Mamta: A Tale Of Innocence

Mamta

1997: Circumstances

Frooty is a soothing knot in the thread of my childhood memories. I always fought with my dad for the green evil boxes of Frooty(my mom called it a devil's fruit--has got to do something with its inverse relation with dental health). All I needed to do was asymmetrically pout and absurdly make big puppy eyes. My dad always fell for them.

As always, we went to the nearest resourceful restaurant. I never cried as a child but Frooty being out of stock was too much for my seven years old heart to bear. I was offered a plate of selrotis as a consolation. It always worked.

Nothing is as beautiful as the sight of the setting sun as seen from Bhojpur Bazaar. That misunderstanding was soon going to change.

Mamta Shrestha happened. Although the sight of her running nose was disgusting, her eyes were painfully sparkling and luminous. I couldn't resist the urge to feel my belly because the feeling was strange. It was beautiful and yet sadly made me feel empty. I always thought her eyes sparkled. I have no evidence to prove otherwise. I almost asked my father what this strange feeling was but thank God I didn't.

Her eyes were the most beautiful thing in Bhojpur Bazaar and not the sight of the setting sun as seen from Bhojpur Bazaar.

My father conveniently decided to join the ongoing game of chess on another table.

I was left alone with a plate of selrotis.

I was sad that I shook my head down to locate my plate because she was gone as soon as I raised my head up. The strange feeling in my tummy remained with me all the time. It was beautifully strange.

"Aarav?" A gentle tap on my shoulder followed by a soothing voice sent a chill down my spine. It was her.

I turned back and spoke nothing. I was so scared and dumbstruck because I was touched by a girl. I remembered what my best friend once told me, 'These girls always pick their nose. If they touch you, you too become dirty.' I committed a sin. I was seven years old; I believed in everything. I got furious as soon as I remembered my best-friend's pedagogy.

"Are you going to talk?"

"No." I reluctantly replied.

"Why?"

"Your nose is running. Duh?" I stated the obvious.

"Oh. That." She ran her hand to wipe the mucus off her nose and cleaned her hand dry with a napkin on the table. I was clueless. She looked at me and smiled to ask, 'Now?'. Her smile--those unarranged teeth and her pinkish lips were bad combination. My tummy started to act stranger than ever with her every action.

"What?" My anger had vanished and I turned back to whispering. I did not want my father to see me with a girl. He would tease me to death. Father and I were best of friends.

"Why are you whispering?" Mamta asked with curiosity.

"Nothing."

"I have a box of Frooty. Want to take a sip?" She whispered.

"Noooo." I reluctantly replied.

"My dad says Frooty will not be available in Bhojpur for many months. Maobadis have bombed the factory. We may not get to drink Frooty anymore."

Beads of tears suddenly started rolling down my selrotis infected oily cheeks. How were I to cope with this trauma inducing news? I did not get to say goodbye to my favorite beverage. It was the second time in the same day.

"You are such a crybaby." I gave her an opportunity to mock me. A lapse of judgment led Mamta to brutally laugh and tease me.

My cheeks were turning red because of embarrassment that followed. And suddenly something unfathomable happened. She gently wiped my tears and whispered into my ear, "My mom says you are very cute."

I sniffed with acknowledgement.

"You shouldn't cry." She pinched my cheek as she said that.

I nodded my head.

One thing was for sure, my best friend was wrong. I realized that girls were not dirty. And Mamta didn't pick her nose. She rather made me feel clean. My belly felt wonderful.

"Where is the Frooty?" I asked with a soft voice. I almost sounded like a kitten she said.

She grabbed my hand and asked me to follow.

"Now, take this and start to dig," Mamta handed me a stick that was supposed to be a shovel.

"Why are we digging?" I asked out of curiosity.

"Duh?"

"Duh, What?"

"You don't know, do you?"

"What?"

"Aarav, You are such an idiot."

"You are an idiot." I rebutted. I was agitated by the suspense.

"Huh. Don't you understand? We are digging for treasure."

"But, I don't want treasure. I want Frooty."

