TOGETHER (Novel) Saran Rai

Together

Novel

May I be able to hide my sorrows, but share my happiness,
May I find companionship in body and soul and rejoice even in sorrow!

Saran Rai

Dedication

To the common, ordinary people
Who, despite being born as humans,
Are unable to think freely,
And have become slaves
To others' thoughts and decisions,

With love, faith, respect, and devotion—
Forever together… together.

Beginning

Dialogue

"Who stays with us forever? Can we always have someone's companionship?" — Mind

"Life moves forward with someone's or something's companionship. As long as I exist, you exist. As long as we stay together, life continues. The body depends on the mind, and the mind depends on the body." — Body's response

When the mind is restless and wandering, the body starts to wither. Shedding tears, the body pleads—
"Oh mind, be strong. Only if you are strong will I continue to exist."

"I am in pain. In my suffering, I don’t want to hear your advice… I just want to drift away."

"Everything will eventually end. This form is temporary. But as long as we exist—as long as this body and mind are together—let’s create something beautiful. Let’s craft a magnificent creation and conquer the end. Shall we?"

The body and mind gaze at each other. Each sees its reflection in the other, like a mirror revealing a perfect counterpart. The mind is thought, understanding, feelings, joy, and purpose. The body is action, experience, existence, reality, and also joy.

The mind understands. And when the mind understands, the body regains strength. The mind and body become one and embark on creating something new.

A creation is woven together—
Where the mind nurtures the body, and the body nurtures the mind,
Where there is always something, someone, a guiding presence. Together.

When one body and mind reach their end, another arises.
Pain repeats, and the body remains bound to chase after the wandering mind.

The body's cry! The mind’s game!
The endless conflict and companionship of body and mind, Together…

The togetherness shared by those who lived,
And even by those who have passed—
This continuous cycle is companionship. Together.

Table of Contents

Beginning : Dialogue

Chapter One: Growing While Sprouting

Mother
Elder Sister
Along the Shore
Mysterious Ashram
New Settlement

Chapter Two: The Plant Grows Dense

Urban Glitz
Marital Bliss
Elections
COVID-19
Experience and Realization
Body and Soul
Stages of Life

Chapter Three: The Right and Straight Path

Political Power
Demise
The Right and Straight Path
Thoughts, Companionship, and the Dawn of a New Era
Epilogue

Chapter One: Growing Up

1. Mother

May I learn to hide my sorrow,
Yet share my happiness with others!

Mother always said so, always advised so. But happiness never truly dawned upon her life. She could never share much joy. A life filled with sorrow, an overwhelming existence of struggles! She always fought to conceal her pain. Even while suffering, she ensured her husband, children, and neighbors found happiness.

He was the firstborn of his mother. Both his parents cherished him. But his mother and father were the children of poor, landless families. How did they meet? They got married.

They had no home. Alongside ten other squatter families, they settled on unclaimed land by the riverbank. They built huts, driving wooden posts into the ground and laying thatched roofs above. That was home. Years passed in that home, through happiness and sorrow. A younger brother and a little sister were born beneath him, making it a family of five.

A great family. A family where joy and sorrow were shared equally. If one laughed, everyone laughed. If one suffered, everyone felt the pain. A shared laughter, a shared cry—a family, a great one indeed!

It is love for the family that compels people to endure immense hardships, to struggle, to work tirelessly. They endure pain, they bear suffering, all for the betterment of their family.

Mother!

The center of everything. "I'm hungry!"—Mother. "I'm thirsty!"—Mother. In illness—Mother. A soothing shade, a warm embrace of love. The elixir that carries one through every hardship, pain, suffering, sickness, hunger, and grief. Mother is everything. She raised him with immense love. But for his education, she sent him to live in a small market town, located high above the riverbank. He helped with household chores in the morning and evening.

That very year, during the monsoon, relentless rains fell for days and nights. The river, which had never flooded before, overflowed in a terrifying surge, washing away the entire squatter settlement. His beloved mother, father, younger brother, and sister—along with the whole village—were swept away.

He had survived only because he had been in another house at that time.

As soon as he learned that the village and its people had been swallowed by the river, he ran toward the riverbank, drenched in the downpour. But there was nothing left—only an expanse of silt and debris, the land itself submerged beneath the floodwaters.

Standing atop a large boulder, he gazed at the spot where his home had once stood—now erased without a trace.

"Mother!"
The word escaped his lips involuntarily. His tears flowed like the river's torrential current.
"Father! Brother! Little sister!"
Shaken to his core, he didn't know what to do, how to react.

His once-happy family—his loving mother and father, his dear siblings—their faces, their whole forms, flashed before his eyes. Would he ever see them again? Where could he find them? Whom would he now call "Mother"?

Enraged, drenched to the bone, he spat toward the river, cursing it as a cruel devourer, staring at its raging torrents with ceaseless tears.

Pain and sorrow scorched his heart like fire. His chest burned with unbearable grief. He thought—what was the point of living in a world without his mother?

He leaped toward the flood, ready to surrender himself—when a strong hand grabbed him, holding him back.

He lived.

"What are you trying to do, Bakhate?"

His (Thuldidi) elder sister’s scolding snapped him back to reality.

2.Elder Sister

A heart as soft as butter,
Prone to countless scars.

Elder Sister was the eldest daughter of the house where he lived. She was just about to turn fifteen. Their household consisted of her, a younger brother, and their parents. Since their mother and father spent most of their time tending to their shop in the market, Bakhate had been brought in to help with house chores. Though he missed his home, the warmth of Elder Sister’s kindness comforted him. Without realizing it, he began to feel a sense of belonging with her.

Had Elder Sister not been there, he would have run away back home. But she, and the promise of education, kept him there.

"Study well and become a great person. Do your household tasks with dedication. We can't afford to keep you at home, but if you help with small chores, we will ensure your education," his mother had told him, her eyes glistening, as she let out a deep sigh.

Until now, he had been weeping silently, his tears falling freely. But suddenly, he grasped Elder Sister’s hand and burst into uncontrollable sobs.

"They're all gone, Elder Sister. Mother, Father, Brother, Little Sister... I'm all alone!"

"I'm here, Bakhate! I'm your sister. I won't let you be alone."

Crying even harder, he buried his face in her embrace. She gently stroked his back with affection.

"Bakhate, don't cry too much. No matter how much you cry, they won't come back. The river has taken them—who knows where? Even if their bodies are found..." she trailed off, though tears welled up in her own eyes.

"Elder Sister, let’s go look for their bodies!"

Finding comfort in her presence, Bakhate suddenly felt the courage to search for his lost family.

"Where will we even look? It’s been raining non-stop. The villagers have searched already. If they find anything, they will inform us."

Drenched, Bakhate kept staring at the raging floodwaters. Elder Sister, holding an umbrella, was also completely soaked.

"Come on, Bakhate. Let’s go home."

She tugged at his arm, urging him to leave, but he refused.

"If you stay here, I'll stay too. I won’t leave you alone."

He said nothing, only continued to watch the river. Where had their home once been? Where were his mother, father, and siblings now?

Crying was the only way to endure the unbearable pain.

They both wept for a long time. Finally, Elder Sister spoke.

"Bakhate, what good will crying do? Your parents and siblings won't come back. Instead, remember what your mother said—'Study and become a great person.' Do you understand?"

"Study and become a great person."

Bakhate repeated the words in his mind. Yes, his mother had told him so. "Even though they didn’t want to send him to someone else’s house, they had said, ‘We will educate him.’ For the sake of their son's future, they sent Bakhate to Kanchha Pasale’s(youngest shopkeeper ) place with a heavy heart."

***

"Where are you going?" Thuldidi asks Bakhate, who is about to leave.

"Outside, to pee," Bakhate replies.

"You’re probably going to the river again, aren’t you? I’ll come with you."

"No need. I feel embarrassed."

"Why be embarrassed in front of your sister? You almost jumped into the river earlier. I won’t let you die."

"Really, I’m just going to pee."

"Swear that you won’t commit suicide, that you’ll study and become a great person... only then."

***

Bakhate was now receiving kind and sympathetic treatment from the other members of Kanchapasale’s (Youngest Shopkeeper) household. Thuldidie(Elder Sister) not only kept him close but also walked with him and let him sleep in her room. She feared that if left alone, Bakhate might lose control and throw himself into the river.

Three months passed. No one from the squatters' settlement had been found dead. Where had the raging floodwaters taken them? After a few days of searching, the villagers grew tired, the government gave up. Grand relief announcements were made, but the flood victims never saw any help.

Because Thuldidi had made him swear, “I will not die, I will not jump into the river,” Bakhate kept his mind away from thoughts of ending his life. He had begun to hold himself together—to learn how to control his emotions. His endurance to bear life’s hardships was growing. He had resolved: No matter what happens, I will survive and fulfill my mother’s dream.

He had started to see Thuldidi as a mother figure. Indeed, if not for her, he would have already thrown himself into the river. That’s why Thuldidi was like his second mother.

***

Bakhate had been deeply saddened when he had to leave his mother. He had never wanted to leave his home and family. His parents had tried to comfort him, saying:
"Thule, if you go there, you will have enough to eat. You will be able to study. We cannot afford to feed you and educate you if you stay here. That is why we are sending you to Kanchapasale’s place."

Poverty. His father worked somewhere all day and returned in the evening with rice, lentils, and vegetables. His mother took care of the younger siblings while also working in nearby homes. Bakhte had been strictly warned not to go near the river. The elders repeatedly reminded them about a child from the neighborhood who had drowned there.

His parents believed that once their children grew up, life would be easier. Bakhte, even in his young mind, was beginning to understand how difficult it was to raise little ones.

