On the morning of her tenth birthday, Matina woke up earlier than usual.

The sun had barely risen over Kathmandu when she joined her grandfather on a walk to Swayambhu. The city was still quiet, but as they climbed the path, a distant melody began to fill the air. The sound grew louder with every step. Drums echoed through the streets, horns called out in rhythm, and groups of people moved together as they played their instruments.

Matina stopped to watch.

She had never seen so many different instruments being played at once. Some were large and powerful, while others produced soft and gentle sounds. Among them was a long horn unlike anything she had seen before.

Curious, she turned to her grandfather.

“What are they playing?” she asked.

Her grandfather smiled.

“Those are Gunla Baja,” he replied. “And tonight, I’ll tell you their story.”

The promise stayed in Matina’s mind all day.

Every evening, her grandfather shared a story before bedtime, but tonight felt special. As soon as dinner was over, she hurried to his room and climbed onto the bed while he arranged the blankets.

“Grandpa, you promised you would tell me about Gunla,” she reminded him eagerly.

He laughed softly.

“The tenth month of the Nepal Sambat calendar is called Gunla,” he began. “Throughout this sacred month, Buddhist Newars wake before sunrise and walk through their neighborhoods, visiting chivahs and shrines while playing traditional musical instruments. Eventually, many of them make their way to Swayambhu.”

Matina immediately remembered the musicians she had seen that morning.

“And all those instruments are Gunla Baja?”

“Yes,” her grandfather replied. “Each one has its own role and meaning.”

She thought for a moment.

“There was one that looked like a horn. What was it called?”

“That is the Nyaku Baja,” he said. “Nyaku means horn.”

Matina’s eyes widened.

“A real horn?”

Her grandfather nodded.

“Yes. And the story behind it is one of the oldest stories connected to Gunla.”

As the room grew quiet, he began.

Long ago, there was a city called Shashipattan, ruled by a king named Singhbhel. He was a skilled ruler, but he loved hunting more than anything else. He spent his days chasing birds and wild animals through forests, taking pride in every hunt.

His queen, Surakshani, believed differently.

She often begged him to stop.

To her, taking the lives of innocent creatures was wrong. But the king never listened.

Years passed, and eventually their lives came to an end.

According to the story, the consequences of the king’s actions followed him into his next life. Because of the suffering he had caused, he was reborn as a buffalo. The queen was reborn as the daughter of a Brahmin family in the same place.

As she grew older, it became her responsibility to take the buffalo out to graze each day.

One afternoon, while walking through a forest, a group of tigers suddenly appeared. Terrified, she hid behind a large rock. The tigers ignored her and attacked the buffalo instead.

Before she could do anything, the buffalo was gone.

Heartbroken, she sat beneath a tree and cried until exhaustion overcame her.

That night, she had a dream.

A divine figure appeared before her and revealed the truth.

The buffalo, she learned, had once been King Singhbhel. The suffering he experienced was the result of the harm he had caused in his previous life.

The divine figure gave her instructions.

She was told to gather the remains of the buffalo and bury them. Above the burial site, she was to establish a chivah. The horn alone should remain untouched. From that horn, she was instructed to create an instrument. Then, while playing it, she should walk around the shrine and dedicate her prayers and meditation to the king.

Through compassion, devotion, and good deeds, his sins would eventually be cleansed.

When she awoke, she followed every instruction exactly as she had seen in the dream.

As she prayed and meditated, something remarkable happened.

From the sound of the horn emerged the spirit of King Singhbhel, finally freed from the burden of his past actions. Through the virtue and compassion of the queen, he found liberation.

The story fell silent for a moment.

Usually, Matina would have drifted off to sleep by then. But tonight she was completely awake.

“So people still play the Nyaku because of that story?” she asked.

Her grandfather smiled.

“Yes. Even today, people continue the tradition. While playing the Nyaku and other instruments, they walk around the chivahs, the Swayambhu Stupa, and the sacred paths surrounding it. The practice reminds us of compassion, reflection, and the possibility of transformation.”

Matina thought back to the musicians she had watched that morning.

“There were so many other instruments too,” she said. “Why do they play all of them?”

“Because the instruments carry the melodies of sacred songs,” her grandfather replied. “Skilled musicians learn to make the instruments speak through music. When they practice, they sing and play together until the melody becomes part of them.”

Matina looked amazed.

“Instruments can speak?”

“In their own way, yes.”

For a moment, she imagined the drums, horns, and cymbals telling stories that had traveled across generations.

Then another thought came to her.

“Can anyone learn to play them?”

“Of course,” her grandfather said. “These traditions belong to everyone who wishes to learn and preserve them.”

A smile spread across Matina’s face.

“Then I want to learn too.”

“Really?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

“If we learn these traditions and share them with others, they won’t disappear.”

Her grandfather looked at her proudly.

“Then tomorrow, I’ll take you somewhere you can learn.”

Matina immediately knew which instrument she wanted.

“The big drum,” she said.

“The Dhaa Baja?” he asked.

“Yes, that one.”

Her grandfather laughed.

“Alright. But first, you need some sleep.”

As the lights were turned off and the house grew quiet, Matina closed her eyes.

That night, she dreamed of walking through the streets during Gunla, surrounded by music, carrying forward a tradition that had traveled through centuries and was now finding its way into her own hands.