"Duh. Treasure is something you don't hope to see in future, so you hide it and feel royal."

"So?"

"Since, the Maobadis have destroyed the only Frooty factory, Frooty has become something that you and I do not hope to see in future. Therefore, I hid it here."

"I get it. But, Ummm."

"What?"

"If you burried it here, wouldn't it get dirty with so much mud on it?"

"When you want Frooty by heart, mud will not be a problem. My mom says heart has special power."

"I hope my mom said that too. She thinks it is mischievous."

"That is because some adults think that the heart is on their head, when it has always been here," she gently planted her muddy hand on the left side of my chest. My heart knew when to skip a beat. As a child, I remember deducing that my heart must have been living inside me because it was strange that it could choose not to beat when it wanted.

May be that was the instance I lost faith on God because she could do everything my mom said God couldn't do. 'God cannot make you happy, he can just tell you how not to be sad.' my mom used to warn. And Mamta, She didn't have to tell anything.

We hunted the last Frooty left in the entire village of Bhojpur. I used to hear my dad singing about how love is the answer. I never actually knew what love meant. But then, I knew. I remember making a note to self, 'Love is what happens in the left side of the chest, and not the head.' And something funny went on the entire day on the left side. I couldn't stop missing her.

It is funny how you could think so many wonderful things within few seconds when you were child. Now, it just runs back and forth between past and future. Mamta must have realized that I had teleported myself to another realm. She, therefore, decided to wake me up with a gentle kiss on my cheek.

"Yuck! Why did you do that?" I was bewildered and worried that she might have infected me. I was kissed by a girl whom I officially fell for a minute ago but as a child I could clearly frame a difference between Love and A gentle kiss. The later one was a weapon your parents used to embarrass you in front of your friends. I hated it.

"I don't know." She was scared because of my reaction.

"I hate you." I ranted without thinking.

"You don't." She replied back quickly as if in a way to say 'Never say that again'.

I understood. It is surprising how I forgot, but as a child I could read eyes. And hers definitely said that I belonged to her.

I wanted to sit there on that muddy treasure perch and look at her all day but my dad after brutally checkmating three different kings decided that nobody was worth his time.

"Aarav, here you are. Look at her, who is this wonderful woman with you?"

"Uncle, I am Mamta."

"Mamta, can I take Aarav for today?"

"Yes, Sir. But Can I love him too?"

My dad probably didn't believe what he heard. It must have been an incomprehensible farewell statement. "Why do you ask that, child?"

"Because you are his parents. My Mom says that the parents own their child's love. That is why they are always rich, even when they cannot send us to school and buy good slippers."

"That is a very wonderful thing to say. You can love him as much as you want."

"Uncle, I just made you a richer person." She said with a wide smile on her face.

"And you just made yourself braver, honey. Never ask for permission when you are doing something Good," my dad winked at her. He 'was' the coolest dad anyone could have.

Two Years Later: An Unforgettable Circumstance

We were leaving Bhojpur. My Dad's project had finally completed. I was so excited to be going back to my hometown, Biratnagar. I had personally ensured that my mom packed everything that belonged to me. But I was ready to trade everything I had to just be able to hold her hand and take her with me.

"Will you forget me?" Mamta asked with a hint of sadness in her voice.

"I don't know. I have never forgotten my Granny since I left her. And I never wanted to leave her. And I do not want to leave you too. I guess..."

"You guess what?"

"I guess I will never forget you."

She then placed her head on my shoulder. I always liked how her hair smelled like a fresh rhododendron. She was so light, may be because she was filled with love. 'Love is lighter than helium' later became one of my most read poem. She is there in everything I write.

"It is funny how you can make cloud look whatever you want," Mamta then came up with a conversation.

"I wonder how a real cloud looks like."

"Some things do not have shape. Don't you remember what our science teacher said?"

"Water?"

"Yes--" she paused to raise her head and look at me as if she has been hit by a life altering idea, "--I will love you like water," she then smiled and continued looking at me as if she found the solution.

"Are you dumb?" I couldn’t digest the philosophy she was implying.