Their home—a small, makeshift shelter in the slum, covered with straw mats. The place where squatters found rest. Yet, despite working hard from dawn till dusk, they never had enough to eat or proper clothes to wear. The rich only came there to find laborers. Even though the settlement was near the market, it remained a place of isolation, untouched by prosperity.

For the children there, poverty wasn’t just a phase—it was life itself. Bakhte had refused to leave his family behind.

"Come visit us when school is on break. Kanchapasale’s house is nearby. We will also visit you," his mother had said, full of longing. True to her words, she had visited several times, carrying his baby sister on her back and walking with his little brother.

"Ah, Mother..." a sigh escaped his heart. Where will I ever see you again?

Bakhate recalled the first day he had arrived at Kanchapasale’s house, obeying his parents. A strange new home. Strangers all around. His father had come with him. While leaving, his father had wiped his tears with the edge of his daura(Nepalese dress Shirt). Seeing that, Bakhate had shed tears of blood from his own heart.

Thuldidi, her little brother, and the shopkeeper’s wife had all gathered to see him. What was it about Thuldidi? He didn’t know. But he felt drawn to her. Her youthful charm, her lips that seemed always on the verge of a smile, her lively eyes—she had smiled at him. Without realizing it, he had smiled back. He had felt genuinely happy upon seeing her.

Thuldidi spoke to him sweetly. She taught him what to do at school, how to study, how to greet people. He became attached to her, as if she were his real sister. There was a rare warmth, a sense of belonging, and companionship in her presence.

***

His mother, father, and little siblings being swept away by the raging flood. At times, their bodies would briefly emerge above the water, his mother raising her hands, shouting something, but her voice was inaudible. Their hands reaching out above the flood…

Bakhte woke up with a start. He was drenched in sweat, his heart pounding, unable to move, feeling trapped.

“It was just a dream,” he told himself. But what kind of dream was this? A recurring nightmare. Was it because he cried himself to sleep, remembering his parents and siblings?

Or had his mother truly called out to him?

Who did he have left in this world? His parents and little siblings were gone. He had no idea about his maternal relatives. He was utterly alone. Was it his mother’s boundless love that had called him? If he had not come to the shop that day, he too would have been swept away with them. He wouldn’t have to endure the unbearable pain of separation, the loneliness, the silent cries, and the deep sighs. He could still end it all by jumping into the river and letting his worries drown forever. Should he go to the river? Should he throw himself in and reunite with his family?

His mind was caught in a storm of conflict. What should he do? How could he live alone? He couldn’t forget the joyful moments with his family, and his mind was filled with endless, chaotic thoughts.

“No, I am not alone! Even if I have lost my parents and siblings, I still have Thuldidi, who cares for me. I have survived because of her. But… if I stay here, the river will take me one day. I will keep thinking about my family and eventually jump into the river. I must choose—live or die. Thuldidi can only protect me for so long. If I want to live, I must leave this place. But where? Where should I go?”

Bakhate pondered these questions endlessly.

***

"Bakhate, brother!"
"Yes, Thuldidi."
"I think of you as my own brother. I, too, am alone... I wanted to have my brother's companionship for life."
"Thuldidi, I am the one who is truly alone. I have no one. But you have your parents and brother."

"My father is the only one who is mine. My mother is a stepmother—Kanchhi Aama(step mother). My brother is her son. And my father… he is no longer truly my father either."
"How?"

"My own mother also drowned while bathing in the same river that swallowed your family. After her death, my father brought Kanchhi Aama into our home. Now, his entire attention is on her and their son. That’s why I feel alone. After meeting you, I started feeling like I had a real brother. But…"

"But what, Thuldidi?"

"Earlier today, my stepmother scolded and beat me. She told me not to dote on you too much. She said, 'If you love a dog too much, it licks your own face. Why do you let Bakhte sleep in your room? Send him to the shed. Is he your husband or what? Why do you care for him so much?'

I got so angry that I shouted back, 'He is my brother!' Then she said, 'If you call him your husband, then let him be your husband!' And she slapped me hard. She pushed me around and warned me not to tell my father. 'If you tell him, you'll see what he does to you,' she said and hit me again.

Bakhate, I can't stay here anymore. Even if I have to survive on half a stomach, I will go live at my maternal uncle’s house. If my uncle and aunt allow it, I will take you there too."

She broke down in tears.

Seeing the only person who cared for him cry, Bakhate, too, began to weep. What was happening? Everyone who loved him was disappearing. Now, even Thuldidi was slipping away.

Before he could be separated from Thuldidi, Bakhate left Kanchha Sahu's house.

Seeing him leave, Thuldidi cried out, "Where are you going? Bakhate, remember the promise you made—not to take your own life. No matter how hard things get, you must live! Come back... I will be waiting..."

She was saying more, but Bakhate didn’t hear. He walked away quickly.

3.By the Riverbank

The river flows on, but the shore always stays behind.
A traveler in life, restless like the shore.

Life is a journey. Life is an experience. Without direction or purpose, Bakhate walked. He had no destination. He had no goal. He didn't even have thoughts.

He kept walking along the riverbank, on and on.

In the pitch-black night, when he could no longer see anything, he lay down on a flat stone.

At dawn, the chirping of birds and the murmuring of the river woke him. He looked around. He panicked—
"I need to get away from this river as soon as possible!"

"The river swallowed my family, and it could swallow me too. I must survive! I must study and fulfill my mother’s dream of making me a great person. I must plant the seeds of thought in the hearts of those who suffer from poverty and hardship and bring them light!"

With these thoughts, he walked faster, ran farther—away from the riverbank.

Alone, with no one beside him, he kept walking. Was he walking or was he lost?

He walked. It wasn’t easy. Trying to escape the river, he climbed steep cliffs, pushed through thorny bushes. He kept going, unaware of how much time had passed.

Only when dusk fell did he realize he was lost.

Where would he sleep? What would he eat? Hunger reminded him of his exhaustion.

With no road ahead, he sat on a flat rock. He lay down and, unknowingly, fell asleep.

In the middle of the night, he woke up.

The darkness was suffocating. The howling of jackals echoed through the forest. The roar of a lion silenced them.

Lions, tigers, bears, jackals—wild beasts roamed the jungle.

"Will they kill and eat me too?" Fear crept into him.

"But if they do, at least my suffering will end," he thought, comforting himself.

Shivering in the cold, he curled up against the rock. Where would he go? It was pitch black, like an overturned pot. Even if he tried to run, where would he go? Nothing was visible. Whatever happens, happens…

In the darkness, a pair of glowing eyes appeared.

With a growling sound, the eyes came closer, inch by inch.

"So, this is the end of my life," Bakhate thought.

Suddenly, the jungle erupted with the sound of animals fleeing. The glowing eyes vanished. Why were they running?

It was the lion!

The king of the jungle had roared, and all the animals scattered.

Bakhate’s mouth went dry. His heart pounded.

Who wants to die?

At that moment, he understood—how vast the desire to live truly is.

"If I survive…" That was all he could think.

As the first light of dawn seeped through, he could see a little. "I must find a safer place!" he told himself. He started walking, aimlessly, in silence, careful not to step on dry leaves that might make a noise.

He wanted to reach a human settlement.

But instead, he kept wandering deeper into the jungle.

The forest grew denser, the vines tangled together. No matter how far he walked, there was only more forest.

He kept walking.

To walk is to live.

"Only by walking will I find a village. Only then will I survive."

Thinking this, he walked and walked—until hunger and exhaustion overcame him.

Somewhere in the jungle, he collapsed, half-conscious.

He felt as if someone was carrying him.

Was it real? Or was it just a dream?

Before he could find out, he blacked out completely.

4.The Mysterious Ashram

Mystery within mystery, encased in mystery,
If understood, one step forward can be taken.

“Where is this place?” Bakhate tried to figure it out after regaining consciousness. He couldn't. There was no one around to ask.
“How did I get here?” he wondered to himself. He had a faint memory of being carried by someone while he was semi-conscious. “Who could have carried me? What kind of place is this?”
He struggled to stand up and looked around.

Bakhate was extremely hungry. A little distance away, he saw some boiled tubers. He ate them and went to a small, gurgling stream to drink water from his cupped hands.
“I have survived, but who saved me?” he pondered.

From a nearby hut, sounds of commotion, crying, scolding, and laughter could be heard. It seemed like a prayer gathering. The voices of men, women, and children blended together, but Bakhate couldn’t make sense of what was happening.

While he was still confused, a dusty-looking young man approached him and asked, “Are you awake?”
“Uh… yes…” Bakhate was startled by the man’s frightening appearance, but his voice was gentle.
“How did I get here?”
“I carried [Rs1] you here while you were unconscious.”
“What is this place?”
“This is a secluded and mysterious ashram deep within the jungle, dedicated to higher spiritual practices.”
“What do people do here?”
“Worship, meditation, and training.”
“What kind of training?”
“Don't ask too much. Don’t think too much either. You’ve just regained consciousness. First, recover your health. You will learn everything in time.”

The man showed him more food and drink and then left for another hut. Bakate, exhausted and starving, focused only on eating. Perhaps because he ate too much after a long time, he slowly drifted off and either lost consciousness or fell asleep.

***

Bakhate gradually started understanding the ways of the mysterious ashram. There were a total of 26 people there, and with him, it became 27. He was unsure whether to stay or leave. But where could he go? The jungle was dense and filled with wild beasts. Out of necessity, he remained in the ashram—survival was the priority. As long as he was there, he could live. And as long as he lived, he could one day return to human civilization. But how? He needed to find out.

Initially, he was taught yoga. As he practiced, time passed more easily. Soon, he became proficient in yoga.

“Now, you must learn the art of samadhi (deep meditation),” ordered the Guru.
“What is samadhi?” By now, Bakhate had lost his fear.
“You will understand once you experience it,” the Guru replied.

