Time Space & Me

Chapter 1. (Draft only)

My Village.

The sun rises just near to my village. Snuggling neatly up in the receding face, tenderly bounded by the Katikay dara in the South, folding dunes of Gopini, Khorshaney and sister Bichgang towards the east lovingly sheared by Bichkhola…..there is my village Bichgang. From the time I remember, I roamed this village with sheer enthusiasm and vigor. Then, we had to walk to Damphu to get basic commodities like salt and kerosene oil, toiletries and cloths. It’s a sloppy but irresistibly pleasant village. The land starts to rise up in gradual degrees from Chanchey Khola, where Bichkola confluences in happiness……the Utis trees and the sub tropical vegetation gives this gentle pleasantness a colour. The bamboo, phaladoo, taki, ficus, Siris, runners and ivies, climbers and shades flunks in plenty. This is truly a fauna is vanity. The deer barking, squiring squirrels, hooting owls, cooing doves, chirping birds and singing nightingales are but the melodious orchestra in happening. How I wonder about my village with Nepali styles houses, thatched and mud walled, awkwardly simple. Anyone taller than five point six would have difficulty in trespassing these houses, in and out. Simple one room houses, with two stories at the most with a feet or two tall attics. Bamboo cloth-lines and baskets all sullied with birds and chickens, pounding and grinding stones, haphazardly lying timber splits and staffs, a dog lazily sleeping at the isle of the house while an old lady would be guarding the grain spread in the yard. My house stands at the twelve hundred feet, with perfectly balanced whether pattern. While its not very hot, its not cold either, that is an edge to farm produces and diary animals. The terraces, long and curvy run endlessly through this slop, meeting and departing in their own instances, it is but a magical feeling to see the white water in summer, while the paddy just was done. The overflowing water gate would give slow and continuous whisper of singing, while the pulses start to germinate on the terrace bounds.  Right at my place, start Rai village with but about scores of Rai families originating with Shongbhen, Chamling, Thulung, Tambulay, Limkhim and Chha-bhaiyas. When you step in my village, there is this feeling of extended family systems. The people are culturally sensitive and advance that for ages they stood by their traditions and ancestry. They are proud, conscious and yet very simple bunch, poorly literate but willing to transform and learn. Landmarks like Kabra botay, Tambulay golai, DP machine, Bichkhola and Paray Dara are but infamous. The orchids dangling in air from Thulo dhunga below my house, with cattails and blueberries, devil’s trumpet and angles vines, granadilla and oranges, sweet potatoes and grasses the love of my village. Them the time was different, these oranges were small, it was early eighties…….but time changed. Dewa maila, Gomprasad daju, Jitu’s papa and Pusai aantaray all left during the political tsunami in the South. Artemisia and leeches took over, the flat stone we used to sit and peel oranges got covered by the jungle……..the volleyball field and the picnic spots where we talented as lads are crying golden tears………it’s the difference that matters now, not the sameness. As I write my emotions, I can see my village, regal and serene but deeply awarded. The cow shed, horse stable, chicken coo, bird nest, water well, whispering brook, Shongben kholsha, and the big fig tree stares at me…..the aura of change, the change that I see in just four decades. Meaningfully adjusted, my village still basks on the same Sun and kisses the same moon. The first Orange tree grew in my village, first Cardomom rhizome shot in my village, the first Sweet potato crawled in my village, the first Bhotay Khorsaney grew in my village, the first modern toilet, the first rice huller, the first powertiller, the first jeep, the first corrugated zinc sheet, the first stoned walled house, the first of everything happened in here………long long long time back….may be about centaury and decade years back.