As the days grew shorter and mother earth started to freeze over-- threatening to end the survival of the beings not ready to shelter themselves from the cold fury, Maya happily chirped in her home as hajurmuwa told her stories of the past. Winter is normally described as cold and gray, but Maya always saw it as white and beautiful. She especially loved the nights when snow glimmered like white diamonds on the roof tops and pavements. The whole night looked beautiful and glowed with beauty. She would go to sleep looking at the snow outside. The part she loved the most was making snow angels in her back yard. Hajurmuwa would shout at her and tell her to come back in, otherwise she would catch pneumonia, but she could not help but admire the beauty outside. Hajurmuwa had confided in her that the first time she had seen snow was when she was 40, which was probably why she could not understand the glee while playing with snow.

            Maya saw a hidden pleasure in everything, when the sun shone it held a promise of a warm day, when it rained she loved the smell of wet soil, when it snowed she thought she saw diamonds gleaming on the floor, and when it got dark and gloomy, it was the best time to stay home and enjoy the company of hajurmuwa, who would tell her stories from Nepal. Some were very absurd indeed and it made her giggle. Did hajurmuwa really think that there was a thing called 'bhakunde bhoot' that was shaped like a ball and ran instead of rolling? Some were very creepy like the one about hajurmuwa's own brother encountering a lady in Bagmati pool one night when he was returning home, and how the lady's feet had been backwards. He had run for dear life and the kichkandi had shouted after him 'Aaja bachis, feri dekha paris bhane marlaas!' Her grandmother said that the spirits of loved ones lingered behind and before population explosion in Nepal, they would actually make contact with their family members. Hajurmuwa claimed to have had conversations with her dead mother. She stated matter-of-factly that now that the population had grown ten folds in Nepal, the spirits were scared to come out!

            Maya wondered if hajurmuwa was telling the truth or if she just believed in couple of lies. Her stories felt like the Harry Potter series at times. Nearly Headless Nick-- the Gryffindor house ghost might as well have been from Nepal. She giggled to herself as she felt the absurdity of her own thoughts and went ahead to do something else. Her parents had always been busy making money and paying debts from the past. Had it not been for hajurmuwa living with them, she would probably be in a day care center handled by uncompetitive group of people who claimed to be child experts! Being raised by a grandmother who had never stepped out of Nepal until she was forty, Maya was different than the other Nepali children of her age. Whenever she went to Nepali get-togethers, she saw Nepali children in groups talking in English and throwing slang words at each other. Hajurmuwa had grudgingly said the other day that a ten year old had come and said hi to her instead of Namaste. When asked since how many years had the kid been to the United States, he replied 'tomorrow it will be two whole months granny!' She had frowned in disgust at the kid and left without saying a word.

            Maya laughed heartily whenever hajurmuwa grumbled and whined about the loss of Nepali culture in the kids of the new era. Maya had been taught to greet a guest at the door and ask them if they wanted some tea. Her grandmother would make her recite the Nepali alphabet and count from one to a hundred in Nepali every morning. According to her, a person should always know where their blood came from. And Maya never forgot! People would seldom say that they came over just to see Maya talk in fluent Nepali and cook tea for them. 'This is the only true Nepali home in the area,' they would retort and smile at Maya and give her a pat on the back. She always enjoyed the company of others as her home would normally be quiet and lonely with only hajurmuwa and her at home most of the times. She would love it when some old lady like hajurmuwa came over, and they would talk about the old times.

            Her parents were like strangers who came in and out of the house. She slowly grew up with hajurmuwa who was her confidante, her friend and her parent. She would look at hajurmuwa's wrinkled olive face and warmth unlike any other would run deep inside her. Her callused hands felt like soft cotton to Maya, especially when she would oil her hair just lotioned her hands. Years passed by and hajurmuwa never changed, she always treated Maya like a five year old, and Maya was happy to stay a five year old. They shared a bond that no one else could understand. The fifty year old gap between them did not mean a thing, it was like seeing two telepathic people at work, one would feel and the other would understand. One would smile and the other would be happy, one would frown and the other would be worried. Maya's parents were relieved to see how well they got along. Had that not been the case, they would be unable to make the best out of life and would be bearing the burden of the daughter that seemed more like a big bag of potatoes to them.

