दसैंको .......

दसैंको सामाजिक पक्ष बलियो भए पनि यो पर्वसँग जोडिएको आर्थिक पाटो र यसले पार्ने प्रभाव सकारात्मक देखिएका छैनन् । आयो दसैं ढोल बजाई, गयो दसैं ऋण बोकाई’ भन्ने पुरानो कथनले दसैंको आर्थिक विभेदको अवस्थालाई त्यसै पनि धेरै हदसम्म उजागर गर्छ । त्यसमाथि हरेक वर्ष यो पर्व मनाउने तौरतरिका भड्किलो बन्दै गएको छ । अहिले दसैंकै कारण ऋणै बोक्नुपर्ने तनावपूर्ण अवस्थामा बहुसंख्यक नेपाली नहोलान् यद्यपि यो पर्वको बेला हुनेखाने र हँुदा खानेबीचको आर्थिक खाडल गहिरिँदै गएको भने प्रस्टै देखाउँछ । राजधानीका अग्ला र ठूला सपिङ मलमा एउटा वर्ग किनमेलमा व्यस्त भइरहँदा मध्यपश्चिम र सुदूरपश्चिमका विकट जिल्लामा खाद्यान्न अभाव भइरहेको  र दसैं खल्लो हुने अवस्थामा पुगेको दुःखद् खबर आउनुले यो विभेदलाई छर्लङ्ग पारेको छ । एकातिर खानेकुराको जोहो गर्नै धौधौ परिरहेका बेला समाजको अर्को तप्कामा दसैं जुन रफ्तारमा भड्किलो र खर्चालु बन्दै गएको छ यो प्रवृत्तिलाई निरुत्साहित गरिनु आवश्यक छ ।
विजयप्राप्ति दसैंको प्रतीकात्मक अर्थ हो । त्रेतायुगमा अयोध्याका राजा रामचन्द्रले अत्याचार र अधर्मका प्रतीक रावणलाई युद्धमा हराएको पौराणिकतासँग यो पर्व जोडिएको छ । यसैका आधारमा समाजशास्त्रीले दसैंलाई शक्ति प्रदर्शनको पर्व भन्दै राजनीतिसँग समेत जोडेर हेर्ने गरेको पाइन्छ । पौराणिक र समाजशास्त्रीय तर्कको आफ्नै महत्त्व छ, यद्यपि हाम्रा सन्दर्भमा दसैं भनेको वर्ष दिनभरिको रिसराग, द्वेष र कलहलाई बिर्सने दिन हो । दसंैले मेलमिलाम, सहमति अनि सहकार्यको सन्देश बोेकेको
हुन्छ तर दुर्भाग्य, हामी असहमति र बेमेलपूर्ण राजनीतिक परिवेशमा यो पर्व मनाउँदै छौं । बाह्रौंपटक प्रधानमन्त्रीका लागि व्यवस्थापिका संसद्मा निर्वाचन भइसक्दा पनि दलीय आग्रह र गणितको राजनीतिबाट बाहिर निस्कन नसकेको हाम्रो राजनीतिक नेतृत्वका लागि दसैंको सन्देश निरर्थक जस्तो भइदिएको छ ।
पटकपटकको अवसरलाई चुकाउँदै आएको नेपालको राजनीतिक नेतृत्वका सामु फेरि एकपटक सहमतिको मार्गप्रशस्त गर्ने अवसर मिलेको छ । आपसी मनमुटाव र द्वेषलाई पछाडि छोड्दै दसैंलाई राजनीतिक मेलमिलापको दिशामा बढ्न अब चुक्नु हुन्न । प्रमुख दलका केही प्रमुख नेता विशेषका आग्रह र व्यक्तिगत प्रतिष्ठाको बन्धक पूरै देश र ऐतिहासिक प्रक्रिया हुनपुगेको छ । राजनीतिमा विकसित यो जटिलताले आम जनतामा घोर निराशाको अवस्था उत्पन्न भएको छ भने मुलुक देशी/विदेशी स्वार्थ शक्ति समूहको खेलमैदानमा परिणत हुने खतरा झनै बढ्दो छ । यद्यपि संक्रमणकालीन अवस्थामा बढ्दो यो जटिलताबाट मुक्त गर्ने दायित्व यिनै राजनीतिक दल र नेताहरूको काँधमा छ । तसर्थ दसैंले राजनीतिक गत्यावरोध अन्त्य र नयाँ आधारमा नयाँ सहमति गर्दै प्रमुख दलका शीर्ष नेताहरूलाई थाती रहेका ऐतिहासिक प्रक्रिया टुङ्गोमा पुर्‍याउने सद्बुद्धि र सफलता मिलोस् । दसैंको हार्दिक शुभकामना ।

