It rains daily now. Business is slow and there is nothing to do for him except sit and ruminate, inside his shack of a hotel by the earthen roadside. “The rains came earlier this time. It’s all due to climate change, gift from capitalism to the world,” he thinks to himself. Slurping the hot milk tea, he plunges into nostalgia.
The rebels had stopped at his village, en-route to Rukum. Their cultural troupe had performed revolutionary songs, dramas and dances on the school ground. His home had been selected as the place that would shelter the platoon commander for the night. They were supposed to leave early in the morning.
The commander asked his father to tune into radio Nepal for the seven o’clock news broadcast. The rebels listened to the news gravely, in pin-drop silence. There was no news of fighting and death that night. The news programme was soon over and food was served. At around eight they finished eating. They washed the dishes themselves. Some of them went out to stand sentry while others settled down for a discussion. The commander struck up a conversation with his father.
He was an old retired Indian Army man. He had had his share of ups and downs in life. Though not highly educated, he was a smart and experienced person. However, he did not understand politics; rather, he was not interested in it. Being a lahure had been lucrative and practical in his time but not anymore. He knew that education was the only means of getting up in the world and wanted to educate his two sons, as far as possible. He didn’t feel the same responsibility towards his two daughters. They had got enough education to find able husbands and were both already married.
The rebels had stopped at his village, en-route to Rukum. Their cultural troupe had performed revolutionary songs, dramas and dances on the school ground. His home had been selected as the place that would shelter the platoon commander for the night. They were supposed to leave early in the morning.
The commander asked his father to tune into radio Nepal for the seven o’clock news broadcast. The rebels listened to the news gravely, in pin-drop silence. There was no news of fighting and death that night. The news programme was soon over and food was served. At around eight they finished eating. They washed the dishes themselves. Some of them went out to stand sentry while others settled down for a discussion. The commander struck up a conversation with his father.
He was an old retired Indian Army man. He had had his share of ups and downs in life. Though not highly educated, he was a smart and experienced person. However, he did not understand politics; rather, he was not interested in it. Being a lahure had been lucrative and practical in his time but not anymore. He knew that education was the only means of getting up in the world and wanted to educate his two sons, as far as possible. He didn’t feel the same responsibility towards his two daughters. They had got enough education to find able husbands and were both already married.