            The first snow fell down on November 12^th when she was 16, and Maya rejoiced as soon as she woke up in the morning and saw the white diamonds all over the place. She ran to hajurmuwa to tell her about the snow. She went straight to the kitchen as she would normally be there, dutifully preparing some breakfast for Maya. Surprisingly, hajurmuwa was not there so she went around the house looking for her. When she could not locate hajurmuwa anywhere, she went to the bedroom. Hajurmuwa was lying beneath the sheets, peacefully in a deep slumber. Maya smiled as she looked at the serene picture in front of her. She sat beside her on the bed and stroked hajurmuwa's gray hair. The encounter brought her hand shooting back towards her in a deep shock. Maya looked at her grandmother's frame and hesitatingly forced her hand back to hajurmuwa's forhead. She was not imagining, hajurmuwa really felt as cold as the snow outside and now that she paid attention, as white as it too.

            She just sat there for five minutes staring at hajurmuwa, waiting for the pain and agony, waiting for something to gnaw at her heart, waiting for her heart to rip into pieces. She waited and waited and waited but she could not feel a thing. She could not even feel herself faint right next to her beloved grandmother's corpse¦

            She was sitting in a room full of family and friends who had come over to give their condolence for her loss. She nodded at people and stared into space and vacuum. She heard the words of people, but did not understand them. All she could think about was her grandmother's lovely callused hands and wrinkled smile. She urged the pain to engulf her heart, urged to feel something for her lifelong companion but the numbness stayed in her heart forever. The last thing she remembered of that day was looking outside the window at the ghostly white pale of the snow, and thinking how it looked like the clothes of a wailing widow.

            Days passed into months and months into years. The summer sun brought unbearable heat and dryness, the rain brought down the tears of the lords, snow reminded her of an ever wailing widow and a dark and gloomy day crashed her feelings further down. Life went on as it always does but Maya never again made snow angels, or heard mystical stories of Nepal. She gradually went to college and graduated. She had learned to smile again but her laughter never reached her eyes. Her parents called her about once a month and went on being the strangers that they were. She went on married a nice man who was in touch with his Nepali origin as she was. She made friends, did every normal thing that a married woman would do, except ever talk about her grandmother. Life came at her fast, bringing with it unknown changes and many surprises.

            At the age of twenty-eight, Maya gave birth to a wonderful baby girl with the smoothest olive skin and the smile of an angel. For the first time ever Maya's husband heard the name 'Sita' out of her mouth. That was to request him to name the baby girl after her grandmother. 'You never talk about her' he had curiously retorted. Maya looked at her husband, her eyes filled with laughter... 'one day I shall' she replied and hugged her baby to her breasts.

             Sita was five years old - a child with a positive radiant attitude towards everything in life. She loved every weather and liked everything about the world. There was nothing that could bring her down. One winter day as Maya walked out to the backyard to give Sita her jacket, she noticed Sita making a snow angel. The little girl stirred an emotion inside her that she had long forgotten. She felt the warmth inside her like she had once felt years ago. Sita came running to her as soon as she saw her mother.

            'Mommy, how come you never tell me about Nepal?' Sita pouted at her mother and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

            Maya smiled, 'did you know Nepal is a mystical place with ghosts that look like balls and lady ghosts named kichkandi that go after the men?'

            Sita's eyes were round with amazement as she heard her mom talk about Nepal. 'Oh mommie please tell me,' she begged her mother.

            Maya needed no more persuading. The stories she had heard during her childhood flowed out of her. She smiled as she recalled every little detail and every little story. She envisioned her olive skinned hajurmuwa sitting in front of the fire and telling her stories that made her think that Nepal surely must be enchanted. She felt the callused hands hold hers and the kind eyes smile down at her. She felt the first drop of tear roll down her face, and then another and before she knew she was weeping her heart out for the grandmother who had left her seventeen years ago. She could still remember every line of her face and every emotion that showed in her eyes.