Summary of Forget Kathmandu

In June 2001, King Birendra Bir Bikram Shah was killed in a massacre at Kathmandu s Narayanhiti royal palace, allegedly by his own son, the crown prince, and the world took new notice of Nepal. Since then, several thousand lives have been lost to a violent Maoist insurgency and repressive state counter-insurgency. Parliamentary democracy, too won late, in 1990 has been lost. And there are no clear indications of how long it will be before the civil war ends and popular government is restored.

In this illuminating study of the tangled politics of her country, Manjushree Thapa examines what has gone wrong, and why. Starting with an account of the Narayanhiti massacre and its aftermath, she goes back in time to trace the history, often chaotic, of Nepal s monarchy since unification in the 18th century, and of the struggle, in the 20th century, for genuine democracy. She ends with a record of her trek into Maoist-held territories in west Nepal, where the majority continue to live in poverty, human rights abuses are on the rise, and boys and girls as young as thirteen have taken to the gun.

A skilful mix of history, reportage, memoir and travel writing, Forget Kathmandu is an unprecedented examination of Nepal s past and present. The gifts of insight and lucidity that Thapa brings to her intensely political narrative make this one of the finest works of non-fiction from the subcontinent in recent times.

Praise for Forget Kathmandu

Forget Kathmandu is . . . part memoir drawn from living through the recent turmoil, part history of the royal family, part reportage on a trip Ms Thapa made to areas controlled by Maoist rebels, and partly also a reflection on what has gone so desperately wrong with her country. It is probably the best, and certainly the most readable, single-volume attempt to address that last question The Economist

Thapa s investigation is deeply moving and very funny, much like Nepal itself Newsweek

Manjushree Thapa is the best kind of chronicler because she breaks down conventional modes of how history should be recorded: she acts, by turns, as reporter, activist, analyst and archivist, employing the techniques of each discipline . . . Thapa is both passionately involved and coolly sardonic Business Standard

[Forget Kathmandu] is at once informed by an intense political passion, a strong historical sense, a profound insight into the inner dynamics of a nation and is yet accessible to all . . . A must-read Financial Express

Fast-paced, hard to put down, written with style and sophistication, also honesty and emotion . . . A must-read Outlook

A must read . . . It s reminiscent of the late great W.G. Sebald s non-fiction as an engaging detective story; a good template for non-academic studies from a modern conflict zone Hindustan Times

Thapa gives a splendid brief history of Nepal . . . Her analysis is astute and her observations often wry and illuminating Indian Express

It is at once a celebration of the power of the literary monologue and a cry of outrage at the reality in which the present Nepali state and society are trapped Nepali Times

Parashu Pradhan Unattended

When and how I happened to land at the Kathmandu Airport – I knew nothing of. I got conscious and unconscious by turns right since I boarded the plane at the New York airport. I turned my thoughts upon where I was, how I was and why I was flying to Nepal. But the string of the workings of my mind would come to an abrupt ending, and Mother's ailing, invalid face would unceasingly question me – 'Kanchhi Chhori, I wish you were at least able to see me last, but it's almost beyond hope

I used to keep my spirits up: I'll see the last looks of her; I'll see my mother a last chance, because I knew her face was at the last straw, at the last breath. The sinking face of my father still bobs up to my dreams and keeps on pleading – 'I remembered only you at my last hours, I dwelled only on you. I carried my thoughts only to you, my Kanchhi Chhori Sirjana'.

Soon I got a ticket and flew right off. I had made a solemn pledge not to repeat the sore history and fall in with the flame of a grave mistake and repentance thereafter. Only a sentence rang in me, 'Aama siriyas hunuhunchha, bewaris hunuhunchha.' (Mother is serious, she's not attended to.) Only two words from over the telephone struck me continually - 'serious' an English word and 'bewaris' a Nepali word.

 Among the many passengers in the plane I was all alone as a bird lost somewhere in a jungle. I had always felt some inexplicable inadequacy or emptiness within while I was in Kathmandu. And then I lived in London for a few years. But the shadows of inadequacy or emptiness kept on chasing me there too. Now I've moved to America, yet the shadow, I don't understand why, has not let go of me. I find I'm somewhere among the nonexistence, among the insufficiency, among the want.  

