Since he heard that “Man has reached the moon”,
our Thuley has left home.

With a chest like Kanchenjunga,
eyes like rhododendrons,
and an ambition like a rocket ―
where has he gone now?
We have no news at all.

Some say ―
massaging the soles of mountaineers
perhaps he is pontificating on
dignity ― somewhere around Solukhumbu.
Some say ―
smuggling bullock carts across the border
perhaps he is reciting the
definition of the “clever Gorkhali” ― around Bahadurgunj.
I have searched for him everywhere
but have heard nothing!

The other day,
a man
carrying a sack of salt
fell into the Saptakoshi.
Thankfully, it wasn’t Thuley.
Another man
died in the deserts of the Gulf.
Thankfully, it wasn’t Thuley.
A man of similar build
was shot in a curfew.
Thankfully, it wasn’t Thuley.

Some say ―
he must be bickering ― with the state
in the courts.
Some say ―
he must be bribing ― the bureaucracy
at the airport.
Some say ―
he must be accepting a welcome ― into the government
in Singhadurbar

With a chest like Kanchenjunga,
eyes like rhododendrons,
and an ambition like a rocket ―
the man who left to bring down by a peg or two
the men who had reached the moon ―
perhaps he is scouring pots in your homes?
Please do let us know.
We are very worried.

From the 8th Volume of La.Lit: Translations from the Margins.

Translated by Prawin Adhikari.