            Pain and agony for her grandmother finally began to tighten her heart as she wept for the greatest loss she had suffered in life. And then she remembered hajurmuwa's words 'the spirits of the loved ones lingered behind to make sure that the ones closest to their heart were doing alright.' She looked up and thought that hajurmuwa surely must be around, looking after her as she always had and the pain dissolved into the unique warmth that only her grandmother and daughter could give her.  She knew for sure that her grandmother still looked after her. She looked down at Sita and found the same kind pair of eyes her grandmother had possessed. She knew that she had never been alone. She wiped her tears and told Sita 'I sometimes wonder how bhakunde bhoot runs when he has no feet.'

Sita sank into a deep thought and burst into giggles. 'Mommie, do you think Alice actually went to Nepal instead of wonderland?'

'I have always wondered the same thing sweetie,' she replied and rumpled her daughter's hair.

Rythm - aww..that was such a lovely story. and no one could have told the story better than you I am sure!! :) It was really descriptive and just perfect!! :D

"the spirits of the loved one’s lingered behind to make sure that the ones closest to their heart were doing alright." - I think everyone should always know that when a loved one passes away!!

Keep up the implausible work!! :)

 

Nearly Headless Nick-- the Gryffindor house ghost might as well have been from Nepal. ---- you r right!  lots of moaning Myrtles used to be in my grandma’s stories though---she used to tell us how she heard them at paani padhera and gai ko goth etc hehe

Jokes aside, this line touched my heart ---"the spirits of the loved one’s lingered behind to make sure that the ones closest to their heart were doing alright."

Rythm, Thanks  for sharing such a Lovely story.

Finally, "Rhythm" is back with a bang.

Good one. Noone could have narrated the story better than a veteran writer like you. Liked it very much.

What a wonderful and touching story. Our grandaparent and parents live on in us, our children and their children long after death takes their bodies away. Very well narrated.  

Rythms Sweetie, very simple and very touching. I could clearly see how creative you can be. Storytellers should be gifted with IMAGINARY power and you possess that. I really enjoy this piece, perhaps it was the best work from your side. This story is not just a story but a reality for many of us, who knows 20-30 years down it will implement on us.

Oh no, I always scare getting married, spending whole life with one person and sharing everything from bed to bank balance, and acting as if we care for each other. Marriage really is a big thing in one's life but after goin through this story, I am puzzled, there are other sides of married life too. What about an Angel baby girl who makes Snow angel like Sita......Tsk tsk tsk...........I wanna be a father

An emotional person- Rhythm , who pours all her emotions into her stories, to the brim and makes others emotional . The vibes I get from you tells me that you are a very good person.

Being a person who grew up with her grandparents, I was definitely touched by your story. The agony of love was felt. Never heard of "bhakunde bhoot" though! My Muwa used to tell me about chudels ,raakey bhoot and horse bhoot.
And every time the word grandmother meets my eye, I get reminded of the Ftv. whenever I'd see my grandma coming to the TV room , i would switch the channel to Ftv and watch her expressions and body language change rapidly. She would then fly into a rage and start her commentary & I would roll on the floor laughing. Boy! Those were the days! .  If the models could hear what they were being told they would never dare walk on the runway again. I owe an apology to them. SO has anyone else tried it? Or am I the only lucky one!

Thanks to all the wonderful readers for reading my ramblings and actually appreciating it. I am honored that you felt I was able to narrate the story.

Nails sweetie: Thanks a million. I shall always try my best to write and though I cant call my work implausible. :D

pjna: I have sure heard stories of Moaning Myrtles too. And when you think about it a lot more. I am sure if a grandmom writes one of her stories it is going to be a greater hit than the Harry Potter series!;) On the serious side, thanks for reading. Truly appreciate it!

Nepal ko chora: Thanks a lot for your kind words. I can not be sure about your statement about no one else being able to narrate the story better. I should say that your poems are beautiful.:)

Sajha Gazer: I am truly honored that a writer of your intellect took time and read my story and actually appreciated it. What more could I ask for? Thanks!