"I will find a way to squeeze in and be with you anyway," she again rested her head on my shoulder.

"You know my Dad says that clouds are made of cotton candy."

"Yeah?" She raised her head up and looked at me with inquisitive eyes.

"I hope so. I am definitely going to check when I board the Aeroplane to Biratnagar."

"I have never been in an aeroplane."

"Are you kidding?"

"I have never seen a bus or a car or a rickshaw, either."

"Why?" I was baffled because when I was in city I used to see them every day. Anyone could see them if they went to city. It should have been easy for Mamta to go to the City and see them. It was easy for me to come to Bhojpur. I couldn't believe her.

"My Mom says we cannot afford."

"What is ‘afford’?"

"Something poor cannot do."

"Are you poor?"

"Noo, look at how many people love me," she replied with unadulterated conviction.

"Then why cannot you go to city."

"You do not leave home no matter how beautiful the playground is."

"What?"

"My Dad says that."

"But why cannot you get to see the cars and the buses and the rickshaws like me and other people."

"May be you are supposed to take me. That is why I will wait for you here to come and take me."

"But," I was confused.

"My mother says that you are very cute."

We chatted for hours at her backyard. I was ready to leave because I was assured that she would love me like water. No matter how small my heart gets, she would find a way to squeeze in and love me anyway. I remember this feeling of assurance.

This is what keeps me going on 'A hope that I will meet her someday.'

Before I left, she whispered into my ears, "Bring me a packet of cotton candy from the plane when you come back."

I promised her the same. She held my hand tight and tried and kissed on my left cheek. I still could clearly differentiate between Love and A kiss. But this time I held her other hand and confessed, "I will love you like clouds because I will never disappear from your heart."

"And I shall be the queen of rain because I love you like water." I used to live poetry, but now I write them in a hope that I will get to live them again.

14 Years Later: Adulterated Conscience

Time is a relative thing, I learned. I could sum 16 years as one and a half decades of few set of memories and grave changes. It felt like nothing. Time left me a long time ago and so did the memories of Mamta. Turns out you can forget who you once loved. 'Love is progress and not something that pulls you back' I used to console whenever Mamta's beautiful face 'haunted' me. I treasure hunted so many explanations to debate myself to let go of Mamta.

Love seemed less abstract as the time passed by, that is something world calls 'being practical'.

I assured myself that Mamta must have grown up and moved on. I couldn't find her in facebook. I assumed she must have got married, which almost all girls of my age did in Nepal, and I was sure that she found a great spouse who took her to the city and showed her the cars and the buses and the rickshaws. I imagined how happy she had been then. So, I chose to let go of her.

On the other hand, my family life was in turmoil. My father could not recover from the employment Crisis on 2003. He transformed into a sad man. I did not blame him; I understood how lack of Money could make a person feel worthless. That is what happens when you associate your happiness with what you can buy. A best friend of mine became a sour man.

I was not a mature man then but certain examples set by my father devastated me. My Dad who used to be filled with compassion became the man who verbally abuses a child (forced to labor) just because he did not get him snacks to compliment his drinks. The monotonous and unfruitful routine of 9 to 5 took toll on him. That's when he started valuing upbringing his family and not him. The pressure made him mechanical and hurt. Therefore, he resorted to alcohol and thus became a sour man.

I then decided that I wouldn't let my finance dictate my well-being.

I stopped valuing money. But, I was studying something that revolved only around money. I was in the middle of nowhere and slowly I became the man who created me. I became miserable because I was sure I will be bitter once I become addicted to things I can buy. I did not want that to happen. I was 22, but I somehow found myself sobbing under the pillow avoiding my roommate's attention assured that all my dreams were false. I was soon to become a 9 to 5 man who dutifully serves his family and love them in his own uncanny way and at the same time dies everyday not being able to figure out what he was once and where he is headed.