I reached the hospital. The stinking smell there suffocated me. I thought I had reached in some hell. Masking with a hanky I entered and went upstairs. The foul smell outside had reached every nook and cranny in the hospital rooms. All of a sudden I happened to spot Mother's face, and I was horrified- it was a mere framework of bones.

 'Aama! Darshan! I’m arrived!' I cried in a subdued franticness.

Hearing me, she opened her eyes.  They were dry. There was no water in them.

'How are you now, Aama?' I spoke again. Once more she opened her eyes and in blurred voice she said, 'Sirjana, you have arrived all the way from America to see me… I'm at my last time….'

'I'm at my last time…' I had a lump in the throat. Tears welled up. I felt as if I was squeezed into a horrifying tunnel.

'Aama, now I am arrived … I will take you to America and get treated… Aama! My Aama…! Surely I will.' I was thoroughly overwrought. I wished I could have howled and wailed frantically, shuddering the heavens; but in such circumstances the timely response wouldn't be that.

 Soon Eldest Brother popped up. He was shocked, 'Sirjana! You here?  It was just the day before yesterday we talked. There was no hint of your coming. How come you are here all of a sudden?'

 'She is my Aama as well as yours, Thuldai! She gave birth to you and she gave birth to me too! Here Aama's faring this terminal …  How could I help coming?' I bowed to him.

I don't know why I lamented within again.

'There was a fear of brain hemorrhage, but it didn't occur. Paralysis is in one side. The doctor has approved of discharge and treatment at home, but…'

 Doctor Sahib appeared and his 'but- ' couldn't continue. He cautioned, 'Haven't I told you to take your mother home? It's already been five days since I prepared the discharge sheet. What are you dawdling for?'

 The doctor performed a cursory inspection and stressed once again on the same old thing, 'I'm not seeing her any more. I've prescribed some medicines to take at home. Take a good care of her'.

 I observed Mother's face again. A setting sun she was. She was at her critical moments. Meanwhile I journeyed deep into the past, where Father too was. How fit pair and loving couple Mother and Father's was! They were the figures of some unspeakable envy of the neighbors. I, the youngest daughter Sirjana or Sirju, was the spoiled child of Mother, Father and everybody in the family. Whenever the household made preparation for festivals or celebrations, palavers were on what new garments should be readied for me. If a visitor dropped by, showers of honeyed phrases. They connected my beautiful luck to beautiful looks and I myself didn't see through all this stuff.  

And now Younger Brother showed up. He too was flabbergasted, ''Oh! You too could come?'

I made a deep bow.

The atmosphere in the room grew somber for a short while. Eldest Brother examined the younger one's expressions and made a lame attempt to open his lips, but they failed to yield to him. Likewise, Younger Brother studied my face and said, 'But you come without any hint? At least you could have phoned that you were ...........'

'I was in a wild rush, Sandai! How to arrive here at the earliest was my only end. I had a premonition I wouldn't be able to meet Aama for the last. But the stars were at my side. Now I could have her darshan at least.' I did my best to ease myself.

And then Eldest Sister-in-law turned up and we all were alert. My being there gave her a jolt.

 'Nani too here from America.....? Why no information? Er… It's almost a week since the doctor's said to take Aama home and nurse her. But we haven't been able to come to any conclusion.' I was speechless. I felt she was out to relate the whole history, she was going to report all the past in the same breath. She wouldn't stop. 'Now Nani too is here. Hope now the problem would clear up. Nani! I'm not in a position to take Aama home and continue the treatment. Both of us leave home for work at eight in the morning and are back only after seven in the evening. The children go to school. Who would take care of Aama all day long?' Sister-in- law poured her long tale of woe.

 Time came to a standstill. Mother's eyes opened, probably stung by Sister-in-law's words. They scrutinized each of us once from her bed. She scanned everything in the room and closed them. I transformed myself into her and journeyed far into the future- a moment like this will eventually befall me too. The character is the same; time, place and setting may vary. I cursed us all.  Before I could speak, Younger Brother opened his mouth- 'Whatever Bhauju says is the fact. I never suspect its truth. But mine too is not the state of affairs good enough to take Aama home. It's been years my wife's contracted uterine cancer and she's bedridden. I've not been able to render due attendance on her. What shall I do with one invalid and the other incurable?'

