Nepal, new constitution, new hopes--what changed for me?

Bhunte ka ba, where are you? How are you? Are you seeing all these? Can you see what we had to go through? Can you feel my pain? Can you feel my solitude? So many questions for you my dear, so much to talk to you about, so much to share; yet all I get is silence.

I wish you were here today. Wish you could see what Nepal has become. Wish you could see this chaos. I don’t think you thought this is what revolution would bring. I don’t think you were aware this would be the change. If this was what you wanted to fight for, I would not have let you go. I would have begged for you to stay. I would have done everything to keep you with us. If you had still wanted to go, I would have gone with you.

I keep thinking about you, I keep hearing your voice. It’s been rough thirteen years since we lost you, but still I feel your touch. You told us that you were fighting to liberate poor people; that you were fighting against inequality; and that you were standing up against tyranny. I didn’t object then since you wanted to go. I didn’t stop you since you had made up your mind. I could see that desire in your eyes. I could see that hunger inside you. That determination was so vivid that I thought this might just bring the change in Nepal. You were certain that you would come back one day, and we would breathe in new Nepal; that our kids will have better lives. You asked me to handle the household, take care of kids, and take care of your parents. I did my part, I fulfilled my responsibilities, but you forgot your promises.

In your absence, I had to take care of three kids: their constant questions about you, your whereabouts, and when you would return were not easy to answer. Every night I wondered where you would be, and how far you were in your mission. Many dashain, tihar came and went. Every monsoon, we struggled but we survived. We could not afford to buy winter clothes, but still we survived. We endured the pain, hunger and still managed to stay alive.

Your parents kept waiting for you until their last breath. They loved you very dearly, eagerly waiting for you to come home. Maybe you have united with them in heaven now. Maybe they have already expressed their complaints; I can only speculate how happy they would be seeing you. Many times, police would come to our house looking for you. Every time, I would tell our kids that their dad was not a criminal, but a freedom fighter. They didn’t understand then, and not sure whether they understand it now either. I thought I understood, but I am not sure whether I can say I understood what it meant.

4 years passed by, except for few letters we didn’t hear anything from you, anything about you. Yet, we had not lost the hopes. I had hoped that you would return and embrace me once again in your arms. That day, I thought I would cry my hearts out, forgetting all the pain that kids and I endured in your absence. I thought we would give up everything, move somewhere and start a new life. This loneliness was too much to bear, so I thought I would not let you go again. Shattering all our hopes, news about your death arrived before you did. I didn’t know what to do; I was not sure whether to cry or not to cry. In a matter of few seconds, I had lost all that I had lived for. Our kids had lost their father before they even got to know him. They knew nothing about you except your name-every time they would write your name in school assignments, tears fell through my cheeks.

Many things happened in Nepal, King Gyanendra came and went, elections were held, and earthquake hit us hard. The earthquake took our house, landslide took away our land. But, we survived. Bhunte grew up too early for his age. Having seen me struggle to manage the household, he quit school and started working. I tried my best to convince him to go back to school and finish college, but he didn’t listen. He didn’t get much work, could not make much money, so he has gone to Malaysia to earn, I wanted to stop him. But just like you, he didn’t listen, he just left.

I had not realized it had already been 13 years since you left. Now, they say new constitution has been promulgated. They say now things will change. However, I think back and wonder what has changed for me. Except for few gray hairs, and wrinkled face, everything has been the same. Poverty, struggle, and loneliness; it all took away my desires, my youth, my life. In the war, I lost you, my husband, my everything. This society has been very cruel, my dear, but still I have been waiting for you. You come once in a while in my dreams; you hold my hands, you caress my hair, you tell me to wait. But, how long do I wait now? How long? You are testing my patience. I don’t think that I have that much patience any more. I loved you then, and I still love you, but I now wonder whether you were too selfish to leave all your responsibilities behind and take off just like that. You left me, you left our kids. What still bothers me is you never asked me. You never did. 


--Narrated by a middle-aged Nepali female who lost her husband in Maoist War. Based on real life stories heard. Names and details changed for dramatization purposes.