Was Singha Durbar like a lion, what was our Singha Durbar a symbol of? Of tourism, culture, development, justice, art, literature, international relations? Of imports? Of exports? Of the past, of the future? The four gates of Singha Durbar – East, West, North, South. What was imported and exported through these four gates?

Four Vedas, four gates of the royal palace, four doors of Pashupatinath, four yugas, four castes, four seasons of the English calendar, four elements (earth, water, air and fire) and the remaining four senses of the body.

How many clothes did that Singha Durbar change? What did it wear? Did it wear a daura-suruwal and a dhakatopi or a dhoti?, a fariya-cholo? Was the one who wore daura-suruwal a patriot? Were those who wore the national flag around their necks patriots? Or were those who did not wear it traitors? What did it eat, what did it drink? In Satya Mohan Joshi's Karnali Bayan, what did it eat and drink? As the birds of the forest said.

How did it eat? Dr. In Sanjeev Uprati's 'Makaiko Arke Kheti', the character Krishnalal describes various ways to chew and swallow maize without making a sound. How many meetings, seminars, research and secret meetings must have been held on the way to eat maize? Was that historic Singha Durbar inside the big walls history or the past? Was it a legacy or the glory of the country, was it time or heritage?

Anyway, from the outside, it was the pride of a Nepali.

A play was being performed inside Singha Durbar. I have heard a lot about the unique plays here, the plays here have always overshadowed our plays, dragged our audience there and made our future dark, but I was never allowed to watch. Every time the house is full, I decided to go and watch it with a lot of resources, thinking that I would learn something.

Singha Durbar had become so obscured in Nepali politics that it was difficult to find it, on the one hand, the pollution of Kathmandu metropolis and the stench of Nepali politics and corruption had made everyone's nose (one sense) inactive, on the other hand, the walls of the walls had long ago been eaten by moths, like tall Chang files, taller than the towers of the law. It was dark in the daytime. But this darkness was different. It was a strange darkness.

In the Mahabharata war, Krishna blocked the sun against the Kaurava side against the rules of war to avenge the death of Abhimanyu and made day and night, little by little, like the Chinese train entering the tunnel near Kathmandu when it was going to India, darkness as if night had just begun, darkness as if it was trying to become light. Little by little, like a cataract, like a water drop. It was difficult to tell, but looking at the nature of the darkness, it seemed like a lunar eclipse.

I reached the south gate of the Singha Durbar, which is often visited, and waited for a long time, but it was closed, no one came to open it. Then I reached the north gate, which was also closed. All four gates of the Singha Durbar were closed. Fearing that the drama would be missed, I climbed the wall and jumped, but the wall jumped before me. When I got up, shaking my head and shaking my legs, I saw amazing scenes. Was this Singha Durbar always like this or did it happen only today?

In any case, the Singha Durbar was not quiet from the inside, it was like a crematorium.

The pyres of Aryaghat scattered here and there, some were burning with joy, some were making TikToks, some were live, sharing and subscribing, some were writing viral statuses with their hands that had already burned their bodies. 

Some bodies were waiting in line to be burned, some were on a fast unto death for their right to be burned, and some were angry that the living had not had their turn to burn the burnt dead for years. 

On one side, a mountain as big as Mount Everest was seen, I went closer and looked, Einstein wearing a white apron was taking something out of the mountain and looking, I went closer and asked . Einstein claimed that Chandrashamsher was a mountain of feces eaten and excreted by the people and that he was doing research on it . 

A little further away, a different scene was seen, the bodies of young people scattered here and there, some of the bodies were of children in school uniforms, they were frantically cleaning the blood on their books and copies, some of the smaller-looking bodies were wearing garlands and tikas and were cleaning the blood on their large passports. Some were calling the fire brigade to extinguish their passports even as their entire bodies were burning. Some of the bodies were collecting the scattered pages of the constitution. Some of the bodies looked like they had just come down from the airport, showing their passports in their hands and dragging their own coffins, all of them were seen in a hurry. A scene that my remaining four senses could not handle. I was momentarily lost. I was shocked, when I came to my senses, it had been 17 years. But when I woke up, I was lost and confused. In the meantime, a couple had made love and had a child, and the child was 17 years old.

I was afraid that I had missed the play, so I looked around. But I saw a big board that said, 'Art cannot stop a bullet from a gun, but it can stop the hand that is firing the gun from firing another bullet.' I thought this was the place to show the play.

But instead of a security guard at the gate, there was a robot. That robot did not detect me as a human. I said that I am a human, I also do plays, but I did not believe it, and the kind of play you do is not recognized. You can get infected, so I asked to show my vaccination card. I had never had it, I did but I lost it, but I did not believe it either. It became impossible to enter without getting vaccinated. Hardly anyone in world history has struggled so much to watch a play. The robot gave me a second option, asking me to answer four questions since those who were not vaccinated would be allowed to enter after passing the exam. The first question was, ‘Can you forget everything you have read so far?’ I tried to forget a lot but couldn’t. I could, and even lied that I had forgotten, but the robot detected it. The second question was, ‘Can you open your eyes and not see, or open your ears and not hear?’ I tried but couldn’t. I failed here too. The third question was, ‘Describe the country.’ This question was asked very easily, and I answered it with my eyes closed.

