It had rained all night. Ken wasn't sure whether it was the right alley he was going on. But it didn't matter even if he was lost for a while because he had nowhere to reach in time. He just made his way down through the muddy alley filled with pits and puddles from the last night's rain. Ken had been walking ever since he arrived in this nomadic land. He lived with people he never identified and went to places he never heard about. He had spent his previous night at a local lodger, drank two pints of local tharra and boozed off.

He woke up in the morning with a heavy head. After a long self-debate, he dressed up in his scruffy attire, bid the old lodger adieu and took to wander off. He had been in Kathmandu for quite sometime now yet hadn't got the directions right. He walked down Naya Bazar, reached somewhere behind Ason tole and was horrified to see an enormous bull running towards him. He quickly ran into a house with a very low entrance for safety. While getting in he bumped his head on the plank above the door, yelled and cursed in pain but later sighed for the bull was gone. Ken wasn't this lucky all the time. Ken was proud of himself for the narrow escape he had made. He sighed and briskly came back into the alley and the next turn he took was into this muddy one.


2

There was a knock at the wooden door. It was one of those ancient doors with a latch on top. A petite Scandinavian girl came to open the door. She was smeared in sweat. Perhaps she had just come out from having sex, or maybe not. It looked as if she had just managed to get herself into a sweatshirt and rushed out of the bed. Ken looked at her face. She looked painfully exhausted. She nodded her head signalling Ken to step inside. Swiftly she shut the door again. Pitch black.

As Ken walked inside, he came to a little fireplace. Except for the brightness from a little fire, the room was very dark. It had no windows. It was unkempt and untidy and the smell of smoked grass made the place reeking hell. In an unmade bed piled with rugged cloth was Evan. Evan stayed still in the bed with only a little blanket to cover his nudity. He rolled his eyes towards Ken. Ken stood still waiting for Evan say something. Evan too looked exhausted. Ken's guess was right: these guys had been fucking at eleven in the morning. This was the same Fiona Ken had seen Evan flirting with the previous evening. He had pretty quickly managed to convince her to get into the bed with him. Or maybe she paid him to do so.

Evan was a weed broker. He traded marijuana and other grasses into different countries. Evan made good money with this trade but recently his business wasn't doing very good. Evan himself was a habitual weed taker. Evan liked the way his life was. He wandered from one part of the world to other. After being nearly caught and jailed in Istanbul, he had fled and come to Kathmandu. He pulled out a little stool and asked Ken to sit down. He began dressing up in the mean time.

"So boy, what brings you here?" Evan asked buckling up his trousers.

"They want me back home, mum's ill." Ken said in a dim voice.

"Home!" Evan roared. "Boy you're just warmin' up. You shoudan' be thinking' 'bout home or any shit like that! This is the life, dear heart. It's all 'bout you, charm! What's your mum doin' round here?" Evan smiled stubbornly.

Ken looked at Evan horrified. Only if he borrowed some money from Evan he could cut down his troubles by a bit. Ken stared at the mud floor almost smashing it crack open. Evan began to hum a tune.  Fiona stared at the two men leaning against the wall. Evan winked at her, flirting.

"I must go home." Ken almost cried.

"Easy!" Evan frowned. Ken stood from the stool and confronted with hardening his voice.

"Look, I must go home. I am done living in this hell. Why don't you understand me? There's someone desperately ill out there waiting for me." Evan stood still, perhaps with something in his mind. He pressed his lips together and tried to explain Ken, "Dear, you ehen't chained or nailed. You're free to go anywhere. You're free as a bird." Evan drifted his hands in air making a flying bird's gesture. "All that I see around you is anger, my boy. Anger's evil. Look how happy everyone else is." Evan tried to explain his theory to Ken with his mystic smile.

Ken didn't care a word Evan said. Ken was desperate. Ken turned around in a snip. "You know what man, you're a rascal. I have a family." Ken pointed out at Fiona. "I don't go fucking around with strangers the way you do. I really care what happens to my mum and it's important I go home." Evan was pretty surprised to see Ken yell. But this wouldn't make Evan pay off the money he had borrowed from Ken and promised to return in "three days."

