In June 1952, Mahakavi (Great Poet) Laxmi Prasad Devkota and I returned after walking around Tundikhel. Mahakavi always had an old bicycle with him. We pushed the bicycle and headed towards Bagbazar. We walked through the middle of the Bagbazar road. While talking, we reached Gurjudhara. At that time, the uphill to Dillibazar was called Gurjudhara. Here was a stone spout where everyone drank water.

A little above that, before reaching the gate of Padmakanya School, there was a hotel on the right side, which everyone understood when referred to as ‘Laptan ko Hotel.’ We also entered the hotel.

At that time, there was no one who did not enter and eat on credit here. In fact, Laptan’s Hotel was like a ‘club’ for intellectuals. You did not need to have money in your pocket to eat here. If you were a famous, well-known person, he would write your name in a copybook; otherwise, he would name you himself and write in his copybook—Gore Kaji, Agle Kaji, Pudke Kaji—whatever popped into his mind.

Forget about teachers and professors; candidates from honorable to prime minister would go there. Among those who go there: Minister, Prime Minister, Ambassador, Cultural Attache, Vice Chancellor, Honorable figures, player, gambler—I am the most ruined of all. In a place where such people gathered, newspapers were also essential, and Laptan’s Hotel fulfilled that need.

People also gathered here to look at the newspaper. A friend sitting next to us picked up a newspaper and asked Mahakavi Devkota, “How did you like the design of this?” Devkota asked Balkrishna Sama. Sama pushed the newspaper towards me and said, “You usually read articles related to art on the radio these days; let’s hear your analysis of this as well.” I simply answered, “I liked it.”

Sama said, “If you liked it, there must be a reason why you liked it; let’s hear that analysis!”

At that time, a magazine called ‘Janachetana’ was published by the then Kathmandu Municipality. On the top part of its cover page, Janachetana was written in the shape of an inverted crescent moon, and directly below it, in the center, a burning lamp was inscribed. The flame of the lamp spread all around, completely covering the place where Janachetana was written. I asked Sama, “Do I have to give the answer?”

I got the reply, “Yes, you must.”

Taking Sama’s permission, I gave a short answer, “Janachetana is on fire, a conflagration; that’s why I liked it.” Everyone burst into laughter after my answer. Sama became red-faced without saying anything. It turned out that Sama himself had made this design, a fact I only learned later. If I had known this beforehand, I would not have given that answer. Such talks and jokes kept happening there.

In a similar context, a Hindi magazine appeared before us. At that time, a Hindi monthly magazine named ‘Aajkal’ was published from Delhi. The magazine ‘Vishwadarshan’ was also incorporated and came jointly. The ‘Aajkal’ before us was the Poetry Issue of May 1953. Since this issue was published on Rabindranath Tagore’s birth anniversary, an attractive picture of Rabindranath was also given on the cover page. Therefore, it was natural for everyone’s attention to go to it.

While turning the pages, a large-lettered headline, ‘Nepali Mahakavi Devkota,’ was seen in the Vishwadarshan section, and below that, the author was written as Rahul Sankrityayan. Everyone’s eyes turned there with curiosity. Devkota became more interested in this and continued reading the article.

The article was as follows:

In January 1953, I went to Nepal for the fifth time. That day, when a kind-hearted poet used the word ‘Bideshi pratithi’ (foreign guest) while welcoming me at a gathering of Nepali poets and litterateurs, a pin suddenly pricked my heart. Nepal is an independent country; it has its own independent national identity, so politically, I do not consider it a province of India under India. However, there are many other things because of which I cannot consider it foreign. The blessed son of that same Himachal is our Pant, whose other supreme son is Mahakavi Laxmi Prasad Devkota. How can it be that I call Pant our own and Devkota foreign? On this trip, the discovery of Devkota was a new invention for me.

The Aadikavi (First Poet) of Nepali literature, Bhanubhakta, was born in 1814 and died in 1866. The beginning of Nepali poetry-literature thus happened in the mid-19th century. The journey of four centuries that Hindi poetry had to pass through from the 16th century to the mid-20th century, Nepali poetry had to complete in one century. However, due to this speed, it should not be considered immature. Mahakavi Devkota is one proof of this, in whom we not only find the full form of our Hindi Pant-Prasad-Nirala, but on one side, if we see the poet of ‘Priyapravas,’ ‘Hariaudh,’ in a developed form, then on the other side we find another Mahakavi as well, who has not yet been born in Hindi.

Devkota is the great poet behind Munamadan and Kunjini in the simple and fluent language of the people.

On one side, in his poetry, we see—

Time of beautiful evening golden.

In the temple of love, the forest of leaves.

Taking the water sound Lalitansuka.

Down fell towards the earth Menaka.

– Shaakuntal 3.26

Or,

Today let me become a traveler of past ages, let me remember that India.

Let me awaken the sleeping sentiments of before, let me put a curtain here.

Let me forget this noise, this life of the deceased’s name.

May the gathering of noble people sustain, sweet is the Vrindavan of this sensual person.