Immediately, three disciples attacked Bakhate, beating him mercilessly. His screams echoed through the hut. They struck his vital points ruthlessly—his nose, mouth, and body bled. The unbearable pain caused Bakhate to lose consciousness. When the body experiences extreme suffering, unconsciousness is its ultimate escape.

Bakhate remained unconscious the entire day. A disciple was observing him closely, making sure he was still breathing. That night, his unconscious body started convulsing. Fever gripped him, and in his delirium, he muttered, “Mother, father, brothers, sisters, elder sister… I… I… I am coming home!” He screamed and then fell silent.

The next day, Bakhate regained consciousness. The waiting disciple informed the Guru. The Guru and the disciples who had beaten him arrived. Bakhate feared they would attack him again.

However, the Guru gently touched his wounds and bruises and asked, “Does it still hurt? How do you feel?” His voice was soothing.

Although his body ached terribly, Bakhate shook his head to indicate that he was fine.
“Ah, you are now worthy of samadhi! Your body has developed resistance to pain and suffering. Well done, young boy!” The Guru laughed. “Ha… ha… ha…”

The disciples joined in laughter. “Ha… ha… ha…”

After laughing for a while, the Guru commanded, “Let him rest for two days. Then, resume his samadhi training.”

Two days passed. On the third day, the three disciples came again and beat him just as before. They punched, kicked, and slammed him to the ground until he was soaked in his own blood. Unable to bear it any longer, Bakhate finally fought back. He punched, kicked, and bit them in retaliation. But his small fists had no effect. Seeing this, he grabbed their hair and scratched them. When that too failed, he picked up a stick and started attacking.

“Well done! We are pleased to see that you have the spirit to resist injustice,” they laughed. “A snake without venom and a man without aggression are useless. You have the fire within you. You will succeed in mastering mrityunjaya samadhi (the death-conquering meditation).”

Then, they resumed beating him until he lost consciousness again.

Bakhate—beaten, unconscious, covered in wounds, drowning in blood—this cycle repeated endlessly. He had no escape. Whenever he showed signs of recovery, they would start beating him again until he blacked out.

After countless beatings, Bakhate reached a point where he stopped breathing. His body stopped bleeding. He became cold, like a corpse. The Guru checked his pulse. There were no signs of life. They sprinkled water on him. After a long time, the ‘dead’ Bahkate finally took a breath.

“Success! This boy… he has the potential to master samadhi! He is extraordinary!”

***

Getting beaten unconscious, losing awareness, and dying, only to revive on his own — this had become normal for Bakhate.
Yet, unable to endure the unbearable pain any longer, he too was becoming increasingly aggressive.
He began carrying a stick with him at all times, wondering when the beatings might start again and how to protect himself.

The disciples came. Bakhate attacked them with his stick. The small boy Bakhate versus those three men with sticks. They snatched his stick and beat him with sticks, punches, and kicks until he was unconscious. Then, pressing his neck, they actually killed him.

Several hours later, the seemingly dead Bakhate revived. Within him, intense physical and mental upheaval had begun. This upheaval was not ordinary but extraordinary and supernatural.
He was preparing himself — both mentally and physically — to endure the pain of wounds and injuries. He tried to control both his mind and body. His effort, concentration, and intensity of emotions were reaching their peak. He fought the disciples with all his might, and when he couldn’t go on, he would make himself unconscious.

He had developed the ability to become unconscious at will. And after a few hours, Bakhte would naturally revive.

The disciples informed the Grand Master of this new development in Bakhate.
Hearing this, the Grand Master danced with joy.

“We are heading toward infinite success.
This supernatural achievement will grant us all immortality.”

***

After Bakhate was found to have the ability to become unconscious or insensible at will and then revive on his own, he began to be discussed and respected throughout the ashram.
Special attention was given to his food and care.
He could meet the Grand Master at any time he wished.
The Grand Master would teach him spiritual guidance, wisdom, and other knowledge.

Now, Bakhate was allowed to move freely through all parts of the ashram at any time.
Since he could now make himself unconscious, the disciples no longer needed to beat him to render him so.
Everyone in the ashram began to show him respect.

One day, the Grand Master arrived with a girl of Bakhate’s age — well-groomed and beautiful — and said,
“You may now have a relationship with her. The two of you can unite to create a new creation. From now on, you will live together.”

Bakhate was astonished.
The girl was adorned with thirty-two auspicious qualities, a true beauty — her name was Bhagwati.
Until then, no one had ever inquired about Bakhate’s name.

“The name 'Bakhate' is no longer relevant,” said the Grand Master. “I now name you Devadhipati.
From now on, everyone will address you by this name.”

Thus, Bakhate became Devadhipati.
According to the Grand Master’s instructions, Devadhipati and Bhagwati began living and eating together in the same room.
The Grand Master had decreed that “Love and affection must exist between you.”

But can love and affection happen by command?
Perhaps it was the Grand Master’s order — but hearing that love had started to grow between them made the Grand Master very pleased.

Both of them had the ability to become unconsciously still, as if dead, of their own will.
The Grand Master believed that if they tried, and if they could produce a child beyond the limits of normal age or time, such a child could become a supreme, all-powerful human.
He hoped this would be possible.

Not only the ability to fall unconscious, but to truly die — the Grand Master was now training both of them in the art of complete detachment.
Dying, becoming a corpse, and reviving again — they were both undergoing intense samadhi practice.

***

Many days passed. When the rains began to fall, they realized that the monsoon had arrived. Then, as the rains stopped, winter set in. The monsoon came and went.

Following the Maha Guru’s orders, the two of them were made to sleep naked in the same bed at night. There was a misguided belief that engaging in unnatural relations would lead to spiritual attainment. Although they had achieved a high level of death-meditation, they had lost their freedom and could not act on their own will—they were merely tools in this practice. Frustrated and suffocated, they discussed their situation.

“We must escape once winter arrives,” Bhagwati said.

“How? Where will we go? There are wild animals everywhere, and dense forests surround us,” Devadhipati replied.

“I can guide us through the jungle to reach a village. I can control wild animals so they won’t be dangerous to us. Once we reach the village, we will be free. After that, we will go our separate ways.”

“Will we separate once we get there?”

“When we reach there, we will be our own masters. There will be no more Bhagwati and Devadhipati. I will be myself, and you will be yourself—completely free.”

***

Early in the morning, Bhagwati and Devadhipati left the ashram. When the Mahaguru and his disciples learned of their departure, they rushed to stop them.

Bhagwati murmured some incantations and began spinning rapidly. She instructed Devadhipati to do the same. As they both spun in circles, within moments, everyone except them collapsed, unconscious.

Leaving the ashram behind, Bhagwati and Devadhipati traveled for several days until they reached a new settlement

5.A New Settlement

Like an unquenched thirst,
Humans endlessly seek fulfillment,
Wandering through new paths,
And unknown settlements.

As soon as they arrived, Bhagwati turned to Devadhipati and said, "Now, we are just ourselves. You are Bakhte, and I am not Bhagwati."

She continued, "Let's go our separate ways."

Without waiting for a response, Bhagwati sprinted away. Stunned and speechless, Bakhate stood frozen. By the time he regained his senses and attempted to chase after her, she had disappeared.

Feeling disheartened, he sank to the ground. Yet, the thought that he had finally reunited with human civilization brought him some solace.

Bhagwati was gone—lost forever. She had chosen freedom over companionship. They were meant to walk their own paths, towards their own destinies.

Looking around, Bakhate saw that he was no longer in the mountains. The vast, flat land stretched out before him—perhaps this was the Terai, the lowlands. A distant village appeared on the horizon, with houses, trees, and fields painted yellow with blooming mustard flowers.

"Aha! How mesmerizing!" he thought, feeling as if he had been reborn.

After resting, he walked toward the largest house in the village. There, he found many people—some even armed.

A newcomer in a strange land.

"Who are you?" a man demanded, pointing a pistol at him. Others surrounded him.

"I am Bakhate."

"Where are you from? Are you a government spy?"

Weapons clattered as the armed men assumed defensive positions, while the others scrambled indoors.

A commanding voice rang out:
"Stay calm, everyone. We are the People's Army. We will protect you!"

Three men grabbed Bakhate and dragged him into a room. The interrogation began.

"Who are you? Why are you here? What’s your name? Where did you come from?"

"I am Bakhate. I escaped from the jungle..."

"With whom?"

"With Bhagwati."

"Where is Bhagwati? Who is she?"

"She ran off, leaving me here. Bhagwati was my spiritual partner at the ashram."

"He’s hiding the truth. Beat him until he talks!"

Before Bakhate could react, blows rained down on him. Darkness engulfed him—he had lost

consciousness.

***

"Hey! Oi, nephew!"

"Who? Me?"

"Yes, you! You are my nephew."

"How am I your nephew?"

"All young boys like you are my nephews, and all young girls are my nieces."

"Who are you?"

"I am your uncle. Since your mother is my sister, that makes you my nephew."

The mention of his mother struck a deep chord within Bakhate. Memories surged like a storm inside him, lodging a lump in his throat. He choked back sobs, his eyes welling with tears.

The haunting image of his mother resurfaced—her head bobbing in the raging floodwaters, her arms reaching out, as if calling for him.

"Mama..." Bakhate's voice trembled.

"Speak, nephew! Don’t hesitate!"

"My mother was swept away by the flood... She is gone. My father, my siblings, and the twelve families from our squatter settlement were all drowned. I survived only because I wasn’t there that day..."

With that, he broke into uncontrollable sobs.

"What? Everyone was lost?" his uncle gasped in disbelief.

