My name is Khaire and I am a resident of Patan. I do not know how old I am, because it is not a norm to keep records of the age from our side, in my clan. It is not an issue at all, for it is not needed for any legal, administrative or personal reasons. I remember, from what I gather of the earliest memories since I was a toddler, it used to rain all the time during my time of birth. From the veranda where I was born, under the wooden stairs of an old crumbling house, that provides a peek into the narrow alleys outside, I could see a huge chariot being pulled and I could as well see the feet of numerous crowding people outside, doing their routine worship of the demigod in the chariot. Regarding my time of birth, I might as well tell it was during one of those annual events in the area that used to culminate in a feast after a few weeks. Often heard from the locals, it was the annual event of Machindranath’s chariot journey. A feast for all the town dwellers meant, there would be no dearth of food for our ilk. Sumptuous and flavoursome, bones with some meat attached to it, mixed with chiura in every nook and corner of the town. It indeed was feast time and has always been.
Even with our ever-fighting family and friends from all over the area, the food provided during these days would be enough. I mean there was no reason to fight over a piece of bone, if the supply were so good. No sooner had we feasted upon it all over the day, the night supply would come. All of us would run towards the corner where they used to serve us these delicacies. All of us were gluttonized and after the second day, even the smell of meat and bone would not merit a run or a chase, as it was aplenty and more than enough for all of us including Kaale, Rambo, Jimmy, Tommy, Bhote, Paangre and all of their extended families. I am sure you know my identity by now, as I have already told you my name and the kind of pastimes that I indulge in. It is my filial duty to let you know that I am a fairly experienced campaigner in here around the alleys, everybody knows me by my name that simply corresponds to my hair colour and I am available all the time for service or disservice as you may prefer to call it. I do not have much time though, as I do have this obsession of running around town for no reason at all, looking for opportunities to break out a fight and be a major part of it.
Khaire, as people call me, and proudly I stand up wagging and whistling my tail, to let you know that I am the chief stray dog around Patan Durbar Square. If you fancy, you can just call me Bhusyaha, people call me by that name as well. As I have already given a briefing about what I normally do, I must say the chariot has been around our locality for about eight times now and that perhaps gives an account of how old I am. My pals call me an oldie. For the heck of it, I do not really mind, but if it so happens during one of the periods when I have a foul mood then I give a nice, neat bite of the thigh of the friend and the poor fella would screech with all his might audible to the whole of the surround to know. Soon the whole clan of my pals converge and we decide to have a bite at each other, howling and barking. We do not really care what time of the day or night it is. Well at times it is first thing in the morning and we are not actually reluctant to do it at any odd time like one in the morning. Quite frequently, irate residents come out with sticks and chase the whole pack of us. Running around from one corner to the next of the square is all fun.
A sense of ownership of the place lies within me and I am very dutiful. I have personally ear marked the western part of the square as my territory. Of a few reasons why I have chosen that part is because Honacha – the famous local food joint or a Bhatti as they say locally is around that area and I do not really have to worry about my daily buff bones and chiura supplies. It must be quite a good place; I see a lot of two wheelers in the vicinity from morning to late night. In return, I kind of guard the place in half slumber and give a semblance of a bark to all the other passers-by and if the mood is foul enough I give a sumptuous bite of these peoples’ legs particularly if they manage to tread or touch by my tail. I have heard people mention that once I bite, nothing short of a few injections is going to do the trick for precaution.
I do not complain about the life in general. During all this time, I have managed a few square meals daily, largely made of discards from these food joints and households. I am very grateful to the municipality who actually do not make much fuss about people throwing their post-edibles anywhere they want to. They really look after our clan. At times, I even think of going down a few hundred metres to the West to pay a courtesy visit to the municipality to say thank you for letting people throw away their edible and inedible discards wherever they fancy. But what keeps me from making that trip is the journey itself. I do have to pass through the dangerous path that is guarded by Kaale and his gang and no sooner do I get past Gabahal, it is Rambo’s territory and he fiercely guards around the Bhattis around that place. He is the one who extracts the toll in the form of edible throwaways from around the area and makes sure they have their share of music from time to time.