– Shaakuntal .9

Where in this place we see his poetry laden with Sanskrit, there, in the poet’s own dear poem Munamadan, in the rural song Jhyaure, we find a language that is so simple, gentle, and juicy:

‘Do not look towards the earth Muna ! I also come,

Taking tears in my eyes, I come to meet a token,

The diamond of love that has fallen below, I will come taking it,

How did the thread eat the body of the lotus, Sister?

How did it become heartless and eat the body of the lotus?

Where can I find, and place that Muna on my chest?

Give me their ashes, let me place them on my chest!

O my mother! O my Muna! I will not stay here!

I will not stay here anymore mother! I will not stay here!’

‘O my brother! That Muna of yours has not died,

Taking the form of light, she went to the spring garden,

The birds of heaven sing her sweet anniversary/praise.’

‘The curtain covered, the curtain blocked, O sister! me!

I will not cry! Having gone, tomorrow I will meet them!

O God, lift the curtain quickly! Blessed art thou!’

–  Munamadan

Valmiki was the great poet of the Karun Ras (pathos/sorrowful sentiment). Seeing the Ajvilap of ‘Raghuvansh,’ Kalidas can be considered the poet of the Karun Ras; in the same way, Devkota is also primarily the great poet of the Karun Ras. We do not know about the personal lives of other ancient related poets; therefore, we cannot say how much their lives affected their poetry, but Devkota’s life has been a life of sorrow and struggle since childhood. In adulthood, he has lost three sons one after the other; in such a situation, if someone writes about him—that even with a heart torn by sorrow, he tries to bring a forced line of laughter to his face—then there is no surprise.

‘After a terrible tragic incident happened on any day of his past life, a pain was born in him, which kept increasing as his age kept increasing.’ ‘Any person, seeing him for the first time, can easily understand that he is agitated and heartbroken by some accumulated pain. Cigarettes are his constant companion, emotion/feeling is his constant companion, and pain/suffering is like a boon of life for him.”

In this way, Mahakavi Devkota continued reading the lines of the article written about him by Mahapandit Rahul Sankrityayan and stopped suddenly at one place. It was written there like this:

“Devkota is all three of the Nepali Pant-Prasad-Nirala; there is no exaggeration in this. Some other qualities of Nirala are also present in him, although not in the same quantity. The mention of taking Nirala to Ranchi arose many times, but when the family members, considering Devkota insane, asked him to go to Ranchi, he did not object at all and even stayed in the asylum of Ranchi for some days.”

Durvasa Devkota

After reading this line, Devkota became so angry that he turned into Agnisharma (a person burning with rage), or what should I say, Durvasa (a famously short-tempered sage). His cheeks puffed up and became red. His eyes looked as if blood were about to drip. When Devkota became angry, he would start trembling, which I had seen once or twice. He turned towards me and started pointing his finger at me and said, “You are the other fool who gave this fool wrong information.”

No matter how much I pleaded and requested, it was no use.

He came out of the hotel. The key to the bicycle was with me—I opened the lock. He pushed me and took the bicycle. He rode the bicycle and went ahead, and after 10 steps, I also ran after him, saying, “Uncle-Uncle.”

Seeing me run, he got off the bicycle again. We reached the peepal tree at Maitidevi. He would always urge me to go to my house after reaching there, but today, without doing so, he walked slowly towards his house. I took out the bicycle key and put it in his pocket, yet he said nothing. And I went towards my lodging. That day felt very depressing to me. I saw the same dream even at night. In any difficult situation, sleep is a medicine. I am at the feet of the Goddess of Sleep.

Composition of ‘Pagal’ and personal interjection

I was just about to wash my face and hands in the morning when a man came to me and said, “Sailo Mama (second youngest maternal uncle) has called you. You are to go there to eat right now.”

The one who sent this message was the same Mahakavi Devkota. I laughed to myself, ‘He got angry for nothing. Without understanding the matter. What wrong information had I given about him? He himself had said he went to Ranchi, and I have even seen the whole file.’

I thought to myself, ‘He is indeed a lunatic. What kind of scene will he create today?’

It was a 10-minute walk from my apartment to his house, and I reached there somehow. When I arrived, he was organizing many sheets of paper. After I greeted him, he offered me a seat next to him with great respect and honor. The Durvasa of yesterday was the idol of compassion today.

I apologized for yesterday’s incident. He replied, “No, nephew, I should be the one to apologize. Why are you coming forward? That’s why I troubled you so early in the morning, to read you a poem.”

The name of the poem made me more curious, and I said, “Please read the poem, uncle. What have you written?”

He pointed to the papers he was gathering and said, “I wrote it just last night.”

I was even more curious to hear the poem. The title of the poem was Pagal (Mad/Insane).

After hearing the whole poem, I was speechless. Huh, in one place he had said, “Your Mahapandit Rahul is my fool. When I said, “Why name any person? Saying Mahapandit is enough, uncle,” he agreed to remove the three letters ‘Rahul’ from the poem.

After this, I bowed even more before him and still do today. Even today, when I read this poem, those days come back vividly. Devkota bid farewell to this world on September 14, 1959, but his poem Pagal will remain alive as long as Nepali literature exists.

