Page 136 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

her hands. “Lama la chap su chhe, Sangay la chap su chhe, chhoe la chap su chhe, gedeon la chap su chhe.
Chap ney dam pa ken-cho-sum la chap su chhe.”
Down the valley, houses appeared like tiny ants. I cringed away from the window and muttered to
myself, “Hell no! What if the engines stopped in midair?”
We landed at Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose International Airport at Kolkata. Phew! The short flight
robbed me of my breath. A man of average height stood at the exit of the terminal. He wore a tie that
matched his brown and yellow-checked shirt.
“Mr. Ngawang?” I said.
He nodded. “Are you the one who called me yesterday?”
I nodded.
“Where is the patient?”
“Here he is.”
He tickled Rinchen’s cheek. “Plump and adorable.” He turned to Choki and said, “Kuzu Zangpo,
Aunty.”
Choki grinned. “Kuzu Zangpo la.”
“Follow me.” He led us to the ambulance at the parking lot. “Get in, please.”
“Which hospital?” I asked.
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “I will take you to the best hospital.”
The ambulance stopped at the red-lights. And when it moved, it made an irksome sound. The alien
place fuddled me as everything around looked alike. I couldn’t say which direction we headed.
After one hour, the ambulance stopped in front of a towering building. I read the 3-D Letter signboard
hung above the entrance: AMRI HOSPITAL.
“Bring the papers to the reception,” said Mr. Ngawang. At the triage, he conversed with a young
female. “Is Doctor Mitra coming?”
“I’ll call him,” she said. “Sit there, please.”
We sat on the couch beside the triage. Minutes later, a bulbous octogenarian wobbled up and greeted
us. The dark circles beneath his eyes gave him the ghoulish appearance, but he grinned.
“I am Dr. Soumen Kumar Mitra, the pediatric surgeon,” he said in a husky voice. He tickled Rinchen
on his cheeks and said, “You can admit him now.”
We nodded.
He conversed with the Liaison Officer and turned to the receptionist. “Do anything possible for the
baby. I’ll come tomorrow.”
The triage nurse said, “The bed isn’t ready. You should wait for a while, please.”
A tall middle-aged man stood behind me. “From Bhutan?”
I got up. “Yes, sir.”
He gave me a handshake. “I am Gembo. Your name, please?”
“Dorji Wangdi,” I said.
“Glad to meet you.”
“Me, too, sir.”
“My sister is in the ICU.”
“Oh, I see.”
“We’ll show you the guest house after they admit your baby.”
“That’s okay,” I said.
A few minutes later, a ward boy took us to the pediatric ward on the seventh floor.
Mr. Ngawang said, “I’ll come in the evening.”
“What did the surgeon say?” I asked him.
“He said he’d conduct some tests. Don’t worry, he is an experienced surgeon.”
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