I woke up to a tickling sensation at the back of my right hand. I knew it was just an insect, but I have this unusual fear of opening my eyes somewhere I don't remember. A loud thud and a sharp pain–that's the last thing I remembered.

What if I am in the middle of nowhere? I felt the ground; it was sloppy, grassy, and wet.

What if some snarling wild beasts have encircled me? I waited to hear any sound, none.

Then, I steadily opened my eyes to get welcomed by a pair of hawks flying in big spiralling circles upward and around the bright eastern sun. The blessed-blue sky was such a great three-dimensional stage to adorn with the manoeuvre. Suddenly, one bird plunged into a deep dive. Did anyone hit it? I was worried. No, it was his choice, I thought as I saw it start a steep climb again.

After a moment, the two birds grabbed each other with their talons and began their spiral descent to the earth.

I looked aside to my right hand. A beautiful white butterfly lay there. As I slowly rotated my hand in the clock's direction, it, too, moved from the back of my hand to my palm. I felt more in control of it now. Because it chose to stay and not fly away, I felt it loved me. It's mine, I thought. So, I pulled my palm closer. To my dismay, it opened its shimmering velvet iridescent wings and flew away. Oh, it is more beautiful, I thought as I watched it float in the air and disappear. I don't know why, but seeing it leave killed me, softly.

I stood up and looked around. It was a huge grassland. It would still take the gentle sun a while to evaporate all the accumulated dew. Sheep, goats, and yaks were grazing in the distance in separate groups, but the herdsmen were nowhere to be seen. I may get attacked by leeches, I thought, and I walked down the slope to reach the edge. There was a village below, and white smoke was coming out of the houses' chimneys. Am I hungry? No, I thought. I could see children playing with soil, leaves, and stones in their yards. Old men were dozing off on their chairs while their women prepared for prayers. Young girls were busy working with grains and vegetables, while the married women tended to water and fodder. They were all busy, but an unusual tinge of concern was visible in their actions, and they all looked as if they wanted to gossip.

Men and young boys were nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, my eyes caught a glimpse of a woman walking outside of her. I could see that she was crying as she started walking downhill.

"Mother!" I yelled from a distance. She could not hear me, so I swiftly climbed down the hillock and started following her.

I stood at the chautari and watched village men and boys gather at the bottom of a cliff. Two men walked past me. "The boy was in Vishmaji's house yesterday, asking for his daughter's hand. Nobody knows what happened next," I heard one of them say as they marched towards the scene.

I looked for my mother. She was still sobbing in the distance. A man approached her and comforted her with an embrace. He was my father. I wanted to run towards the scene and ask what the hell was going on, but I could not move. I experienced some strange force constraining me. I felt that someone invisible was deliberately trying to push me away. As I struggled for a step, I fell to the ground and turned unconscious.

I woke up to the sound of footsteps around me. As I opened my eyes, I saw people seated around the chautari. There was a corpse in the middle, and my parents were on the other side. I tried to stand up and move towards them, but I felt glued to the ground. I tried to speak, but I could produce no sound. I waved at my parents, but they did not acknowledge me.

My father stood up. An eerie silence ensued on the chautari.

"Call every old and distinguished man from the village. It is high time we stop this caste-based bullshit, or we will keep losing our young souls to this eternal sin," my father spoke.

Vishma Pratap replied repugnantly, "Why don't you untouchables leave this village and stop the possible breeding of sin?"

My father hung his head down. He held my mother's hand, and both stood up. "Okay, we will go away if that's how you wish to create your ideal society–by segregating people and pushing them away," father said as he approached the corpse.

As my father prepared to lift the corpse, someone yelled from a distance, "there is another dead body on the other side of the cliff, and it's a girl."

This instigated an absolute shock among the people gathered at the chautari. Only my parents looked nonchalant. Perhaps, the seemingly visible pain had destroyed their soul and frozen their mind, turning them into emotionless beings. Father carried the corpse, went straight to Vishma Pratap, and told him, "You know who my son loved, right? I hope you have arms strong enough to carry a dead child."

Father held the corpse tight and close, opened up the wrapped shawl, and kissed the blood-covered face. Vishma Pratap's eyes bulged in terror as the ghastly pallor of his sclera shimmered to surrender to a probable tragedy.

Then, my parents silently marched up the chautari alone, carrying their only lifeless child.

I had forgotten how I looked, but that face, the face my father kissed, I saw it, and I vividly remembered that it was exactly the one I saw in the mirror the other day.

Oh dear, I mumbled and lay down again. Then, there was a familiar tingling sensation in my right palm. I turned my head around and saw the same white butterfly. Its shimmering wings softly fluttered and then turned stationary. I slowly pulled my palm close to my chest— quite anxiously—but this time, the beautiful butterfly did not fly away.

I knew it loved me, I thought and closed my eyes once again.

Parajuli is a student of aerospace engineering at IOE, Pulchowk Campus.