Ken had lived quite a life in school. It seemed then nothing in life was more important that becoming a punk. Ken's entire high school passed away with Reggae and ghettos. Ken did long hair and lived and ascetic life. But it was in fashion. The hippies had just come into existence and hundreds of youth from around the world were joining the nomadic tribal culture. They wandered off places - looking for ecstasy, looking for freedom. Ken too, decided to join the "tribe." He dropped out from his high school in Indiana, USA and decided to look for "salvation." Ken went to places. He spent days and night outside home, away from his country and away from his family.

Three years ago, in an early summer day, Ken landed in Kathmandu with thirty-five other hippies like him. He spent his early days jumbled in ganja and hash. It was something Ken would never have imagined otherwise. He loved his life and he loved his tribe.

But one grey evening in 1969, Ken got a call from the Indiana State Hospital telling that mum wanted to see him. Ken realised it was her final days. Ken would have left everything and rushed but he had no money in hand. He had lent Evan a few hundred dollars and if he could get that money back, he could leave immediately. Unfortunately, Evan wasn't an easily convincible man.

Evan too had his own problems. He spent all his money on grass. He hardly ever found any sources, so he started selling himself off for money. Ken lent money without knowing whom he was really dealing with. Now it was almost impossible to get that sum back. Evan laughed and pretended like nothing really bothered him. But deep within, a miserable soul existed. Evan hated his life. He would spend hours thinking if there was anything else outside this cold world. When he would tire, his ultimate relaxation would be in the grass. He would smoke a pipe and try to get out of anxiety. He would often over smoke and faint, and would find himself in the muddy street the next day. Away from the chaotic life, deep inside the smoke is a world that's peaceful. Evan would spend a few minutes in "peace" and try to forget the guy in the mirror with long blonde hair and beards. Unfortunately, even after hours of staring, it would still be him.

Evan just grinned a dull, meaningless and lifeless grin. Evan wouldn't ever know a dying mum's call. He never saw his mum, so didn't know what it was like to be a son. Ken looked disgusted. He nodded his head and went off slamming the wooden door behind him.

The sixties had seen a lot of losers like Ken. The hippie culture was in the air and thousands of youth flocked from around the globe to places like Kathmandu. These creepy old cities were ideal grounds for these people. Smoking weeds, marijuana, inhaling cocaine was quite something to these people. Youth decorated in beads, glasses and devotee Hindu costume lied around the streets like zombies. Often a bull chased them and dogs barked at them. Ken looked around the others - people like him who had lost their homes but wanted to go back. People who wanted to come out of the living hell.

3

Ken didn't realise but he was already in the Freak Street. Old jyapus carried away kharpans full of lettuces. Women in hakupatasi carried water vessels by their waist. Children played on the street side. Stray dogs slept their days out. A 1961-Ford carrying poultry roared its way down the street. Ken looked at everyone's faces. They were all busy in their own lives. Then he looked at his - it seemed pretty meaningless. Everyone was who he or she was meant to be. Ken grimly looked up at the sky. The haze still remained there even though the rain was over. Little puddles made by the rain on the street side reflected the sharp brightness of the tender sun.  A group of zombie-like hippies slept besides an old shrine. A little shop sold curios. Besides it was a little hotel - dirty and dark. He was delighted by the strong smell of bamboo shoots being cooked in the hotel. This was the authentic Nepalese alutama, sour bamboo shoots cooked in potatoes and beans. Ken stepped in for lunch.

"Hello, you are American?" A man at the hotel asked. Ken smiled sadly and said he was. "Yeah, Indiana" Ken said. The man was mysteriously confused. "India?" He repeated. Ken nodded his head and repeated slowly so that the man could understand. "Indiana, it's in the USA."  The State of Indiana was beyond the reach of that man's understanding. Ken's alutama and rice arrived in the mean time. The man instructed Ken, "This is tama, you know?" Ken said he knew what he was eating. The man got pissed off so he got up and went away. Ken was relieved to be left alone and enjoy the meal quietly. The little dark room of the hotel was filled with smoke from the wooden stove. Shrill smoke was pinching hard into Ken's eyes.

