The Agony of War (Satis Shroff)

THE AGONY OF WAR (Satis Shroff)

Once upon a time there was a seventeen year old boy

Who lived in the Polish city of Danzig.

He was ordered to join the Waffen-SS,

Hitler’s elite division.

Oh, what an honour for a seventeen year old,

Almost a privilege to join the Waffen-SS.

The boy said,

 “Wir wurden von früh bis spät

Geschliffen und sollten

Zur Sau gemacht werden.”

A Russian grenade shrapnel brought his role

In the war to an abrupt end.

That was on April 20, 1945.

In the same evening,

He was brought to Meissen,

Where he came to know about his Vaterland’s defeat.

The war was lost long ago.

He realised how an ordinary soldier

Became helpless after being used as a tool in the war,

Following orders that didn’t demand heroism

In the brutal reality of war.

It was a streak of luck,

And his inability to ride a bicycle,

That saved his skin

At the Russian-held village of Niederlausitz.

His comrades rode the bicycle,

And he was obliged to give them fire-support

With a maschine-gun.

His seven comrades and the officer

Were slain by the Russians.

The only survivor was a boy

Of seventeen.

He abandoned his light maschine-gun,

And left the house of the bicycle-seller,

Through the backyard garden

With its creaky gate.

What were the chances in the days of the Third Reich

For a 17 year old boy named Günter Grass

To understand the world?

The BBC was a feindliche radio,

And Goebbels’ propaganda maschinery

Was in full swing.

There was no time to reflect in those days.

Fürcht und Elend im Dritten Reich,

Wrote Bertold Brecht later.

Why did he wait till he was almost eighty?

Why did he torment his soul all these years?

Why didn’t he tell the bitter truth,

About his tragi-comical role in the war

With the Waffen-SS?

He was a Hitlerjunge,

A young Nazi.

Faithful till the end.

A boy who was seduced

By the Waffen-SS.

His excuse:

„Ich habe mich verführen lassen.“

The reality of the war brought

Endless death and suffering.

He felt the fear in his bones,

His eyes were opened at last.

Günter Grass is a figure,

You think you know well.

Yet he’s aloof

And you hardly know him,

This literary titan.

He breathes literature

And political engagement.

In his new book:

Beim Häuten der Zwiebeln

He confides he has lived from page to page,

And from book to book.

Is he a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?

Doctor Faustus and Mephistopheles,

In the same breast?

Grass belongs to us,

For he has spent the time with us.

It was his personal weakness

Not to tell earlier.

He’s a playwright, director and actor

Of his own creativeness,

And tells his own tale.

His characters Oskar and Mahlke weren’t holy Joes.

It was his way of indirectly showing

What went inside him.

Ach, his true confession took time.

It was like peeling an onion with tears,

One layer after the other.

Better late than never.

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Copyright © 2009, Satis Shroff. You may republish this article online provided you keep the byline, the author's note, and the active hyperlinks.

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The Chance to Change (Satis Shroff)

THE CHANCE TO CHANGE (Satis Shroff)

“Education is the best thing in the world for Nepal’s children, be they Gurkhas, Sherpas or Madeshis. And what Nepal needs most in this crucial transitional period is peace, co-operation between the different ethnic groups, a craving to mend ways, build bridges between its cultures, connect and find common goals.”Satis Shroff

Mr. Swaroop Chamling, who is a Rai and ex-Gurkha settled in UK, is gathering signatures for a Gurkha petition on www.Darjeeling Forum (google or yahoo search will do) and I find it interesting that the Gurkhas, civilians and military, are getting organised to fight for their rights at last, after years of discrimination, hiring and firing, and low-pay on the part of the Ministry of Defence (MoD) in Britain. What I found interesting was the inference of a Gurkha reader on www.Gurkhas.com that it was Bahuns and Chettris all the way in Nepalese history and even today, whether in the opposition or in the ruling parties. The same sort of infighting that you see in Delhi between the Punjabis, Bengalis and other Indian ethnic groups is to be seen in Catmandu’s ministries. It’s always Newars versus Bahuns and Chettris, with the rest of the ethnic groups as onlookers. If you want to make a career in Catmandu you have to learn the local lingo, which is a language with monosyllables---Nepal Bhasa. 

It is a fact that there are only bahuns and chettris of the higher caste on both sides: among the maoists and political parties in Nepal. The reason why bahuns and chettris dominate the political, economic and other landscapes in Nepal is that they have been privileged through Hinduism,  its raja-praja set-up and caste-system, with its purity and pollution implications that have swept and divided the families in Nepal and the Nepalese diaspora for centuries (as in India even today), and I think that Dor Bahadur Bista has illustrated this amply in his writings, and was cursed wrongly by critics in Catmandu and elsewhere as a 'Nestbeschmutzer.'

