“Mom I want something to eat” he wailed with tears gushing out of his sunken eyes.A small face with watermarks running along his distinctly visible cheekbones was gazing with eyes transfixed upon his mother.The little boy was searching for an answer on a face that seemed to be carrying the world on her shoulders.
“When you wake up I promise to give you some rice” The mother replied pulling him closer, trying to make him fall asleep.Either side of her arms was holding two things of equal weight age.On one side was her only child impregnated forcefully by a drunkard a couple of years ago.The other side carried an empty circular steel plate that fed these two lives.
Thousands and thousand swarmed past them each day.Each person that passed has had ups and downs in their lives and in general: a story to tell.There are hundreds more like this mother and child and millions more like the general public that passes them each day.However all human beings are not designed to listen to the woes of the needful or even each other.
This is when the bigger picture sets in.Standing across a distinctly high number of staircases atop a hill lies a pioneer of Nepal’s history Swayambunath monitoring the whereabouts of the mother and child.The golden pinnacle surrounding his head basks in the sunshine while his pale white stout aperture bolsters his firm grip to the ground.He has a square face and eyes on all of
his four faces.
To many of the people he is just a monument but actually, he is as alive as any one of us.He is as real as the mountains, the green hills and the ever flowing rivers.While the rest of us are busy with our lives he has stood firmly across all weathers staring and monitoring each and every one of our lives.
Those glacial blue eyes with shades of red and yellow have looked upon Kathmandu city since the 5th century. Swayambunath has witnessed a city rise up from the ashes, reach a hay day and walk on the brinks of destruction.When he was younger he used to stare at a city full of youthfulness and liveliness.Today he sees a city wrapped by a blanket of dynamite-one matchstick away from becoming fireworks.
Swayambunath used to relax at night to the sound of his dear friend surging with a melodious tune.She has been with him throughout his life.Nowadays she is very sick.Usually, a sick person is diagnosed with one disease.However, if someone diagnoses her they are sure to find thousands of diseases.Her beautiful blue skin has become eclectic with many distinct colors; particularly black.For him, she is like his sister.We savage human beings know her as Bagmati.
He remembers the monkeys looking playfully at the birds present all across his four sides.Nowadays the monkeys have the same look at houses sprinkled in dust and dirt.Green trees have changed into houses, pavements have converted into broken roads and animals have been outnumbered by humans.Peace has become a mere concept to this vociferous city.
Swayambunath sees and hears it all.He considers every being inhabiting this city his children.He hears the cries and wails of all the beings. He listens to insects, animals and birds but keeps a close tab on the black sheep of his family; humans.He has a stout body and his absence of limbs prevents him from taking any action.All he can do is watch and listen to the grief of his children.He sits at the top of a hill heartbroken and depressed but can’t even shed tears every day.
Today he has his mind fixated on the mother and child.A few hours have passed.The blue sky has been swept clean by curtains and curtains of darkness.Black clouds have camouflaged under the night sky.A cold breeze has swooped in.The concrete stairs where the pair lay is freezing. Swayambunath watches on as the boy wakes up.”Give me some rice now” he exclaims sleepily.There is no response from his mother.”I want rice” He shouts in an annoyed tone.He was greeted again with silence. Swayambunath glances on as the boy tries to wake his mother who is as cold as ice.Three days without food and the harsh winter have got the better of her.She is no more.The orphan boy begins to realize what has happened.He has never seen a hospital let alone been to one.All he can do is shake her and hope.He tries a few more times.He knows what has happened.He gives up, lays over her body and starts crying.
Rain begins to pour from the sky.This is the first rain of winter.The drops of water land on Swayambunath’s cubical face, strike his vibrant eyes and appears to fall from them.The stupa is finally able to relieve all the grief inside of him in the form of tears. Swayambunath weeps alongside the boy.The boy lost his mother while Swayambunath lost one of his children. Every time the stupa cries a part of him dies.
Swayambhunath cries, Swayambhunath dies…
The story through the eyes of Swayambunath ends here.Now we can see the same story through a different perspective.Let us spice the story up and switch characters. Swayambunath is a national heritage so consider Swayambunath as Nepal.The mother is the Government.The child is the general population.Nepal is suffering a lot and watching itself get destroyed.The government promises the general population many things just like the mother promising the child rice.Cities are getting destroyed.The general population is blinded and stays silent just like the boy agreeing to sleep.Nepal watches its beauty get destroyed.The country is injected with poison.The poison is slowly and steadily affecting Nepal.Government is not able to meet the needs of the general population.The government dies and keeps on changing just like the mother dying.The general population has seen no change.People keep on waiting for Nepal to develop but the only thing that changes is the government.This is similar to the child crying at the loss of his mother.Seeing this Nepal is heartbroken.This is similar to Swayambunath being left with a heavy heart to the dismay.Finally,
Nepal cries, Nepal dies…
Question and Answer with Dinank
1.Tell us more about you
I am a computer engineering student currently in my fifth semester enrolled in Kathmandu University. I love to read novels, watch football and also admire writing. That is pretty much me.
2.What was your thought when you applied to Wordism competition?
I wanted to check if I was any good at writing. Thanks to Wordism, I got the perfect platform to verify my doubts.
3.What are your dreams and aspirations?
I want to become “Drunk on joy and high on life.”I want to enjoy each and every moment and see where life takes me.
4.How do you feel about becoming the Wordism winner for the month of Mangsir?
The more I think about it the more it seems like a figment of my imagination. I just can’t believe that I won a title scribbling something down in a paper. I am ecstatic and would like to thank Wordism once again.
5. Anything you want to say for who is reading this!
Don’t be Dinank. Don’t write articles and delete them. Don’t be afraid to show your writing to the entire world. Everybody might not like it but I can assure you that in this universe of billions, at least one soul will be able to connect to your piece.
Just remember one of Elon Musk’s quotes “When something is important enough you do it even if the odds are not in your favor”
If writing is important enough, give it a go.
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