Direction Of The Lord Of Death Poem by Purushottam Dhakal

-By Purushottam Dhakal


The day would start
After I saw my mother
Offering argha, the holy water, as always
To the morning sun
As a witness to her Monday's fast.
But I never inquired her:
Mother, did you ever meet your God?
Did you ever ask for anything during the meeting?
It's a difficult question,
And I can't simply make a guess.
But my mother often spoke confidently
As if she converses with the God every day.
She passed on to me the divine consciousness
She received from the God;
Enlightened by that divine knowledge
Today I pronounce:
There is a mantra on how to live and face the sufferings
Time comes and goes
You only need to be patient to face it.
I do not remember the exact date or time
It might be the last half of the night that I slept hungry
It might be a black night when I was unable to sleep
Because the roof leaked due to the rain
Or it might be the day when my toddler-brother wept heavily
Because he did not get a new dress for Dashain
It is the story of that time.
My mother had told me once:
Son, do not sleep pointing your legs to the South
It is the direction of the Death.
Yamaraj, the lord of Death, will become angry.
A wise son is the one
That does not sleep with his head towards the North
Or his legs pointed to the South.
I was myself a child at that time
I asked my mother:
Where does Yamaraj live?
My mother replied:
He lives south to the place you were born.
And my tired eyes and teetering feet
Never looked or walked to the South
I could not get a sleep with my head towards the North
And this is how I learnt
To distinguish between the North and the South
Since then, nothing became difficult for me
My guru posed me challenges during different rituals
I was a son, a disciple, a master, a lover and a quester
Desperate, I went to the northern and the southern longitudes
Wherever I reached, I remembered my mother
I had hard times to trace the direction in those places
I cannot confidently tell where Yamaraj lived
I cannot tell whether I really met him in the South or the North
These days,
At my midlife
My eyes do not obscure
Nor do the soles ache
When I go to sleep
There is just a single image all around my birthplace
Before my little hut, there is the palace of Yamaraj (Lord of Death) .
The angry eyes gaze at me from that palace
Even though they terrify me
Let them not shadow by divine consciousness.
Yes, these days my mother has grown old
She has lost her hearing power and she does not understand our way
I cannot even meet her everyday
Anxiously, I call her over telephone from faraway land
She is not able to share with me the divine knowledge as she did before
Now is the time for the ghosts' luncheon
Yamaraj has taken control over all the directions now
Only my mother knew the arts, rituals and mantras
Of pacifying the Lord of Death.