar and published by Nepal Bhasa Academy in 1998. This book is also translated into English by Mr. Todd T. Lewis of Holly Cross College in USA in association with Suvarna Man Tuladhar and expected to publish soon from USA.

A Waif

top

My poem is standing before me

Demanding a share of his patrimony

As if he were my illegitimate offspring.

Time was when men went to the forest

In search of poems.

These days poems are in town

To demand from men their share of manhood.

A poem,

A son whom the poet cannot recognize

As his own flesh and blood;

A son who has been thrown into the streets

By his own father,

A being whom the poet is ashamed of recognizing

As his kith and kin.

Today the poem is approaching his father

To confirm his lineage,

And to demand his share of the poetic genius.

Today poems are not begotten by poets,

They spring from ejaculations in the whore houses;

They are not their beloved sons and daughters,

They are the waifs growing up in the streets.

That may be the reason

Why these days poems come looking for poets,

Not the men who write them

Like a child looking for his father

Not the donor of semen.

From the writers of poems

The poems are asking for the poet

Like a child asking for his father

From the donors of semen.

Copyright 1997 Suresh Kiran Manandhar

 Suresh Kiran Manandhar(mailto:sandhyatimes@mos.com.np)

(Translated by Tirth Raj Tuladhar)

Bygone Shadows

The heart rending eyes pouring

Brackish water

To the dilapidated mind

My elegant morning

Peeping through bedridden

The entrenched dolour

Is evasive drab days myself.

An eternal wish being

Clad in delusion

The bleary mind’s steps

Gone to ashtray

An earthly heart crocked

With my own bygone shadows

Dark edgy cloud slowly

Fading beneath my aglow sky

A mute heart mutter

Biting words at my chaotic mind

My cloistered mind creeping to

Disembodied with ephemeral body.

Copyright 2002 Nabin Chitrakar

Nabin Chitrakar (mailto:nabin_liza@yahoo.com)

(Translated by the author himself)

Reverie

In my childhood

I played in the ground of sky

When I turned young

I forgot the sky

And played with myself

Unknowingly, I toppled the sky

And got round amidst space

“How beautiful this Earth is!”

I shouted

When I got victory

I was in the end of my life

And I was dead

Now, I became a ghost

Somebody worshipped me as god

Now, I’m facing difficulty

Not a dream at all

As I was being god..

Copyright 2002 Madhav Mool

Madhav Mool (mailto:madhavmool@yahoo.com)

(Translated by Mrs. Sylvia Shrestha Rajopadhyay)

The Dust
 

Why the dust’s blowing up and up

As if being trespassed

The way to its travel

Beneath.

Why the dust’s getting today in a fret

As if the devil is teasing it 

With out a cause.

Why the dust’s so furious in this morn

For the life’s sleeping soundly,

Although the time arouses to wake it up from.

Why the dust’s rushing in the river

As if its paces’ covering in moss

Without searching for its goal abandoned.

Why the dust’s adhering to the whole human body

As if the human nerves’ freezing

Without blowing the fire

Why the dust’s so screeching

As if a human has escaped one’s language

Being perplexed in lots of expressions. 

Copyright 2002 Shri Ram Shrestha
 

Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar, born on 1948 in Kathmandu, Nepal, is a poet. Now president of Nepal Bhasa Writers' Forum, Editor of Layalama Online Magazine, His publications include a poetry collection in Nepal Bhasa, Ghayanmo (1990) and An Online Collections of 10 poems in Nepal Bhasa and English. Contact: Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar (mailto:pushpatuladhar@hotmail.com )URL: Pushpa Tuladhar's Poetry pages, http://www.pushpatuladhar.netfirms.com
============================================================= 

The Tiger’s Out of the Cage
 

The tiger’s out of the cage

And goes ahead to hunt the man.

As scripted in the folk tale,

There's even no possibility of a jackal to emerge

As to shut the tiger again into his cage

Mesmerized by his tricks

Amidst the hurry for his life,

The man who crafted the cage for the wilds

Takes himself shelter inside the cage

And locked the door.

So he won’t step out of his cage,

Lets the sharp eye on him

By wild dogs hired by him

Tiger’s freely wandering in the jungle

Tiger’s freely wandering in the jungle

Copyright 2002 Narad Baracharya

Narad Bajracharya (mailto:naradbajracharya@yahoo.com)

(Translated by Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar & Rajani Mila Maharjan)

Castaway
 

Beyond the imagination one has to pass the time

Major X in Bombay a mastermind of the story

Reads and writes in the foreign college library

Remembers his beloved within the hearty pages

He reads the masterpiece though nothing comes in the mind

Photocopy of each page reminds him the past events

The face of his newly born child plays in his mind

The boy he left at the early age unwittingly

Played with him a lot and displayed the toys

Both mother and the child spent days and nights

Hoping that the father will be a most responsible citizen

Who can earn a better living selling his certificate?

