Satyaa, “I can’t Priya; I have an obligation to fulfill.” Priya, “You would have no problem getting into a good University Satyaa. I really think that you should go abroad. You could easily get a decent scholarship and create a brighter future for yourself.”
Satyaa doesn’t really know how he landed up in this enigmatic city and from where. He does have dim memories of his childhood though—a few things remain fresh in his mind. Things he can never brush out; harassments by the police and bullying by street hooligans were a part of his daily life for a long time. There were times he used to be treated like a dog… even dogs used to treat him like their enemy whenever he ventured out of the Basantapur area. Everything used to be uncertain—he would never know on any given day where he would sleep or where he would eat. If slept on the corridors of Bisal Bazzar or other department stores, he would receive an early good morning kick—one hard in his back, and then be chased away.
The Basantapur Durbar Square was always an insecure place for him. He grew up on the roads and pavements of Kathmandu, a child of the streets, up until he was eleven. He did have good friends though. Prem and Sagar were like family to a little boy who never really knew what a mother’s love is. In the streets he had learnt how to steal food and then share the stolen bootie among his compatriots. Their main food source was a street vender who used to carry bread behind his bicycle. The boys would steal milk from a DDC vehicle at its stop in Basantapur. “Those used to be some adventures,” thinks Satyaa even today when he happened to dwell on his past. At most times, however, the boys would beg on the streets and pavements around Basantapur with hungry stomachs and hungrier souls.
The shivering cold still makes Satyaa’s heart cold. He remembers how winter used to be a curse for him and his friends. He still remembers the unbearable cold nights he would spend in the different corners of buildings and temples. The dogs Bhotey and Kaley also remain fresh in his mind. Their warmth used to be the only escape for him from the biting cold in the winter.
However, Satyaa was never drawn to the world of easy escape offered by intoxicants like cigarettes, glue and other drugs. He remembers being beaten black and blue by local police and a shopkeeper at Basantapur who believed he had stolen an idol of the Buddha from the brass-works store to satiate his need of intoxicants when he had actually planned to gift it to a girl of his age. He used to see her headed to school in an impeccable white Toyota Prado every day at around 9:30 in the morning. Every day, he would watch his nameless muse while her car would be stuck in traffic, right in front of Bishal Bazar. He and his friends would look at the ceaseless train of vehicles but he never told any of them that his eyes would focus every day only on one particular vehicle and its occupant.
Later, he started waving at her and the girl soon starting waving back. For someone used to the dog eat dog world of the streets, this had seemed like true love. No one had ever waved back to Satyaa before.
Satyaa knew that it was impossible for him to share an actual communication with her. Her world and his were as far apart from each other as heaven and earth, or perhaps even heaven and hell.
Satyaa believed in heaven though. He used to wake up every morning, go over to the Basantapur area and seek blessing from the Gods. He had looked at the temples and monuments at Durbar Square so closely that he knew every distinguishing feature of each temple. His curiosity was particularly aroused by a small dot intricately carved on one of the temples at Basantapur. He started following the tourists as they roamed about the Square and this taught him a lot of things about Basantapur. In fact, by the age of 13, he had compiled so much information on the place’s rich history that he felt like he could have written a book. Satyaa had also picked up foreign languages and after sometime he became a tourist guide himself. Some tourists even helped him learn how to read and write in English. Within a year, an American citizen Bob Donald offered to sponsor his studies. With Donald he visited various libraries in the city and learnt many things. The foreigner also enrolled him into a good boarding school where his hard work and passion for learning made let him excel in every subject. He was first enrolled in class six he passed his SLC within three years jumping classes and amazingly topped the SLC board. A reputed educational institution offered him a full scholarship for his higher studies. By that time, he had turned himself into an expert on Politics, History, Literature, Philosophy and Religion.
As he grew older, popularity embraced him. He became the talk of the city as well as his intellectual circle as his writings and the story of his life became public. Pryia also came to know about him from the intellectual circle. His everyday column, which appeared in the country’s leading newspaper, made him a well-known figure. Pryia, highly influenced by his writings, would frequently sent him e-mails.
Pryiya, who was brought up in a cultured family was passionate about reading. She never missed Shatyaa’s column. Her desire to meet him in the flesh was great. One day, she somehow managed to get his contact number and called him. She often dilled his number and had the two of would converse. Still, her desire to meet him only grew while Satyaa only thought of her as someone who appreciated his writing. It was complete co-incidence that the two met on February 14 at a café in Basantapur. When Satyaa saw a young girl sitting at a table in a café he frequented, he was reminded of a childhood memory. His unconscious mind knew that Priya was in fact, the same girl for whom he had stolen the Buddha’s statue as a child. The girl of his dreams, the first person who had waved back at him was right in front of his eyes. The dimple on her cheeks and her big eyes looked as beautiful as they always had on her round fair face. Everything was the same, only her school uniform was missing.
Priya didn’t know that Satyaa was a child made by the streets. Satyaa knew he could easily go abroad if he wanted to. One unknown foreigner had made his life. He now believed that he had the responsibility of turning all street boys lives around in the same manner that his had been. A patriotic citizen who doesn’t need a degree from foreign sores but believes in uplifting the troubled and vulnerable—people thrown out into Kathmandu’s street.
- Anup Ojha
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