काशीबहादुर  श्रेष्ठले एकपटक केही हाँसेर गम्भीर हुँदै भन्नु भएको थियो,"'उदय' नेपाली साहित्यको उदय, नेपाली प्रतिभाहरुको उदय - अभिप्राय यही नै र यही नाम सुहाउँदो पनि भएको पाइएको र 'उदय' नाम सार्थक भएको थियो, जिउँदो थियो l" बताउंछन्   "काशीबहादुर  श्रेष्ठ स्मृतिग्रन्थ" (वि.सं. २०५३ ज्येष्ठ)का सम्पादक कृष्णप्रसाद पराजुली आफ्नो लेख "काशीका काशी र 'उदय'का पिता"मा  l 'उदय'को पहिलो अंक  १९९९३ साल माघमा निस्केको र २०२४ असोजसम्म उनले परिस्थितिसित जुध्दै आर्थिक क्षति पनि बेहोरे  l यति दृढ आत्मविश्वास पनि कुण्ठित हुन् गइ 'उदय' निस्कन सकेन र यो अस्त भयो - जम्मा ८३ अंक प्रकाशित भएको थियो यसको पहिलो अवतारमा l

केही साल को अन्तरालमा योग्य पिताको योग्य छोरा दुर्गाप्रसादले 'उदय' को पुन:प्रकाशनगरि आफ्नो कर्तव्यबोध र श्रद्धाभावसाथ गहन जिम्मेवारी वहन गर्नका साथै यसै जनवरीमा नव वर्ष २०११ को हार्दिक शुभकामना लिई आई  १४३औं अंक प्रस्तुत गर्नका साथै यही साल सेप्टेम्बर १३-१४ का दिन 'उदय'का संस्थापक-सम्पादक आफ्ना पूज्य पिताज्यू काशीबहादुर  श्रेष्ठको जन्म शताब्दी समारोह साहित्य अकादेमी, नयाँ दिल्लीद्वारा वाराणसीमा भव्य कार्यक्रमका साथ आयोजित गर्ने सूचनाले एक असल कुरोको पहल र हामी सबैलाई श्रद्धान्जली व्यक्त गर्ने उचित अवसर प्रदान गर्नु भएको छ l

आफ्नो एक सम्पादकीयमा काशीबहादुर  श्रेष्ठले भनेका थिए, " 'उदय'ले  आफ्नो राष्ट्रभाषा र नेपाली साहित्यको जे-जति सेवा गर्दै आएको छ त्यसबाट आफ्नो साहित्य प्रति रुचि राख्ने नयाँ नयाँ मुनाहरु पनि प्रभावित भएका छन् र तिनलाई पनि साहित्यिक फूलबारीमा प्रस्फुटित गर्नमा ठुलो गुण लाएको छ l यसले वर्सौनी नयाँ नयाँ लेखक-लेखिकाको जसरी हौसला बढाउदै उनलाई प्रकाशमा ल्याएको  छ त्यो पनि नेपाली साहित्यिक जगत् मा बोध भएकै कुरा हो जो कि 'उदय'का प्रत्येक अंकमा छापिने रचनाहरु नै यसका प्रत्यक्ष प्रमाण हुन्  l उनको लेखादि , कथा-कवितालाई परिमार्जन- परिवद्धन  जस्तो दुरुह कार्य गरेर पनि यथाशक्य स्थान दिई उनको साहित्यिक रुचि र प्रेरणाको कदर गर्दै आएको छ l 'उदय'को यस पुनीत नीति र कर्तव्यले धेरै जसो देशवासी र प्रवासीको साहित्यिक भावनालाई जगाउन प्रश्रय गरेको छ  l यो 'उदय'को निम्ति अभिमान त होइन, परम् सन्तोष, गर्व र प्रसन्नताको कुरा हो l" यो नीतिगत कुरा अझ पनि यथावत राखी पत्रिकाको मूल तत्वलाई निरन्तरतासाथ अक्षरश: पालनगरि  दिशा-निदेशको अनुशीलनको महत्वपूर्ण आभिभारा निभाएका छन्  वर्तमान सम्पादकले l  विगतका ६० अंकहरु हेर्दा यो स्पष्ट भएको हामी पाउने छौं l

उदय'ले गरेको नेपाली भाषा र साहित्यको सेवा-सुसार अविस्मरणीय रहेको छ l कवि सिद्धिचरण श्रेष्ठका शब्दमा "त्यस अँध्यारो युगमा पनि उनले 'उदय' निकालेर  आगो बाल्ने काम गरे l" स्वर्गीय लेखनाथ पौड्यालद्वारा वि. सं. २०१८ मा लिखित एक पत्रमा भन्छन् ,"यस पत्रिकाद्वारा मलया, सिंगापुर, सिक्किम, भुटान, भाक्सु लगायत विदेशमा बसेका जो जति नेपालीमा एकत्वको भावना जाग्रत राख्नु भएको छ र यै वहाँको सर्वोच्च कमले  वहाँलाई ख्याति  दिएको छ l पछि पनि दिने छ l" काशीबहादुर  श्रेष्ठद्वारा लगभग तीन दशक (१९९३-२०२४) सम्म उक्त पत्रिकाको संचालन गरि नेपाल बाहिर-भित्रका साहित्यकारहरुलाई एकै ठाउँमा भेला गर्ने र नेपाली भाषा साहित्यलाई व्यापक रुपमा प्रचार-प्रसार गर्ने जुन गहन कार्य भयो  त्यसले ठुलो ऐतिहासिक महत्व राख्छ l"   यो कुरा आज वहाँको स्वर्गारोहणको २२ वर्ष पछि पनि त्यतिकै महत्वपूर्ण र महान् योगदान रहेको उनको जन्म शताब्दीमा स्मरणीय छ l

