Kamala Sarup: A Great Woman For Nonviolence

Sharmila was the president of the Nepali Women Peace Society. Right now she is working with widows women in Nepal. Widows women are marginalized in Nepali communities. Her career as a peace worker began in 1991. Sharmila lost all of her belongings in the bombings of Nepal, she was basically cut loose emotionally.

In past, for many days I was anxious to write about Sharmila. She has her own dream, that is to say, not only for defining a dream, but also a dream that accepts the reality which provides some achievement. 'Every human being lives depending on some dream'. This was what written in a letter to her by me. At that time, in fact, she had certainly got an opportunity to think a little about her non-violence life. Now slowly her dream has transformed into want, dissatisfaction and conflict making her life a different journey.

Now even the idea of home bring fear in her. Therefore, in the morning when she goes out of her home every time she is discharged with the thought of her possible returning home in the evening. Although the place where her own parents and sister live, should be pleasant yet the people who don't understand her well, begin to connect all kinds of things at that time. She is mostly sad. Certainly, she remains in a way dissatisfied with herself.

From the moment I knew Sharmila, she has been quite serious. She is happier in being working. Perhaps she knows that I like her and therefore she might not have shown that much of interest to my story about her. It's true that I have seen her walking together with a child named Ramesh, who lives by our house. But there is no point in suspecting things just because I saw them walking together two or three times. In the neighborhood there is a big rumor regarding their relation. It could be a kind of weakness in me that I haven't been probably able to understand their relation. I do like this kind of relation between the two of them. Therefore, I don't attach a special importance to this kind of things.

"Alas! Isn't the translation of life into a journey, that's divided into different smaller parts?"

I was watching speechless, because of the cold wind blowing through the window, the pages I wrote began to get scattered. I try to collect them hurriedly. The street can be seen clearly through my window. People are seen walking incessantly suppressed under their own busy needs. Here is some want, poverty and joy and richness. It seems as if they are in their gradual journey and are spending their great amount of time in life. I gather together the pages and again try to resume writing the story without any pause there is a peace worker Sharmila.

If I am to say truly, I am not even now written anything except the background of her because of which I try to know the meaning of non-violence work from her. She is living a meaningful life. And she is running away in a successful attempt of seeing her beloved who have run away from her by cheating her recently. She knows that as with the crowds slowly a bad complex is being formed within her. Sharmila hadn't imagined that her beloved would run away like that. She whispered with every evening, that is, she worked nonviolence. She stared her work about unequal life and afflicting time. She worked on form the morning to evening.

In the meantime she entered the room. She had a make up all over her face and she appeared like an actress in a movie wearing a sari of new model. She came closer to me and said in as endearing tone, "Let's go today for a walk."

I was completely drowned in imagination which was spilled all over," I cannot spare my time to go out today. Look! Please let me complete my story. In front of me is a horrible form of the poet, his terrified voice and an incessant noise………"

She was angry and went to the window," You are always engrossed in poems, in stories! Why should you write so much? Is there nothing more important than wants, struggles and thought?"

I slowly look at her and smile, " You like to work too. Life is not easy as we think. Won't you give me a moment just to live?"

She began to speak more loudly, " Neither do you live easily nor you let others live easily.?"

" You haven't understood the meaning of friendship at all. The meaning of friendship is not to keep her tied up in shackles. Your stories and poems do not give me satisfaction."

I went on listening what she said about me. Oh! How is it that I find some kind of similarity between me and the character I have created in my story. Does it not show that in the process of the same journey is she going to get separated with me? If I am to tell truly I felt quite sad. I have friendship with her because we loved each other. In most sense, to love her and not to be able to share her happiness both are opposite things and maybe it's due to these oppositions that she might have been angry with me in this way.

She was shouting," You just go on writing stories all your life, just continue with your poems and nothing else. As for me, enough of it! I can no longer have friendship with you with all these wants and all this conflict everyday. To be frank, I feel insecure all the time when I am with you. Why? I don't know it myself. Perhaps I discovered it quite late that I made haste to get friend like you."

She went to the other side continually speaking. The evening was getting engulfed in darkness outside. People appeared at the street sparingly. My eyes were filled with tears exactly like those of the street people. I stopped. Just one thing she said continued to pinch me. " Now I can no longer be friendship with you. !"

I understand her, often she feels agitated with the answer less answer when she questions herself. At that time for her this kind of inner inquiry has become a daily job although she has some aspects of life of her own kind reflected always in the terrible present now on in solitude.

She feels pain in this way also that almost every member of her own home couldn't offer expected love to her. In fact, what she required most was love. Seeing the hatred, insult and the attitude of selfish individuals she sometimes wishes to commit suicide too. Yes, she really likes to commit suicide. All the members of the house and the relatives she has distantly known are entirely selfish. They are such that they do not even hesitate to create immense pain to her mind.

Alas! What a great shock to her great journey, what a great pity! At this time she is walking on the street. Why continue a life like this any more? She feels extremely disgusted with the life she is now living ." It's not easy to carry on with this life". She, who is living in a wearisome state of mind, has again felt an extreme disgust with life.

But what I had expressed after writing the story about Sharmila and had wanted to know her reaction of the story, everything turned out to be completely positive. At this moment, my mind is filled with conscience.

She said "Really, it is hard and dangerous in life to live with these war. It's the same lonely town, the same dirty street from where the same throng of people have no time for themselves to escape. Again, the line of demarcation of living has become unclear here. So, I am committed to do everything I can. I am committed to a better world. And I am committed to peace and non violence in the world. I am committed to fighting violence. I am really proud of being her friend.

Journalist and Story Writer Kamala Sarup is an editor of peacejournalism.com. She is specialising in in-depth reporting and writing on Peace, Anti War, Women, Terrorism, Democracy, and Development. Some of her publications are: Women's Empowerment (Booklet). Prevention of trafficking in women through media, Nepal (Book) Efforts to Prevent Trafficking in for Media Activism (Media research). Two Stories collections. Her interests include international conflict resolution, cross-cultural communication, philosophy, feminism, political, socio-economic and literature. Her current plans are to move on to humanitarian work in conflict areas in the near future. She also is experienced in organizational and community development.

© Scoop Media