This is a story of a ninety-one-year-old who went missing on the Ghatasthapana, the first day of Dashain. It was any other morning outing for him, except that on that day he had walked out in his matching kameez suruwal, a half sweater and topi, his attire at home, without changing. That day he had left without even having his morning tea, and that was unusual. For the record: He walks for about an hour and a half every day, on his own, despite his poor eyesight and hearing problems, and it is not his habit to tell anyone where he might be headed.
He is probably fit because his walk is brisk. He is not on regular medication, unlike most of us. In his late 70s he covered the whole Ring Road in two days. He walked Baghdol-Nakhu junction to Narayan Gopal chowk via Chabahil on the first day and travelled westward via Kalanki to the same spot the next day.
One morning three years ago he went out at ten in the morning after having his meal and dressing himself up. He came back at about six, and didn’t bother to explain where he had been. But this Ghatasthapana, he went too far. The anxiety started setting in with each passing hour. We set out to search for him in nearby spots. As it was Tuesday I went to the Hanuman ji shrine at the Bagmati ghat looking for him; he went there on Tuesdays sometimes. But to no avail.
The futility of the search started to become apparent. Where would one look for him in the vast city? But undeterred, his grown up grandchildren looked for him everywhere: Chovar, Pashupati, Guheyswari, Budhanilakantha and Bagalamukhi, to name just a few places. At around three in the afternoon we decided to file a missing person report. The police found it hard to believe the missing person was capable of walking on his own and that he never carried a walking stick! It was indeed difficult to guess his age, given his healthy appearance. Those who were looking for him were doing so based on their own perception of a “ninety-one” year old.
Leaving no stones unturned, we visited some major hospitals too. A policeman at the Teaching Hospital made it clear that police, on its own, would not go looking for a missing man; all they could do was verify if some information came their way. He frankly told us that the search job primarily belonged to the missing person’s family. The night came and went, and there was still no news. Relatives and friends were informed the next day and we haired a well-known ad agency for media notification.
In the course of our predicament we learnt that a woman, of a well-respected family, had gone missing for two full days before she was found, alive and kicking, near Dharhara on the third day. She apparently had dementia. Another woman from Banepa had arrived at the Teaching Hospital, having lost her way and was promptly sent back to her family. Such news raised our ebbing hopes to an extent.
We were still fretting about where we could find him when at around two in the afternoon, without any warning, our hero coolly alighted, smiling, from a taxi in the same condition he had left 29 hours ago! The sombre mood instantly gave way to euphoria. Still smiling, he chided us for being so impatient! But in spite of repeated queries about his whereabouts, he avoided answering any of our queries. He promised to tell it all in time, and even write about it.
But he inadvertently let slip something about “missing” a bus. We inferred that the bus in question was scheduled to return from either Manakamana or Palanchowk, most probably the former. But strangely he had brought back no prasad. It was perhaps his intention to return the same day, but had inadvertently missed his bus. My mother, five years his junior at 86, had remained rock steady and composed for the first twenty four hours but thereafter she had broken down, losing all hopes. The absentee could at least have shown some sensitivity about the state of his wife, but strangely, that seems not to have been a matter of his concern.
Mathematics has always been his first love, and he has had all the time in the world to pursue it in a manner of his choosing. He was never burdened with mundane family affair and worldly worries after retiring in 1984. Instead, he buried himself under Laxmi Prasad Devkota’s works, and worked out their beautiful pictorial representations, particularly in his Ganita-2. Ganita, a term the Ghatasthapana absentee coined, is short for ganit-n-kabita (mathematics and poetry), published with the intention of softening the ‘hard image’ of mathematics. Not many are comfortable at his efforts to conjoin the “incompatible”. Undeterred, the lone warrior continues on his path. As for us, this Dashai ended happil—save for the little inconvenience at the start.
harjyal@yahoo.com
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