This poem was first published in the bi-monthly magazine Pragati from mid-June to mid-September, 1953, Year 1, Issue 3. Which is as follows:

Pagal

1. Certainly friend! I am mad! Such is my condition!
2. I see the word, I hear the scene, I taste the scent

I touch the things thinner than the sky …

Those things whose existence the world does not accept,

Whose shape the world does not know

I see the stone as a flower

When those soft-shaped smooth with water on the water’s edge,

In the moonlight, the

Sorceress of heaven laughing towards me, spreading leaves, smelling,

rising up,

Waking up, changing, softening, thickening,

shining, they arise-

Like a silent madman- like a flower of the same kind

Salvia lanata Roxb flower!

I speak with them, just as they speak with me.

One language! friend! which is not written, not printed, not spoken,

not understood, not heard, …

The moonlit Ganga bank, waves come their language,

Friend waves, waves!

Certainly friend! I am mad! Such is my condition!

3. You are clever, eloquent! (a+b) your class

a2+ab+b

is always running,

in my mathematics, when one is taken away from one,

one remains,

you work with five senses, I with the sixth

you have brains friend! my heart

you cannot see the rose except as a rose

I find her Helen and Padmini.

you are strong prose,

(I) am fluid verse,

you freeze when I melt,

you clear when I cloud

and exactly the opposite of that! your world is solid-

mine steam,

yours thick, mine thin!

you consider stone an object, solid

hardness is your reality I try to hold the dream,

just like you that cool sweet letter-cut

round truth of the millstone,

mine has the speed of a thorn friend! yours of gold and diamond.

you call the mountain dumb I call it eloquent,

certainly! friend one nerve of mine is slow,

such is my condition!

4. When the world saw me sitting and warming myself by the white, primary

heat of the stars in the cold of Maagh (mid-January to mid-February),

they called me eccentric!

When they saw me staring blankly for seven days returning from Bhashmeshwar,

they called me possessed by a ghost,

When they saw a speck of 45 years of frost

fall on one hair of yours and I

cried for forty days, they called me distraught,

When they saw me dance after hearing the first cuckoo of spring,

they called me madman,

A lonely new moon made me

despair and I jumped with the pain of destruction,

the fools kept me contained in shackles at that time.

One day I had started singing a song with the storm,

the elders sent me to Ranchi.

One day I was lying down thinking myself dead,

a friend 1 pinched me and said

‘Hey crazy! why your flesh has not died yet’

I have called the wine of the Nawab blood-

I have called the prostitute a corpse,

I have called the king poor, I have scolded Sikandar,

I have criticized the Mahatma,

I have raised the negligible person up to the seventh sky on the bridge of praise

your Mahapandit 2 my fool, your heaven my

hell,

your gold my iron,

friend! your religion, my sin!

where you consider yourself clever,

there I see you as completely dumb,

your progress my decline friend!

such is the reversal of exchange

friend! your world my child!

certainly friend! I am completely moon-struck! moon-struck!

such is my condition!

5. I see the blind as the leader of the world!

I see the cave ascetic as a fugitive,

I see those who have climbed the stage of falsehood as black performers,

I see the fake successful, I see the saint failed,

I see progress as regression,

either I will be torn apart, or I will be madman!

Friend! I am madman!

6. Look at the tasteless tongue of shameless leadership- the dance of the prostitute!

Look at the broken spine of public rights!

Look at the shattered glass of today sold in the name of diamonds!

when the black falsehood of the sparrow-headed print

challenges my hero of conscience with false lies,

then my cheeks become red friend!

my cheeks red like burning bullets!

when the innocent world drinks black poison-

with both ears in front of my eyes calling it elixir,

then my hairs stand up friend!

my hairs teased like the serpent-hair of the neck

when I see the tiger intending to eat the deer friend!

then even in my chewed bones the terrifying power of Dadhici’s soul

tries to enter and speak,

friend!

like the day lightning struck from heaven,

when human does not consider human a human friend!

then both my thirty-two teeth and jawbones rattle,

like Bhimsen’s tooth,

and,

with the sudden turning of the red red balls of my enraged mad eyes,

with a double glance I look at this human-world of inhumanity

like a flame of fire, friend!

my mechanisms jump-

turmoil, turmoil-

my breath becomes a storm-

my face becomes distorted-

it burns in my mind friend!

like a submarine fire- like a submarine fire-

I become mad like the fire that consumes the forest,

madman friend!

as if to swallow the whole huge universe raw!

certainly friend! I am a beautiful partridge,

one who smashes ugliness- gentle cruel-

bird, stealer of heavenly fire-

son of storm, savior of the mad volcano,

protector of terrifying personality!

certainly friend! I am a cranky mind! cranky!

such is my condition!

1. Poet Kedar Man Vyathit had pinched Devkota and said, ‘You are not dead.’
2. ‘Rahul’ was removed from here—Author

End of Context

This incident did not only make Nepali literature immortal; the pre-story of Pagal also made Hindi literature immortal, according to Mahapandit Rahul. Therefore, it would not be an exaggeration to say that both sides have a contribution in this.

An excerpt taken from Sharma’s work Mahakavi Devkota Ek Byaktitwa Dui Rachana (1975).