I found within myself the traces of evidences that I was becoming hopeless day by day. It started to make me luminous with suffering and I started to make people around me miserable. Soon, I was kicked out of the room by my roommates. At first, I was angry at them but later I realized how selfish I was and how naïve I was to pretend that everyone would understand me without me telling them what is wrong. I was self centered and finally ready to fill the shoes of dreamless 9 to 5 men. I do not blame my dad, I blame my childish dreams, my expectations, and how I associate everything with money.

I had disassociated myself from my family. I became a sad introverted man who used to drown in pool of books he had no will to learn about anymore. My parents tried to communicate with me but I thought I should reserve my miseries to myself because I didn't want to annoy them. I was afraid that I was slowly becoming a bad investment for them. Why not? I was killing the dreams that they had for me.

Therefore, I pretended that I was alright because that was what my heart said that people around me would favor.

"That is because some adults think that the heart is on their head, when it has always been here." One night I literally heard Mamta whispering that into my ears. I quickly ran my hand to feel the left side of my chest. My heart was alive. It was just how she promised. No matter how small my heart would get, she would find a way to squeeze in and love me anyway. Just like water.

"Yes, I love you like water." I could see her face lighting up with the epiphany.

Tears started rolling down my cheeks. In that instant, I finally realized that everything is abstract, physicality is just there to set us off our track. I had to go back to her. She was waiting. She was waiting for Aarav to come and take her to see the cars and buses and rickshaws. I was sure for the first time in my life about what I had to do.

Day before leaving for Bhojpur Bazaar, which I didn't inform my family about and replaced with a white lie that I was going on a trip with my friends because going alone would worry them, I couldn't find the tickets that I left on my drawyer. I assumed that my mom had misplaced it while cleaning my room. I printed another copy and waited for the clock to say it is 4 a.m so that I can reach airport on time.

I used to wonder if there is a black truth.

"I have left some money on your left pocket, pay the fare with that." My mom said when I was about to leave.

I bargained a minimal fare that the money in my left pocket would cover. I was surprised with what I discovered with the herd of money. I decided to unveil my recent discovery at the waiting room, an envelope addressed to somebody's nameless son.

"Gift this to the young woman and say to her that she is a brave woman and remind her to never ask for permission for something good and true." I was so surprised that my old man remembered her. I could at that instance see the same hero in him that he was once. I took the pendant, with word 'hope' engraved in it, and put it in my pocket.

My mother too had something to say in her own writer-way. "Every fairy tale is worth sharing, son, that is how the characters live forever in spite of the hardship they went through."

She was a show off but I understood what she wanted to convey. I was now prepared in every front to be enchanted by Mamta's innocence, again.  

On the airplane, I recalled all the moments that I spent with her the entire time. I kept on looking outside the window wondering if I could see her house from there. All I could see was the cluster of clouds when I suddenly remembered; I was worried because I hadn’t till that point of time given any thought to it; but then I realized, ‘No, clouds are not made of cotton candy.’

‘What would I say to Mamta?’ was all I had in mind.

The Day: Revealation

Nothing is as beautiful as Mamta and the sight of the setting sun as seen from Bhojpur Bazaar. It took me an entire day to hike from Airport to Bhojpur Bazaar, I did not want to take the Bus. I wanted re-cherish the memories. I reached the main market at 4 in the evening. I was tired but wasn't ready to give myself to exhaustion.

I did not remember Bhojpur as congregation of tall buildings and dome of all the dirt in the world. But its latest access to transportation had made it a dead hub of economy. It was as if the whole village gave in to becoming something soulless. The colorful buildings made the environment colorless. It was all nature back then but now it was just reminder how it was forced into slavery.

The buzzing buses made the road foggy with dust. I was clueless. It was not the Bhojpur I remembered. Her Dad's restaurant was a small hut with a carrom board installed outside to entertain the unemployeds. Now, there was nothing on that land except some wild vegetables appreciating their uncalled life. Her backyard was now adorned by abandoned tires and tools. I was devastated by the scene. There was a modest one-storey house on the left and a garage on the right but nothing to symbolize the beautiful past I once spent with Mamta. It was as if I was transported to another version of Bhojpur. My heart was growing heavier with fear that I would never get to see Mamta again.

