“He has no etiquette; he has built an excessively conceited and self-absorbed personality; he always delays; he is so indifferent.” They went on cursing and backbiting on me one clam evening for the delay I had done in attending the birthday party of my 10-year-old niece at her home at Devkota Chowk, Biratnagar. When your foot is exposed to injury by a thorn prick, your entire focus centers on the thorn only until the problem is sorted out. I was like a thorn amidst my affectionate family members in the party hall. The celebration time was 8 pm but it was already 10 pm. And it was reasonable for them to grudge at me because I had never missed any functions of my family, and also because I had assured them that I was approaching there the soonest possible. The rejoicing mood of the party had been worsened by my absence. Yes, the latecomer - that was what they had named me for my habit of attending the family functions later most of the time.

When their several attempts to contact me, to trace my whereabouts had failed, my sweet family members went on talking about me spitefully while I was being hurled into the prison cell at Devkota Chowk, close to the house of my niece. Of course, I had set out for the birthday party of my niece at 7 pm intending to reach there half an hour earlier, and erase the tag, “the latecomer”. But I had to stop my bike on the way hearing a frantic cry of a woman coming from her house in my locality. I ignored it at first thinking that it might be my illusion because that was the house of Madan, the storekeeper of my office.

“Help me,” cried the panic-stricken woman again. Being convinced that there was a problem, I invaded the house and knew instantly that it was Bina, wife of Madan, who was shrieking for assistance. What astonished me was to find our boss, Chandan there in the bedroom of Bina and Madan. Bina’s shabby sari had been fetched down; and she had been standing on her petticoat and torn blouse, desperately attempting to cover her breasts with her palms. From the tear-streaked face and the hunted posture of Bina, I surmised it evidently that Madan was offering his wife to the boss for a night for his promotion.

Madan and I had been working in the same factory, Om Plastic Products Private Ltd., Biratnagar for five years. Madan had already obtained a promotion from the gatekeeper and was enthusiastic at the prospects of acquiring another promotion, while I had been serving in the same post as a junior accountant. There are some covetous husbands like Madan, coming from the hinterlands of eastern societies, who offer their soul mates, as if they were some delicious dishes, to clients for the tiny gains.

As I proceeded to protect Bina, Madan and my boss commanded me to get lost from there. When they began to push me out, I gave them massive blows, not bothering that my cell phone, gifted to me recently by my brother from the USA, had broken down in the combat. I had a sheer conviction that when humanity, the glory of women, and elegance of the nature are threatened, one needs to risk his life for preserving them. Soon the blood-stained boss and Madan complained the police, accused me, with their theatrical eloquence, of obstructing their private business. And the policemen, instantly influenced by the aristocrat boss’s fake story, arrested me and carried me into the prison by 11 pm, ignoring my appeal to allow me to inform about this incident to my family members.

There, my relatives, still gossiping about and backbiting on me - a trend generally seen in the middle-class families in the eastern societies - and, at the same time, despite being concerned at my uninformed absenteeism, ultimately cut the cake and celebrated the birthday of my beautiful niece at 12 am.

Here, from the prison-cell, I kept on persuading the authorities to prove my innocence, pleading them to release me. The very night they called Bina and heard her pathetic story and registered her FIR as a cognizable offense. Soon they released me and arrested her husband and the boss instead.

Bina announced her decision to get divorced from her domineering husband, who always took her nothing more than a commodity to be consumed by anyone as per his will. I could perceive Bina’s extension of gratefulness toward me as she said ‘Namaste’ while going out of the prison to her mother.

There, they were clapping and cheering at midnight - “Happy Birthday to you Apsara”.

Here, my boss yelled from the prison cell, “You are fired from the job.”

It was 1 am when I visited my niece, and wished her Happy Birthday.

‘Sorry, Apsara. I won’t be late next time.’

“You, latecomer. You just can’t improve your habit.” Her parents complained.

I looked at the sky and asked God to indulge me in more assignments of the identical kind so that I could always be late at the birthday/anniversary functions of my kith and kin.

By Bimal Kishore Shrivastwa

From: Nepal