The Adventures of Minu and Bo: The Drawing

MInu and Bo by Subina
Drawing by Subina Shrestha

Bo could smell something burning as he woke up. He tried sniffing more to know if he was correct.

‘Aha!’ he said. Minu must have forgotten to turn off the stove, he thought.

Minu and Bo, two brown squirrels lived under a big Purple Tree in a big garden opposite of an even bigger palace.

Bo walked out to see what was really the matter after he checked the stove which was not lit. Minu was outside, standing in front of a big fire. Bo ran, grabbed her hand and bought her closer to the door at the tree trunk.

‘What were you doing?’ he asked, panting.

Minu looked dejected, she did not answer. Bo dragged a bucket full of water and poured it over the fire.

After the fire subsided, he was stunned to find what was burning. A few portraits were already half burnt, a few more had turned into ashes.

‘You burnt your drawings!’ he exclaimed looking at Minu. She couldn’t tell if he was angry or shocked.

He hurriedly started searching something in the remains. There was a drawing of the big purple tree, another had a beautiful nut that Bo remembered was from when they had travelled to the mountains. He used his sharp claws to dig deeper.

‘Phew!’ he said wiping droplets of sweat from his forehead as he pulled out a drawing slightly burned at the edges. He hid the drawing as he walked inside.

Minu thought about the the Annual Squirrel Fair they had returned from a few days earlier. It was a big fair with squirrels selling clothes to nuts to the things they had made. Minu had her drawings placed in the art corner. But she was not able to sell a single drawing. Sure there were other good ones, but hers’ weren’t bad either. Furious at herself, she decided to burn down her drawings.

Bo did not talk to Minu for the coming few days. He was angry that she had tried to burn down everything. She wasn’t in a good mood either but tried to remain distracted by cooking, cleaning or doing anything that kept her mind off of the discussion.

One morning when she was cleaning, Minu uncovered a drawing from Bo’s room. It was the same drawing he had retrieved from the ashes. Her eyes swelled with tears.

The drawing was from the year when they had collected one of the highest number of nuts. There was Minu and Bo standing besides a big pile of nuts. Bo looked extremely happy, and so did Minu. It was Bo’s favorite drawing and Minu’s too.

How could she have decided to burn it down? She could not understand. Bo had entered the room and was standing beside the door.

‘Sorry Bo,’ Minu said, tearing streaming down her cheeks. ‘I had been too stupid, just because no one bought my drawings in the fair I had decided it wasn’t good enough.’

‘But you are wrong,’ Bo said quickly handing her a box of tissues. ‘I like your drawings a lot.’

‘I do too,’ she said looking at the drawing in her hands. Bo smiled. It was ok if she wasn’t able to sell her drawings anymore. She felt glad looking at the portrait, thinking about the time they were so happy captured in her art. It wasn’t perfect, but it was special.

Listen

There are days
when I listen to the words
coming out of my mouth
as closely as I can,
after the words
have left me,
materializing into sounds.

What do the words mean,
where do they lead me?

Sometimes guilt takes over,
a little ounce of arrogance speaking;
but time is so that it shall
not turn for anyone.
And all I am left to do
is to listen to them
materialize into sounds.

Word by Word

Have you met someone
just like you,
not by age, or by style,
nor by choice, or by chance,
but word by word.

Word by word,
to come to light,
to discover the rough edges
of the sentences
and the pauses in between.
Word by word,
to realize how you’re
just the same.

Word by word
you’ll build your world,
and then world by world
you’ll come to find
that not all words are the same
even through they may
carry the same aim.

Word by word
you’ll dream,
clinging unto quarter realities
and half imaginations,
engulfing you
more than the air you breathe,
but shall they always remain?

Word by word
you’ll drift apart
from the world
that was.

Word by word
ripping itself
will be your heart,
for all the words
that did not come.

Word by word
time shall pass
filling lines and pages,
and years in between,
stuffed inside
black and blue ink
and all that has been.

Word by word
we’ll rise up again,
word by word.

Have you met someone
just like you,
not by age, or by style,
nor by choice, or by chance,
but word by word.