Original text by Laxmi Prasad Devkota “के नेपाल सानो छ”
Laxmi Prasad Devkota
Beauteous, serene, vast!
One day I wrote myself, I can’t say how I got this feeling of “vastness”. Go through the map of world and behold the size of Nepal. This little droplet seems like vanishing in the ocean. This small piece looks like a small cave lying on the Himalayan mountain range. People from many countries and races may not have even heard its name. This tiny lovely slice of earth existing like a green capital of peace tends to hide itself than exposing its treasure to the outer world. It adores solitude. It’s more interested in enjoying the icecap of knowledge and wisdom than taking part in scorching struggles of the world. Despite some curiosity in modernity, it’s the worshipper of ancient. By playing hide-seek with today, it prefers to see the dream of tomorrow’s golden dawn. It’s small but heavenly, it’s minute but the center, it’s just a step but the world within; it’s far but the magic of divine farness. Only a few people have found this heart of Bharatbarsa because it’s hidden deep down in the breast of Himalayas.
Diamonds are small; pearls are small; the gem is small; the sweet-tuned baby is small; the pupil of eyes are small. The blaze of heart is even smaller. Though it’s the smallest point of earth, Nepal is splendidly standing like the upper curvy-dot of OM (ॐ).
What is small, what is great? If stars are called as big in this world, they look like fireflies in an eternal sky. If sand grains are said to be small, the microscope and science are reflecting the wizardry of flickering universe in one particle. There are two dissimilar perspectives regarding big and small – one physical and another spiritual. If someone tells me China is bigger than Nepal, then I would laugh like, upon hearing, the elephant is greater than human. I do not regard any field as large by the density of land; rather, I consider the vibes of its quality, condition, productiveness, and emotional impression of it. To me, Kalidasa’s Shakuntala seems greater than all the books swallowed by Lord Macaulay of the British Museum.
Our aspiring writers often craft some superficial words, and by reflecting the influence of the English perspective, some people are heard saying Yuck! Is Nepali worth reading? I sympathize with the hypocrisy of such people. May the sun never set over the English accent, but I find that magic in Nepali words which feels like it has traveled from warm-abroad with welcoming pleasant-breeze that get blend to the fragrance of Nepali air in unknown beautified-world. The simple and heartily poem of nature bequests me more pleasure than the imagination and epic of Shakespeare, Milton, and Gate.
I don’t want to hear ‘Waltz’, but I want to hear ‘ranibanaima‘ song of gaine who lives in a small hut at the nook of hill and who sometimes appears like spring carrying his three string sarangi. We are so much influenced by foreign that we try to gratify ourselves by imitating broken jargon of their accent, but nature has given us such a symphonic-mouth and nostrils that can’t be duplicated by others. There is something in English tone that actually prickles the heart and doesn’t fit in our string. Such a tendency of self-gratification through unnatural duplication of others language proves that we are no different than ‘self-boasting’ schoolboy. Some say Hindi, some Bengali, but I prefer the natural language of blue mountains, the sweet symphonies of waterfall, the tune of hills, the immortal sloped strokes, and the letters flying with birds. Though my language is not popular, it’s the colorful dews of my rainbow.
Small, sweet, quiet, aromatic – that’s all. ! That’s Nepal for me! Here Wagner is digging in the field; Shakespeare may be plowing the farmland; Tyson and Turner may be herding the sheep, Socrates may be contemplative in a cave, Kalidash may be singing endless songs in the fifteenth of Ashad, Sandow brings me loads of wood, many Helen Keller sings in my forest, here are many savitries whose stories are not heard by world, here are many literatures that are not yet written or will never be written. Are there any hearts left in the world who try to understand the natural wisdom of brooks? Will Kathmandu not experience our golden sunrise? Don’t the little birds chirp immortal symphonies in heart-sky? The tiny particles of love which is compacted inside me like silver-shaped grains plunging on rose’s chest, are they small?
Nepal is the only land that can produce such human emotions like real Arya-feeling, and it’s the only place that reflects the graceful symphony of pure waves, which replicate the peaceful vibes of sacred childhood and awake the divine in every heart. Because the factory smoke here never get chance to roam in polluted atmosphere like surfs of spider-webs.
Many infant minds in new pursuit and its wizardry are influenced by Nepali foods and climate, which often reflect true Arya-feeling and Arya-vision. I can never find such emotional purity and simplicity in other countries. The human here look at another human from humanly perspective; in civilized countries, human views human as a violent animal from an animalistic perspective. Those who are not Nepali and seek imitation will never prefer simplicity. The infant souls of the mountain experience satisfaction, but the sweltering minds on the ground are always dissatisfied. Where Nepali eyes find deity, others views it as just stone, while our heart gets delighted upon seeing divine aesthetic in nature, but the foreign minds tend to get inside the dark labyrinth of science. The glories of God are scattered everywhere in Nepal; knowledge is not found in the darkness of conscience. Knowledge is precious than science; the true essence of being human is not to pursue superficial principles with visionless theories. People who criticize superstition are overlooking their own fallacies. But Oh! Nepali heart! What in the world is more beautiful, serene, and alive than you?
I can find everything there where I found the living creatures. There my soul got awakened and opened my eyes to behold the magic of human life. Here I can see the wholeness of humankind. I do not see any beauty that can’t be found in Nepal. I am the sacred magic of the Himalayas and the idol of Nepali soil- who got awoken in life by the glimmering rays of heaven. Here is a subtle reflection of everything that exists or that may have ever existed in the earth. Here are the sample views of the chilling pole region of winter days and the reflection of coastal rain-falling region of autumn time. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon lies here; here lies three hundred Niagara Falls. Counting China’s great wall in seven wonders by overlooking the magic in walls of the Nepali shore is the blindness of being Nepali. The shining Gaurishankar palace lies infront of our eyes. What’s not here? Sometimes I wonder, what’s not here? Heaven resides above it, hell lies beneath it. Deities roam here all day, and human spirits wander around. Are not the stars dancing like fireflies in its eternal sky? Then I repeat again – what’s not here? The wonder of heaven or the richness of earth?
