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Kathmandu, Sunday, December 12, 1999 Marga 26th, 2056.
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Sete’s
Mother Sends a Letter to India
By Khagendra
Sangroula
Excerpted
from the novel Junkiriko Sangeet (Kathmandu: Bhudipuran Prakashan,
1999), this letter is dictated by a Damai woman to an NGO worker in
her Parbat village. It is addressed to her husband, who is working in
India.
Sacred
master at my head,
I lower my head and bow down to you.
We’ve all been at ease
till the day
of this letter’s writing. Each
evening and morning I plead to
Sri Baglung Devi that you may also remain in comfort. When your father
found out that Bhinaju had brought a letter, he went to fetch the
letter. I took the chance, when your mother and father were out of the
house, to ask Sir to read it to me. Sete’s father, how my heart
knotted when I read your letter! My eyes filled with tears. What kind
of life do we have? We can’t even stay together though we’re
husband and wife. Who knows where you are in that foreign country.
I’m here, in the village. To stay together, to laugh together:
they’ve become like words of jest. When I see what others have, I
feel a longing.
Sete’s
father, it put me at ease to hear you were staying with Uncle’s son.
Otherwise who knows what it’s like in others’ lands: I hear it’s
not the kind of place to stay or walk about alone. What else would I
know? What’s your present job like? What kind of work must you do?
You didn’t write anything about that. We womenfolk, no matter how
much we’re told not to worry, we keep worrying. There’d be no
worrying without love, it’s not possible to stay unworried if
there’s love. You, you’re one of the menfolk, their hearts
aren’t as tender as women’s. For us, the sacred master at our head
is everything. After having to leave our father, our mother and our
birthplace to come empty handed to our husband’s house, that husband
is what becomes our all. And when even that’s not nearby, you must
understand how this heart cries.
Sete’s
father, the clothes you sent for Sete fit perfectly as though they’d
been measured against him. Sete’s feet haven’t touched the ground
since the day cloth was draped on his body. He walked all over the
village showing off the cloth on his body saying my father sent this
from the other country. I tell you, it fit so well. How could someone
living there guess the build of someone living here! I was amazed just
thinking this. When you sent a shawl for your mother you might have
sent me one too. I didn’t have a shawl either. What’s the good in
saying so, who’s there to think of me and love me? It’s only my
own one-sided love. Sete’s father, the other day I got the
sugar-candy and cigarettes you sneaked for me with Bhinaju. But I
think Bhinaju’s told your mother and father about it. There’s some
fear in me. But your mother and father haven’t said anything till
now.
Sete’s
father, why speak of our suffering to someone in the other country?
These days they haven’t even let us sell firewood. They’ve
been confiscating bundles of firewood. Maila Bista’s been dragging
off stacks and stacks, though, by the edge of the Gandaki river. But
our bundles, they’ve set a rule to confiscate. Who knows what
they’re trying to do! There’s no one to speak out anyway, no
matter what they do. They do exactly as they want. The middle
house Bista came again to our house yesterday morning. He yelled a
while at your father, then left. It upsets me to remember it.
Yesterday too we brought flour from Phooli Phupu to eat. How many days
can it go on like this? Time never works out for me to go to my
parents for even two days so that I might put aside this suffering.
I’d thought of going after taking the dung to the fields but then it
was time to sow the corn. It’s like I neither have work nor free
time. I’ve gotten word that my mother’s sick at home. That’s why
I’m going either tomorrow or the day after, if only for one night.
Sete’s
father, who is there to call your own at times of suffering? Poor
Maila Dewar from across the lane has thankfully been helping me. He
comes every day and gives me consolation and advice. At times of worry
and difficulty it’s a help just to find people to talk to. But who
knows what enters people’s minds? I don’t know why, these days
your mother and father don’t like this Dewar to come to the house.
Well what else is there to write about? These are our sorrows. These
are our sayings. These complaints won’t end no matter how much I
write. But you, you’re in the other country. You must have a little
ease there. Sete’s father, you said in your letter that we should
raise breeding hens. How can we raise breeding hens? I keep having to
go all over the village. If hens are covered they don’t grow well.
Who’ll mind them if we let them loose? Sete’s small, he can’t do
it; others don’t have the time. That’s why I’ve decided
not to raise breeding hens. A while back the Bista took our buffalo as
soon as she birthed. He didn’t even let us eat all the fatty milk.
We raised it and raised it and got nothing in the end. Now your
father’s brought a half-dead lice-ridden calf on half claim from the
Bahun village.
Sete’s
father, I’ve already written a lot in the letter. I myself don’t
know how to write. I can’t even find time to have a letter written
when I want. That’s why I feel like saying everything when I do get
one written. There are lots of other things left inside me, but I
can’t say them all in front of others. I could say everything if I
could write myself. The day before yesterday boys who’d gone to the
other country came back in the next village. They said they’d just
finished some prayers. I asked them about you, but they said you
weren’t in their area. I’d wanted to know when you’d come back
and didn’t even get that answer. If my plea can be heard, you should
come at once with some expenses. I’m feeling unbearable distress.
You could go back after two or four days. If by any chance you can’t
come, send some expenses in the hands of someone heading this way. In
your next letter, write about when you’re coming. I’ve put down
all my heart’s worries, read this without getting annoyed.
Everyone’s fine in the village. Grandfather Indra’s illness is
over. Nande Aunt had another daughter. Everything else is all right.
Let me take leave from this letter now.
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