 'Can one say that after accepting Mother's pension property?' Eldest Brother stopped him. Meantime, a nurse entered. 'What are you discussing on? The boat may sink before the boatmen are able to arrive at some conclusion. Are you taking your mother home today or not?'  The nurse remarked. She measured the fever with a thermometer, asked to give Mother a capsule and left the room.

 'Shall I take Aama to America then? … My conscience told I was bound to speak. I knew that was the best thing I could say. I'd read in papers how the society was degenerating in a few years. In the deteriorated society where a man was taking his wife to Bombay and selling her there, a brother was forcing his sister to prostitution, I thought I forwarded an appropriate proposal. I was nearer the truth.

 Brothers' eyes met. I gathered they'd desired this very thing. I left the room to meet the doctor for further consultation. As a child that has learned his lesson by heart pours out in front of his teacher I begged, 'Doctor Sahib, I'd like to take Aama to America… What would you suggest….?'

The doctor was among a crowd. Patients and their relatives were thronging around. But he directed his eyes towards me, 'So you live in America, are you a Green-Card holder.....?'

'We've been living in America for years. I'm of the opinion that Aama's treatment might be better there than here. If only Doctor Sahib could permit….' I implored.

 Instead of caring about my request, he begged, 'I've not the least interest in working in this hospital. What's the use of remaining here? Could you please help me out to there?'

 I saw: not only Doctor Sahib here, but the whole nation, all people are pleading with me, begging of me.

 'Doctor Sahib, I'll do whatever I can! What's impossible if you wish! But for now, I'm serious about my mother…Doctor Sahib, what is your suggestion?' Again, I repeated my story.

'Such an elderly with brain hemorrhage. How can you take her all the way to America? Quite impossible! Take her home immediately and let her have a good rest. This is my suggestion.' Armed with the doctor's downright rejection, I returned to the bed only to find both the brothers impatient to escape the scene.

 'We are off, one must attend the office,' they excused themselves and walked out of the room. I was at my wit's end. I could not decide what I should speak or do. I was thoroughly nervous, to be honest. I couldn't well discern what was going on about me.

 'Aama, how are you?' I asked. Mother opened her lackluster eyes. She stared at me as if she couldn't recognize me. She must have felt she had arrived at some strange land.

 'Let me die… I don't want to live any more… It's enough.' I read these words in Mother's eyes. She pulled the saline water pipes, oxygen pipes and all quite wildly. I tried to restore them. There appeared the wrath of Death in her eyes. I shouted out to the nurse for help. But probably they were Mother's final moments. Her eyes were shutting for ever. But I kept on howling and wailing, 'Aama, Aama, my Aama…. My Aama…'                                          