A ruin that has not been turned into a heritage site, a Singha Durbar with a rat-like face, a beautiful country made ugly by the dozer terror, a peaceful country of the restless whose politics is always turbulent. A country of skeletons whose bones are shaking in the air after selling their breath, consciousness and flesh abroad. My beautiful, peaceful, self-respecting, prosperous country... I was speaking fluently. He stopped me in the middle of his speech.

Immediately before he asked the fourth question, I described the country in a different way, the country of Ram, the country of Ram Shah, the country of Sita, the country cursed by Sati, the country of Buddha, the country of Buddhas, the country of diversity, the country of Yalambar, the country of Prithvi Narayan Shah, the country of Mount Everest, the country of water, the country of mines, the country of the apple of the eye of foreigners.

A country that trades in speeches. A country that sells that fear to the people by instilling fear in the society. My country that sells Buddhas and buys Buddhas. The only country in the world that has merchants and consumers who can keep buying the same thing for years under different names, by bringing ashes from the graves of different countries. The only country in the world that has merchants and consumers who can keep buying it. The country that is a business of empty principles, saying that journalism, art and literature should always be in opposition to the government. The wonderful country that has merchants more than consumers and politicians more than the people. The only wonderful and extraordinary country in the world that has proud, great, brave, and heroic people and leaders who can hide the money of foreigners in their mouths like a khanim, spitting on their own shoes, and raising their puffy lips and insulting those who give them the same money. The country where the conscious and experts are students and the illiterate and unconscious are the intellectuals and teachers of society.

My country, which no one in the world can buy and no one can sell, will be sold.

In our changing sociology and political journey, what have we not sold!

The people sold consciousness, politicians sold the people. Activists sold integrity, then society sold eyes, in the competition of selling and buying, it sold all four senses.

And oxygen sold trees, water sold mountains, mice sold the map of the country, dreams sold the sleep of the entire Nepali, unconsciousness sold education, religion sold fear, leaders sold the feet of the poor people who were torn apart, experts sold ignorance, peacocks sold all the feathers of their bodies. In this way, Nepal became prosperous. And in this prosperous Nepal, I sold you, you sold me.

With that, we sold the hope of humanity.

The robot has finally agreed to my words, listening attentively . This answer is found . But it is not . The battery is dead . Seizing this opportunity, I ran inside . 

Time has stopped now . This is the time when Hiranyakashipu was killed . This is neither yesterday, nor today, nor tomorrow . It is neither day nor night, it is neither virtue nor sin, neither sky nor earth, neither water nor fire . It is as if Kiran Manandhar has mixed Salvador Dali's paintings with Marquez's magical realism  and created a bizarre picture . 

A grand catwalk is currently taking place on the shiny ramp built on the remittance board . 

A large featherless peacock is walking naked on the catwalk, shaking its swollen belly, while the feathered ones stand in a chorus in the dark behind it. It has its own way, it is graceful. The only feather left on its body is pulling its tail and saying – I am the most beautiful bird in Nepal, don’t you know it? Am I a peacock!

The Singha Durbar, which has been burned twice and has been dilapidated from the inside, is walking on the catwalk, blowing smoke and clinking ashes and saying – I am history, I am heritage, I am a heritage, I built the country. I am the horse of those wounded by arrows. I am a witness, I am a seer. I am virtue, I am sin.

A rusty wind-blown man, wearing shoes made of cracked Terai soil, walks the catwalk and proudly says – I am a man from the richest country in the world in water resources. I didn’t recognize him, am I from Melamchi?!

Suddenly, the ongoing program was scattered, as mice shaped like Picasso’s Cubism paintings suddenly landed from the new fifth (east) gate by helicopter, and thousands of eagles emerged from the hole in the ground (sixth gate) and gave them security. It must be a great person to come so late in the middle of the program and sit so gracefully. Yes, he sat in the first seat. 17 dishes were placed in front of them, 53-year-old wine made during the Panchayat period was opened in 2 bottles on the table, and he started to savour the moment sitting in the pose of Leonardo da Vinci’s painting ‘The Last Supper’. And then they started singing in Besur. The chorus sitting in the dark behind them is carrying their tune. The catwalk continues.

On the last seat in the dark corner, some spectators are watching with their heads stretched out, including some poor people from Karnali, some Dalits from the Terai, some Nirmalas and some brave corpses who have recently returned from abroad are watching with their heads stretched out from their coffin boxes.

The mice climbed onto the stage of the remittance board and declared the naked peacock the best, the peacocks with feathers clapped from behind, the Singha Durbar was also invited to the stage to give the award, the huge Singha Durbar also stood erect and collapsed. It collapsed like Karna in the Mahabharata war. And the wheels of the chariot of Singha Durbar sank in the Bagmati River. The peacocks with feathers were stopped, the chorus singers stopped. Now I could see nothing even with my eyes open, I could hear nothing even with my ears open, I forgot everything I had read till now.