Right Seekers or Responsible (A Short Story)

By 

Rameshwar Yadav

In the narrow lanes of Bhaktapur, where ancient bricks held centuries of memory and dust, there lived a man named Hari Prasad Poudel. He was a schoolteacher by profession, poor in wealth but rich in observations. Every morning, while walking to school, he noticed a strange thing: everyone talked about their rights, but no one talked about their responsibilities.

One chilly winter day, Hari was sitting in his courtyard sipping tea when his eldest son, Pravin, slammed the door open.

“Bau, the government must give us jobs! Look at the news—youth are leaving for Gulf because the state doesn’t care about our rights!”

Hari looked at him calmly. “And what have you done today? Prepared your CV? Learned a skill?”

Pravin waved his hand dismissively. “Why should I? It’s the government’s duty to provide opportunities!”

Before Hari could respond, his daughter Ritu emerged, holding her phone like a trophy.

“Bau, the municipality must fix the drainage. It stinks! I tweeted the mayor. He must reply!”

Hari raised his eyebrows. “And did you clean the plastic wrappers you threw yesterday?”

Ritu frowned. “That’s different. That’s not my job.”

A commotion rose from the kitchen. His wife, Sushila, stormed out with her hands on her hips.

“Hari! You should repair the broken tap! The house is your responsibility!”

Hari sighed. “I know. I will. But if everyone keeps asking me to do everything, who will do their part?”

Sushila didn’t listen. She walked away muttering, “Always preaching responsibility but never fulfilling my rights…”

Hari leaned back in his chair. His family wasn’t unique. They were a perfect reflection of modern Nepal: everyone was a right seeker, no one wanted to be responsible.

Every day, the news amplified the same drama. The government blamed the citizens for the nation’s failure. The citizens blamed the government for every small inconvenience. Leaders talked about their rights to power. Public servants talked about their rights to facilities. Citizens talked about their rights to subsidies, grants, relief funds, allowances.

Yet no one cleaned their own neighborhood.
No one paid taxes on time.
No one followed traffic rules.
No one stood in line without complaint.
No one wanted to work, but everyone wanted to enjoy the fruits of someone else’s labor.

The whole nation had become a house where every member said:
“Someone else should do the work, but I should get the benefit.”

One evening, something unusual happened. A massive storm hit Bhaktapur—flooding the streets, blocking roads, knocking out electricity. The municipal office announced over loudspeakers:

“All citizens are requested to help. Please clear the drains near your homes.”

Ritu peeked outside and gasped. “Where are the municipal workers? They should do this!”

Pravin scrolled through his phone. “I will report this on Facebook! The government is sleeping again!”

Only Hari picked up a spade and stepped into the muddy street. When the neighbors saw him, they murmured, “Why is he doing their job?”

Hari didn’t reply. He simply continued, quietly lifting mud and clearing the drain. A few minutes later, water began flowing again. The flooded road slowly dried.

Something unexpected happened—the neighbors felt ashamed. One by one, they brought their own tools. Soon an entire row of people were working together. No slogans, no complaints, no speeches—just silent responsibility.

Pravin watched from the doorway, confused.
“Bau… why are you doing this? It’s not your job.”

Hari smiled and wiped the sweat on his forehead.

“Beta, this country will never change if everyone waits for someone else. Rights grow only where responsibility is planted.”

For the first time, Pravin didn’t argue. He picked up a bucket and joined his father. Ritu followed quietly. Sushila handed them warm tea.

Under the dim light of an oil lamp, the Poudel family stood together, tired but strangely proud. Something had shifted—not just in their home, but in their hearts.

Nepal didn’t suddenly become perfect that night. Corruption didn’t vanish. Leaders didn’t become saints. But one small family understood a profound truth:

Rights are taken, not begged.
And responsibility is the seed of every right.

In the humble street of Bhaktapur, a quiet revolution had begun—not with protests, not with speeches, but with a single man lifting a handful of mud.