Akela

by SMITZ PRADHAN, DUBAI

FROM ISSUE # 123 (March 2006) | IN THIS ISSUE
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I have seen the lives of those who run orphanages and the lives of children who live in them. An orphanage rented my house for two years a long time ago. I remember the day a small boy had a meningitis attack in my lap because he hadn't been given the full doze of medicine and wasn't taken to hospital on time. The so-called mother and father's attitude that day should be marked with a red pen.

People adopt children but make their lives worse than it would have been if they had lived on the streets. But there was this one person whose orphanage was like no other. None of the children in Tom Contin Hughes' house were called 'orphans'; they didn't live in an 'orphanage' but in a real home. I never met Hughes but I will tell you why I admire him.

Born on 30 March 1943 in England, Hughes came to Nepal as a pension officer of the British Army in 1968 and volunteered as scout teacher in Depot School. He travelled across Dharan and saw many homeless children. Back in England, the faces of those children haunted him so much that he returned to Nepal and started a home in 1971 called Jeevan Jyoti.

Dharanes called him Akela. He didn't care much for material things for himself but gave the children all that was possible. The number of children in Jeevan Jyoti kept growing. They lived within no religious restriction and as they grew up, Akela helped them start out on their own in the world. He had 114 sons and 22 grandchildren. Akela never thought of returning to England.

Wanting to be a legal Nepali, Akela visited the Home Ministry twice but returned disappointed both times. He gave up his country, work, family and 35 years of his life to Nepal. What did Nepal give him in return?

When my aunt told me that she was going to Akela's funeral, my heart cried. I regretted never having met him. I remembered hearing his name since I was in class six, a decade ago. As I grew up, I always wanted to meet him. I walked past his house everyday but never ventured inside.

Akela died on 2 February 2005. All communication means was down. He had a haemorrhage attack but couldn't call an ambulance because the phone lines were dead. He was taken to a hospital and when he finally regained consciousness, all he asked was if his children had taken their medicine. The next day, he passed away.

The funeral took place on 10 February as his eldest son, sisters and friends wanted to come from England to pay their last respects. I walked to the front and saw his face then, so fresh and calm, as if he was sleeping. I quietly prayed for his soul.

The venue was full, everybody from Dharan was there. His son had written about Akela's life, which the preacher read out. I remember how almost everyone cried as they heard it. I saw the so-called father of the orphanage in my house years ago, I hated him for the way he treated those children, but I also prayed for him that God may grant him a compassionate heart before it is too late. He could still change and learn to love the children like Akela did.