Page 101 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“Why? Cremation is after two days.”
“Yes, but I have a problem.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded.
My colleagues left Mongar in a Bolero taxi while I was looking for a lift. In the afternoon, a truck
rumbled up with tiles.
I stood at the roadside and waved. “Mongar, please.”
“We are only up to Trashigang,” said the driver. “Do you want to go?”
“I must go, please,” I said. “I might get other transport from there.”
I got down at the gas station at Trashigang and stood by the roadside, waving for the lift. Trucks and
cars came but didn’t stop. Darkness fell. Soon, I saw a car’s headlight coming towards me. I hunched and
waved at it. It stopped right beside me. It was a Maruti van taxi.
“Mongar, please,” I said. “It’s urgent.”
He glanced at the woman, next to him. “Should we take him?”
“It’s a hundred and fifty ngultrums,” said the woman.
“That’s okay.”
The cabbie stuffed my luggage in the back seat. “Sit here, please,” he said.
I heaved a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
I lay back on my seat and thought about my tragedy. The cabbie and the woman conversed like a
newly-married couple.
“I am glad we celebrated Dau Dangpa Losar with my parents,” said the woman. “My grandparents were
happy with us.”
“Next year, we will celebrate it with my parents,” replied the cabbie.
“Yeah, why not?” she said. “They would be happy as well.”
I closed my eyes, trying to ignore their conversation, but the awful thought wouldn’t go away. My
stomach rumbled, so I nibbled on coconut biscuits. In the darkness, the old taxi hit potholes and creaked,
flinging the sleeping woman.
“Your station, sir,” said the driver.
I opened my eyes and peered through the glass. “Where are we?”
He pointed at the towering Bhutanese traditional building below the road. “Mongar Lower Secondary
School.”
I gave him the fare. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
Other participants were inside the RC room, chatting. They showed me a bunk bed in the far corner of
the room. I spread out a bedsheet on the mattress and scurried into the town for a bowl of noodles.
The four-day seminar commenced the following day. I received two thousand ngultrums at the end.
My veins throbbed. “What? I am poorly remunerated. I think I should approach the focal person.” I
walked up to him. “Sir, two thousand ngultrums is way less for my DSA. I claimed seven thousand
ngultrums. You should remunerate me at least six thousand.”
He stared at me. “You’ve claimed more than your entitlement.” He rose from his chair and picked up
his backpack. “I can’t add one ngultrum.”
“See, my relatives are waiting for me to attend my grandpa’s funeral. What would I do with these two
thousand ngultrums?”
“I can’t. I will be in trouble.”
“Please, sir, I beg of you.”
He searched through his backpack for some change. “Since you insist...”
Although one thousand was still too less, I took it and said, “Thank you.”
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