Autumn Festival

-Moheindu Amiran Chemjong

 

After the tiresome floods of the monsoon season, the Gods decided to smile upon the Valley of Kathmandu with their demure suns and modest weathers. And thus, it was November, the romantic autumn month.

 

The spirit of Dashain hadn’t wanted away and the festival of Diwali was just round the bend. The serenade of festivities had reached the prelude. Marigolds were the flowers of the season and in flamboyant colours of bright orange and yellow, they had started intoxicating the entire valley with compassion and love.

 

Finally, after much wait, autumn arrived in Talchikhel, a tiny village in the royal town of Patan. The crisp chill in the mornings and evenings matched with the feelings in the hearts of the mothers who had lost their sons and daughters in war that year. The fields had started looking rather brown, sad and dim but the regular romping of the withered leaves and twigs with the gentle breeze compensated that streak of sadness.

 

Though the seasons were ready, the people of Nepal seemed unprepared for the pleasantness of Diwali. The country was at war, the soldiers and the villagers had started killing themselves. The venom of hostility and enemity was spreading across the yellowish-green highlands of a far like a rogue fire. As a result, many Nepalese hearts were paralyzed with fear, doubt and remorse. The sensitive among the lot were turning philosophical.  Many of them had by now tasted the fragility of human life and while clinging to the already broken piece of life, they had all become Buddhas in their own ways and had given up the vices that would bring them more agony.

 

In the whirlpool of the confused Nepali population, Phulmaya had now decided to live each single day as it came, with its bundles of joys and sorrows. But this year, she was overwhelmed, she felt as if her life line had been rewritten by the Lord Vrahma. The old widow lived with her daughter-in-law, Sunita and grandson, Gopal in Talchikhel. Her husband had died on a peace-keeping mission in Lebanon. The proud, Nepali son, Arjun had followed his father’s footsteps and had joined the Royal Nepalese Army, much against his mother’s wishes. The nights she had cried on her pillow in the privacy of her room came flooding back to her eyes.

 

But today, those tears for the choice of her son’s vocation were replaced by the tears of exultation for this Diwali, he was coming home. She had started counting the days of his arrival. It had been three years since Arjun had been posted to Dang, the Maoist-infected area in western Nepal. It had been awfully hard to bear the absence of her husband for Sunita but it also hadn’t been easy on Arjun’s mother’s tender heart. Heartaches, fright, confusion, nightmares and loneliness had been piling up on her mind for four years now. Year after year, she had been waiting but today, after months and years of the dismal feelings, the sun would shine again, her child would be home!

 

She was also delighted that it was the season when their big guava tree and the orange tree would bear the fruits, his favourite fruits. This coincided with their cow, Malati’s pregnancy. Everything single happening in their household pointed to prosperity and happiness. In spite of the humdrum blues of daily life and the shams of life, Phulmaya’s heart had started to flutter in anticipation. How her heart would skip beats at the arrival of her son in his military fatigue and how she’d bask in the glory that her son had decided to dedicate his life for his country. Though the autumn days had started getting shorter but with each passing day, her daydreaming became more and more consistent.

 

The preparations for the festival of lights began. Phulmaya and Sunita began cleaning the house with red clay and cow dung. They had already begun making garlands of marigold to adorn the house. They also cooked selroti, malpuwa, khir and sweets of sesame seeds. These two women who had been holding the fort for four years knew their happiness had just begun and maybe for this reason, they couldn’t stop humming melodies of Diwali! Shainla, the local minstrel who used to earn money by singing sad songs while strumming on his sarangi  also came to know about Arjun’s return.  When he came by the Thapa house some morning, he joined them in happy chords!

 

In Chapagaon, the neighbouring village, Arjun’s cousin sister, Sita also began her preparations for Bhai Tika, the auspicious day of Diwali when she would get to honour her brother, Arjun. Diwali was always the most pleasant times for the children of Talchikhel. As the days for Diwali were drawing near, their carol practice for Bhaelo and Deusi  became rigorous and they could hardly wait. The pealings of the temple bells of Tachikhel started getting louder and louder as more worshippers flocked to the temples. Today, the line of worshippers also included Phulmaya, Sunita and Gopal. They had to thank the Gods and Goddesses for what was to come… In their lives, Diwali and happiness were coming together this year!