The Little Buddha In Tokyo

It looked like snowfall again in Tokyo. The wintry chill had set in earlier this year than last. Pretty early the leaves began to fall off the trees. A gust of frosty wind vibrated the heart. The cold and snow here is colder than there. Living here has become tougher than there. Something like these thoughts obsessed Palden. While he was watching TV, he felt as if he were being mocked grotesquely by those who succeeded in scaling Mount Everest. He turned off the TV. 'There' implies the remote countryside, Solu, where Palden was born. 'Here' refers to Tokyo, one of the world's costliest cities and a tiny suburb which is linked with the tunneled train-way of Tokyo and a house of the suburb and a room of the house. A firm unwillingness to stay indoors gripped his mind. He got out of his room and went into the street. There was snow in profusion and thick fog. Calm drizzle accompanied the fog. A sense of futility hung in the air—an evening of somberness and gloom had crushed him as early as two in the afternoon. Lost in the dark sense of futility, Palden asked himself: "Why and for what did you come Tokyo?" Palden gathered very many explanations in him as answers to the question. He married a Japanese girl and was leading a life of luxury in Tokyo. He lived there doing a job. What a starting amount he sent back home, you know? Palden now would be a Japanese. He was no longer a Nepali. If only one he Palden's life! But alas! What could be done? Luck ever shrinks! He wove all these threads of introspection into a fabric and pondered. "Caught in a trap you set yourself, didn't you, Palden? Amassed a huge fortune?" Indeed Palden had not craved a huge fortune. Nor had he sought a lucrative job. Like his many other friends, he worked as a guide in a trekking agency. He was born in the Himalayas, so naturally it was his responsibility to look after it. The snow, the complete cold, all of it was part of Palden's share. Willingly or unwillingly, he would go out on treks as a guide every year. Because the whole of north Nepal is mountainous, Palden naively believed all Nepalese were guides like himself and eked out their living through the pleasure and happiness they provided visitors. And it was while doing that damned job, he first met Silivia Sann. First name Silivia and last name Sann are like the tag 'jyuu' in Nepali. How bewitchingly beautiful she was then! Japanese people by nature are short of stature, but she was tall as an American. Others possess flat noses, but she had a pointed nose like Brahmin women. Crimson rose in her cheeks and white in her teeth glittered as the snow. After getting off an airplane, as soon as Silvia got to the office. Palden was made her guide. He couldn't sleep that night. How many vessels of tongba he guzzled that day! When Silvia paid the entire bill, he half consciously yelled: "What a lucky number Palden has! What a lucky tourist Palden is!" Palden grew agile and sleek as a Bhote horse. Also, when Silvia, having picked up a smattering of Nepali, blushed before him in uttering "Nameste Paidenjyu", he went into raptures. He scarcely knew where he was, to which heaven he had been lifted. He felt an undiminished, solid happiness, entire pleasure, every festive moment all at once in a single day, when the Japanese beauty gave him life. Because of Silvia, Palden was there on the streets of Tokyo, streets that looked smooth and greasy as if given an oil message. Palden was out on the street but he knew not where to go. Ever since he had come to Tokyo, Palden had two hassles: Where to go and what to do? Go to a bar or a pub to drink? His pockets were short of money. Go to a departmental store for shopping? He did not know for whom. His parents were long dead, sisters had already eloped, and his brothers had already taken possession of their father's property: the land and house. Friends, too, fell into a similar category. Besides, he needed a sizeable wad of currency notes for the visit. He knew not how long he could shut himself up in the room, alienated. How any nights or days or years? Be stuck in a room and keep on eating and quaffing. The chicken and wine silvia had stored in the freezer wouldn't last longer than a couple of hours. To go out to see friends was also worthless, as they were busy plucking currency notes off the tree of labor. There was no reason why he should bother them. And Palden couldn't help reminiscing about the small bazaar, Saileri, in his native district, solu. He harked back to the narrow lanes of Thamel in spite of a conscious unwillingness to do so. "When to get back to Nepal?" He drew a deep breath and made for the park close to his apartment, a place of his usual visits. A statue of a valiant Japanese stood there. And a garden replete with freshly bloomed, multi-hued flowers and gorgeous fountains. It was stark cold there save for the lovers who frequented the park. For them there was no cold, no dew nor dampness. They were breathing life into their love. As if united after ages, they were exchanging glances, sucking each other's luscious tongues. It was only this sight Palden could see gratis in Tokyo. Apart from this, money got in the way everywhere. The stagnant time evaporated, shifted, and Palden was swung back to his past. He was carried to the vast expanse of gleaming snow under the peaks, the chilling heights of the mountain. Palden merged with the rhododendron in the woods of a rocky slope. The tree which was graceful to see but had such delicate branches that snapped at a slight pull. Palden felt his heart was like those delicate branches and shattered at the smallest bout of reminiscence. Silvia grew fond of this vulnerability of Palden. And one day she burst out: "What a wonderful chap Palden is! How industrious he is! If only I could take a youth like him Japan!" Palden, along same lines, fancied: "If only I were in Japan!" What good fortune that would be! What a number of buildings he could construct in Solu and in Kathmandu! He could also be the master of his own agency and he could make many more Paldens work under him. Life would not then ooze out worthlessly like that of a bullock pulling others' carts. And all his emotion, his feelings forcefully grew into a dense mass. Silvia would express her feminine feelings partly in Nepali, partly in English, or else in Japanese. In the face of a little difficulty, Silvia would stretch her hand to him for help, and Palden would beam with pride. She would make Palden drink a couple of more glasses of beer with her own hands, simply to add color to the evening and would triumphantly flash a smile.  