Story
Story 90
A boy was looking outside.
His mother came back from her grass collecting in a mountain a while ago, and now she is preparing lunch for her boy.
"Your mother is hardworking," I said.
"Yes," the boy answered shyly.
"Do you like your village?" I asked.
"Yes," he again smiled shyly.
"Who are you talking to?" the mother asked her boy from the kitchen.
"A stranger!" the boy replied to his mother loudly.
"Come, your food is ready soon," the mother said.
"Okay!" the boy went inside, but soon he came back and said.
"Uncle, do you like my village?"
"Of course!" I winked at him.
The boy shyly waved and went.
(photo & story by Tengyo Kura, Panauti)
Story 89
Outside the village square, there were two women having a rest there.
"Good wind, isn't it?" One of them greeted us.
"Yes, it is. But there was no wind blowing in the square," I said.
"Oh, sure. In the square wind never blows," she replied.
"We who grew up in this village know that we should not bother wind resting in the square," she continued.
"Wind get some rest in the square, and it continues its journey after while?" I asked.
"Yes, wind goes after while," she answered.
"Where is the destination of wind?" I asked.
"We don't know. I have never heard of the destination of wind. I even don't know where my destination is," she laughed.
"Do you know your destination?" she asked.
"No, I don't," I answered.
Mild wind passed us.
I realized again that I have no destination since I always leave it to wind.
(photo & story by Tengyo Kura, Panauti)
Story 88
My Nepalese friend and I came to the village square.
Wind comfortably blew before we entered the square, but it calmed down inside the square.
"So this is the place?" I asked my Nepalese friend.
"Yes, this is where wind rests," he nodded.
"Wind calms down here completely. I have never been such place where wind becomes so peaceful," he continued.
There was a woman sitting at the square.
When I saw her she gently smiled at me.
"Do you think she can be the one who can listen to wind's stories?" I asked my Nepalese friend.
"Maybe, you can ask," he said.
We went to her and I asked.
"Excuse me, can I ask you something?"
She was quietly looking at me with the gentle smile.
"We heard that there are some people who can listen to wind's stories at where wind take a rest on its way," I continued.
"Are you able to listen to wind's stories?"
She was still quiet and looking at my face.
I thought that she did not understand what I meant, or she might not be able to hear.
My Nepalese friend tried to make her understand, but she did not respond.
"That's okay, we should not bother her," I told my friend.
When we were leaving we heard something from her.
She was mumbling, we could not hear well.
We sat down next to her and carefully listened.
"Do you want to know wind's stories?"
We now heard clearly what she said.
"Yes, we would love to listen to some stories of wind," I replied with excitement.
"Wind tells me many stories, even now," she said with her calm voice.
"Look at this dog. It's a story of wind," she pointed at a dog lying in front of us.
My Nepalese friend and I looked at each other's face.
"Look at the bird, that's a story of wind," she pointed at a bird on the ground.
"Look at yourselves. You are a story of wind," she smiled at us gently.
"What are those stories?" my Nepalese friend asked her.
She was mumbling something again.
We were all ears.
"Wind does not tell stories in words. It brings us everything, like this dog, that bird, and you. What stories are told by that? It's you yourself must find," she calmly said and closed her eyes.
My friend and I again looked at each other's face, but not in confusion this time.
"Thank you very much for your teaching us," we thanked to her and left the square.
As getting far from the square it got more windy.
(photo & story by Tengyo Kura, Panauti)
Story 87
After playing together at the temple, some children followed me going to the village square.
Just outside the temple gate, we saw a crown sitting on the roof of an old house.
The silhouette of the crow and the room made a vivid contrast in white clouds and the blue sky background.
"That crow is waiting for wind which brings it tomorrow," the oldest child said.
"Tomorrow!" the rest of the children followed.
"Is that so?" I asked.
"Wind brings us good things and bad things. In this village everything comes with wind. We just need to wait. That's what my grandmother said," she replied.
"So wind brings us tomorrow," I said and the children nodded joyfully.
(photo & story by Tengyo Kura, Panauti)
Story 86
At a historical temple of the village, children were running and playing.
Wind blew nicely as if it were blessing the children.
"Is this the place you mentioned before where wind takes a rest?"
I asked my Nepalese friend.
"No, it's not the village square here. It's deeper in the village," he replied.
"Here children learn how to play with wind," he continued.
Cheerful voices of the children running like wind soared high above the sky.
(photo & story by Tengyo Kura, Panauti)
Story 85
I met a friendly couple on an alley in the village.
"Excuse me, can I ask you a question?" I said.
"Sure," the husband said.
