Have anyone of you ever read Sita Pandey's works? I can do more copy n' paste here if anyone of you're interested.

With a Question Mark of One's Own

-Sita Pandey

In a corner of a large city he was gazing at her features as intently and uninterruptedly as possible against a dull light of a dim wicker-lamp. Unawares, she in her turn was busy pouring the country-liquor into his emptied glass-tumbler. For a while it appeared as if it was 'Prema' herself, and not merely the liquor, that was pouring into the tumbler…and he promptly closed his eyes shut before emptying the tumbler in one fast gulp down the throat. Now it appeared to him that 'Prema' had emptied herself. She doesn't have anything left.

"Some more?" - a soft and mellow voice rang into the silence and slammed against his ears. He opened his eyes. 'Prema' was standing in front of him, as if lifeless, in a posture about to pour some more wine into the tumbler.

'Prema' - he is enamoured of this name, and, in fact, it was he who had named her thus. Her childhood name was Dolma. But he doesn't care; he doesn't even recognise Dolma of the earlier days any more - when she just used to help her mother run the bhatti, a liquor-joint.

He was, however, a regular client those days as well, as he is now. The only difference being that he was her mother's (client) those days - and now he is hers. Whether he was contended with the services rendered by her mother those days is difficult to say, but it looked as if he had been managing it anyway. As a sort of a wall-fixture in that joint for a longtime going, he had the special privilege of being served, often even on a pay-later basis, a facility rarely enjoyed by anybody else. The old lady, on her part, felt at times gratified that, despite her advanced years, she was still in a position, till the time, to run the small joint as smoothly as ever. What's more, she had even been successful in retaining her regular clients for years, even though she had to do it all alone. It may well be, however, that his was due more to the conveniences offered than merely her own efficiency or utility-value.

But, as many and long days passed by, there was evidently a slackening and a tardiness in the old woman's daily routine and the daughter seemed now to be gradually taking over such chores. He also felt that, in addition to the cleaning of soiled glasses, graver wait-on duties such as serving meat-dish bites and pouring drinks had also been devolving on her. But his indulgences had not exceeded beyong savouring drinks and the canapes served by her.

He got married in the meanwhile and his display of love towards the new bride was conspicuous. One day, while he was deeply engrossed in the extreme act of love, he experienced a sudden impulse of addressing his wife as 'Prema', and, for his purposes, the name had stuck to her ever since.

The ardour of his love towards his wife visibly waned with the passage of time, however; it could perhaps be attributed to paucity of finances - or, alternatively, to his inability to meet her increasing demands with his limited resources, with the result that he gradually started making do without such an endearing address. Meanwhile, domestic hassles started occasionally surfacing between him and 'Prema', a major contributiory factor having also been the birth of a son to them. But his wife still craved to be addressed lovingly thus, as also wanted to keep continuing her purchases of tinned milkfood and cosmetics, which were increasingly going beyond the reach of his continuously thinning purse…

After a time, he found himself tracing his footsteps back to the same bhatti-tavern, as if drawn by the sniff of the old woman's trail. He found however that, by that time, she had since long been bed-ridden with asthma, and, in the meanwhile, the daughter had already substituted her and taken her place, with a greater finesse of style and form. This realisation dawned on him at a time when the outline of her back bra-strap made things more conspicuous…He even felt slightly or a little repentant that he had missed the oppportunity of catching a proper glimpse of her assets as she had faced him at a close range. He even felt like summoning her back once more on the pretext of an additional dish or drink. But with platefuls of bites just served and already lying on the table before him, he had to content himself with a mere rear view of things…

The dusk matured into the night. And, as he sought to assemble all his mental faculties that had rambled since he poured his fantasies on the obverse 'shape' earlier-on, he also addressed Dolma as 'Prema', as if accepting the girl, for the first time, as a Prema-substitute in all its senses and implications. He also increased the frequency of his visits to her since then. But, even as his enthusiasm bubbled and his pockets bulged enroute to that joint, he used to find both himself and his pockets deflated while trudging back homewards.

Meanwhile, an extended aspect of the situation emerged in the shape of his increasingly sentimental attachment. He even started showing greater concern towards the ailing old woman, to the extent of taxying her to a hospital for treatment or buying medicines for her. 'Prema', in other words, was his own - he seemed to feel. In her turn, her inclination to wait upon other clients percievably dwindled as she wanted to close down the joint earlier than ususal and rush to her mother's sick-bed. But hardly could she ever free herself from closing her chores before about ten in the night.

As it happened, 'Prema' was pouring drink into his emptied tumbler one evening. He, in his turn, was engrossed in running his eyes over Prema's unsleeved, rounded arms, neck and the charming lower porton without batting an eyelid. In the meantime, an uncouth-looking, bearded and hefty man from among the group sitting in another corner, accosted Prema and started pulling her towards him. It was beyond what he coud tolerate. But he watched helplessly, and could do nothing about it. He merely kept on looking at the unsavoury spectacle.

The establishment closed down earlier than usual. All the rest had left. As he also got up to leave, he cast a last furtive glance at Prema. He felt that her countenance, blossoming in a youthful charm, was now increasingly filled with splotches of repentance, remorse or helplessness. He then lit a 'Yak' and left the place puffing out a blast of smoke - without, however, taking leave of her, as was his wont.

A little distance away, as he reached a lamp-post in the dark alley, he cast his glance on either side once and leaned against it, under its shadow…

[Courtesy: Sheet of Snow, an anthology of sixteen Nepali short stories, translated into English by Nagendra Sharma and published by Nirala Publications, Jaipur and New Delhi,1997.]

http://nepalicreation.blogspot.com/2007/10/samples-of-trend-nepali-short-stories.html