I collected my senses and checked in to the nearest guest house. I spent the entire night regretting my decision to re-visit Bhojpur again. How naive was I to be ensured that she would be there? It had been a decade and a half. What was I expecting? It is funny how we spend our entire life considering ourselves the protagonist and others the supporting circumstances and how we assume that everything goes as planned despite our live's undying effort to preach us otherwise.

"I shall be the queen of rain because I will love you like water." A figment of Mamta's memory whispered into my ear. It might have been because the clouds were indicating in the evening that it was going to rain.

It rained the entire night and had not stopped. At least the rainfall was something that didn't change. It was exactly how I remembered. Rain meant no school for at least two days.

I opened one of the window that was facing towards the road to embrace the aftermath caused by my old friend. It was as if the river nearby flooded. The water had successfully conquered the street and was now heading to defeat the principal of our old school.

A sight of small paper boat fighting with the tides captivated my attention. The sight abruptly held me hostage and sent me into a trance to a certain memory my conscience was denying myself the knowledge of. The memory I avoided for far too long started to resurface.

14 Years Ago: Denial

Before I left, she whispered into my ears, "Bring me a packet of cotton candy from the plane when you come back."

I promised her the same. She held my hand tight and tried and kissed on my left cheek. I still could clearly differentiate between Love and A kiss. But this time I held her other hand and confessed, "I will love you like clouds because I will never disappear from your heart."

"And I shall be the queen of rain because I love you like water." I used to live poetry, but now I write them in a hope that I will get to live them again.

"Aarav and Mamta sitting on a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G." I knew whose voice it was. It was my best friend Pukaar.

I quickly pushed Mamta away because I was embarrassed and was praying that Pukaar did not witness the unholy kiss.

"I knew that you Lo..vedd eachother." I was a child to not be affected by the taunting. "Shame on you both. You are girgitti (untouchables) from now on." I was shattered and rendered imbecile by the scene. Two years of secrecy was unfolding in a way I never wanted it to.

"I hate her. She kissed me when I was not paying attention. I don't love her or anything. Look at how dirty she is. Yuck." I pointed towards Mamta while ignoring the fact that Mamta's eyes were all watery because I carelessly threw her on the muddy ground. I was so adamant on re-establishing my reputation that I chose to ignore what I lost in the process.

I followed Pukaar to convince him that the incident wasn't my fault and he was misunderstanding but he trusted what he saw rather than what I said.

I left Mamta alone and wounded on that pool of mud in her backyard but she was the least of my worries. My reputation was on stake.

I was furious at Mamta. How could she tarnish my reputation and render me untouchable? Why did she have to kiss? Wasn't loving enough? I was never going to forgive her.

I had to stay another day because the flight was canceled. The heavy rain that had been pouring the entire night had not stopped. Since, we didn't have to leave that day I decided to test my paper-boating skills. I opened the door and to my surprise I found a paper boat on my doorstep that said, 'Opan'.

'Cloud and water are never good friends. Because cloud let the water go. But, Please don't live me. Mamata.' said the entire letter.

I didn't care. She turned me into an untouchable.

The Present: Confrontation

I was struck by a lightning of new revelation. We carefully choose what memories to keep, that was what happened to me. How could I do that to her? How could I let my ego decide the end of our fairy tale? It was not my story, in fact I was in hers. I was so naive. I needed to ask for her forgiveness. I failed her.

"Yeah there was. In fact, I remember you. Your Dad and I used to work together. Where is Pralhad Sir nowadays?" Said the owner sitting on the front desk of the guest house when I asked about Mamta's Dad's restaurant.

"He is fine. He is in Biratnagar."

We shared some informations about how either of our families have been doing after the end of the project.

"So, why do you ask about this restaurant?"

"Do you know they had a daughter named Mamta Shrestha?"

"Oh, dear lord, why do you ask?" I could sense a trace of discomfort when he asked that.

[An Hour Later]

"What do I say to her?" was the only thing I had in mind. I felt like a perpetrator who was returning to seek forgiveness from the family he harmed.