"How long have you been together?" I asked.
They looked at each other and smiled a bit shyly.
"Well, more than 100 years," the husband said.
I thought that he was joking.
"So, you two are like 120 years old now?" I said.
They looked at each other again and laughed.
"We have been together from previous lives if my memory is correct," the husband joyfully replied.
(photo & story by Tengyo Kura, Panauti)
Story 84
"Can you see my goat?"
The man asked me.
"My goats are all black like this," he smiled.
"Why do you only have black goats?" I asked him.
"Look at this woman. Vibrant clothes, right?" he smoked happily.
"Women are wearing colorful clothes like her in Nepal. I make women stand out while keeping my goats only in black," he said and joyfully smiled.
"To be honest, black is my favorite color," he smiled again.
(photo & story by Tengyo Kura, Panauti)
Story 83
Inside the old pagoda there was a Hindu ceremony being held, the locals and people from neighbor villages were gathering.
There was one quiet man with a well-proportioned face painting Hindu gods near the entrance of the room.
He seemed a sincere follower of Hindu.
I greeted him when I entered the room, he just nodded with a serious look.
The room was filled with the smell of cannabis, there were some men tripped there.
The visitors were waiting for their turn, the Hindu guru was blessing them by giving a flower-lei and marking on their forehead.
One elder couple told me that they left their village early in the morning to receive the blessings by the guru today.
The guru seemed gentle and friendly.
He welcomed me and blessed me like other followers of his.
After the blessing ceremony, the guru joyfully announced.
"It's party time!"
Musicians with traditional instruments started playing Hindu music, men who got high on cannabis began to dance.
I myself joined dancing, too.
We were all laughing and dancing hard.
The guru picked up an instrument and played together with other musicians.
"If you wanna hear word of truth, dance! Dance till you forget yourself! Dance is word of truth spoken by your body!" the guru sang loudly.
The party reached its climax.
Then the guru said something to the quiet man painting near the entrance of the room.
Seeing the guru's gesture I understood that he invited the painting man to the party.
I was curious how the serious man would respond.
The sincere follower man stood up and stepped sideways fast as the wind by holding his unfinished painting.
It was his unique way of dancing.
He stepped all the way to the end of the room and stepped back to where he started dancing, then bowed and went.
Even though he kept his serious look while he was dancing, I saw his joyful expression in him and it made me happy.
And I also felt ties between the guru and his followers.
I would say that it was like friendship more than a relationship between a superior and an inferior.
The guru looked happy too.
Actually everybody looked happy there.
Maybe because of the strong smell of cannabis.
(photo & story by Tengyo Kura, Panauti)
Story 82
The beautiful village is located beside a beautiful river where a big Hindu festival is held.
I didn't know anything about the village, but I felt something special about the village when my friends and I passed it by car.
Next morning I went back to the village with my friends.
That day a local Hindu festival was happening, many visitors were participating in the festival to meet a famous guru from the Himalayas.
Villagers were friendly and glad to welcome us.
"Well, this is the village wind likes," one of my Nepalese friends said.
"What do you mean?" I asked him.
"In Nepal there are some villages loved by wind. In those villages wind stays there for a while on its way."
"What happens when wind stays at a village? A twister or a gust occurs there?" wondering how he knew that the village was loved by wind, I asked him again.
"No, no. Wind goes to a square located in the center of the village and rest there for a few days."
"Wow, I have never heard of that kind of story. How do you know if this village is loved by wind?" I looked at an old pagoda after a village gate.
"By movement of wind, my friend. Wind is flowing into this village now. Can you feel it?" putting his hand up in the air he said.
"Hmm," I tried to feel the wind with my hand.
"In the old generations there were people who could listen to wind's stories while wind took a rest in a village square," my friend walked to the village gate.
"Yesterday you said to us that you felt something special about this village. You've got a good intuition," turning around he smiled at me.
"Maybe there will be someone who can still listen to wind's stories here," he continued.
"I hope so," following his back I said.
(photo & story by Tengyo Kura, Panauti)
Story 81
A mother monkey was breastfeeding her baby while she was taking shelter from the gentle afternoon rain at a small graveyard.
I was also taking shelter from the rain next to them.
We were the only guests under the eave of a small pagoda.
We heard nothing but the rainfall in the graveyard.
The baby monkey fell asleep while drinking milk.
The mother monkey groomed her baby.
The sun was coming back.
"Where are you going now?"
I asked the mother monkey.
Without answering to my question she was looking up in the sky.
Our quiet afternoon encounter.
(photo & story by Tengyo Kura, Unknown Location)