One can combat this discrepancy by uniting to create a new, ethnic-friendly Nepal by decree of law, and by observing the new democratic developments in Nepal as a chance to change the old, federal structures and bringing in a secular state, like our big neighbour India. India did, what Nepal is in the process of doing, by introducing Privvy Purse for the Royals fifty years ago. The king has been sacked and the Narayanhiti Palace now a museum, just like the Hanuman Dhoka palace which can be viewed by Nepalese and tourists alike, and should act as an incentive for young Nepali school-kids to preserve the democratic rights of the country, lest it fall in the wrong hands, and not let history repeat itself.

The Nepalese society finds itself in a period of transition and has yet to decide which form of government is suitable and practicable for the society. Naming the former anchals or zones as cantons alone won’t make a Switzerland out of Nepal, but the will of the people to live under a governmental form based on public opinion and votes might bring this Himalayan country closer to the wishes of its people.

I remember the first page of The Rising Nepal bore the latin words: vox populi, vox dei. That was a time when a king and reincarnation of Vishnu ruled the land. The king had to sadly realise that the voice of the people was not the voice of God. And the voice of the king was certainly not the voice of the people. It was perhaps the voice of the ghost-writer. And thereby hangs a tale.

Education is the best thing in the world for Nepal’s children, be they Gurkha, Sherpa or Madeshi.  And what Nepal needs most in this crucial transitional period is peace, co-operation between the different ethnic groups, to mend ways, build bridges between its cultures, connect and find common goals.

But there’s the beginning of democracy in Nepal now, and the tribes and castes that were neglected in the past should get their rights by creating a federal form of government, like in German or in Switzerland, whereby the country has to be formed administratively as federal, local government with the power to carry out trade and commerce with neighbouring countries or states. Only then will there be a freedom of trade and commerce in all geographical and ethnic sectors.

The way it has been in the past: Kathmandu was Nepal. It was too centralised, the King lived in Kathmandu, the parliament was, and still is, in Kathmandu. Even for small things one had to have Kathmandu’s blessings. I hope the new governments will see to this matter and think of Nepal holistically, and not like in the past. I say government, because the political situation hasn’t shown much stability in the past for observers abroad.

Nevertheless, there is hope, and this torch of hope will be carried by the children and youth of Nepal. Whether we are Gurungs, Tamangs, Chettris, Bahuns, Bhujels, Kirats or Madhesis we have to unite and make Nepal a land that we can be proud of through our own endeavours. To borrow a line from JFK ‘ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.’ After all, we are a republican democracy, aren’t we?

The comity of nations would only be too willing to see a politically and economically stable Nepal and render assistance as in the past, before the war between the government troops and the maoists began.

So let us unite above the communal feelings and ideologies, and think in terms of Nepal as a nation, and not in terms of the opposite of democracy, namely anarchy. Let the children of Nepal from the plains and the hills have the same educational opportunities and work under human conditions. Let us show the world that we have a word for negotiation in our language, and that we also have the ability of carrying out a dialogue in the parliamentary sense of the word.

Peace, trust, faith, character, integrity, tolerance, dignity are qualities that cannot be attained by nurturing communal feelings and ethnic hatred. It is only through peaceful means, trust, honesty, cooperation and coordination that the long arduous task called development can be attained and the people can attain mental, physical and social wellness in the tedious march towards progress. To this end, we have to decide to change. Revolution is change, and the young men and women who were fired by their imagination during the decade long krieg have to do so in a constructive way, or else Nepal will forever remain ‘a yam between two rocks’ and a perpetual member of the least developed countries, in every sense of the word.

Change or perish should be the battle-cry of democracy loving Nepalese.

 Yes we can, if we want it strong enough.

About the Author:

 Satis Shroff teaches Creative Writing at the University of Freiburg and the VHS Freiburg, and is the published author of four books on www.Lulu.com/satisle : Im Schatten des Himalaya (book of poems in German), Through Nepalese Eyes (travelogue), Katmandu, Katmandu (poetry and prose anthology by Nepalese authors, edited by Satis Shroff). His lyrical works have been published in literary poetry sites: Slow Trains, International Zeitschrift, World Poetry Society (WPS), New Writing North, Muses Review, The Megaphone, Pen Himalaya, Interpoetry. Satis Shroff is a member of “Writers of Peace,” poets, essayists, novelists (PEN), World Poetry Society (WPS) and The Asian Writer. He also writes on ecological, ethno-medical, culture-ethnological themes. He has studied Zoology and Botany  in Nepal, Medicine and Social Sciences in Germany and Creative Writing in Freiburg and the United Kingdom. He describes himself as a mediator between western and eastern cultures and sees his future as a writer and poet. Since literature is one of the most important means of cross-cultural learning, he is dedicated to promoting and creating awareness for Creative Writing and transcultural togetherness in his writings, and in preserving an attitude of Miteinander in this world.