Turning to the onlookers, the uncle declared, "He’s not a spy—just a sorrowful boy."

Upon hearing this, the men withdrew. Only Bakhate and his uncle remained.

***

After listening to Bakhate's story, his uncle sighed and said,
"I, too, was born into a life of suffering, just like you. I have never been able to breathe freely in this world. I have never been able to live as I wished. My childhood was filled with hardship, and there is no way to bring it back. But, nephew, I will try my best to make your childhood somewhat better and more fruitful."

"You called me your nephew... At a time when I thought I had no one in this world..."

"And I am your uncle, right?" His uncle laughed heartily, and Bakhte couldn't help but smile.

Laughter broke the barrier between them, bringing warmth and a sense of belonging. Bakhte started opening up, no longer hesitating to share his thoughts.

"Tell me about this village, Uncle."

"This is a new squatter settlement. We have all come here from different places, settling on unused land, and have formed a single family. Here, no one is above or below anyone else. We are all equal, moving together towards a shared future."

Though Bakhate didn't fully understand his uncle’s words, he listened with great interest. His uncle took him on a tour of the settlement, introducing him to everyone. Finally, they arrived at a school.

"From tomorrow, you will start studying here," his uncle said. "Education will help you understand life and move forward. It will teach you how to think critically and develop a scientific mindset."

At the school, Bakhate was given a new name—Mapurush. Unlike conventional schools that focused on classroom learning and certificates, this one provided practical education, teaching basic arithmetic, essential life skills, and useful trades. It had been established by the villagers themselves.

As Mapurush studied, the seasons changed. A year passed. Through hard work, he learned to read and write.

One day, his uncle took him to a large hall, where people were training with weapons.

A trainer was addressing the crowd:
"Comrades! Those who cannot fight become servants and slaves. To protect ourselves, we must be strong, capable, and powerful. If necessary, we must be ready to revolt. That’s why we are secretly training to use firearms. Pay close attention!"

The crowd applauded in agreement.

"You are still young," his uncle told him. "You can’t lift a big rifle, but you can learn to shoot a pistol. Watch how others handle guns." His uncle personally taught him how to fire a pistol.

At the end of the training, a gathering was held where several speakers shared their thoughts.

Samedev said,
"To be truly human and to be in control of your own life, one must be physically and mentally strong. The body’s strength is visible, but the mind’s strength is not. The mind is about thought—thought is crucial. With the right mindset, a person walks the right path. Without the ability to think for oneself, one becomes a slave to others. Most people live under the control of others because they lack independent thought. When you don’t know your own strength or direction, you remain trapped in servitude, unaware that you could be free. To liberate yourself, you must be competent and capable. Education and training make you competent—therefore, both are essential."

"Once there is a thought, there is a destination. To reach the destination, a person becomes active. Since successful activity depends on the ability to work, one must continuously train and practice."

Balbahadur added,
"Thought is not just for oneself but also for society and the nation. Humanity has suffered countless wars because it has failed to cultivate the right kind of thinking. To end war and achieve world peace, we must overturn the misguided beliefs that have led humanity astray."

Buddhikarna argued,
"So-called civilization has been shaped by a handful of cunning elites for their own benefit. Their philosophies, literature, and ideologies have created social structures that trap the majority in illusions, preventing them from developing independent and empowering thoughts. Ordinary people, caught in this cycle, are reduced to mere insects struggling in a spider’s web. Unless this oppressive system is dismantled, they will remain as slaves, never experiencing true freedom."

Haridatta stated,
"Because common people do not control their own minds and bodies, they cannot act in their own interest. They are made to believe that they were born to be slaves. As a result, they do not recognize themselves as the rightful owners of this land, despite being the ones who toil upon it."

***

What is thought?
It is a path. It is light. It is a destination. It is action. It is strength. It is the means to achieve one’s purpose. It is also liberation. Thought is life itself. Thought is the very essence of existence.

Mapurush pondered these ideas, grasping what he could with his young mind. He realized that without a path, one cannot move forward. Light reveals the world. Thought provides direction, energy, identity, and freedom. Without thought, a person ceases to be human and becomes a slave.

Thus, one must cultivate thought. By developing the power to think, one can become their own master.

Something within Mapurush stirred—a faint but growing understanding of the importance of thought. Since knowledge nurtures thought, he eagerly began reading books and even writing.

One day, his uncle and other comrades took Mapurush and the village children into the jungle. This was not just a place of survival. It was a place of resistance.

"We received word that the police are planning a raid on our settlement," they explained. "We are here for safety. Don’t be afraid."

The landlords had summoned the police and army to seize the ripened crops of the squatter village. Their plan was to instigate a conflict, using it as an excuse to kill Mapurush’s uncle and his comrades. Realizing the danger, they had fled into the jungle.

Once again, Bakhate—now Mapurush—found himself in the forest.

The first time he had been here, he was Devadhipati.
Now, he was Mapurush.

Around a hundred people had gathered deep in the jungle. They had set up a camp with food supplies, weapons, and ammunition.

Even the children were given training—learning how to scout the enemy and protect themselves in times of danger.

***

The feudal landlords, who had forged fake land ownership documents, seized the paddy, maize, grain, livestock, and valuable possessions of the people in the new settlement. Two women who protested were dragged away and handed over to the police and army. The soldiers inflicted severe torture on them before shooting them dead.

When Mama and the underground rebels learned about this, their blood boiled with rage. At night, they launched an attack, killing the feudal landlords and the police officers who had come to suppress them. They decided to continue their campaign to eradicate feudalism. However, knowing that their own lives were now in danger, they made the difficult decision to disperse and go underground.

“Māpurush and our young nieces and nephews! We cannot take you with us. Our lives are in danger, and we cannot put your lives at risk as well. You have learned to read and write to some extent. Go somewhere and build a bright future for yourselves. Be brave and step onto the battlefield of struggle! Farewell, dear ones!”

Saying this, Mama and his comrades set off in different directions. The children, left behind without guardians, had tears in their eyes.

Chapter Two: The Growth of a Sapling

1. The City’s Hustle and Bustle

The beauty of worldly life
Lies in action, service, discipline, and patience.

So many people! A flood of people flowing through the streets, each lost in their own world, going somewhere, coming from somewhere. No one cared about anyone else. It seemed like the city was an ocean of people.

Bakhate looked around and thought. There was no one he knew. This city was completely unfamiliar to him. He had arrived here while fleeing from the river that had swept away his family. Even now, he was running away from death. The thought that “to keep walking is to survive, and survival is a great victory” kept him moving forward.

A group of four or five children, around his age, surrounded him.

“Are you like us? Did you run away from a stepmother or stepfather’s beating? Who do you have in this city?”

Bakhate shook his head to indicate that he had no one.

“You don’t have anyone either, just like us. Stay with us,” said a girl.

Bakhate had no objections, but he remained silent. The gang of street children started walking, and the same girl who had spoken earlier pulled him along. “It’s better to be with someone than to be alone,” he thought, and he followed them.

These were street kids—wandering the whole day. If they found discarded food, they ate it. If they came across anything they could sell, they collected it and sold it for money to buy food. For shelter, they had empty grounds, abandoned buildings, rest stops, or footpaths. Their only blanket was the open sky.

Staying with them, Bakhate roamed the city and came to understand it.

Days and nights passed. During that time, the girl who had first spoken to him, Juneli, grew closer to him. But one of the older boys in the group, Gumane, did not like this. He wanted to drive Bakate away from the group by beating him.

One day, Gumane attacked him. But Bakhate used the self-defense techniques he had learned in the new settlement and defeated him.

Life was a battle, and the victorious Bakhate rose even higher in Juneli’s eyes.

“This wandering, begging, and scavenging life leads nowhere. I know a hotel where we can work. If we work there, we’ll get food and a salary. Let’s work there together,” Juneli suggested.

Bakhate agreed.

Their new job at the hotel involved washing glasses and dishes, wiping tables, and cleaning. They saw many new people every day. Sometimes, kind customers would leave a tip.

A teacher often came to the hotel for tea. One day, he offered Bakhate a job as a house help at his home. “I will discuss it with Juneli and let you know,” Bahkate replied.

Hearing this, Juneli was stunned but said, “Go… but come visit me sometimes!” She turned away to wipe her tears.

When Bakhate received his first salary, he bought some sweets and saved some money for Juneli. He went back to the hotel to give them to her.

But Juneli was not there.

“Where is she?” he asked the owner.

“She ran away. Some street boy came and took her with him,” the owner replied.

Bakhate suspected it was Gumane. He searched all the places where street kids stayed, wandering the entire day until nightfall.

Neither Juneli nor Gumane were anywhere to be found.

Disheartened, Bakhate gave the sweets to the other street kids.

Juneli…

Thinking of her, he shed two silent tears.

***

Parents, siblings, my elder sister, Bhagwati, Mama, and Juneli!
They all disappeared from my life. They went far away.
Will I ever see them again?

Bakhate wondered, If I survive, if fate allows, maybe one day I will meet them again. But the pain of losing them was too deep for tears to wash away. Was life ever free from suffering?

"I aim for the tree trunk, but the axe strikes my knee instead."

The old ones were gone, but new people entered Bakhate’s life. To console himself, he resolved to study hard and learn as much as possible from his master. He promised himself that he would fulfill his mother’s wish—he would become knowledgeable and great.

His master’s friends frequently visited, and they discussed politics and theories of social development.

The master’s bookshelf was filled with various books. Listening to their discussions, Bakate became drawn to these books. In his free time, he read many of them.

Books refined his knowledge and gave him new ideas.

Thoughts help to discipline the mind. They bring focus and increase energy. They drive action and determination.

Bakhate began to mature mentally.