The plain countries are tedious with same scene everywhere; there is nothing to please the eyes. Somewhere the artistic vibes, graphic borders, colors, shadows and stripes, vibrancy of apexes, the earth fluttering with joy touching the heaven and flashing golden smile, flickering colour of shaded forest, such sweetness and charm are not found in plains. The plain is dunce, and it can never be creative. It’s like the empty photo frame, but the views of hilly countries have vivid charisma, the colors here are deep and luscious. This land is the heart of music and poetries; life here doesn’t look like a monotonous road. Here is novelness in everything; somewhere high, somewhere low, the magic of climbing, the charm of seeing, and the sweetness of hearing. While sitting in the corner of a mountain and looking at two or three directions will open up the view of two/three worlds which are visible from the same place. While looking at the scene, sometimes I notice four different visions of shadows, sunlight, drizzle, and fog.
When earth shows such creativity when it has such colorful vividity of beauty, where hill in itself is living world with the tigers, birds, and dears, upon seeing such scene, the human heart will swell in strange fear. It’s the place where the stones are like silver, scattered scrubs resemble pearls, where the brooks have divine speech, where leaves always speaks like entities of the living world, Where nature create colorful scenes and display chromatic wonders. It’s the land where the tendrils are wavering on the natural wall like a national flag, where the flower-decorated majestic Himalayas is in the regime. Aren’t the aesthetic lines are being sketched in the imagination of people here?
I feel that the ethnic residing close to the peak of Himalaya is linked with its glory and grace; here, the children have an innate creativity and vibrant imagination. I feel that the poets are usually born around gardens and legends around hills. I see the poetic relation with that country, which homes various kinds of chirping birds. When the forest is filled with serious twilight, I get the feeling of dilemma between the darkness of conscience and full light of knowledge. While inside Nepal, I can find the pleasure in Bankali, but soon forgot that pleasure after reaching Calcutta. Hills and songs have a day-to-day relationship, like of speech and meaning. The vibes of heaven drop here, the constant symphonies of hills here can result in the emotional purity. Here leaves are like green feelings that trail through the heart.
Then why shouldn’t I write vast? The feeling of vastness was in the breath of Himalayas, in the blue color of mountains, in the generosity of nature, in the chirp of various birds and in the land of love. It’s the land of pleasure and exploration chosen by soul, and here I’m evolving from animalistic-human to a complete human being. With the budding rosy enlightenment, I got awoken by being part of this land, which I used to consider as the entire universe during childhood. While sitting under the shade of Peepal tree, I feel the spawning of vivid vastness. Whenever I get lost in the serene pleasure of Bankali, I tell my friend, ‘Aha! What a great feeling occurs to me, everywhere there is greatness in Nepal”. Afterall, nothing in the world is greater than your motherland. The affection of our hearts takes speed in narrow trail – just like the nature of the sun. I feel that it’s the feature of love to get thinner in broadness. I learn universality in the homeland. Every neuron of my brain knows the importance of Nepal. It’s glimmering in my heart. If I were at the far end of the world now, I would answer the question of who are you? as- ‘Nepali’, If death descends down from heaven and asks what do you want? I will answer ‘the wellness of Nepal’. Let others seek salvation or wander in pursuit of heaven, but I always look forward for constant good wishes and eternal service towards Nepal. Do not narrate me the glory of other nations, even if its heaven or any kind of utopic land. My heart knows where my diamond is and how it twinkles. People may ridicule me but I can proudly say that my nation homes that Arya Civilization, which can provide spiritual nourishment to the entire world for centuries. Let others crown be at the head, the crown of my homeland resides inside the heart.
Abroad is a dream, like an anonymous tale; like unseen sparks, it vague external factor which doesn’t fall within my horizon and my eyes share no relation with that. Very few Nepalese may remember that there lies another world outside this Nepali constellation. For the average human being, nothing is bigger than the galaxy above his head; and he never feels like being just the part of this vast land. Just like “Punart Punarmid” What’s the worth of understanding the other horizon beyond it? A glance that beholds entire universe may regard the sun as small white pip, but the sun is like a white God of light for mortals living on earth. My homeland is my world; my reality; my truth; a concrete existence. Whenever I’m abroad, life feels like watching movies or drama; only at the homeland, I experience real life.
Those writers who regard patriotism as narrow thought have taken pen after being fed up with the constriction of modern society. However, all armature universalistic writers and poets who imitate Thakurbaba tend to forget that love towards the world is something that develops in the homeland and the one who cannot love his nation but claims to love the world is like running before learning to walk, merely like making a sand house. If my dreams tend to fly away abandoning the legacy of being Nepali, then I would be more insignificant than rainless-cloud.
If the aesthetic presentation of living experience is literature, the person who is not a real Nepali can never craft any Nepali literature. All the scenes and feelings of Nepal keeps on self-radiating inside me through various means in the form of thoughts, emotions, and memory. I neither speak nor do I write on the basis of public-universality; I only write and speak of Nepal. The thoughts are not mine rather the influence of sensitive Nepali visuals and audios, which are the only immortal elements within me. With these elements, I am moving on the path of service, receiving new glimpses and knowledge.