In any farmer whom I see
Drenched in sweat
I see his exhausted face,
in the fields where his perseverance blooms
I see your happiness
I see your joy.

When I hear any village maiden
in some dark forest,
I hear the free flowing melody
Of youth
In her pristine songs
I hear you
I search for you.

The lofty pine-trees upright
in the solitariness of the mountains
I see a visionary
I see a poet,
in his poetry
I see you flow on
line by line;
I see you blossom
on rhododendrons,
dozing like an orchid
it is you I see.

I see the scorching sun
and outstretched fields
of the plains;
I see the horizons
I see the skies,
In the expanse of both horizons and sky
I see you filled out
I see you rise in the spires of the temple,
I hear you in the tolling of the church-bells
in the detached eyes of the Buddha
I see you drowned.
In things that have been
In things that will be
It is you I see;
In dream-in reality

I see you,
My country!
It is you I always see
I always see you.

Translated from Nepali by Eva Sashankar

 

Speechless

You are living far away
I've been speechless for a long time.

When you were with me
We always did share
in words and speeches
our love and our small quarrels,
At times wounded by
the piercing words of each other
We sat in silence for a long time,
Bound by promises,
We looked into the horizon
of peaceful possibilities
the dreams too were pleasant,
We sat at times lost in each other
in the beautiful land of togetherness
We travelled together in the lonely paths,
Today you are living far away
I am here speechless.

Speechless does not mean silence
But speechless means
in the corridor of heart
the flashes of your memories.
Speechless means
in the mirror of heart
the reflection of many faces.

Speechless means
in the cave of heart
the vibrations of your voice
the pleasant din
of our past.
Speechless means
in the mountain of our desire
the sound of Echo
abandoned by Narcissus
in the quest of love
echoing forever.

Speechless means
not to stop at the place for good.
It means
the boundless journey
taken alone.
And the lonely flight
in the blue sky.
It is a lonely dip
into the depth of the sea.
It is the vastness
of the horizon sprawling alone
And the sweet touch of the poem
felt alone.

Yes, you are a living far away
I've been speechless here for a long time.

Translated from Nepali by M.M. Gurung

Post Script

In spite of the exceedingly long letter that I have completed writing, I realise that there is something still that I have forgotten to write. This I write in strict confidence and I do not want you to repeat it to anyone else-not even to your wife.
Premendra.
You have surely not forgotten your name.
Do you remember Premendra?
Our childhood friend. Shabya's classmate; yours and mine too. The most decrepit in the class and by far the least talkative. He preferred conversing only with the three of us- keeping a safe distance from the rest. Serious. Face perpetually clouded by pain. If anyone laughed at his deformity, he always broke into tears. No matter what we offer by way of consolation, no matter how much we reasoned with him, the tears could not cease. Does it ring a bell?

Bimal! Why did we ever love him that way, love him so much? Why did we allow him to grow close to us? It still defeats me. Whether he has himself attracted to us and developed attachment-I don't know. But amongst the three of us, it was Shabya who loved him best, who was most sympathetic towards him. This is plausible-she, a woman touched easily by another's suffering. But do you remember-as we grew in years, Shabya had started developing a sort of dried up feeling towards him, a lack of interest. As we were leaving school, it was Shabya among us who had begun to forget all about Prememndra. After we finished school, you moved on to Kathmandu, Shabya and I entered college and Premendra was left behind in the small
town of ours. While in college, I used to remind Shabya sometimes of Prememndra but our ugly, unhappy childhood friend had no special place in her heart, no hidden love. Yes, her woman's heart held a bit of sympathy that still clung to some of its a corners.

As you know, Shabya and I got married as soon as we finished our college education. Along with our old friends, Premendra had also come to the reception. But for some unknown reason, he did not seem to enjoy the party. His face looked extremely sad-I had never seen him so sad before. I had approached him and asked: "What is wrong with you? What are you so depressed? Are you unwell?" His large eyes had then become pools of tears. He could not say anything for a while, his dried lips were trembling but not a sound came through. I was truly surprised. But he gained control over himself, he had said to me, "Friend! I have been unwell for many years. I am sick at heart. I am afraid that I may never be able to reveal this immense wound in my heart to anybody. But may be I will tell you about it. I do not have the courage to speak it out. But I shall have to say it one day or the other. I definitely cannot tell Shabya about it, Bimal is away, that leaves you, the only friend-I shall tell you some day." He had tried to smile but was unable to do so. Later, I even told Shabya about it. She thought it was mental derangement.

What did Premendra do yesterday?
Do you know?
I am writing about that-he committed suicide in his own room.
You might think; an ugly man took his life, he did not do anything strange. But there is something more to it. Before he killed himself, he had sent me a letter in the mail, which is with me even now. He writes: "Friend, I, too, have loved in my life-I could not, however, ever express it. The only reason for my deformity-I do not blame anybody for this. Though you are my closest friend, I could never tell you about it in my lifetime. I tell you now, because by the time you receive my letter, my name shall already have found a place in obituaries. The woman whom I declare to have loved all my life is: Shabya, your loving wife. That I so loved her I ask you to inform her. This is my death-wish, friend. Fulfil it, please!

Bimal, you tell me-what am I to do?

Translated from Nepali by Eva Sashankar

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