“English, give me five rupees, please.”  
 

A somewhat desperately looking young man held out his hand with baffling directness while glaring me straight in the face. “English, give me five rupees.”  
 

Solemnly, he couched on the edge of the gallery platform in front of the large Palace of Durbar square of Bhaktapur, where traders and elders alike huddle in small groups, while women ogle them from a safe distance. 
 

“I am not English! “ I fired back with equal directness, somewhat defying his impertinence. “And what is your name, Nepali?”

“My name is Ramsarat, sir.  Five rupees only, sir,” he rebutted taken by surprise to get a reply, but still full of challenge privileged only to his kind of teenagers.
 

 “So, you are Ramsarat of Bhaktapur, “I continued, ignoring his plea. “Tell me Ramsarat of Bhaktapur, what do you want to do with five rupees? What can one buy for five rupees only?”
 

“Nothing sir. For five rupees one cannot buys anything.  Nepal , very expensive, sir. So please sir, give me fifty rupees. “   A brash flash twinkled in his eyes.
 

“Ramsarat of Bhaktapur, you are an impertinent rascal. Tell me the name of your father?” I spoke Quasi insulted.

“English, why do you want to know of my father? My father tells me that foreigners steal your karma by taking pictures and writing down your name. You English, why you want to steal my karma?” Young warrior masculine flickered over the boy’s face.
 

“Ram, I will call you now:  Ramsarat, the Most Suspicious Rascal of Bhaktapur. You are 15, may be 16 years old.  I will tell you why I want to know the name of you father.  May be one day, you may even understand my words. Ramsarat, in your eyes, I see your father.  One day, your father was you and one day you will look in the mirror and you will see that you are your father.” I tried to sound like a master of great wisdom but it did not impress the youth.

“English, you talk rubbish. I am 18 and my father is old man. You give me not 50 rupees, you with your rubbish talk; you better give me 100 rupees.”
 

“Ram, for your sake then, I will call your father, Najendra and your uncle, Rajendra. That makes you, Ramsarat of Bhaktapur, son of Najendra, and cousin of Rajendra. Now tell me, what you will buy for 100 rupees?” and I smiled benevolently.
 

“English, I will buy American sneakers and to go to New York.” Ram cried triumphantly without the least hesitation as if he had rehearsed the answer in his mind a million times. “All is rubbish here. Nothing to do in Bhaktapur. No cool girls in Bhaktapur.”


   “Ram, but why you want to go to New York?  You are so very negative. Why do you
    nurture negative thoughts? Should you not chase away negative thoughts and nurture
    positive, said Buddha!
 
    Look out over Durbar Square and you will see many people from New York and many
    other far away countries that all came to visit the temples and bath in the holy water of
    the Guhya, Bhajya   and Siddha ponds. You are so lucky Ram. You do not have to
  travel. You live in the Shangri-La; all these pilgrims wish to visit once in their lives.”


“English, I tell you my secret,” Ram whispered suddenly taking me into his confidence. ”My big, big hope is to go to New York.  New York is cool man. I see New York many times in video shop.  In New York all girls are cool. “
 

“Listen, my dear boy, Ram. Listen to what I, an old man, can tell you.  Buddha said that Hope and Longing is the source of all suffering. Lust and longing lead to possession and possession leads to murder.   That, dear Ram that is the reason why all Americans watch murder police television series, every night.  The American law does not allow them to murder so at least they want to murder – make believe-- in their dream world of TV shows.”

Why Ramsarat, do you want to suffer like them by nurturing emotions of love and hate in your heart?

You know Milarepa, the big sorcerer of Nepal, found nothing but destruction in his path of revenge. Look to the North and see the high mountains of the Himalaya, they have no longing for New York. The mountains are not suffering.”
 

“Again English, you talk so much rubbish, you have to pay me much more money that 100 rupees.

My father, who you call Najendra, brother of Rajendra.  My father knows Himalaya Mountain.  Mountain Everest never suffers. Everest makes us suffer with snow, ice, rain water flood.  In New York no suffering, everybody rich; here, everybody poor. “


“Dear Ramsarat, you are so very lost. You need some one to guide your way.  If you pay me the fee of the ferryman, I can show you New York, or I can show you the peace that is in you. You can choose, but once you choose, you will have to go all the way. There will be no way back.

My fee will be only five rupees, Ramsarat of Bhaktapur. What will be your answer?”

For a moment Ramsarat stared at me, and then he jumped up and ran as if the devil  was on his tail.. I just met the Faust of Bhaktapur, but this one that did not buy the deal with the devil.