The Dream-Bridge
Mahesh Paudyal Everyone passing along that narrow hill trail saw the two brothers—one ten and the other eight, probably—playing on the bank of the Mugu Karnali, but few cared to stop and see what they were doing. We thought of taking a short rest there; we were extremely tired from walking uphill for around seventeen hours. So we sat, and took interest in the children’s game. It was Seri, a remote village in Karnali that had not seen the face of a vehicle, yet. A little further downhill, a broken cable that had, until recent times, formed the only means for the villagers to cross the river, hung downward, snapped into two parts, almost from the middle. It was no longer in use, and hence, people along the two banks of the river did not meet each other anymore. We stared at the children for a long time. They were offering leaves and flowers to Mugu Karnali. It was worship at their disposal; they were executing what they could. When they realised that we were near, they fle...