Voices.

A Past

Nyaya stared out the window of the bus. Travelling had always been her calling, but she was too bound by responsibilities to ever take that final leap. She wasn't a gypsy, but she was intrigued by their way of life. Envy would've probably been the right word.

"Freedom. That's what I envy," Nyaya thought to herself. Mesmerized by the thought of backpacking all of Asia, she drank in the sights and sounds outside the bus. Nepal was beautiful. The lush green hills and fresh air outside the over-populated capital city of Kathmandu was a welcome distraction. As the bus flew, Nyaya realised her destination was near. She could see the massive Fewa lake. Lakeside, as it was known, was the most famous tourist spot in Pokhara.

"We're here!" shouted the students. Nyaya could feel their excitement, and she smiled. It wasn't long ago that she was singing and screaming and laughing, excited about her field trip as an undergrad student. "So young and free, are they not Sam?" she said out loud to her friend and colleague. Sam and Nyaya worked at Nepal University. For the weekend, they were chaperoning a bunch of over-excited sophomores for their field visit to the Old-Age home in Pokhara.

"Yeah Nya (Nyaya was a mouthful, according to Sam) – they are. But they are also going to be a pain. I can feel it already. Oii you! Patil! Stop that noise you call a song and round up everyone in front of the reception. We have plans to discuss!" roared Sam. As a lecturer, Sam was exceptional and expected nothing else from her students. So Pokhara or not, work always came first.

It was seven-thirty by the time Sam and Nyaya went out to dinner. The students were ecstatic for having been left to their own devices (although their curfew was at eleven). It was a cool summer evening – the unpredictable Pokhara rains had seen to that. Walking barefoot, Nyaya loved the feel of the ground beneath her feet. Unlike Kathmandu's roads, Pokhara was untouched by honking cars or motorbikes, and the roads were maintained. As Sam and Nyaya reached their destination, Nyaya heard someone call her name.

"Nyaya.... Hi!" panted someone from behind.

That voice. Nyaya could never forget that voice. That voice telling her to choose. That voice, telling her she wasn't good enough. That voice, convincing her that the only way to survive was to suffer... like his god had done. As she slowly turned around, she felt her heart pound in her chest. The world was playing a cruel joke on her once again. This couldn't be happening, she had locked away her past a long time ago. If that was the case, why did that voice frighten her so?

"Hello?" was all she could mutter. She stared with her eyes wide, like a deer trapped in headlights. On their own accord, her hands slowly made way to her mouth. Nyaya had not chewed her nails in ten years.