Either This All Ends or We Do | Nepalese Real Story

As waiting for the bus to arrive, I saw a boy moving his flimsy stick around the pile of trash in a gutter nearby. He looked away and yelled, “Aaija Maile Vettaye!” Another boy came running to him. They both picked up some rotten bananas and flashed a huge smile at each other. I felt I had an ethical duty to provide them something better so I handed the boys a scrunched note of 50 Rupees that I had in my back pocket.

I looked across the street, there was a shoemaker. Moving my eyes further from him on the first floor of a building saw a couple clearly arguing through the window. Pretending not to see that I looked around.

There was a boy sitting on the bus stop bench, calling someone with his iPhone 6s more like shouting on the other person on phone, “If you ever comment Chakka on my posts I swear I’m calling the police!” He realized I was just beside him so he lowered his voice and ended the call. I felt pity for him yet I ignored everything that was happening around me.

The bus arrived. I got inside and sat on the last seat. The bus stopped there for a while and I glanced across the street where the two boys were buying gum from the shoemaker with the scrunched 50 rupees. In worry, I looked at the building’s first floor. At that very moment, the man stabbed his wife.

She dropped on the floor as she screamed and the man closed the curtains in a hurry. I took a long breathe in grief and turned my head to the other side I saw the boy on the bus stop now being circled by some harassers. Our bus engine roared and threw fumes of filthy black smoke.

As it was just moving, out of panic the boy threw himself under the bus. The bus stopped and so did my heart. With teary eyes and a dry mouth, I leaned back on the seat.

I looked over the notification on my phone that just buzzed. It said, THE KATHMANDU POST- ‘New rape case in Bardiya, girl murdered and the rapist still anonymous.’ With tears rolling down my eyes I whispered to myself- “Either this all ends or we do.”

Writer: Kritika Bastola