A certificate, which he has to earn,

Tough paper reading discourages him to drop ideas

Thinks to try to get another profession that is easy

Gets encouragement when he receives a letter from the dear

You, the father of the child, has to work hard

Forget everything except writing a letter

That reveals the status you are fighting with

Very difficult to pursue education after the break

A break that made him suit a girl for marriage

A compulsion of the family dictator pressing him hard

Brought him to prison within the soul of the sweetheart

Never to forget like the theory and practice of the science

Days and nights in search of excellence, he spent

But it was tough to bear the absence of the presence

Difficult to talk with the fellow members around

How he is troubling for the rest of the life.

Fallen sick and lack of medication facilities

A simple problem took his Major X to sick bed

The boy slept and slept and not awakened

Instantly declared a death bed by the Doctor attend

She, the heir, wept and wept without ceasing

But what? When? The Doctor after the death?

A tragedy occurred in the aims and objectives

How to be literate the only options in the society

Disturbed almost to nipping the bud forever

Nevertheless he tried to control his mind

Opened the book and literature’s for concentrating

As a vision came the scenario of the castaway

Who as a father he could just accept that happened

Accidental in his knowledge and nothing else

The forbidden societal problem of the village.

Copyright 2002 Mohan Kayastha

 Mohan Kayastha (mailto:mohanima@infoclub.com.np)

Modern Story in Nepal Bhasa

top

The Crown (2002)

By Mrs. Saraswoti Tuladhar
(Translated by Ms. Sama Tuladhar)

Driving all the way through Paknajwol… Kamalpokhari… Ratopool… Gausala (on the way from my home to Tribhuvan International Airport), we finally arrived at our destination, Tribhuvan International Airport. Time had indicated more than nine o’clock in the evening, but an autumn had brighten up the day as if it was just dusk. Crowd of people were walking on the way; each appearing equally busy. Never halted. The airport was shimmered with huge lights, as the city brightens on Swonti (the Festival of Light). May be some Royals traveling today. Calm and tranquil grassland, sparkled with flowers, trees and emerging lights brightened up the surroundings. All of us were looking intently at azure sky. Seems the starry night was roused up to challenge the brightness of the airport. But, innately the moon and the stars faded away from the sky slowly with time.  My eyes got sunken; they rested down to the ground. I looked at the clock. Still ten more minutes left for ten. My heart became restless. I could feel my impatience waiting there. One shouldn’t have to suffer in this scientific age. But the invent of science and technology has not yet knocked the doors of common people except for being the luxury of wealthy community. Let it be poor country or family, none can experience it even after twenty-five years of its invention. It has limited to only their dreams. STD and ISD lines have not yet reached to my house.

A Maruti car stopped just beside my leg, as if it would drive over me. Immediately, shrilled greetings emerged from the car. With impatient heart, weary eyes, I joined my two hands in return. There was the prompt interrogation – “Oh! The entire family has reached even at midnight? When did you reach? We contacted RNAC before coming here. Still 15 minutes left”. I looked at my wristwatch. Uss.. Its just 10:00, time here is already 15 minutes back. That too it flew one hour late. I couldn’t help falling myself down on the pavement. Sympathy poured down by facilitated gentleman from car – “why everybody, only one or two must have come”. How could he know the reason for us huddled over here. (Really the Crow would not know the wound of the Cow) Just knew doing endless talk. He continued –“Whoever in the family leaves home, my parents do not take seriously; just they do their duty”.  His over spiced talks nausea me.  She’s their last child. Their parents are tired of receiving and seeing off other children. In all respect, they presume themselves “Simple” and others “Showy”. But ours is the eldest one; and precious; let others say whatever they want to. Curiosity aroused within me. Why they have their hearts so loosened. Whoever is it? It’s your child. You gave birth to her.

