Here the 'dream' we see is addressed as 'he'. The historical work of 'Oo' i.e. a dream came last month - History of drama in Karnali. Hey! That was a job that many people considered boring.

Nowadays, some propagandistic works are being done by government academies in theatre, folk drama writing, narrative and non-narrative. 

From bed to bed, from village to parliament, there is an era that belongs to virals. So what is the meaning of serious writing, thinking and art? Years of hard work and many people's participation will be wasted! Government academy work is easy. The party of one person took hold, the people started to believe in bad politics, the professor was beaten, the master's hand was patted and the intellectual fell.

and without knowing the stage, debated and countered on the stage. And, posting your cheap literature as a 'threat' on Facebook he insulted the 'intellectual', his nose and chest swelled at the same time. Just finished! 

While writing the history of the drama in Karnali, I had to turn again and look at the old moments of happiness and pain, successes and failures stored in my heart's memory - the struggle between dreams and reality, like an old buyer in a district administration office looking for a copy of the citizenship of a sixty-year-old man.

While flipping through the paper bins of Karnali Theater, the first thing I saw was a piece of a newspaper. The piece contained a photograph of a young Mughali youth standing outside a famous theater in the capital with many hopes and expectations for the construction of a theater in Mugu. The title of the article published on 4th of January 2064 in "Naya Patrika" was - Dream of a dance hall. 

Now he understands - in fact, the rare dream of building a theater in Karnali was born out of a sign of greed between one of Karnali's meditators, sages and a saint of the national theater.

How is the theater atmosphere in Karnali? Let's see its graph. Performance of dozens of stage plays, participation in dozens of national and international drama festivals, partnership with hundreds of NGOs, hundreds of internal rehearsals, hundreds of artists' movement, localization of dozens of international forms of drama, research and collection of hundreds of folk tales, other art mediums (painting, Kathyak dance, performance arts, photo stories, radio plays) and their popularity in Karnali. Combination on stage! 3,500 performances among 500,000 viewers from 500 remote villages of Karnali! After that, the dream of that theater born in Kathmandu is still stuck in the middle of building a theater even after sixteen years. 

In this decade and a half, there were many attempts to transform society through art in Karnali. Often dreams are contagious. From one person to another, from one place to another, from one generation to another and from one age to another. This dream is the lifeblood of the theater of Karnali, in whose bright breath the life of the theater of Karnali is living till today. 

In this progressive society, it is impossible to dream of taking a step forward. On the other hand, birthing and raising a dream is a more difficult task than birthing and raising a child itself. This is not meant to belittle any mother's struggle. However, it cannot be said that every mother gives birth to her child with love. There have been many incidents of ruthless mothers mixing their heart pieces in the gutters of the road and in the hollows of the forest in the name of saving their honor, religion and caste. Yes, he is also a dream from the apple of the eye of the dreamer. 'He' means dream.

Just like a guilt-ridden mother doesn't want to stay close to her child for the rest of her life, and the child grows up on his own, enduring many struggles and sufferings, he ends up on his own. Likewise, he has entered the capital of Karnali province by stumbling, fading, growing, disappearing, and swaying. He saw that many dream killers like him have entered the capital by climbing the ballot box, with doctor's degrees, with quintals of yarchas, with Sukila reports of NGOs, with shops of manpower to be sent abroad, with contract licenses and hauguzis named culture protectors. 

In the village, there are only the eyes of the people crying in memory of their husbands who have gone abroad, some viral people's representatives, sometimes waving flags, only children and old people who can't hear the hoarse sound of the dozer. A few years ago, when he was in Mugu, he felt that he should open the skulls of the planners of his struggling life, just as he shook the foundation of the rule of the rulers in the capital with the cube of the play called 'Karnali Dakhin Bagdo Ch'. 

Awakening people with the magic wand of drama in the provincial capital, he is now wandering alone in the fields of Surkhet, outside the restricted walls of schools and universities, outside the stadium of billions, outside the parliament building, outside the quarters of the ministers, to teach them to strike with sharp questions against caste and gender oppression. To get inside those restricted walls, one must be corrupt and broker or slave and servant. Is it natural to dream of resistance in a corrupt and feudal, organized world of slaves and servants? 

Before this, his common sense thought - at least in this strange city, he will not be cheated by scholars. Journalists will not rob. The doctor won't care. The artist will not wear wings. However, according to the sophisticated definition of knowledge, the opposite is true. He saw the gnawing teeth of those from whom he had hoped for help. They were sharp and scraggly beards that chewed the dreams of the weak on the strength of their generational exploitative character. 

Especially Surkhet, which was the primitive land of the Tharus, was given the name 'Birendranagar' by the Pahadiya, a white Hindu ruler in history, and from that day on, rejecting the black skin of the Tharus, made the Pradhan Panchas run by him the special owners of Birendranagar. Those Charichuchche and Izzat Buchche belonged to those sharp and murderous beards, which had already chewed the tribal dreams of the Tharus.

Today, the same murderers of those dreams were seen raising loud slogans of social justice and good governance in the capital. He saw his lazy wives chewing the sweets of the reserved seats, who were actually too lazy to chew the rice on the plate cooked by others. He saw that they were teaching the slogans of the imperial rule that had become clay in the university. 

He was not alive after all! More energy was added to his living brain. He felt the need to remove the hidden dream-chewing teeth of the killer of those dreams, to nullify the distance of caste and sexuality spread in the corner tendons of their wrinkled skulls, to remove the stench of bad culture emanating from their dry-expensive clothes. 

He hopes that this alien land will one day recognize the importance of its roots. The Dalits, who are forced to live their lives oppressed, oppressed and crushed by the history of the poor, tribals, workers, Kamalari, actual landless squatters, will use the magic wand of his stage.