As I entered the vicinity of that modest house on the left of the abandoned land where once the restaurant where Mamta and I created fairy tales stood, I sensed the haunting silence of pain and compromises that house had endured. 'I failed her. I failed to keep the promises I made to her.' I kept on repeating that to myself.

"Who are you looking for?" said the voice I could vividly recognize. It was her mother's.

"Is Mamta Home?"

"What? Who are you? Why do you want to see her?"

"I am sorry, Aunty. I should have introduced myself. I am Aarav. I am Pralhad Sir's...." Before I could frame my proper introduction she held my hand and had me run till the end of the house.

"Son, you are still very cute." I started to choke and for no reason. Maybe it was because I truly missed Mamta in that instant, seconds before I was actually going to see her after 14 Years. Tears started to roll down my cheeks which were not infected by selrotis anymore.

"There she is." She guided me to a small room that smelled like hospital.

"Mamta, look who is here." said her mom and looked at me and added "She has been waiting for you."

Have you ever felt like being wrapped around something warm as if an angel is wrapping you inside her wings? That was how I felt.

"During the era of maoist struggle. Bhojpur Bazaar had become hub for the rebel fighters. They used to hunt for donations and places to live. That was when they came to that restaurant." The owner at guest house added.

"What happened then? What happened to the restaurant? What happened to her?" I was worried. My heartbeats knew no limits.

"Poor child. She was 13 then. She couldn't even understand what was going on."

"What?"

"Reports came that Royal armies were ransacking the entire village to find those rebels. They quickly packed and decided to leave. But before they left, they took Mamta with them."

"Please!" I was begging him to stop but another side of me wanted to know the end of the story. Our brain craves for sadness. I was self-destructing myself.

"Three days later, a villager found a brutally wounded young woman on the west side of Siddhakali Temple, stripped off of her clothes."

"Nooo. Please don't."

"She is now paralyzed waist-down. Her dad committed suicide not being able to pay the medical bills. They sold the restaurant and purchased a small house just next to the land. You might have seen it."

"I am sorry. I am sorry." I don't remember anything after that except the taste of my tears.

"Clouds are not made of cotton candy. If they were, they would melt with rain. You are such an idiot, Aarav." Said the woman on the wheelchair as she turned towards me. She looked helpless. You could see how brave she was in her eyes but her body said otherwise. She looked weak as if time was sucking life out of her. But her eyes narrated otherwise. As if the word 'Hope' was engraved in them. The mark of stitches above her eyes tried their best to ruin her beauty. Obviously, they failed. They had to. Because her eyes spoke an entirely different language.

"How could I know? I was just a child back then."

"You sure were. You know I was wrong."

"Wrong because?" I asked as I found my confidence to run my fingers to set her hair aside to adorn her neck with the pendant my father sent to her. It was like I never left her. She can do that to you. She is a magician.

"Because cloud and water are best of friends. Cloud sets the water free. It doesn't let go. It sets her free. And.." She paused to look at her reflection in the window pane and smiled.

"And?" I moved and sat beside her wheelchair.

"And....Water is made of cloud and the cloud is made of water." It made sense. It must have been the first time I was able to comprehend her philosophy. She was right. I was incomplete without her.

"There were so many things we didn't know." I said.

"But I always knew that you were coming back." She said as she was looked down at me.

"Oh, Madam, can I love you?" I looked her in the eyes as I asked.

"Young man, never ask for permission if you are going to do something good and true."

"I am sorry."

"You should be. You left me."

"Maybe you meant I lived you."

"Idiot. I am a learned lady now. You don't have to bring the spelling errors of the past."

"I am opan to any change." I mocked her.

She pretended to be mad at me and said, "I know you are untouchable and all but my mother still keeps on insisting that you are very cute."

She could laugh with her eyes when her body tried its best to say otherwise. How could any bruise defeat something abstract?

She is my soul and I am her skin.

Submitted by

Aarav

Assistant of the first woman CDO of Bhojpur

Written By

Aayush Ghimire

Picture Courtesy:Pinterest.com