Talking to myself, I looked at the sky. Few stars were twinkling at the distance. My heart started beating with clock switch and News TV. My sister asked me “What’s wrong with you?’ I just closed my eyes. Didn’t reply her anything. Lots of things started playing inside my heart. I remembered elders saying not to go any places at night unnecessarily. Dangerous accident of Thai Air at Ghyangfedi came in front of my eyes. My heart started throbbing. Whole body froze. Throat dried out. I felt feeble. I started praying to Ajima (the Goddess), Pancha Buddha (the Five Buddhas)and Asanmaru ajima (one of the Goddess situated at Ason, the old busiest marketplace at Kathmandu). Why was I feeling like that? Neither could I speak off to anybody that’s going around my mind, nor should I speak. Everybody asserting their own statements about Qatar flight, Frankfurt flight, Boeing 747 or Boeing 757, but, I was thinking upon each words my sister telling me “You can change the bed sheets only after she comes back home, why are you hasting now?” I couldn’t join to their discussion also. I was alone.

 My mother used to say since a month back “ I will come to your house when my granddaughter comes back”. Everybody I meet exclaims, “ Has your daughter come back? When’ll she be back? Good for you, daughter is completing engineering”. Since months before even neighbors cling to the same queries. Sometimes I myself used to feel I should tell the friends even though they don’t ask me. But other times I feel I am ostentatious. If it comes during conversation then I do, else not. Few times I exasperated on those who commend my fortune. Because, for those who complete higher education in other countries are never given consideration by any authorized bodies of the country. Will they be able to serve their country with the knowledge and skills they gained after their strenuous effort? No assurance of betterment. How could one be in good spirit after completing education? As they state, seems prosperity comes with education. But it’s improbable.  Not even any acknowledgement for completing education. No honor to anybody’s achievement. Everything is just limited to individual’s self-satisfaction. More to say, everybody act indifferent to each other. Who’s ours or others?

The Essay

top

I Can’t Sleep

By Amir Ratna Tamrakar

(Translated by Dr. Tej Ratna Kansakar)

As I entered the room my eyes were stunned by what I saw. I gazed around me with unblinking eyes. The room was topsy-turvy, in complete disorder. The room is cleaned once every twelve years. There were layers of dust everywhere. The bed sheet was no better than a piece of rag. The mattress had numerous holes with the cotton stuffing sticking out of each. The cotton carpet on the floor too was full of holes. The disorderly and dirty decorations in the room made my head reel. I felt an urge to clean the room thoroughly, to put everything in their right places. But weakened by huger I could not make the effort. My body felt like a boneless structure loosely hanging together. My desires thus reminded unfulfilled. I put off the light and flung myself on the bed. I closed my eyes and meditated for a while to invite sleep. 

As I meditated I grew impatient. My body, my waist began to ache. But I could not go to sleep perhaps because of my hunger. I kept tossing and turning. I also lay there motionless like a statue. But to no avail. The more I tried to sleep the more I felt the pangs of hunger. The rumbling noises in my stomach became louder. I tried to imagine the food in a restaurant and drinks in a pub-n-barbequed meat, boiled meat, momos (a dish from flour inside with minced meat) and also the simple meal of course rice and spinach I had eaten in the morning. I also remembered the food I used to eat in my childhood-puffed rice, fried rice and pastry balls. I tried to appease hunger with these tempting thoughts but nothing worked. My stomach continued to complain loudly and I had a sleepless night ahead of me. Like a fish out of the water I kept tossing and turning on the dirty mattress. 

In the middle of the night I lost all hope of sleep. One of my neighbors turned on his radio loudly. Some people awakened by the noise also started to complain. “What a ridiculous person! Not a bit of consideration for others. How can he play the radio and disturb our sleep? How many times do I have to remind him not to play the radio at this hour? He does no care, does not heed. If I speak to him angrily he asserts that he has the right to turn his radio on whenever he likes. “In my house I do whatever I want. If you have the right to sleep, I have the right to have my radio on. It is none of your business whether I turn my radio on or not. If you want to protest, go and report to the concerned authorities or file a case against me.” All I wanted was that he listened to the radio on his own and not broadcast it to the whole neighborhood. Let him have his radio on the whole day long, but why the whole night as well? Why disturb our sleep like this every night? A complete idiot! To my mind, such unthinking persons are fit to be kept in the zoo or displayed in the museum. If this was brought to a court of law, the judge would be compelled to declare a verdict of guilty. If the matter came to a head, apart from the hypothetical court case, I would have disgraced them without hesitation. But for me to enter the greedy atmosphere of our corrupt legal system should be impossible for a poor person like me. To be a victim of conspiracy is almost like committing suicide. My thoughts were interrupted at this moment by loud hammering noises from the other side of my room. This caused two or three picture frames all shattered to pieces. I was furious and felt like kicking and breaking down te thin wooden partition. But I do not normally translate my anger into action. The broken glass scattered my anger in all directions. 