He had found support in his life from his elder sister, Bhagwati, Mama, and Juneli. Those companions…

Whenever he missed Juneli, he would go back to the hotel and look for her. Like droplets in the ocean, people drift apart with time, carried away to unknown places…

Where had Juneli gone?

He hoped he would find her again someday. Again and again, he returned to the hotel.

But she was never there.

Through this, he realized—life can be unbearably painful.

But he kept his grief to himself.

"Never voice the pain of the heart to anyone."

***

One day, Master Sir, in a playful yet serious manner, said, "Your name, Bakhate, does not suit the modern era. Your name does not help you stand in today’s progressive times. So, how about we change it from Bakhate to Bikhyatman to make it more appropriate?"

"As you wish, Sir," Bakhate was taken aback. Just as a snake sheds its old skin, his life was taking a new form, and with that, his name was changing too.

Bikhyatman!

He became Bikhyatman. Though he had never received respect in his life, his name now carried ‘fame’ and ‘prestige.’ He accepted his teacher’s words.

Now, Bikhyatman started recognizing dates, days, and months. He was beginning to feel like a real person, enlightened by education. A year had already passed since he had been living with his teacher.

One day, the teacher said, “Bikhyatman, I am going to my village for some time. I have to go.”

“When will you return, Sir?”

“Don’t call me ‘Sir.’ Call me by my name. Do you know my name?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“There! Again, ‘Sir’? What is my name?”

“Suvarn.”

“Yes, call me Suvarnji.”

“I will still call you Sir. Only if I become as great as you someday, then I might call you Suvarnji.”

“You just called me that now!” Master laughed heartily, “Ha ha ha!”

Bikhyatman couldn’t hold back his laughter either. They both laughed together. Even laughter needs company. Laughter builds relationships of closeness and warmth.

Suvarn said, “Bikhyatji, I was talking about going to the village. My parents are old now. My elder sister is married. There’s no one to take care of my parents. I cannot remain unmarried anymore. I am going to the village to get married. Until I return, you stay in the school hostel and continue helping with the kitchen. Once I return, we’ll stay together again.”

“When will you be back?”

“I’ll leave the day after tomorrow and return in a month.”

Master Sir, Suvarn, left for his home. Months passed, years passed, but he never returned. At that time, there were no telephones or mobile phones—letters were the only means of communication. But Bikhyatman did not know Sir’s address.

Regardless, he had already stepped into adulthood, leaving behind his past as Bakhte. He became skilled in cooking and caught the principal’s attention. The principal allowed him to study in the eighth grade. While working, he successfully passed his S.L.C. exam.

Now, Bikhyatman became a junior teacher, instructing the younger students at the school. As he continued teaching, he completed his M.A. By then, he had grown into a handsome young man. Beautiful young women started getting attracted to him.

Among them, one particular beauty was especially drawn to him. She would find excuses to meet him. One day, she finally said, “Bikhyat, I love you.”

“Huh? What did you say?”

“You don’t understand? I love you...” she said, lowering her eyes in shyness.

Bikhyat’s heart pounded faster. He had never heard such words before.

Their love grew stronger. But Bikhyat had neither wealth nor a family to support a marriage. Saddened, he told the beautiful woman, “Roopsee, I have no money, no family, no parents. I am an orphan. I love you more than I love myself, but I cannot give you a comfortable life. Marry someone else and live happily. My best wishes will always be with you.”

“Bikhyat, you heartless man! How could you say such a thing?” Roopsee sobbed bitterly. “Do I have to get married? If I marry, it will only be with you. Otherwise, I will remain unmarried forever.” Saying this, she ran away as if someone were chasing her.

Only after Roopsee left did Bikhyat realize what she truly meant to him. A life without Roopsee felt like an endless void. His world was empty without her. Now, he did not want to lose her.

He met Roopsee and said, “Roopsee, forgive me. I love you deeply. I only told you to marry someone else because I thought I couldn’t provide for you. But I never wanted to lose you.”

When words arise from a heart filled with pain, they come out as cries of longing.

After listening to him, Roopsee said, “If you agree to marry me, I will talk to my parents. I don’t need wealth, family, or relatives. I only need you.”

“Think for a few more days. Whatever your decision is, I will accept it.”

Bikhyatman and Roopsee got married.

2.Married Life

No matter how long the night, the morning always comes.
One must be patient, for joy and sorrow keep alternating.

Bikhyatman had never even dreamed that such a beautiful, cultured, and well-educated woman would be his life partner. But it happened. His life became filled with unparalleled joy. He began to feel that his life had found true meaning.

With newfound courage and strength, his heart felt lighter. “When the heart is pure, it is like bathing in the sacred Ganges.”

He devoted all his energy to their marital happiness. They became a perfect couple, creating a harmonious world together. One’s smile became the other’s strength, their healing medicine for pain and sorrow.

Feeling that they had everything they needed, they started a boarding school. The school thrived. As they earned money, they became involved in social organizations. They became well-known in their community. Immersed in love, they thought, “If one has love in life, what more is needed?”

Their family felt complete when they had a son and a daughter. After building the school’s infrastructure, they built their own home. Now, they were considered a prosperous family.

What was missing? They had fame, wealth, and work, along with boundless love and affection. Everything was in abundance.

If either of them ever looked serious, the other would immediately ask, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.” And before the words were even finished, their heart would already feel lighter.

"There is someone who loves me, someone who would sacrifice everything for me." Just the thought of it would bring joy to their mind and body.

They worked diligently throughout the day and spent their evenings discussing politics, society, and various other topics. As Rabindranath Tagore once said, "To be happy, one must take interest in many things." They loved discussing a wide range of topics.

“Why is Pelé called the emperor of football?”

“Because he was the only player who could score with a curved shot, just like your arched eyebrows.”

They both laughed heartily.

“You compare everything to me.”

“What else have I seen or known apart from you…? It’s only you.”

“Typical husband talk.”

“No, not at all. If you smile, I feel like I can conquer Indra’s throne.”

Lighthearted conversations like these settled deep in their hearts, bringing them even closer.

“You old lady!”

“Who?”

“You! When you’re 85 years old, toothless, I will call you an old lady. Can’t I imagine that?”

“Wrinkled old man!” Roopsee giggled. “You can call me that. And I will look at your wrinkled, aged face and call you a wrinkled old man.”

Imagining themselves as an 85-year-old toothless woman and an 89-year-old wrinkled man, they felt an immense joy. The thought of being surrounded by their grandchildren and great-grandchildren thrilled them.

3.Elections

We are all characters in the theater of life,
Sometimes we play, sometimes we just watch.

Just like air, water, and food, politics is an element that profoundly and extensively influences the ease and smoothness of life. It affects every aspect of our existence. One cannot simply say, "I don’t know politics" or "I don’t participate in politics." Plato once said, "If you do not take part in politics, you will be governed by those less qualified than you." This remains true even today.

A major political party, in search of influential candidates with a clean image in society, set its sights on Bikhyatman. He was urged to stand as a candidate.

"Roopse!"
"Tell me, Bikhkhe."
"You're ruining my name…" Bikhyatman pretended to be angry.
"You're ruining my name…" Roopsee playfully mimicked him.
"Then don’t be mad, my dear queen."
"My dear king! Speak your mind." They both laughed heartily.
"The big party wants me to stand as a candidate for the parliamentary elections. What should I do, my queen?"
"Elections, politics… What are you thinking, my king?"
"You are my thinking brain. No matter how much I think, it won't matter. You have a say in my life. I shouldn't do anything you disapprove of."
"I can't decide right away. They say politics is a dirty game. Are they lifting you up only to bring you down? We should consult our parents, brothers, and key people in our neighborhood. Let’s decide after that. Shall we?"
"Alright, my queen."
"Very well, my king!" Their conversation ended playfully, and they happily retired to their bedroom.

***

Bikhyatman won the election, became a parliamentarian, and gained fame. He began reaching new heights of progress. Once an ordinary man, he became a representative of the people. Now, whatever he said caught everyone’s attention. Whatever he did, people took notice.

Politics works wonders! It can elevate a man from the streets to the top, making him a ruler, a decision-maker of the fate of the people and the nation.

The party secured a majority in parliament and formed the government. If only old politicians were made ministers, people might resent the cabinet, so some new faces were also given a chance. Among them, Bikhyatman was appointed as a minister. His success skyrocketed.

As a minister, he was surrounded by bodyguards, sycophants, and party workers. He was now a man of power! His flag fluttered proudly on his government car.

Now, he could only meet Roopsee late at night. His days were filled with meetings, discussions, party conferences, and social events. One night, after waiting for him for hours, Roopsee greeted him,
"Minister Bikhkhe!"
"Yes, Ministerni ( minister’s wife) Roopse!"
"You mustn't call me Bikhkhe in front of others now."
"But it's just the two of us."
"The walls have ears."
"Oh, now even a minister is afraid of walls!"
They both burst into laughter. Their innocent laughter washed away the fatigue of the day.

***

The headlines of national and local newspapers screamed:
"Notorious Terrorist Arrested!"

Bikhyatman scanned the newspaper. The photo in the article belonged to his uncle. The name in the news was Surya Prakash. He examined the photo closely—it was indeed his uncle. He asked his assistant to find out where and when the arrest happened and what his real identity was.

He learned that his uncle, known as Surya Prakash, had been arrested in Naulo Basti during a clash between rebels and police.

Bikhyatman went to meet his uncle.

"The minister has come to see you," said the jailor.
"Minister? I don’t know any minister, and I don’t want to meet one."
"Shut up and move! Behave in front of the minister, or you’ll regret it."

A few policemen dragged the handcuffed man to the jailor’s office. Bikhyatman looked at him—yes, it was his uncle.

"Uncle, greetings."

