Parshu Shrestha

With Dashain coming near the memory of my childhood days linked with my maternal grandmother comes alive and afresh in my mind. She is the person I miss the most at every Dashain. She was loving, caring, and all-providing for me. During my years in her house, every Dashain tasted sweet and memorable.

When Dashain entered the households, Radio Nepal played a special tune, the mangal dhun (the music of wellness). The melodious note of maalshreebaajaa would add to the festive mood created by the month-long vacation during which my school would be closed. Then, my grandma would find a rope from somewhere (Perhaps she saved it for me!) and tie its two ends around the wooden beam of the house so that a rope-swing would be ready for me. She would also prepare a kaamro (two two-feet sticks woven together with a piece of rope) on which I would put a pirkaa made of corn-husks and sway the swing.

The first two or three days would be full of fun, and I would enjoy the swing most. After that the level of satisfaction would gradually decrease. I would be the centre of attraction among my playmates who often waited for their turn impatiently. I would be their leader and the most powerful in the group due to the swing which I had and they did not. They would mostly be ready to do anything for me to get the chance to play the swing. Perhaps my grandma wanted me to enjoy this privilege. However, if my mom or grandma came to know or saw my playmates enjoying the swing, they would scold at me. Therefore, it would often be a secret deal between me and my playmates.

Sometimes I would feel giddy by overplaying on the swing. If so, I would not go back for a while. I have fallen down the swing due to giddiness many times. However, my fascination to the swing never became less due to the power it gave me among my playmates and the pleasure.

Once, I was lolling on the swing, perhaps dozing off. The sound of rustling dry leaves fell upon my ears. When my eyes opened, I saw a big black cobra slithering under me. I was just two or three feet above it. I froze and almost fainted, but I could not get down or run away.  Thank God! It did not see me. I could not go back to the swing for a few days. Whenever I remember that moment, I still feel goosebumps all over my body. What if the cobra had bitten me? What if I had fallen over the cobra due to my nervousness?

I remember another moment when a mongoose came out of nowhere and ran away with a chick while I was on the full swing. The mother hen jumped and ran frantically after the attack, but I could not do anything to save the chick. Later, my grandma was so unhappy with me. She might have thought that I did not care about anything else.

Early in the morning on Ghatasthapana, the first day of Dashain, my grandma would climb up the buigal, the attic, and remained there until the lunchtime. She had no ladder to climb up and down the attic. She used just the wooden scaffolds on the back of the door for the purpose. Every morning until Vijaya Dashami, the tenth day, she would spend her time performing worship to Goddess Durga. My mom and I were generally not allowed to go there as we were kutummas(as my mother and I belonged to another family, her in-laws) though my mom was her eldest daughter. The rest of the year, I would frequently go there, mostly secretly, and peep through the small wooden window which overlooked the crossroads in front of the house. I would watch the neighbourhoods turning my head around. If I saw any of my playmates, I would call them from there so that they would be surprised and I would have some fun of the show. Sometimes, that buigalwould be my secret haven for reading peacefully, especially when I felt disturbed by others in the house.

The attic was a kind of store room for my grandma. There were many sal planks and beams of various lengths and breadths. There were some clay pots with wheat, millet, and maize, the seeds for next season crops. In fact, my grandma kept there everything she thought worth preserving for the future. The place was always semi-dark due to the lack of enough sunlight. As it was just below the tinned roof, it would be very hot during the summer days. So, the daytime was not good for going there. The best time would be the morning time until 10 o’clock or the evening.

The attic was also the favourite place of birds for making their nests and laying their eggs. In those days, I was an amateur bird hunter. Therefore, one day, I climbed up the attic secretly to find the nests. As the place had scanty light, I could hardly see anything clearly. It must have been around one o’clock in the afternoon. As I was slowly moving towards the place where I had seen some birds (ruppies and swallows) entering and coming out the previous afternoon and supposed a nest would be found there, I saw two small gleaming objects. They were red and fiery. At that moment, I suddenly remembered what my grandma often said, “At midday and midnight, there are ghosts playing in the attic.”

My whole body shook with fear. I felt my limp legs and pounding of the heart. My horror increased when the two fiery balls rolled and moved up and down. Then, I don’t remember how I came down. I just know I slammed the door shut and did not climb up the attic again for long that year.

During my age of innocence, I would follow my grandma wherever she went for tika (rice coloured in vermillion and put on forehead)and jamara(the barley seedlings). She had many elder relatives in Letang whom she visited every Dashain. As I would be her companion, I would also receive dakshina(money), mostly a five-rupee note. Sometimes, I would visit them again with my mom too. Some would laugh and give me one-rupee dollar. Some would rebuke me diplomatically. After all, I was a kid in the mood of celebrating Dashain happily!

The money I earned this way was never saved. We children enjoyed patakas(fire-crackers), tinned-guns with power-dots on rolls, sweets, and langoorburja(the dice). At one Dashain, I had earned one hundred and fifty rupees by following my grandma and mom to their relatives. That was a good amount because at two rupees we could eat five puris with repeated servings of cholaa(pea-potato curry) at BucchiSahu’s hotel. But I lost all of it to the dice and my mom got furious. When she beat me out of rage, my grandma came forward as my saviour. She gave me a bowl of beaten rice soaked in ghee and sugar to stop my wailing.

My grandma died three years back. At every Dashain when we visited her for tika, she would say, “This Dashain was well-observed. I wonder what will happen the next Dashain.” Her face reflected both smile and anxiety at the same time. I was blessed by her every Dashain until she died at the age of 87.

(Parshu Shrestha, a teacher and writer, is from Itahari.)