He lectures in Basle (Switzerland) and in Germany at the Akademie für medizinische Berufe (University Klinikum Freiburg) and the Zentrum für Schlüsselqualifikationen (Lehrbeauftragter für Creative Writing, Albert Ludwigs Universität Freiburg). Satis Shroff was awarded the German Academic Exchange Prize and the Culture Prize of Green City Freiburg for his social engagement for the refugees and asylum-seekers.

THE GHOST WRITER (Satis Shroff)

THE GHOST WRITER (Satis Shroff)

When I close my eyes,

I see everything in its place

In Nepal.

I see the highest building in Kathmandu,

What looms higher than the Dharara,

Swayambhu, Taleju and Pashupati?

The former King’s Narayanhiti palace,

Built by an architect,

From across the Black Waters.

Therein lived Vishnu,

Whom many Hindus still call:

The unconquerable preserver.

The conqueror of Nepal?

No, that was his ancestor

Prithvi Narayan Shah,

A king of Gorkha.

Vishnu is the preserver of the world,

With qualities of mercy and goodness.

Vishnu is all-pervading and self-existent,

Visited Nepal’s remote districts

In a helicopter with his consort

And militia.

He inaugurated buildings

Factories and events.

Vishnu dissolved the parliament too,

For the sake of his kingdom,

As I was told to write.

His subjects and worshippers were,

Of late,

Divided.

Alas, Ravana and his demons

Have besieged his land.

The king was obliged to go,

And with him I lost my life-job

As a ghost-writer.

I cannot remember

How many articles, speeches, decrees,

Proclamations I penned

In His Majesty’s Service.

Who would have thought

That I’d have to look

For another job?

Towards the end,

My boss not only lost his shirt,

But also his land,

And blamed me,

His sincere ghost-writer,

For my bad verses and prose.

He barked in a tirade:

“You are to blame for the misery

In my country.”

I, who had praised him,

Written admirable speeches,

Full of love, pathos and empathy

For his poor subjects,

Was now a mere scapegoat.

I, who had written

Soothing lines for the unruly masses,

Who were in revolt,

After centuries of feudal hierarchy,

Mismanagement,

Bad governance,

Corruption and nepotism.

I, who had sought a voice

To pacify the lynch mobs

In the streets of Catmandu,

Biratnagar, Dolpo

And Janakpur.

That was the unkindest cut of all.

The royal newspapers and the paid-press

Were blooming with news

Of development in Nepal.

But the people knew better.

They were waiting.

The dam of development

Had been broken,

A word play on ‘development.’

When the royal dam collapsed in Pokhara,

The people had a big laugh.

The king’s dying father said:

‘When I die,

My country should live.’

On still moments,

I hear the refrain:

Ma marey pani,

Mero desh,

Bachi rahos.

Nepal is now a republic

With cantons instead of zones,

We even have a fish-tailed mountain

That looks like Zermatt.

We have tourism too,

But where are the bankers,

The executives and firms?

We have an Aid Industry,

Cashing in dollars

From foreign governments

And NGOs.

Nepal exports carpets,

Human labourers

For the emirates,

Sherpas for the climbers

And Gurkhas for the Brits

And flesh for the Upper and Lower Grant Roads.

When I open my eyes,

I see Vishnu still slumbering

On his bed of Sesha,

The serpent

In the pools of Budanilkantha

And Balaju.

Prithee,

Where is the Creator?

When will he wake up from his eternal sleep?

Only Bhairab’s destruction

Of the Himalayan world is to be seen.

Much blood has been shed

Between the decades and the centuries.

The mound of  noses and ears

Of the vanquished at Kirtipur,

The shot and mutilated

At the Kot massacre,

The revolution in front of the Narayanhiti Palace,

When Nepalese screamed

And died for democracy.

Now the corpses of the Maobadis,

Civilians and Nepalese security men.

Hush! Sleeping Gods should not be awakened.

I, who wracked my cerebrum for the King,

Am sickened by the royal demeanour,

For Mr. Shah is now a mortal,

A politician to boot.

I, a royal ghost-writer,

Who once smelt the air

Of the Narayanhiti Palace,

Have nowhere to go.

I’m a writer no more.

I’m a ghost

Under the shadow of the Himalayas.

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