Life has been lucky and gracious I would say, till about a year ago. I had had a good meal of rice and discarded bones at around 11 in the morning. It was a Saturday and I knew people would cook my favourite food on the day. It was just a matter of timing where to reach while pipping my colleagues to have a fair share of the discarded meal. Mostly I am fortunate but at times a few newbies and puppies do vie for it as well and I do not quite like that. We fight over a piece of a bone and make sure each one of us gets badly hurt physically with bites and bruises. Well, I have heard it is the same story in the centre of the nation where people fight for a chair and hurt each other in a very bad manner.
As I was having a siesta on that day, roughly a year ago, I sensed some form of looming danger. Some vibrations from underneath made me stand up, I was very restless. Barking, I came to the centre of the square and I could see all my friends and enemies had gathered there as well, in fright and awe, they were all barking at something inane. Moments later, it started shaking like anything; I do not know what it was about. It lasted for quite some time and people were all running helter-skelter. Quite inexplicably, the temples around me crumbled – my favourite Krishna Mandir was reduced to ruins, where would I sleep from then onwards was the question that my mind asked. I could see clouds of dust rising everywhere. People were shouting and crying all over. For a moment, I thought why they were all behaving like us. But as the tremors continued, more buildings fell. The terror had just begun.
Since that day I never met several of my friends. I take they perished in the quake. For several days the tremors kept coming back, time and again. All I did was sway from one place to the other. Chaos and cries apart, I did not get anything to eat. I saw even people did not have much to eat. They survived on biscuits and noodles. I am not fond of either, but if my buffalo bones are in short supply I do munch on the discarded biscuits. It was quite a hard time; people were not really throwing away any biscuits either. Paangre did manage to get a packet of Wai Wai and I charged him with all my might and canines flashing to get hold of it. My first taste of the noodles was not good, not made for our type I guess. So the resources were getting even scarcer.
The tremors have never quite left us. Life has largely come back to normal. The road to survival has been a tough one. For a good month, Honacha did not open, and neither did the locals gather enough courage to climb up to their fourth floor kitchen to cook their food. People thrived largely on readymade food, but it was a nightmare for us and as I aptly told you earlier that I am not fond of Wai Wai, that too of the discarded variety. Like all other calamities, this one was warded off as well, as Mother Nature calmed down. Apart from occasional reminders of the wrath, things have settled now. Walking and whiling around the alleys is troublesome though, with a lot of wooden support being given to the houses.
It has taken quite some time for people to rebuild their houses. I overhear many people in the area that the government has been quite slack at it and won’t budge to give prompt relief from the humongous aid that they received from well-wishers abroad.
As if life was not hard enough, I see long queues of people to get fuel. I gather something must have stopped or maybe somebody must have blocked the supplies. I gathered some talks about our neighbourhood country being harsh on us for trying to regroup and make the rules and laws of our own country. That does not sound fair to me at all. My teeth are already itching to give a nice little bite to the culprits whoever they are.
I am a big admirer of our great leader who rules us these days. I have heard that he has made promises to deliver good gas supply to all the households and that in turn means good meals being cooked and back to the old days of having a feast of bones with chiura. At the same time, I have been grief-struck because people in our locality are not happy. I hear it is even worse in other parts of the country where people are braving sun, wind and rain in hope of a small tenement being built.
I cannot take it anymore. I am an old dog, I turn nine this year and I can feel the sun setting on my time in this beautiful, ancient town of Patan. For now, I and my colleagues have decided that we shall march on to the municipality in Pulchowk and this time I have made friends with Rambo as well, so the journey west ward shall not be full of canine action. All of us have become friends and we shall go with a three point demand to be submitted to the municipality and if needed we shall march to the Lion Palace as well, no we shall not be scared of the big lion statue in front.
Our demands are simple. For one, we need to make sure the destroyed houses are rebuilt. The second point would be to ensure good fuel supply so that they can cook food and throw it at all corners, so that my clan can have access to it like good old days. Lastly, I would not mind if the taps flow with water. For a change, even I do take a bath once a year, or else I smell. I am sure our great garrulous leader won’t mind me putting forth these demands now, for it seems they do not understand the polite human language of love. I am sure I won’t have to make use of my sharp canines, or else you know how often it itches to take a nice bite. See you soon mates.
Copyright Salil Pradhan
Picture Courtesy Shutterstock
Writing with a purpose 