  "'उदय' फेरि प्रकाशित भएछ l प्रकाशकको धैर्यसूर्य ननिभिन्जेल  एक त के जतिसुकै अस्तले पनि 'उदय'लाई बन्द गर्न सक्ने छैन l ननिभोस् ! ननिभाउन् !"
                                                                                                   बालकृष्ण शमशेर

Oh! What a painful situation. All of a sudden it seemed like the flow of air from inside my throat has stopped. Never before this had I ever experienced such a strong pain. I felt like flowing down suffocated inside the intestine of python or a very small, narrow and dark cave. Or, I was finding it impossible to breathe even for a short while. It was a very difficult period of great discomfort I was passing through. But even in such a struggling situation - somewhere far away or at the end a little bright light was visible and the power of this little brightness, I felt like being attracted towards it. I was a bit comfortable with the gentle touch of the soft light after spending some time wriggling inside that cruel dark narrow hole. Only after thus being little free from the uncomfortable painful writhing, I found my tired body lying helpless in a hospital bed and could understand the situation. There on my left wrist a needle was inserted and a transparent pipe with its other end led to a bottle filled with some liquid joined by another needle and hanging upside down near the bed. Thus the liquid from inside the bottle was being passed through the vein that was activating my body and along with this process additional amount of oxygen was continuously being flown inside through my nasal holes. These scenes were enough to speak of my serious condition. It was first time ever in my life that I was admitted to a hospital unexpectedly in such a serious condition. I was quite bewildered how I was past 63 long years of my life without ever admitted to a hospital even. Thus bewildered I was trying to understand the detail description of how I reached the hospital. Oh! I was tying my shoe-laces for going to the bazar, suddenly I started coughing. I remember my family members trying to comfort me from unstoppable coughing that nearly stopped my breathing by rubbing my chest and thereafter nothing did I remember but to find myself lying in the hospital bed at night! … Oh! How sudden!
Once I gained my consciousness in the hospital, I was just faintly catching with my eyes the view in front but ears were quite clearly hearing people talking there. Someone was asking, “I always used to find Bhai (brother) quite healthy and never heard of falling sick so seriously, how it happened suddenly?”

Tired voice came in reply, “His own carelessness brought him this fate. Writing bent pressing the chest day and night resulted into this bad condition. If we try comment something, he always repeated – ‘Do not stop me while serving the literature’ and this plight is the result of his stubbornness alone.”

Then there was another remark – “Oh! One should take care of his own health! He also suddenly left such a job in so good a Bank just saying that he ‘did not get time to write literature.’ What does one get from our society by writing literature? What more should I say - it is a common practice here to forget the name of the writer even the very next day he is dead and it is only to be pitiful being a writer or an artiste in our hypocritical and ungrateful society.”

Slightly reclined with upper half of the body resting on the bed raised to make respiration comfortable enjoying additional oxygen and additional conversation as I was trying to fall asleep, all of a sudden from somewhere the thought of the topic ‘waiting for the death’ came to my mind. One after another my mind thought of Pashupatinath Temple in Nepal and thereafter that of Mahakavi Deokota lying uncomfortable waiting for the death at Aryaghat near the Temple. Sickness brought him to the last stage in the deathbed I felt hearing some voice feebly coming out of his trembling and dry lips, ‘I am burning, I am in the fire of universe…’

Only a few days ago I had read it again and remember Dom Moraes in his memoir  Meeting Deokota in Deathbed had mentioned – ‘…The face which we saw was only a mask, dry and thick lock  of black hair hanging on his head. Below the head was a nice forehead, he opened his eyes a little to have a glimpse of us. Face below eyes was lifeless. Cheeks were sunken, his lips were dry and flaked like that of most old people. But I found two long hands like wooden sticks, sandy brown arms slowly raised together in a Namaskar. Then his beautiful eyes were closed, remained on the side he was reclining. His hands went hanging. He took a deep painful breath and was a bit restless with each respiration. … After some time when Gupta introduced me he just opened his eyes for a while. His eyes were cloudy, lifeless like a lake; they were already dead as far as I believe. They brightened if some of our conversation moved them. Just for a little while, only for a few seconds. Those eyes gazed only. A thin hand was sunken inside the bed. I caught the hand with my both hands in a grasp. They were cold and dry. A long silence prevailed. His wrinkled mouth opened painfully. Very slowly with some effort just a word came out of his mouth:
‘Brahmand-dahan’ (‘Universe Burning’)… *
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Sharad Chettri (born 1947 Darjeeling) is a prolific writer better known for his short stories that earned him sobriquet, Kathako Kamdhenu (goldmine of stories) but he is also a poet, essayist, dramatist and critic. He has 30 books to his credit. He was awarded Bhanubhakta Puraskar (West Bengal 1986), Sahitya Akademi Award (New Delhi 1986) and Ratnashree Gold Medal (Kathmandu 1988). He has been felicitated  ( our Karuna  Smarak Samman  2005) and interviewed often. His works appear in newspapers and periodicals regularly and many have been translated into Hindi, Bangla, Assamese, Telegu, Oriya besides English.