I've been thinking about this incident a lot recently. I don't quite know why.
It is from those early years at KTV, when I was in my 20s. I used to do quite a bit of night shifts because they had divided the English news team into morning and evening shift. Evening shift meant that you got done with your newscast at 11pm and then you had to wait for the Nepali bulletin and engineers friends at the MCR who had to wrap up duty and switch shifts with the night team to go home. Most nights, you left the office close to midnight.
Apparently, I lived farthest from the office among the lot who had to be dropped off after the shift. It was always the case. And being the last person to be on the dropped off list, the night rides homes were never quite free of adventures. One time, Hira Dai and I helped a man driving a big jeep and his two year old child out of a ditch. A ditch about four feet deep. I'll leave that story for some other time.
But today...
The incident that has been on my mind a lot: Asman Dai and me. He had dropped everyone else off. The last colleague we had to drop off home was someone who lived in those plains near Gujeshwari, down Gaurighat. One had to take the road down towards Gujeshwari, just across the river and keep driving into the fields. This was in the early 2000s and that area was isolated, with just a few houses scattered across the fields. This was during the civil war.
That night after dropping off this colleague, we were going back and towards the road to Mitrapark. He would go up the main road and then take me to Ganeshbasti. It was a bit past midnight. As we moved, we saw five men walking slowly or standing in the middle of the road. I can't tell which, but they were there suddenly. They stopped the van. Asman dai stopped to ask what happened. And hose men didn't say much but tried to yank him out the car and one man opened the door in the back, the kind of door that slides, you know? And he tried to grab me.
"Baini, dhoka banda garnu," Asman dai shouted. And I acted quickly, I suppose out of fear. I held on to the door, didn't quite manage to shut it. His door was still open, too. But what he did was, he pressed the gas and the van sped up, hit one of the men and went forward. The men shouted, swore at us. I'm not sure if the one who got hit was badly injured. I imagine they were only minor injuries. Asaman dai didn't look back. He kept driving. We shut the doors at some point. I was shaking with fear. He look frightened, too.
Who are those men, I asked later. He didn't know either. But he dropped me home safely and then went back to the office to do the rest of his night duty.
That night, Asman Dai saved my life. And his own. We were asked the next day by colleagues about what had happened, but no one inquired or tried to take measures or introduce policies to protect the workers on night shifts. Things went on as they normally did. Or so we imagined.
Next time we were on the same route, Asman dai made sure to drive down Gaurighat with more people in the van.
I don't know where Asman dai is now. His full name is As Man Tamang and we used to call him Asman dai. I remember his face and wonder about him sometimes. I don't even have a phone number for him. There were dozens of night shift drivers at KTV who took care of us through the civil war, the peace process, the emergencies, street protests and what not! But we barely remember their names.