Ken decided to walk as he washed his hands in the stone tap close by. He wiped off his hands on the back of his trousers and smelt his fingers. That sharp smell of the food he had was still there in his hands. Ken continued walking down the Freak Street. Shops put thankas and Buddhist statues on display. A blacksmith hanged stunningly bright khukuris up for sale. Ken glared at the dazzling sharp metal weapons. They all looked beautiful but they aren't definitely things of pleasure. They could hurt you, make you bleed or even kill you. Its beauty fascinated Ken and he stepped into the smith's shop to buy one.

Ken came out satisfied with a medium sized khukuri in his hands. He didn't have anyone to kill. He just bought it because he liked it. He tossed it around in air and examined its razor sharp edge with his finger. A rickshaw blew horn from behind, Ken hadn't realised he was standing in the middle of the road. He quickly moved to a side and looked at the marvel blade once again and put it into its beautiful red velvet case.

4

It was evening. People hurriedly got into their homes and began preparing for dinner. Early in the evening people got into their houses and stayed there. Hardly anyone but hippies would be seen outside after dark. As Ken returned back, he came across all the shops he had passed through in the morning. Only the difference now was they were all closed. But the blacksmith hadn't closed yet. He waved at Ken as Ken passed by. Ken looked at him and smiled when someone hit him on his shoulders.

It was Evan.

"Hey boy, where had you been all day?" Evan asked with a large shameless grin on his face. Smile quickly faded out from Ken's face. "So how about spending an evening together?" Evan proposed to Ken. "It'll be fun. I can lend you some money if you can join in." Evan offered.

"You can?" Ken eyes sparkled with joy and relief.

"Of course I can. In fact I was about to give you some in the morning, but boy, you walked away." Ken felt sorry for being rude to him in the morning. He followed Evan to his room and both of them walked though the dark alley.

There were already five other hippies puffing weed at Evan's place. They didn't bother even if anyone walked into or out of the room. Evan snatched a pot from one of them and took a few quick puffs. Then he offered it to Ken and Ken too took in a few gasps for himself. Evan sucked his lower lips and stared at Ken's face with a tilted head. He gave a humiliating smile. Ken wasn't sure how he was supposed to react. So he started the topic of money. "So can you give me the money? I want to leave Kathmandu early tomorrow."

But Evan just smiled and didn't say a word. Ken bent his eyebrows and asked Evan to react. Evan just smiled. Was there something evil Evan was thinking about?

"Evan," Ken literally screamed.

"You're such a girl." Evan finally spoke. "Girl!" Evan roared.

"Can you give me the money, I've got to go." Ken made almost a weeping face. "My little girl wants money to go and see her mum, how sweet is that?" Evan made a feminine gesture as he said that. He laughed loudly then, again and again. Evan laughed hysterically. He laughed cruelly. He rolled on the bed, caught hold of a chair besides him and laughed. He laughed like a mad man.

Ken grew more and more restless. He had a horrified look in his eyes. He slowly put his hand into his pocked, produced the velvet case and slid the metal out. Snap.

"Eweee.. You mother fucker…"

Another sharp snap and Evan fell into a pool of blood growing on the floor on which he stood.

"What.. what have you done, you son of a bitch." Evan's voice cracked. The vicious thick red fluid around him was getting bigger and bigger. Ken looked intensely at Evan. Ken face had splats of blood and it looked gruesome. Blood was dribbling down from the bright khukuri he held in his hand. There was blood everywhere. Ken stood still, emotionless, looking at Evan take his last breath.

Two hippies came into the room to see what had happened. "Whoa! That man's dead." One of them said. "Yes." The other replied and the two walked out of the room as if nothing had happened at all.

Ken's fury was calmed. He dropped the khukuri from his hand, stared at the corpse for a while and left the room hoping things would definitely be better now.

Evan's lifeless eyes stared at the tiles on the roof. It just stared and stared.