"During winter, they pushed the sheep all the way to Pyuthan and Arghakhachi. There were no roads, no life along the way, and no food. And during monsoon, they made the sheep climb and feed on the mineral-rich grass of the Buki-Patan in the surrounding mountains. They saved coins in leather pouches one after the other. Then as I grew and as time walked ahead, the age of paper notes began. They saved. My only brother walked with Father-Mother following their footsteps, to ultimately lead similar lives. My brother never asked for education, he was happy with the sheep and the fields. My two sisters also were also not eager to go to school. I think this hurt father. He must have seen children go to school in the lower hills. I think he desired a better life for his children so he was adamant that I, his youngest daughter, go to school since all his other children failed his desire. I still hear his words, “We did not study, but this youngest child will. We did not see, but this youngest child will.” This is how I ended up going to school.
Up until the 7th grade, I went to the village-school but to get into the 8th grade, Father took me to neighbouring village. He rented a room for me to live and study. “She is a girl. She is not meant to go to school. Why are you going through all this when she is going to get married and go away?”, the words of the landlord still ring my ears.
My father would simply say, “She is my hope. Maybe when I grow old and when I have no energy in my body and when the sheep fail to recognise me, she will. Maybe when I cannot look after myself she will.” Although Father's words were of love for me, I lost my sleep. In my loneliness, in a new place, my heart felt heavy. I knew I could not fail my father. I knew I could not kill his hope."
"Father would come and visit me sometime. He would hand over the herd to his son, ask the women to feed them and he would start walking to where I was. When he came he always brought with him something. I remember one day he surprised me with an ink pen. It was called the fountain pen and I think it was famous all over Nepal. Until then I was using bamboo stalk to write. My happiness knew no bounds.
From that day on, I would look for every opportunity to write. I wrote my home works, class works, poems, essays, and songs with it. And I kept with me with pride. It was my father who ensured I finished my education. I did. I did not let my father’s dream break. I finished university and eventually became a teacher at the school here where I now teach primary level. But this age and time have changed. Father has become very old. The children have become smarter. They no longer like to use fountain pens. They have their phone and laptops and music and all of the other things that I do not know about. Even before I start my lecture, they have so many questions unlike people from our generation who were quiet and subdued. I think it is all for good.
Change is bound to happen and no one can stop it. To my children at school, I try to encourage them to learn. I am their teacher but I am also their friend. And at home, I look after my old father. He spent all his life looking after me and making sure I have a future. And now it is my turn to provide him some sun and some relief. It is my turn to look after the old man."
(Sun Kumari Pun, Bhume 1, Lukum, Rukum)
#TheFutureIWant
SON X UN