The scarcely noticed when they climbed up and down hill, when they came up to a river and crossed it, when they mounted the slopes. They would be back in their camp and would be finished with their tea and snacks by the time others arrived. Palden, on these treks realized that the world, where existed numberless other worlds of languages, was so immense. Nonetheless, people managed to communicate with one another through the language of the heart. Although Palden was not good at Japanese, his eyes spoke, his fingers communicated, his teeth chatted, his lips and his tongue conversed. He led a bizarre existence: sometimes as an ancient man and sometimes as a modern man. The more days and nights added to his age, the more he felt that Silvia was born for him and that he couldn't lead his existence further without her. Palden had dreams of growing in her proximity. His entire past had betrayed him: all his so-called loved ones had stung him like nettle. Palden after all desired to raise himself above the life of bare bread and butter. And, hence before the trekking ended. Palden and Silvia vowed never to part company in the future. Gazing at the setting sun form the hilltop of Swayambhu, they swore that the sun of their boundless loe would never set. Then together they were on the lan3es of Thamel. Together they puffed away on the pipe of hashisn on the streets of Jhhonchhe. And during these trips. Silvia proposed: "Palden, Let's get married in accordance with Buddhist custom and move to Japan" These words were of utmost delight to Palden. He felt as if they were pouring out from the clam and composed eyes of Buddha as blessings.The Buddha was not only his custom and culture but also the long embraced philosophy of life. "Are you a Buddhist?" asked Palden one day. "I revere the Buddha, Palden. Since a tender age I've had in me an unfathomable reverence and respect for the Buddha. Since you come from the Buddha's land, you seem to me to be an embodiment of Buddha, a little Buddha in yourself, my dear." Silvia then wrapped him in an embrace for a considerable length of time. These words were ringing, jingling, in his ears when he rose from the park bench. "A little Buddha –a little Buddha –a little Buddha—" Like any other prosaic day, Silvia would turn up at midnight. She wouldn't fall asleep; she would fail to sleep. He would have to wake up and provide her the same service that he had been providing for years. Remembrance of this routine job stifled his spirit and rendered it lifeless. He wished to end his life out there in Tokyo, commit suicide. The streetlights were already on. Palden hurried back home. During such hasty withdrawal, he was neither carried away by any recollections nor did he possess any plan, any carvings or impulse of mind. Palden retired to his apartment with a vacant mind, as if nothing had happened, nothing would happen. The earth had been rotating on its axis as usual and would continue dong so; many a Palden would be born and pass away; many more would come into being and perish. He barely knew why such a coarse heaviness like a big boulder crushed his heart. This heaviness began to dwell in his breast from the day they wedded in the presence of Lama priest at Bouddha. However gay he outwardly looked, however much he laughed, in his heart the same did not occur; instead, there descended some unidentifiable heaviness, somberness quite inexplicable to him. After his passage into Tokyo, once, Palden asked Silvia, "What if I get some job somewhere in Tokyo?" Silvia disapproved outright. Seizing his passport from him, she snapped, "Palden, you're now Silvia Sann's husband. You needn't wash the dishes eaten by others in Tokyo. Nor have you to look after other's children. Stay at home with an air of dignity, watch TV, and make your life full of fun." Sweet and perfect sounded the words. But he was left vexed and restless by the pain of being a rape victim every night. He felt he had transformed into a self –regulating machine and was crushed under Silvia's command. His own desires had become dry as desert sand. He was unable to articulate or perform anything. In an authoritative tone of voice Silvia would bark a command at him, and he like a school student compliantly acted on it to fulfill her desire. Now Palden would traverse the forest of Solu and Salleri only in his dreams. Only on the TV screen could he catch a glimpse of mountain peaks. The Palden inside Palden went dry and dead everyday. He began to dream of returning to Nepal to resume the old job of trekking. Eventually palden decided to flee. Having escaped Silvia he could hide a few days he could not reach Nepal. He did not possess his passport. Nor did he have money or anything else. One day he resolved to do away with himself by being crushed under a racing train. Yet, he abandoned that thought, too, thinking there was no sin as big as committing suicide. By the time he reached home, Silvia –he did not know why –had already arrived. She intently interrogated him on why he was so late. She even drew closer and smelled his breath in case he was drunk. Palden searched Silvia's countenance. The face wore a different look altogether. The pointed nose had grown flat and the eyes cavernous, the skin had blotches all over it. "How are you, Palden?" asked Silvia gravely. "I'm all right --," he blurted out laconically but he knew he was telling a lie. "I've brought a beautiful gift for you: a rosary. Buddhists use it to perform japa. Do carry out japa in the name of Buddha in your spare time. You'll be cleansed of your sins." Silvia wished to hand the mala to him. But Palden swung with indecision: by accepting that mala and performing japa, for which sin would he be penitent? For which crime? He did not have the slightest idea.