Both of them pass the Nandini mill and continue their walk along the Khajura road. It is a pleasant summer morning. The harsh day is yet to unfurl. They walk slowly, one after another, along the dusty narrow footpath. Uttam is stout with a protruding belly and an innocent face. The one following him, Gyan, is tall and lean. He has a dark complexion.
Quite unexpectedly, Gyan quickens his steps and begins a conversation with his friend.
“There’s been a drastic change in this area.”
“Yes...when I built this house six years ago, it was the only one standing. All around, there were only paddy fields,” Uttam says. “One could
easily locate it from the road. But now, hundreds of houses are mushrooming. Their numbers grow with each passing year.” Uttam points at the crowded settlement on both sides of the road as he talks to Gyan.
“There’s been a big transformation in the country as well. The monarchy has been toppled for one thing, and the nation is headed towards a federal system.”
“But was this the only thing you people risked your lives for, and struggled a decade for?” asks Uttam.
“There are many reasons which brought the situation about. The movement was a must. You know the expansionist and imperialist powers wanted to turn Nepal into another Sri Lanka, or maybe even anther Iraq.”
Uttam grins, “So you were saved, were you?”
“We all were,” Gyan says, and his calm wondering eyes tell Uttam that he still means every bit of what he is saying.
Uttam signals a rickshaw coming towards them from the opposite direction to stop, but Gyan seems to prefer a walk. He counters his friend’s gesture with a trot. Uttam follows him.
“Do you remember..? When we were in school, I used to come over to your place early in the morning, to learn grammar?” he suddenly asks.
Gyan’s eyes twinkle and a smile spreads over his face. He cleans his glasses with his handkerchief and puts them back on.
“Why did you smile?”
“You remember..? Once aama screamed when she opened the door?”
“Yeah, I was sitting outside,” smiled Uttam in return.
“No, you were fast asleep and snoring my dear friend.”
“I thought it would be inappropriate to disturb. I had arrived a bit early that day.”
“So you made the best use of that time?” Gyan chuckles.
“You were a popular teacher in the village, but I went to Kathmandu to continue my education,” Gyan changes the topic. He clears his throat, “But situations changed, had to go underground.”
“I was anxious too. Thought you would come to the village for your Uncle’s funeral. I had just arrived for the holidays when it happened,” says Uttam.
“I knew they had arranged a trap. I paid him tribute from the shelter” Gyan says, clearing the sweat on his forehead.
They reach a three-storey white building in Belaspur. Gyan walks to the doorstep and rings the bell. Comrade Ganesh opens the door.
Gyan greets him, but the man shows no signs of recognition or acquaintance.
“Sir is out of district.” he says, while still talking on his mobile. “Yes, yes...I have arranged for the meeting. He is positive, don’t worry.”
“When will Parivartan Sir come back?” Gyan questions gently.
“Okay, okay,” the man says, still talking on his phone. He then shuts the door on Uttam’s and Gyan’s faces, leaving the two men with no other option but to return.
The two look at each other and are just about to make an about turn when they hear the sound of a motor engine entering the premises. They turn around. A Pajero has just entered the grounds. Comrade Prarivartan gets down from it, along with a few party activists. There are also a few other people standing along the grounds, forming a bee-line that leads to Comrade Parivartan.
Uttam pulls Gyan closer towards him and whispers, “This time, you say what you have to say very clearly.”
The two men march towards the crowd and Gyan makes his way towards the Comrade. He is obstructed by Comrade Parivartan’s PSOs but the Comrade signals to his officers to let Gyan proceed.
Comrade Adarsh adjusts his glasses. He wears an expression of meekness that Comrade Pariwartan knows so well. Gyan extends his hand, but the Comrade coldly slaps a question instead.
“What’s the matter Comrade Adarsh?”
“Well...it’s been a long time since I’ve been stationed in Nepalgunj,” Gyan says as he withdraws his hand. “But my committee has not been fixed yet.”
The Comrade heaves. “Your presence is more important in the village than it is here,” he says. His eyebrows are raised, the expression on his face is difficult to decipher.
“The thing is, I am undergoing treatment here, and have to visit Lucknow very frequently as well.”
“We will think about it.”
Comrade Parivartan then turns towards one of his assistant and asks him to bring him his bag.
As he glancing at his branded watch he utters, “Here, take these posters and put them up all around the city.” He turns to Gyan as he says this.
“Certainly. When shall we meet again Sir?”
“After some days, I think. I am going to Germany tomorrow.”
A shrill sound pierces the air and diverts their attention. It is a sound that demands attention. A Land Cruiser has just entered the grounds.
A chubby, middle-aged man, rather large and rotund in figure, gets off the black SUV and greets the Comrade. Numerous gold rings with a variety of precious stones set upon them
glitter in almost all of his fingers. Comrade Parivartan puts his arms around the new man and takes him towards the house. The large group follows them inside.
Gyan and Uttam both exit the premises. Uttam trots out of the gates with a fiery, irate expression on his face. Gyan, on the other hand, is walking slowly. He has both the hands on his back, as if guilty of a grave crime.
“Why don’t you demand your rights boldly. Will this great party not move ahead without these dinosaurs?” says Uttam.
“He said he’ll make the arrangements,” Gyan says, although there is little conviction in his voice.
“I have been hearing this since the past three years. Did you struggle only so that some of your leaders could relish the power? Was this what the ‘revolution’ was for?” After a moment he adds, “Are you the same young man who used to ask his teachers the kind of questions that left them dumbfounded?”
“Things change you know,” Gyan says slowly, looking around the newly-emerging buildings.
Both friends take a turn and enter a roadside tea shop. They settle themselves on a bench, gazing at the fire in the mud chulha. A small boy brings a tray of tea and they start drinking out of the glasses.
They hear a vague voice emerging from the corner. An old rickshaw puller, shaggy and thread-bare, reiterates a question Gyan has heard numerous times before. “Comrade, is the revolution accomplished?”
“No,” answers Gyan. He has risen from his seat.
- Laxmi Pun
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