Amazing: I am glad that you thought this one was one of my best. I did not think it would be so good... ot maybe the other ones that I wrote were not so good! Thanks for reading.. I would love to read your writings too but unfortunately I cant read the nepali script on the computer. hurts my head big time!

Aviator: I dont remember if I have thanked you before for reading and commenting on other of my writings. I really do enjoy your outputs as they are not merely a sentence but some kind of a feedback!! And about me being emotional-- err.. I am not in a position to judge myself.  I had also spent a lot of time with my grndmom . Whenever we had no electricity we would force her to tell us stories and they were quite fascinating indeed! My grandmom actually told me about bhakunde bhoot. According to her if you kicked it thinking it was a ball.. instead of rolling it would run. weird yet fascinating. Thanks for the invaluable comment!  

---I am sure if a grandmom writes one of her stories it is going to be a greater hit than the Harry Potter series---- Rythm, I bet  it does  

Bahurani,  felt like you were telling my story. I was crying (I know I know, I'm a bit runchi.).but it's such a  touching story. I was about to name my child after my grandmom too..tara choro bhayo..so couldn't...

Btw, loped you, but after reading this story, lop u more than before...

for someone who lost his gradmom just a few months back, the agony of love is even greater.
thanks for making me cry and thanks for being such a wonderful person that you are. kudos-- to the writer and the story both :D

Did not want to bring this thread up again, but sndy saasumummy totally made me. Awww.. I did not make you cry. I am happy to relate to your story, yet sad that it brough tears to your eyes. You are one emotional and soft hearted person now arent you? Dont worry, be happy!

Loote, it broke my heart to know that you suffered a great loss only a few months back. i cant even think about what I would do if something as such were happen to me. It is in fact one of my greatest fears as I am here and they are back in Nepal!  Thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. You only think that I am a wonderful person because you are one yourself. I believe that one has to be wonderful to appreciate others! Thanks for reading.

Rythm -

Almost missed it. Great story indeed. Liked it. I think you should write more about growing up in the US, it always makes for a very interesting read.

Best wishes.

girl, you have it , yah! you have it. i just love the flow of your story. honestly, i didn't pay much attention to your plot but i was just flowing with the words. silken touch, indeed. kudos!

Great Story Rythm ! Impeccable narration !!

Loote is right, the agony of love is even greater when its just been a couple of months.

Loote bro, my heart goes out to you, my condolences !!

Great one. I almost cried along with Maya. Thanks

Nice story!

It reminds me of my Grandmom who had passed away   9 years ago when I just came to US.I was very colse to her and she was the nicest person.

Anyway,great story Rythm.

I somehow missed this one. I love to read literature pieces, especially stories, here in sajha. The flow of this story reminded me those terai rivers I saw in winter. No floods, no overpowering of banks, and no fear. I also enjoyed watching how the story smoothly transitions into a new era--- A somber story can be a lively one too ...

Good writing, Rythm. Hope to read more.

I guess I have not been too attentive for the past few days, I completely missed everyone's comments on my story. Thanks to you all for taking the time to read this piece. :)

Rhythm,

I rarely read those stories as they are beyond my capacity of gaining something from the best stories (should be but I cannot evaluate) from  writers like Rhythm, John Galt, Sajha Gazer, Loots, cap saap, sum off, sitara, amber …. But our ‘Nepalki_chori’ bhauju asked me to read this story during our ‘luncheon guf’ relating family backgrounds.

I might have heard many fairy tales but I never forget those terrible stories from my hajurama (especially told during nights). As I spent most of my childhood with my hajurama rather than my parents who were always busy to their ‘usual jobs’. I learnt much more and shared my feelings but what to our generation. Being the conservative, we may want the same environment as we spent in but that’s indecisive.

Very nice story rhythm, I am really delighted from the writing. I am missing my hajurama who is fighting between life and death in her late eighties and looking for her grandsons around her.

Parbatya