When will father return?

By Chhabi Subedi "Vijayi"

Long ago, in a remote hilly region, there was a beautiful village. All the villagers were extremely poor. Dense forests surrounded the area. From the village, magnificent snow-capped mountains and lush green hills could be seen. However, there was neither drinking water nor electricity in the village. Life was very difficult for the poor farmers. Since there was no school in the village, children had to walk to another village for their education. There was no bridge across the Kali Gandaki River, so people had to cross it using a traditional ropeway.

In that village lived a woman named Pramila with her family. The crops from their fields were not enough to feed the family even for three months. She was pregnant for the third time. Three months after conceiving, her husband died. While carrying a sick villager across the ropeway to take him for medical treatment, he fell into the river and was swept away.

Time passed. Pramila had already given birth to two daughters, and although she was now nine months pregnant, she continued to work. Wherever she went, she took her two daughters with her because there was nobody else at home to look after them. She worked as a farm labourer for a wealthy farmer across the Kali Gandaki River. As her wages, she received one quintal of paddy during the harvest season.

The journey home involved steep uphill and downhill trails. Crossing the ropeway over the Kali Gandaki was itself dangerous. The government had neither the eyes to see the suffering of the people nor the ears to hear their cries. Living on the taxes paid by the people, it remained indifferent in darkness while the voices demanding justice grew louder every day.

One day, Pramila carried the sack of paddy on her back while leading her two daughters home. With great difficulty she crossed the ropeway, taking turns carrying the children and the sack. The steep trail made it impossible for the little girls to walk properly. Climbing uphill with both the heavy sack and the children was almost unbearable.

As she struggled uphill, blood slowly trickled down from somewhere on her body. Realizing her physical condition, she rested beneath a roadside tree. She placed her two daughters under the shade and leaned the sack of paddy against the tree.

Suddenly, labour pains gripped her. Seeing their mother crying in agony, both daughters also burst into tears. Then, right there beside the roadside rest place, on a rock soaked with blood, she gave birth to another beautiful baby girl.

The baby's first cries seemed to ask, in the innocent language of nature:

"Where have I come? ... Where have I come?"

The birds in the nearby forest sang mournful songs in their own language. Even the majestic Himalayas appeared to be covered with clouds, as though they too were grieving at Pramila's painful condition.

Travellers passing along the trail stopped in astonishment. Seeing the mother and her three children crying together, some became deeply emotional. One or two asked,

"Little girls, don't you have a father?"

Pramila replied,

"No. He passed away six months ago."

Hearing this, the eldest daughter wept and asked her mother,

"Mother... where is the heaven that Father has gone to? Is it very far away? Then when will Father come back home?”

Pramila had no answer. She looked at her daughters rather helplessly. Innocent daughters continuously looked at her mother hoping to get a reply.

WANT TO REPRODUCE THIS ARTICLE?

© 2026 READ 2B HAPPY. All rights reserved. All text and images published on this blog (read2bhappy.blogspot.com) are the intellectual property of the blog owner unless otherwise stated. You are welcome to reproduce content for non-commercial, informational, or educational purposes only, provided you give appropriate credit by clearly stating the author's name and including a link back to the original post on this blog. I would appreciate a courtesy email notification at writerlbthapa@gmail.com when you share my work.