Illusion

Haris Adhikari

Poet Haris Adhikari

'Myself as a kid? Ah!'

When I was

five or six, mother used to say
'Don’t you cry, kid, or else
I’ll call the mangne budo*...
and he’ll take you with him– stuffing in a huge sack!'

'He he…'

'Is that interesting?'

'Yes, and no.'

Well, I would gasp
and listen to her, trying to visualize the figure,
and then
grab her as tightly as I could, shrilling
with all my might!

When I was

of that age, grandmother used to say
'Don’t you put out the light and vex your mother,
you impish! Or else,
I’ll call the hauguji*
and he’ll swallow you alive!'

'Grandmother was

a real terror, you know!'

'Swallow you alive! Ha ha…'

'Yup!'

I then

would instantly light it again, fearing

his likely presence!
And closer to grandmother
I would go, and say
'Do not call him, grandmother,
do not call him. I'll be nice as you say. Okay?'

'Do not call him, you too, mom!'

'He he…! Yes, do not call him! He keeps on

dogging like a shadow!' 

When I was

seven or so, my older friends and siblings
used to say
'Do you know?! That oldie in that house
is said to be a witch! They say
she comes as a cat, and hides herself
under beds-- to attack her enemies at night! To take kids

off to her world

where she makes them eat

earthworms… with lemon or salt!'

'Really?! Is that really so?!' I would say, with eyes

wide open, and mouth agape, and often
would check around and under

before going to bed!

'You kidding?!'

'Not like you, I guess. You became a coil

when I brought you the paa (frog) for your medicine!'

'Yes! He did!'

'But any way, that checking part…

was awesome! I just can't picture

how you'd have reacted

had you seen… a cat!'    

'Oh, boy! Now you're killing me!'   

And, when I was

of that age, bigger ones around
used to say
'Don’t you be the tail of mother
and follow her to market,
you obstinate! There
the police will put you in the prison–
if they see small kids like you…
and what will you do?
You better stay back, boy!
Mother will bring you
lots of muraiko dalla* and mumphali*.
Be gentle, be gentle, boy!'

I'd listen to them, sobbing-- and thinking

of the sweets I'd get!
They'd remind me of
an ogre-like, sturdy looking police officer
who I'd seen once–
I'd have no answer, except for
reluctantly slackening my grip on her sari. And,
after a while, they'd say
'Well, silly! Mother won’t come back…
She left for mama ghar*… not for the market!
Now tell us
how will you live without mother, huh?!'

'Huh?!'

'Huh?!'

'Ha! Kids kidding?!'

'Now, they're not fooled. They fool us instead! Don't they?'

'Yes, they do; they try to! And who taught them!'

'Sure, we did!'

And upon hearing that, I would heavily
throw myself on the dust,
howling, and kicking the air
up with my feet, and afterward,
would hit them
with whatever I came by…

'Hilarious! And, unbelievable! But I guess

you were too naïve, uncle.'  

'I might be. I wasn't

as smarter as you kids are now! But I, too,

gradually grew

as adamant as you!

Do you believe in the stories of boogeyman? Any more?'  

'He… he!'   

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Mangne budo-- an old stranger usually in rags who goes around asking for alms
Hauguji-- a phantom figure
Muraiko dalla-- balls of sweetened puffed rice
Mumphali-- sweetned nuts and peanuts
Mama ghar-- maternal uncle’s house

HARIS ADHIKARI, a widely published Nepali poet and translator, is a lecturer of English literature and technical communication at Kathmandu University. He edits Misty Mountain Review, an online journal of short poetry. Adhikari has two books to his credit-- Flowing with a River (NWEN, 2012), a poetry collection, and Sangam (2018), an anthology of translated contemporary Nepali poetry. A collection of his latest English poetry is in press. Currently, he is working on his manuscript of Nepali poetry and some works of research on translation. His poems and works of translation have appeared in reputed journals and magazines at home and abroad, both in print and online. He can be reached at-- harisadhikari@gmail.com