Surya Prakash, also known as Mama, looked at him. "Mapurush, is that you?!"
"What Mapurush? Greet properly, Pangaudre!" the jailor shouted.

"Oh, Minister…" Mama muttered in surprise.

"Uncle, I am a minister now. After I left home, I reached the capital and struggled my way up. Today, I am Bikhyatman, the minister. I will review your case and try to get you pardoned. Jailor, please ensure my uncle is not mistreated in prison."

Soon, the party’s media outlets began spreading the narrative:
"Poor Surya Prakash was innocent! He was arrested mistakenly in the chaos!"

Following legal procedures, Mama was released after some time and began living in Bikhyatman’s house.

***

"Dear Bikhkhe…"
"Yes, my queen Roopse?"
"Did you see the newspapers? Some are listing Mama as a terrorist, trying to tarnish your name."
"Let them. I am not afraid. The worst that can happen is losing this ministerial position. This man saved my life when I was an orphan and helpless. I owe everything to him. I simply repaid a debt."
"If you are at peace with your actions, then I am happy too."
"Thank you, my love. My happiness is in your happiness."

Some party members tried to use the issue to tarnish Bikhyatman’s reputation and remove him from office. But he countered by highlighting his uncle’s virtues and actively involving him in party politics. Though factions within the party ran deep, the party itself did not break.

***

Despite the party offering him a ticket for the next election, Bikhyatman chose not to contest. To him, politics now seemed like a rickety swing, ready to throw off its riders at any moment. The real decision-makers were not even the politicians.

What was the point of saying this to anyone? He only shared his thoughts with Roopsee.

"I became a minister once. I have understood the essence of politics. Even as a minister, I could achieve nothing. The system is tangled in bureaucracy, chained by foreign influences. Even sovereignty is dictated by external forces. Corruption runs deep. I want to seek a new, ethical political path, my queen."

"I agree. Life is fleeting; it's better to remain untainted. After all, we take nothing with us in the end."

"What a wonderful thought! Bravo!" Bikhyatman clapped. Roopsee clapped along with him. The companionship of husband and wife brought them immense happiness.

***

4. COVID-19 (Coronavirus)

"A queen with a limp,
Such is life—only two days long."

If the coronavirus (COVID-19) finds you, it will take you. It spreads through the air. Social media, radio, TV, mobile phones, and messengers are flooded with messages about the fear of coronavirus and ways to protect ourselves from it. Everyone seems doomed. Humanity appears to be on the verge of extinction. A terrifying virus—a deadly global assault. Millions have already died, and the toll continues to rise.

The following short story, written during the COVID era, reflects the horrifying reality of those times.

(Short Story)

What Kind of Message Is This?

It’s the 52nd day of lockdown. I wake up, thinking, "I survived another day." The lockdown has instilled new habits and routines. My phone has become a source of news, entertainment, and a way to pass time. My hand reaches for my phone.

On Messenger, a message reads:
"Tomorrow may never come..."

That One Day...

Suddenly, a fever strikes!
A sore throat!
Breathing becomes difficult!
Smell and taste disappear!
Lethargy sets in!
A pounding headache!
Nausea...!

A COVID-19 test is conducted.
After three days of immense stress, the result comes back positive...
Then, an ambulance arrives at the house...

And then...
Neighbors will watch you from their windows.
Some will sympathize with you,
While others will mock you behind their curtains.

The healthcare workers in the ambulance will instruct you to pack your daily essentials and clothes.

Poor you...
Your family will silently watch you leave.
Your eyes will fill with tears...

Then suddenly—
"Hurry up!" someone shouts.
The ambulance doors shut. The siren blares.
Your neighborhood is sealed off.
For 14 days, you will be in complete isolation.

Yes, you will get food twice a day,
But TV, mobile phones, everything will vanish.

Inside your locked room, the walls will start showing you scenes of your past and possible future.

If you recover, fine...
But only if three consecutive test reports come back negative.
Then, you may return home.

But…
If things take a turn for the worse?
Your body will be wrapped in plastic and taken straight to the cremation ground.
Your loved ones might not even get a last look at you.
All they will receive is a death certificate.

Game over...

A sharp pain pierces my heart.
I had thought, "If I survive, I will fight for my country."
But this message paints a haunting picture of a painful death.
Even my decision to donate my body to the hospital would be in vain—I feel helpless.
I shudder at the thought.

What if this happens to me?
Does it matter to anyone?
I have already seen so many people lose their fathers, wives, and loved ones.
Even death needs an excuse.
This time, the excuse is corona...

I keep reading the message:

"Poor soul... he was a good man."

So,
Let’s not step outside without a reason.
Let’s abandon our careless habits.
Remember—
Life is precious.
So, stay home, stay safe.

If you’ve read this, copy and paste it.
That day may come—so stay safe, stay home.

What Kind of Message Is This?

Like a storm uprooting a tree, this message has shaken me to the core.
Is it negative or positive?

May 15, 2020 (Lockdown period)

The Horror of COVID-19 A global catastrophe .No handshakes. No crowds. No social gatherings.
Schools, colleges, public transport, cinemas, offices, hotels, and markets—everything shut down.
Meet a person, and you might catch corona. Catch corona, and you might die .No medicine, no cure.
How to treat it? The entire world was clueless. Borders sealed. Lockdowns imposed .Strict restrictions.
Quarantine, isolation, face masks—recommendations by the World Health Organization.

The world possesses nuclear weapons and missiles ,Yet it lacked medicine to fight corona.

A new virus—what is it? How do we cure it? No one knew. It spread like a storm across the world.
Millions died. A global crisis upon humanity. Superpower nations and underdeveloped countries alike were devastated. Fear of death loomed over presidents and common citizens alike— "Will I die today or tomorrow?"

A World in Lockdown Everything was shut—schools, colleges, offices, markets, transportation. No one could meet anyone. People were imprisoned in their own homes. Stepping outside meant risking infection and death.How terrifying! Those days, people feared premature death more than anything else.

Nepal, too, was trapped in COVID’s grip. Factories closed. Unemployment soared. Many died of hunger due to lost incomes.

Loss of smell and taste, difficulty breathing, persistent cough, not able to take food—these were the symptoms. At the time, there was no rapid antigen test. Only a PCR test could confirm infection, but results took two days. If someone fell ill, no one dared to visit them.

Even after taking precautions, Rupsi fell ill. A PCR test confirmed she was positive. Her entire neighborhood was sealed. An ambulance, sirens blaring, arrived. Health workers in PPE suits took her to the hospital’s isolation ward. No one could accompany her. No one could visit her. Even food had to be handed to the nurses— But who knew if she was eating it or not?

Two weeks later, a phone call delivered the news of her death. Bikhyatman and his children rushed to t he hospital. They wanted to see the body. Through a small glass window, They caught a glimpse of her lifeless form—wrapped in plastic. They wanted to offer a funeral shroud, But the army personnel in PPE said, "Not necessary." All COVID victims were handled the same way— Buried in mass graves by soldiers covered in PPE suits. A tragic end. In their final moments, patients couldn’t see their loved ones. Families couldn’t perform last rites. A heartbreaking separation.

***

Naurangi ( Nine Some Hues)

When a person is free from sorrow, they become engrossed in the colorful, seven-hued world. The seven hues are those of the rainbow. But what about the other two colors? Naurangi( Nine Some Hues)—the Himalayan Monal. Can we say they are the colors of the Monal? But what exactly are these colors?

Beyond the seven colors, there exist two more—one is the unbearable grief that strikes a person’s life, leaving them with a colorless void, an experience of emptiness. The color seen through teary eyes is the eighth color. The ninth color is the inexplicable will to live despite immense suffering—pain, emptiness, loss, anguish, grief, torment, separation, and unbearable circumstances. This mysterious and invisible hue represents the undying spirit of life.

Thus, life becomes Naurangi( Nine Some Hues).
And in a Naurangi life, everything—everything—is Naurangi!

The passing of Rupasi transformed Bikhyatman’s vibrant, seven-colored life into a Naurangi one. His Naurangi journey began when his 31 years of happy married life turned into a fleeting dream. The tragic and heart-piercing death of Rupasi... "I was neither allowed to ask where it hurt, nor was I given the chance to take care of her, nor could I even perform her final rites." This thought pierced his soul. Tears flowed incessantly, yet they failed to wash away his sorrow.

The school was closed. At home, only the father and two children remained. His maternal uncle had returned to his village two years ago. Can a house without a wife even be called a home? Inside, it felt like a void—an empty home, an empty heart. A mind that always longed to cry. But he couldn’t even cry freely. The lockdown kept them isolated—no visitors, no place to go. They felt like birds with clipped wings, stranded in a desert. He was now both a father and a guardian, a lone parent who couldn’t afford to appear weak before his children, lest he burden them with more sorrow.

There were countless grievances, but who would listen? Rupasi was gone. The sorrow remained buried in his heart. How cruel was the death of his dearest one! Had there been a ventilator at the hospital, would she have survived?

The neighboring country had donated PPE, gloves, goggles, ventilators, masks, and other supplies to help fight COVID-19 for free. But the corrupt government, immersed in bribery, failed to bring them on time. If they had, could a ventilator have saved Rupasi’s life? Inside, Bikhyatman seethed with rage. If only corrupt officials exploiting crises for profit could be punished, it would serve as a true tribute to those like Rupasi who perished needlessly.

***

A vaccine was developed, and after the lockdown, people returned to their usual lives. But the past two years of suffering forced Bikhyatman to reflect on the flaws in governance.

Corruption flourished under dirty politics, contaminating every sector. He concluded that a nation’s failure to progress was due to the regressive nature of its politics. The struggles of the ordinary, powerless people would only improve when global politics took a turn for the better. Had there been honest governance, many Rupasis wouldn’t have faced untimely deaths, and people like him wouldn’t have been left drowning in an ocean of grief. Politics had become the root cause of human suffering.

