“Stones will be pelted today,” I resolved.
Several friends arrived at my house. They were infuriated after the police charged batons at demonstrators at Gongabu the day before. I shared their sentiment. [break]
I had participated in demonstrations at Gongabu chowk every single day since the movement started on April 6. I had just completed the twelfth grade from Samakhushi´s Aashirbad College and had ample time to spare.
“Let me put my shoes on,” I said.
“Put them on when you come back for lunch,” my friends said with urgency.
I was wearing jeans. I put on a black t-shirt, slipped my feet into a pair of slippers and ran.
---
10 a.m.We gathered near Gongabu chowk. About 50-60 demonstrators had reached there before us, defying the curfew. Friends who had been hit by the police with batons the day before had taken off their t-shirts and were directing their backs towards the police, teasingly.
There were army personnel posted at a police post across the chowk. Police were preventing us from advancing towards the chowk.
We sloganeered for an hour from where we were.
---
11:30 a.m.
I received repeated calls from home to get back for lunch. I returned home. I also needed to put my shoes on.
---
1:15 p.m.
I was back in the crowd near Gongabu chowk. Some 150 people were there.
We torched an effigy of Kamal Thapa.
The police were still successful in preventing us from advancing. But who could stop us from entering the alleys? With some friends, I entered an alley.
Gaiju dai (I forgot his full name) of the CPN-UML was with us. “Police baton charge will not be tolerated today. They will be retaliated with sticks,” he said. “If they can hit us, why can´t we?”
This emboldened us.
Gaiju dai himself arranged for sticks.
---
2:30 p.m.
We would try to advance towards Gongabu chowk, and then run into an alley. This happened several times.
We had a kind of tacit understanding with the army. We would not gather at the chowk, but were free to do as we liked in the alleys. The army personnel not only abided by this understanding, but even indicated to us which alleys were empty and which were teeming with the police. We would take the cues and advance toward empty alleys.
This hide-and-seek with police continued for nearly an hour.
---
3:00 p.m.
We were tired of strolling through the alleys.
Our group returned to the same spot near Gongabu chowk. We then tried to push through the police cordon to march towards the chowk. But the police pushed us back. Eventually, the police came up with a proposition, “You remain peaceful. We won´t do anything.”
We agreed.
---
4:30 p.m.
All of us were crouching down on the road.
The sloganeering had not stopped. In front of us were the police. There was no pushing back and forth. The demonstration continued very peacefully. It was what the police had proposed, and what we had also wanted. In between the sloganeering, we even exchanged some light moments with the police.
I was sitting on the front row. Someone hurled a stone from behind.
The agreement with the police was violated! The police attacked us. There was a stampede.
It dawned that I had been noticed by the police as I had been participating in the protests every day. All of them charged at me. I think there were 10 to 12 of them. I didn´t have enough time to flee. Police boot and batons rained on my head.
I quickly scanned my options. If I ran towards the alley, they would probably kill me and throw away my body. No one would know what happened to me.
Running towards the chowk offered a better chance of survival.
I lifted my head with my arms, got up with difficulty, and ran towards the chowk.
The green, blue and yellow colors of jackets worn by photojournalists and rights workers flickered before my eyes.
It was probably a senior police officer who said, “Why are all of you charging at one person?” He blocked the police constables and ordered, “Let him go.”
I looked around. Lenses of photojournalists were panned on me.
I realized that I had already reached the chowk. Both my hands were completely covered by blood trickling down from my head.
---
5:00 p.m.
In those days, there were many ambulances plying on the streets to ferry injured demonstrators. One ambulance arrived at the chowk. The police put me in it.
I hadn´t lost consciousness. But my sight was not clear. I took off the black t-shirt that I was wearing and pressed my head with it. My head was bleeding so profusely that the t-shirt was soon fully soaked with blood.
It seemed that had I not pressed my head with the t-shirt, my head would come apart.
---
5:30 p.m.
I was in the emergency ward of Teaching Hospital. Three doctors surrounded me putting stitches on my head.
There were three injuries. I received nine stitches on my forehead, three on my pate, and five on my left temple.
The doctors conducted an X-ray and said, “There are no internal injuries. No need for CT scan. You have lost a lot of blood. Take rest.”
---
9:00 p.m.
I returned home in an ambulance operated by the Nagarik Kalyan Sanstha. Being bed-ridden made it impossible for me to join the demonstrations. The first time I came on to the streets after the injuries was on April 24, to celebrate the success of the people.
Even on that day, family members had asked me not to go out. But I couldn´t keep myself from going out. After all, I suffered three injuries to my head for bringing democracy.
---
A prick by a needle is painful. But I didn´t feel any pain after receiving the head injuries. When the first baton landed on my head, I felt dizzy. But after that, there was no sensation.
My experience is that when blood starts following, it grabs one´s entire attention. There is not even a hint of pain.
I realized much later -- after I reached home -- that I had been beaten up brutally. There were bruises all over my body.
Blood makes one forget everything.
---
The next day, the newspapers carried my pictures. Whatever pain I had been feeling after returning home vanished. Political leaders might forget, but people won´t! I think the future generations will also respect me after seeing those pictures. They will say, “So he was also one of those injured during the people´s movement of 2006.”
For this reason, I have filed all the newspapers that carried my pictures, apart from the medical report, X-ray report and an appreciation letter given me by Nepali Congress.
After receiving a call from you on Sunday, I recalled those days.
I felt glad. This (recognition) suffices! I didn´t participate in the demonstrations to get anything.
---
I am running the Jugal Nepal Tours and Travels at Gongabu. I provide air ticketing and tour packaging services. Business is good. I couldn´t study beyond the twelfth grade.
I am involved in politics too, but only slightly. I am the treasurer of the Gongabu unit of Tarun Dal. I have no plans to devote my life to politics. But I have political convictions.
I got married a year ago. It was arranged marriage. After the marriage was finalized, she told me, “Is it you in those newspapers?”
She sometimes takes out the file from the cupboard and looks at those pictures. She shows them to me.
This leaves twinkles in my eyes.
(Based on a conversation with Sudip Shrestha)
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