November 11, 2019
New Thagu Restaurant, Ghan Pokhara, Second Tamuwan Hangate, northwestern Vendriothos*
"What would you like, baje?" The waitress asked as soon as the old man sat down.
"Nothing fancy, nani. Just one khana-set is enough." The old man said, taking heavy breaths with every word. "And twenty glasses of the best Marian you have."
"Got it." The waitress scribbled the notes. "Are you expecting friends?"
"Wish they could be here." The old man gave a sad reply.
The usually packed Thakali restaurant had few customers that night. Aside from the old man, the only other customers were a group of middle-aged businessmen discussing politics and two women in the corner. Half an hour later, the old man had finished the last grain of fried rice from his khana-set. But the drinks still remained untouched.
Then the old man made a strange request to the waitress. He wanted the remaining customers to join him. The businessmen were eager to talk politics and have more wine. The two women were a little hesitant at first but they too agreed to join the old man.
"And you too." The old man signaled for the waitress to have a seat and take a drink as well.
"Baje, I don't think it will be appropriate for me - "
"It will be on my name." The old man was defiant. After her manager told her that this man was okay, the waitress decided to sit next to this odd group.
"I am from the 1946 Generation. Every year, me and my friends used to gather at this restaurant and remember our fallen classmates. Last year, it was just Harka Bahadur and me. This year, it is just me."
The rest of the customers remained silent as they listened attentively. One of the businessmen asked the old man if it was really okay for them to drink the wine that had been ordered for the latter's dead friends. The old man simply nodded and replied that they all should have it to honor the fallen.
"What about the girls in your class?" One of the women asked after the old man mentioned that his entire class had been drafted for war when he was 16.
"They did their service as well. There were no exceptions for anyone. Most were taken by the air force while others were assigned the roles of snipers. You know most B-22 Southern Snakebird pilots were mainly women or girls." The old man then went on about how that particular plane had been severely outdated by the year 1946 and how being a Snakebird pilot was a suicide. Only one girl among his ten female classmates had managed to make it out alive through the great war.
"Her name was Daiyu. She was fortunate enough to have relatives in Domanania, who cared enough about her to take her in once the war was over. I have no idea whether she is still alive or not. I hope we can meet one last time if she is still breathing." The others gathered at the table either nodded or solemnly prayed.
Then the old man recounted stories of his actions in the northern front. By the time he and other boys in his class were all give guns and put in the same squad as reinforcements or cannon fodder for the notorious Nine Gyarong Gun, the Free Powers had already crossed the Central Canal and were advancing south every day. He remembered his first kill had been an Alteran volunteer in the Noronnican army who not much older than him. He had stopped counting after his third or fourth kill.
"We were lucky enough to not be in the reserves and not in the thick of the fighting. Among the boys, only Ram and Tenzin died during the war. After a year of being soldiers, we were taken as prisoners."
"Was it the Noronnicans or the Miklanians?"
"No. It was the Khumbuwanis." The old man's sentence made everyone go silent. This statement was relevant to the current affairs. "The Free Powers had told them they could be their own country. Nothing of that sort happened once the war ended. The Empire of Magarat was gone and there were 12 hangates in its place. But there was no Khumbuwan; just Khumbuwani territory under Hangate of Arun Valley. The worst enemy of the Magarati state is the Magarati people."
"That rascal Thebe Kulung Hang has lorded over Khumbuwan since 1995." One of the businessman raised his voice and almost everyone else seemed to agree. Earlier that day, Thebe Kulung Hang had declared independence for Khumbuwan. The terrorist group Khumbuwan Liberation Army was reportedly working alongside the local paramilitary Khumbuwan Defense Force, the Khumbuwan Volunteer Force and the Khumbuwani Reserves when they all jointly attacked the military base of the Majh Kirat Gun infantry battalion of the national army.
"He is basically a dictator. Independence, my ass! He just wants to be a hang who does not have to follow the commands of Jrm Hangma." Another man gave his strong opinion.
Then the discussion changed in an instant. They all vented their anger on the mad Hang of Khumbuwan. The old man just sighed as everyone started talking at the same time.
"I hope this Khumbuwani rebellion will end soon. This country is not ready for another war." The old man said as he emptied his glass.
*Vendriothos is the name of mainland Athara Magarat. The term was first used by ancient Roendavarian explorers and literally means "Land of Werebeasts".
If you want to know more about the hangates, click here.