Only good governance can uproot corrupt politics and make the world a beautiful, peaceful, and livable place.

5.Experience and Realization

"Now that you are gone forever,
Is there a path I can take to find you?"

Bikhyatman pondered his own journey—how had he arrived at this point in life? He evaluated himself, reflected on his past experiences and realizations, and laughed... and cried.

Who would listen to him now? His loving wife, his closest companion, was gone. He had to continue alone—solitary in his existence. His children had their own lives. No matter how close they had been to their mother, fathers do not share the same level of intimacy with their children. Their lives were their own, and he had no right to interfere.

The world was now wrapped in the web of the internet—children born with mobile phones in their hands. Their world revolved around mobile screens. He, too, spent his time on his phone and laptop. Had it not been for social media, he might have succumbed to depression.

He was born in a remote, poverty-stricken village, in a squatter settlement by the riverbank. A family that barely had enough to eat. A flood swept his family away. He survived—an orphan, alone. Thank God for his elder sister! Where was she now? Was she even alive? Nothing is certain in this fleeting human life... If she were alive, would they meet again? Tears welled in his eyes.

("Elder sister, wherever you are, may you be happy. If you are no more, I offer my heartfelt tribute!")

Was that childhood real, or just a fading dream? The slums, the river... "Don’t go near the river," his parents had warned. A blurry image of his mother’s face surfaced in his memory. He remembered her being swept away by the flood, her hand reaching above the water. Or was this just a recurring nightmare? Their bodies were never found, nor were they given a proper burial. And now, Rupasi suffered the same fate. He sighed deeply.

"What kind of life is this?"

He could barely recall the faces of his uncle or other family members. After fleeing the flood, how had he reached that mysterious ashram? Bhagawati, the guru, the disciples... How had he learned to lose himself in deep meditation? Could he still do it now? He wanted to try, but what if he never came back from that trance? Who would remember Rupasi then? Who would fight for a world where no more lives were lost like hers?

Rupasi’s memories engulfed him once more. The years spent with her were the happiest of his life. Now, his purpose was to create a just world for ordinary people—by ushering in honest politics.

Bikhyatman had dabbled in literature before. Once, when he narrated a story to Rupasi, she had said, "It makes me want to cry." That had pleased him.

"Write my story too," she had once told him.
"What kind of story?" he had asked.
"I’ll tell you someday," she had replied.

She was no longer here, but he would write her story.

In his Naurangi, solitary life, his heart drifted like a boat without an oar on the vast lake of memories.

"I have tasted every flavor of life—sweet and bitter. I have experienced joy and sorrow. Had I died before Rupasi, I would never have known the unbearable pain of losing the one you love the most. I now understand what an 'irreparable loss' truly means. The world floats upon an ocean of tears shed by sorrowful souls. I once thought only fools cried, but when Rupasi died, I wept. And in those tears, I realized their weight, depth, shape, and meaning."

Rupasi had given him everything. And in her death, she had left him with one final lesson—the law of life itself.

She did give tears. What are tears?

Tears in others’ eyes are just water. Tears in an enemy’s eyes bring pleasure. Tears in a child's eyes are an expression—of hunger, thirst, sleep, or other discomforts when words fail them.

One cannot understand tears just by seeing them in others' eyes. Only when unbearable pain causes tears to flow from one's own eyes does one truly grasp the meaning, depth, and priceless nature of tears. This realization transformed Bikhyatman’s life.

6. Mind and Body

After experiencing excellence, I understood love—
If only the heart could speak its truth.
Drenched, melted, and shattered in love,
If only the body could surrender and fall.

The mind is truly astonishing. They say it can be controlled, but how? They say it can be structured, but in what way?
It reaches places it shouldn't. It delights in what society forbids. What is forbidden for the mind? What is permissible? It desires only what it likes and refuses what it dislikes. When Roopsee was alive, they would share their hearts, Lightening their burdens, basking in happiness. But now, who will listen to Bikhyatman’s heart? His unspoken words remain trapped within.

His restless mind has begun to affect his body. As his mind grows weary, his body withers.

The body pleads with the mind,"Oh mind, do not wander aimlessly. As you waver, I weaken. Only if I remain, will you endure.If I am strong, you can rejoice."

The mind responds, "But I am not like you. If you are a cage, I am a bird. I do not wish to die imprisoned.
Yet, I have endured—because you are my shelter. Even in the sorrow of my beloved’s death, I have held firm. So, dear body, do not claim to know too much."

The mind and body argue for a long time. Both know one cannot exist without the other.
They finally reach a compromise, Smile, and unite. Once frail and diminishing, Bikhyatman regains his strength. He begins to write the stories of joys and sorrows shared with Roopsee. Lost in his writing, time slips away unnoticed. To lose track of time— This is what every person desires. Unnoticed time is either spent in joy, In deep engagement, Or in meditative fulfillment. When mind and body are in harmony, Time flows effortlessly, Dissolving into bliss

7. Stages of Life

Brave warriors swim in pools of tears and blood,
Forever singing the song of life with heroic grace.

"Ah, greetings, uncle! You’ve come as well. I’m happy to see you."
"Greetings, nephew. My blessings to you. I wanted to come as soon as I heard of Roopsee’s passing, but the lockdown… As soon as it lifted, I came. Such a sorrowful event…" Uncle choked back his tears.

Bikhyati Rupakala, his daughter, and Rupesh Bikhyat, his son, also arrived. The presence of all four created an atmosphere of warmth.

"Life… One must endure countless sunrises and shadows while crossing its many stages, uncle."
"What kind of stages?"

"The journey of life itself…
Life transitions every ten years into a new phase. Within these ten-year spans, there are also five-year sub-phases and layers, each shaping a person’s mental and physical state."

"Interesting way to divide life. I’ve never thought about it this way. Tell me more. Grandchildren, listen to your father carefully," Uncle said.

Rupesh and Bikhyati Rupakala exchanged glances. Bikhyati Rupakala looked at her father and said, "We’re listening. This is new and intriguing, father… and grandpa."

Encouraged by their curiosity, Bikhyatman continued:

"Until the age of nine, children are innocent and unaware. Those under four are fragile and defenseless—this is the seedling phase of life, where existence begins without understanding. Between ages five and nine, the mind sharpens, and this is the most capable period for learning languages and new concepts."

"Fascinating," Uncle mused.

"Up to nine years of age, the sexual glands do not develop, so a child’s focus remains on learning and play. But the following stages are different.

From 10 to 19 years, there are two sub-phases: 10 to 14, and 15 to 19. In these years, mental and physical growth accelerates rapidly. Similarly, there are the phases of: (20–29), (30–39), (40–49), (50–59), (60–69), (70–79), (80–89), and (90–100). Each of these decades has unique characteristics, divided further into five-year sub-phases. Life compels individuals to live according to these stages. Since both the mind and body evolve accordingly, a person does not remain constant throughout life. It is this variation that makes life beautiful."*

After saying this, he fell silent. Yet, his heart ached—Roopsee had not even lived through the fifth stage. He wondered, "How far will I live?"

"Just as water flows downward, the mind is naturally drawn toward peace, joy, and amusement. But my mind remains entangled in Roopsee’s memory—neither fully alive nor completely gone. Perhaps, for me, painful joy and painful peace reside only in remembrance..." he thought.

Chapter Three:

The Right Path is the Straight Path

1. Power of the Collective

Hiding sorrow within the heart, smiling through pain,
Every moment of life is a test—life itself is an endless trial.

"There is power in a collective force. The common people, the ordinary masses, remain weak and insignificant without a unified front. Do they even exist in the eyes of those in power? Those who reach positions of authority through collective backing forget about the ones left behind. They fight over the bones of corruption, gnawing at them like hungry dogs, turning into dogs themselves." Sitting alone, Bikhyatman pondered this bitter truth. He recalled a poem he had read titled "Bones."

People turn into dogs for a taste of corruption’s bone,
Once they sell themselves, selling the nation is easy,
The mindless who follow them become rabid dogs,
Where can you find humans? The world is turning into a kennel.

People turn into dogs for a taste of corruption’s bone.

Where are humans to be found? The present world, devoid of humanity, is lost in its obsession with corruption’s bone. Once one starts feasting on it—

The stage of the world becomes ours alone to dance upon;
Let us destroy others, march backward, and erase those who resist submission.

War-hungry rulers swim in pools of human blood, destroying peace, brotherhood, and humanity. The priceless resources of the world are wasted on warfare, increasing poverty while the helpless common people are crushed under the boots of tyrannical forces, stripped of the right to even think freely. The agents of superpowers impose dirty politics from the top down, suffocating the masses.

Bikhyatman wondered: How can this twisted politics be straightened? He saw himself as just another powerless, ordinary person, trapped like the rest. Until the common people rose, politics would never be fixed. For politics to be righteous, the people must first think righteously. But how can they think for themselves when they are trained not to? How can they be taught to think scientifically? How can they be freed from the illusions of deceitful politics?

Bikhyatman, his uncle, and Kazilal visited key places in the country. They met with some aware individuals and carefully listened to their insights.

Samden: "There is a drought of right thinking. People are incapable of thinking and, therefore, unwilling to try. Without proper thought, they remain blind to their own conditions and become empty-headed followers of corrupt politics. They do not even realize that they could be their own masters. As long as this ignorance persists, they will always be exploited, forever the playthings of others."

