Seeking Peace Kamala Sarup
Kathmandu, Nepal, October 19 — The cool breeze outside brings no peace with it. Life is confusing and has its poisonous
elements. It is unbelievable that Shan Uncle could have been killed. It feels strange and lonely amidst a crowd of
people walking back home in the evening after a day's work.
The scene outside my window is one of flowers, a large pasture and a wide, square road that can be seen into the
distance. These images are also synonyms for my life. But, today, even these seem painful to watch. It is close to five
in the evening. If it was winter, it would be night already, but for now, spring still hasn't ended, and the sun hasn't
yet set.
"Shan Uncle from downstairs," she said. My heart was stunned by the incomplete sentence from my friend before the
telephone rang. "What trouble has occurred to our Shan Uncle?" I asked. Breathless, she said, "He was killed by
political criminals." The question is why was he killed?
"I believe I can raise my children, can't I?" Shan Uncle had said to my mother in his usual cheerful way last year.
"When we are born, we come with empty hands and we will go with the same empty hands. Therefore, it is not good to die
for wealth." How pleasant that evening was. Under the shining moon, their children were playing in the yard.
The sounds of birds brought alive the village and the air was full of music at the wedding of two of its villagers. "I'm
a lucky man, for I married Tara. It might be the result of a past life's deed to get a good wife who supports me in
happiness and in trouble," Shan Uncle had said, looking out of the corner of his eyes at his new wife. "Since I married
you to live and die together, it is not possible not to give support in times of need," Tara had responded.
I ask myself, what was Shan Uncle's fault? He has three children, a wife and an old sick father to look after; what
wrong could poor Shan Uncle have done? He neither had enough salary to make a living nor could he send his children to a
good school. Why was he killed?
It is already dark now. It has darkened my heart too and feels as if it is never see light again. Instead, the infinite
number of nights, lasting years, and mornings are only a hope.
We will all one day leave this earth; we can't stay here forever, even though we desire it, I tell myself. "Shan Uncle
went sooner and we shall also go one day," my friend consoled me and lifted my sadness. For that moment, happiness
disappeared for me.
The photo of Shan Uncle and his wife Tara is hung on the north wall of my room. I cry incessantly while holding the
photo to my chest. To attain peace and freedom is extremely difficult.
ENDS