I covered my ears with my two hands. I tried once more to fall off to sleep. But try as I might I could not sleep, not even when I shut my eyes tightly or covered up my ears. Covering the ears with my two hands was actually very inconvenient, but If I leave them uncovered the noises around me prevented sleep. What was I to do! I spent my time adjusting my body into positions conducive to sleep. My constant movements must have unbalanced the rickety bed for I landed on the dusty floor with a crash. I dusted off my clothes and stood up. I adjusted the weak leg of the bed with props and lay down on it gently. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. In this way, seconds, minutes and hours passed away. But  I just could not sleep. I did not now dare to loss and turn freely because of my insecure bed. Perhaps it was my insomnia that has heated up the room. I felt too warm. The room of course was not well ventilated. When I close the door it looks like a prison cell. I took some of my clothes off and flung them to one corner. But this brought no relief. It was like a drop of water in the desert. The heat and my sleepless condition upset and annoyed me immensely. 

Wonder If I am a habitual insomnia. I began to imagine what could be wrong with me and in my present condition this is but natural. With this hypochondriac mentally I joined a queue in the hospital the next day to be examined by a doctor. As important people kept joining the queue at various points I missed my chance to see the doctor. I could not even get to enter the hospital door. I had gone to ask why I am not able to sleep. I had hoped to find a cure for my insomnia. But I find that standing in a hospital queue is a fruitless exercise. The people who sleep soundly dominate the queue and unfortunate souls like me who cannot sleep need to endure waiting in a long queue. They are actually insulting patient like me. Hospitals perhaps are meant for patients who sleep well. Those who cannot sleep are left standing in queues the whole day long. I wait for my turn patiently but I am asked to come back the next day. Rather than join the long queue again, I visited a private dispensary. The doctor felt my pulse, examined my eyes and tongue, and while writing out his prescription said “You have over-eaten. Your digestive system is disturbed.” I was completely taken back. I have not had a decent meal for the last 24 hours and how can I suffer from indigestion? I have never had stomach-aches. How is it possible that I now have a stomach upset? Who will believe such nonsense? Not even a child, I am sure. Who doe he think he is fooling? 

I hear an unexpected sound of thunder. Instantly a heavy downpour of rain started. The big drops of rain that fell on the tin roofs of my neighbors produced deafening noises. The rains developed into a storm. The flow of water in all directions also swept away my sleep. I know that my attic leaks in several places, some of them with big holes that allowed in jets of rain water like a tap. The water flowed down in sheets along the walls and the ceiling. I placed earthen pots around the room to collect the water, but to no avail. The attic itself has turned into a small pool. I felt uneasy, my anxiety grew and I could no longer rest peacefully on my bed. I felt I needed to go up and examine all the leaking points on the roof. I was certain that the pots I had placed there would have been filled by now. I wanted to empty the pots but what would be the use of my efforts? I cannot stop the rain, nor would I be able to spend the whole night bailing out of the water from the attic. The rains would continue fall and the pots would keep on filling. I am condemned to survive below a leaking roof. So long as I am unable to repair the roof, the attic will be filled with water. I am devastated by the conditions around me. My body shivers and my head begins to reel. I feel numb but sleep is now out of the question.

Amir Ratna Tamrakar, born on 1955 in Kathmandu, Nepal, is an established as versatile essayist in Nepal Bhasa literature. He is also the writer of short stories, poems and satire. He is the General Secretary of the Nepal Bhasa Writers’ Forum and publisher of Layalama Online Magazine His publication includes a collection of short stories, Nikacha/Two Branches (1979).  Contact: tamrakarar@hotmail.com
==============================================================

Pahan Chwami (The Guest Writer):

top

First Light

The rays of the sun
Are the trails of my feet
I come from the horizon
To whisper your name

As you tend our home
As the day grows long
You'll find my footprints
In every room
In every corner

In the very soles
Of your mother's shoes

Into the Dark Sea

Where my fisher's boat
Knows no water
No sky no earth

I sail and sail
And never find it
It waits at home
In our child's crib

To My Wife

You'll find my tears
In your morning coffee

You'll find the sweat of my brow
In the waves of the ocean

You'll find my blood
In the lunar pulse
Of your own cool blood

Alejandro Arrojo (1921-1997)

(Translated from the Spanish by Enrique Arrojo and Dave Gunton)