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I went down in the rain, laid springs over the gravel, looked up at the house, the windows aglow in the grey morning. I cried. Not because of death and its coldness but for life and its warmth. I cried because of the goodness that existed. I cried because of the light in the mist, I cried because of the living people in the dead man's house and I thought, I can't waste my life.

What was consciousness other than the cone of light from a torch in the middle of a dark forest?

On part seven. I don't know how many parts it have? I only know about volume, it's volume 5.
Till now, so many things happened. So many things,...

Darkness. Silence. The beat of my pulse. Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.
Almost everything lay before me, bathed in the hopeful light of uncertainty and opportunity, and my heart, this loyal muscle, would take me through it whole and unscathed, ever stronger, ever wiser, ever richer in life lived.
Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.
Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.

There was a pause.
I tried to keep my eyes off her but couldn't stop myself, she was so beautiful sitting there looking down at the table with the lit cigarette in her hand.
She glanced up and met my gaze. We smiled.
The warmth in her eyes.
The light around her.

Amazing! 🤍

खासमा अगाडिको ६० पृष्ठको देवकोटाज्यूले लेख्नु भएको यस नाटक तथा नाटककारको परिचयको यहाँ गन्ति भएको रहेनछ । २२९ ‍‌+ ६० ‍‌गरेर जम्मा २८९ पृष्ठको यो पुस्तक रहेको जानकारि गराए ।