स्वप्निल साहित्य

The Story-telling Chautari Under the Kavra Tree

Swapnil Smriti

Grandson – A long time ago 

here was a giant Kabhra tree.

(After resting her load of taro leaves

Grandma started weaving the yarns of her tale)

Three long, long ropes couldn't encircle it's trunk

No mad raging storm could shake it

Neither could floods or landslides take it with them:

that giant, that Kabhra tree –

It was the mainam of the village life, they say

It was the murumsitlang of the power of the settlements

At its crown, like a bridge suspended between sky and ground

the moon would rise;

Under its shadows the farmhands measured the days

When it shed its leaves, it was Udhauli

When it grew new leaves, it was Ubhauli

They say – the ancient civilization of the locals

was all in the heart of that Kabhra tree!

Its branches spread in ten direction –

the biggest branch pointing to PhaktanglungHimal

the tangle of roots spread in seventeen directions

the thickest root turning towards Chotlung

Hand in hand, round and round, singing, Ha... Ha...

Matching step to lockstep, adorned in chyabrung,

– jumping, frolicking –

Greatest celebrations of love, under the Kabhra tree!

Grandson!

The tangle of that Kabhra's roots was fragrant with the scent of an ancient communism

And the tops of that Kabhra was the Shangri-La empire of singing cranes!

But, listen – Grandson!

In the BikramSambat year so and so – a long time ago –

And by a long time, I mean – a very, very long time ago –

Your grandfather's grandfather's grandfather saw in his dream

– Loom! Loom! Kadyāng! Kūdūngdūng... dūng... dūng... Haryākk!

A nightmare – a thunderbolt splitting the Kabhra tree!

But, when he awoke, he saw in a fork on the tree

the three-leaf sapling of a Pīpal, springing from wild-cat turd...

(The breeze blows through the chautari–siririririri... ririri... riri... ri,

We – grandmother and grandson – are lost in the world of tales

Have I – as I listened to a story about a Kavra tree – turned into one? 

What did happen thereafter, Grandma? Go on!)

Ask what all didn't happen!

The Pīpal bore its roots into the Kavra

And to the Kavra came a slow death 

The Pīpal grew bigger and bigger

Until one day –

theKavra became just a hollow heart and flaky bark  

Within it, the Pīpal stood with the uncontainable vitality of youth

But, even as the Pīpal trampled the Kavra under it and danced in the breeze

the progeny of the old Kavra mistook it for a new Kavra

Listen, now – Once the old Kavra fell, they say –

the heads of young men and women also fell

the children became lifeless, like well-stitched dolls

theMūndhūm dharma of the wise old fell –

The hearts fell and the country fell

Misery alone found birth in the village

Hunger and thirst alone found new incarnations

Once the Pīpal trampled the Kavra under it, they say –

they say that is when the culture of oppression and exploitation began

When the yellow leaves of the Pīpal spread wide

they say this round chautari was built under it

With a grand ritual-fire and human sacrifice

And with each morning, an offering of blood

That is when it all started – they say, Grandson –

the history of envy and grudge...

when in the Kavra tree started the history of the Pīpal

hatred was born in the people

rage was born

war was born

... ... ...

Grandson!

(After taking a deep breath

Grandma let her tale rest for a bit!)

The story is longer that the Tamor river

It is time to feed the hogs – let's go home!

(It was my turn to carry the load.

Before me, leaning on his cane, Grandma continued her story.)

Grandson! On that chautari

so many despots out for conquest

have stopped to rest

They tied their horses to Pīpal roots

and whistled their deathly calls...

... ... ...

Grandson! On that round chautari –

no matter how long we sit to rest

we remain just as tired! ...

... ... ...

Grandson! That is the very branch

from where your great-grandfather was hanged and lanced

That is the shiny rock where

– your  great-grandmother, then with child –

was picked and thrashed, picked and thrashed

until her belly tore open ...

Translation: PrawinAdhikari