The unnamed love

Published on: May 03 2016 by Administrator

unnamed love

It was a cold winter night and I could see nothing but dark sky through my window. I could feel my wet pillow, soaked from my tears, beneath my cheek when I turned away from the window to lie back down. I was forcing myself to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes his face would appear right in front of me and all I could do was cry.

It was last summer when I first met him. I still remember the day that turned my life in a new direction that I never expected. It was a Tuesday. As usual on Tuesdays, I got up early, took a quick shower, got dressed, and hurried my way to Ganesh Temple. I am not a very religious person, but I visit Ganesh Temple every Tuesday in habit. I was born into a family that has a strong faith in Hindu gods and goddesses, and as respect to our family culture I am obliged to follow all the traditions of my family.

“Excuse me, can you show me the way to this address?” asked a bold voice. I turned around to the sight of a person who in that moment, I had no idea would have a major impact on my life. He was holding a piece of paper in one of his hands, which was slightly stretched out towards me. I raised my eyes to meet a pair of beautiful blue eyes filled with curiosity and confusion gazing right back into mine. Wow, I thought to myself. He tried to smile at me, but was unable to fully produce a grin, maybe because of nervousness or maybe because of fear. Regardless, I certainly was moved and my consciousness faded away a little. I had never been so influenced by the sight of another person, and never believed in “love at first sight,” but what happened to me in that moment was undeniable. I was attracted to the stranger and the attraction was strong. I moved my hands to receive the piece of paper he was holding out to me. I unfolded the paper and saw the address written in bold letters. I was so familiar with the address because it was that of my own college. “Oh, it’s my college. I am heading the same way, and I can lead you there.” I replied so quickly without taking a second to breathe. “Oh! Thank god, such a relief,” he responded.

We started walking. It was about a 10-minute walk from Ganesh Temple to college. Still under the spell of his presence, I was unable to utter a word as we walked along. I stole glances at him periodically and noticed the same awkwardness revealed in his perfect face. I wanted to know why he was going to my college that day–is he a student, or is he a teacher? When I tried to ask him these questions, not a word escaped my mouth no matter how hard I tried. We arrived outside the college and finally he spoke, “Oh, I finally reached, thank you so much.” It seemed that he might have been here before, but was unable to remember the way. He walked straight through the gate towards the entrance with the confident stride of someone who knew the place.

I was sad and my heart ached a little when he did not turn back. I stood there watching him walk away from me. I tried to call out to him, but I did not know his name. I cursed myself for not asking him his name, his likes, dislikes and everything about him when I had chance to do so. Disappointed, I walked straight to my class and sat at my desk as usual. A few minutes later a voice asked, “Can I sit here?” and to my surprise, it was him.

I soon found out that he was from another country and did not know the local language. He was in Nepal as a refugee as his own country had abandoned him and his family. It was the beginning of our friendship. I was already attracted to him from our morning walk together. That attraction soon turned to love and grew stronger every day. Even though we did not share the common tongue, we shared tears and laughter, jokes and humor, stories and songs. We sang together, danced together, and dreamed together. We knew society would never accept us together, as love has terms and conditions that are strictly applied in our culture. We ignored the potential consequences and enjoyed every moment we got to spend with one another.

A month ago the incident happened. We were the subject of talk among the people around us. They knew that we were close—not just friends, but more. The rumors were flying around the college and slowly spread wider. It was nothing we cared about until my father found out about our relationship.

I tried to lock the door, but my father pushed it harder until it was wide open. He entered my room with the rage of a thousand stampeding rhinos. He grabbed me by my hair and pulled me out. I had no time to shout for help before his stout leather belt hit my chest, hands, legs and everywhere it could possibly reach. “If you meet him again, then you will find either me or both of you dead. I swear on god, I would do that,”  yelled my father. I cried. I cried louder than I have ever cried before. I was locked inside my room like I was in prison, only allowed outside when I needed to use the bathroom. I spent my days worrying about him, my lover, wondering how he was handling the situation, what my family might have done to him and his family. I tried to escape and run to find him, but all my attempts went in vain as every time I was caught I was hit hard by whatever my father could reach first—be it his belt, his slippers, or a metal rod. I had bruises all over my body, but my spirit was not broken. I knew I loved him and he loved me.

They say mothers are made with golden hearts and mine was no exception. After the sixth days of my imprisonment, my mother came running to meet me. “Your father is out to find your lover. I heard him speak over the phone. He is planning to do something bad to him. Leave now and find him before your father does.” I was terrified to death when my mother whispered these words to me, but was also happy to know at least one person supports my love. I hurried as quickly as possible. I turned around to hug my mother but she already was in tears and gestured for me to hurry. I ran towards his place. All the moments we spent together and what my father might do to him crowded my mind as I hastened my way to the place where he lived. I saw no traces of any violence when I reached outside his home, giving me a glimmer of hope. I ran straight to his room. As I climbed the stairs, I heard voices—I recognized the voice of my father, and the other voice I had never heard before. I slowed down my pace as I reached the last step.

I could see the love of my life lying in a pool of his blood with no sign of life. My father was holding a knife also covered in blood. Everything around me faded away. Thoughts of the time we spent together, the love we made, and the happiness we shared flashed through my head. When I opened my eyes I was in my own bed, unsure of how I had arrived there. I immediately began crying as I recalled my loss of the love that made me complete. A sense of lifelessness settled in. My father sat next to my bed laughing at his achievement. He threw a smile of satisfaction when he said, “What’s gone is gone. That was the crime you committed. Don’t worry, I will find a beautiful girl for you to marry. After all, male should be married with female, not with male.”


Nisha Dhungana

Class of 2017

Filed under: Fiction