Mangma: "Mind and body. If the mind is thought, the body is action. If thought is the path, the body is the traveler. If the mind is led astray by deceptive politics, the body follows and is destroyed. Corrupt politics entangles the mind in illusions, making it a prisoner of false wisdom. Without the right thinking, the body is doomed. Unless people realize they are their own masters, they will always be slaves, toys in the hands of others. First, the mind must be set right. If people have the ability and opportunity to think freely, they will walk the right path."

Dhankeshar: "The so-called civilizations of history were built by a handful of cunning elites to protect their own interests. Their philosophies, literature, and ideologies have trapped the majority in a web of illusions, making them incapable of independent thought. Like moths drawn to flames, they perish in ignorance. As long as this oppressive system remains, the common people will always be servants and puppets, never tasting freedom."

Fatima—"Mind and body. A person can only be active when both are aligned. The mind provides thoughts, ideas, and direction. The body follows the mind’s lead. If the mind refuses, the body does not act. If the mind is a path, the body is the traveler. First, the mind must be strong. But right now, the common people are unable to think at all. As a result, they remain slaves to others' thoughts. The first step is to empower them to think for themselves. This requires providing them with basic education, knowledge, and meeting their fundamental needs."

Pemba—"The masses are divided by countless deceptive issues. Hatred is sown among them to prevent unity, while those in power indulge in their own games."

They listened to many perspectives. As they continued their journey, Byakhitman came across a book. A short story within it illuminated a path through the darkness. He read it aloud for others to hear.

Master of One’s Own Destiny

"We have become too dependent on others. Because our thinking is neither free nor scientific, we remain poor and oppressed."

"Then how can we break free?"

Rame and Dhane were discussing this while a small crowd gathered around them, listening intently. The very fact that they could have such a discussion was because of democracy. Democracy, in truth, had been meant for the poor and downtrodden. But how? Because democracy naturally allows for the creation of collective power among the oppressed.

"We must stop looking to others and unite among ourselves to build our strength."

"How do we do that?"

"By working together with those around us—cooperating in farming, marriages, education, skills, healthcare, funerals, festivals, and traditions. In everything, we must support one another."

"Even in politics?"

"Of course. Politics is the foundation of everything. We must start there. In the upcoming local elections, we will elect our own candidates who will serve our interests. But before that, we will strengthen our daily lives through cooperation. No more relying on the elites who grow from the top down. We will build our own future with our own hands."

"Yes, we must start immediately!"

And so, the poor and downtrodden in that region united. They became the masters of their own fate. Inspired by their success, neighboring villages followed suit. Soon, throughout the country, the people freed themselves from the grip of selfish elites, making the nation truly sovereign and prosperous.

Listening to this, everyone fell into deep thought.

***

During the COVID-19 crisis, when a neighboring country had provided free medical supplies, the corrupt government of the time failed to bring them in on time. Due to the government’s corruption even during such a critical period, Roopsee and many others lost their lives. Bikhyatman had shared this with his friends and siblings many times. He had spoken out at public anti-corruption campaigns, demanding action against those responsible.

Many ordinary people were joining the Anti-Corruption Movement, and its supporters were growing nationwide. Local people themselves organized events, inviting Bikhyatman as a speaker.

“Because of corruption, the country has lagged behind, and ordinary people suffer. Corruption will not end until the corrupt are punished. The actions against the corrupt should include social boycott, public exposure with evidence, and if they still don’t change, then physical punishment such as blackening their faces and, if necessary, lynching.”

The audience applauded. Bikhyatman raised his fist in response to the cheers.

As the movement gained momentum, Bikhyatman, Mama, Gopilal, Dhanwantari, Rajani, and Pemba became increasingly busy. Demonstrations, rallies, and various programs were spontaneously taking place in cities, towns, and villages.

During this time, corrupt ministers involved in the COVID-19 scandal were lynched. Humiliated, one of them committed suicide by jumping from his rooftop at night.

A political upheaval followed. Thousands of anti-corruption activists were arrested and jailed under the pretext of maintaining law and order. The government, along with the mafia elements within it, violently retaliated against the activists. Even government agencies were mobilized against them.

Master Suvarnaman, who had become a minister, warned Bikhyatman to stay safe.

Bikhyatman stopped going out alone and always had Mama accompany him. Many in the movement suggested forming a political party, but Bikhyatman opposed the idea, arguing that the current system of top-down politics must be dismantled first. However, he did not obstruct efforts to form a party through grassroots participation.

2.Demise

"Where is a hospice where one can die without suffering?
Where is an immortal life without death?"

Bikhyatman and Mama were shot in broad daylight on a busy street. Chaos erupted. The assassins, wearing masks, were three in number.

Mama, already lying in a pool of blood, was shot again in the chest. One of the assassins aimed at Bikhyatman.
“Don’t waste your bullet. Can’t you see he’s already dead? His body has even stopped bleeding,” another assassin said.

With that, they fled on a motorcycle with a concealed license plate.

The bodies were taken to the hospital for post-mortem. Mama was pronounced dead. Bikhyatman, however, due to a meditation technique he had learned in his youth, had entered a state of unconsciousness akin to death the moment he was shot.

In the hospital, he suddenly regained consciousness. He called for his son Rupeshbikhyat and daughter Bikhyati Rupakali.
“There is a red notebook in my drawer. Give it to Gopilal,” he said.

As soon as he spoke, blood began gushing from his wounds again. Seeing this, he once again fell into an unconscious state and stopped bleeding.

His children waited, hoping he would wake up again. But he never did.

***

3.The Right and Straight Path

"If only I could fly freely in a small sky,
If only I could walk endlessly without getting tired."

Rupeshbikhyat and Bikhyati Rupakali secretly handed over the red notebook to Gopilal. Gopilal read it with great attention.

“Since the dawn of human civilization, development has been progressing in the wrong direction. Only by correcting this course can the earth become peaceful, beautiful, and beneficial for all.”

Development has taken a wrong turn. Power is concentrated in the hands of a few, who, instead of working for the welfare of the world, adopt destructive strategies to maintain their dominance. Their race for supremacy fuels the invention and production of terrifyingly powerful weapons, while ordinary people suffer from hunger, disease, and deprivation.

Human history has been shaped by war. This history must be rewritten into one of peace. The belief that the world can be conquered through force is an illusion that leads humanity closer to destruction. Only by rejecting war-driven thinking and embracing the beautiful path of peace can humanity be saved from nuclear catastrophe. The world can only be preserved by replacing the animalistic instinct for destruction with the natural human tendency toward compassion.

If we abandon the path of war and choose unity, brotherhood, and peace, we can prevent the great annihilation that looms over us. The countless resources spent on arms production should instead be directed toward building a beautiful world. If this happens, everyone will be happy. The world will become a flourishing garden where food, shelter, clothing, education, and healthcare are accessible to all.

Currently, politics is a dirty game controlled by a few war-hungry elites. These elites do not see ordinary people as humans but as pawns in their wars—purchasable voters, expendable labor, disposable creatures.

But thought is power! Without thought, humans are no different from animals. To be human, one must think, understand, and act accordingly. A person without thought is like a blind man who cannot find his own path. A mindless body is just an empty shell, controlled by others like a servant. How can someone without intellect ever become the master of their own fate?

Today's politics is corrupt, controlled from the top down. A superpower dictates world politics by installing loyal, puppet governments. Instead of being ruled from above, politics should be by the people, for the people.

If ordinary people learn to think critically and recognize their collective strength, the world will naturally become peaceful, prosperous, and beautiful. Once they wake up, politics will no longer be dirty but will serve humanity’s true purpose—welfare, security, and a bright future for all.

Gopilal was deeply moved after reading the red notebook. He published its ideas in a simple book that the common people could understand. As they read it, their eyes were opened. They realized they could become masters of their own destiny. And so, they united.

4. Thought, Unity, and the Dawn of a New Era

As life is experienced, the more it is lived,
The essence of life becomes richer, savored sip by sip.

The common people, empowered by the unity of fellow common people, began ascending to local and national leadership. Corrupt elitist politics came to an end.
With the collective thought and support of the common people, a peaceful and golden era was ushered in.

5. Epilogue

Work is done not for the dead but for those who are alive and for future generations. Once the body ceases to exist, the mind does too. However, though Bikhyatman’s body is no more, his thoughts—written down when his mind and body were still one—continue to live on. Bikhyatman has passed away; what does he need now?
Yet, the way he taught people to think and the thoughts he left behind helped the common people cultivate the right mindset. They freed themselves from countless illusions and stopped chasing after the nonexistent. They began building an egalitarian and peaceful world. The hope for liberation from war started to take root.

With power and governance in the hands of the common people worldwide, a new hope emerged—that the world would finally move in the right direction, leading to happiness and prosperity for all. This transformation was credited to Rato Kapi(Red Copy), and thus, Bikhyatman was honored posthumously. To preserve his legacy and safeguard the world from the horrors of war, Rato Kapi was translated into various languages.

The common people across the world began to unite. They abandoned the wrong path and started walking the right one, supporting one another. The philosophy of Rato Kapi gave people the vision to understand and perceive life in a new way. With this newfound perspective, writers started creating literature inspired by Rato Kapi’s ideology. Journalists began analyzing events and reporting news based on its principles. Artists expressed its essence through novel and profound artworks. Movies crafted on its philosophy became highly popular among audiences.

Radio, television, newspapers, and social media platforms like YouTube, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Messenger, and TikTok started to resonate with the thoughts of Rato Kapi. As the common people embraced this ideology as a vision of their liberation, politics became pure, transparent, and beneficial to them. Global brotherhood and world peace were established. The unity of the common people removed war-mongers from positions of power and governance.

The lives of ordinary people became easier, vibrant, beautiful, golden, and blissful. They became the decision-makers of their own lives, taking control of their own destinies. And now, people across the world are becoming their own masters.

5 November 2022 , Satureday
Dharan

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