Page 14 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“Yes,” said Dad.
“What was divination?”
“Water burial,” said Dad. “We can’t cremate the body.”
“I will arrange the transportation,” said the bank manager. “Where do you want to take the cadaver to?”
“I think we should take it to Kurichhu, Dasho,” said Dad.
“Fine,” said the bank manager. “I will be back soon.”
In the afternoon, they lifted the coffin onto the back of the yellow Land Rover truck.
“Bye, Mom,” I said. “May you be reborn in our family soon.”
I dragged my brothers as the truck barreled down the road. It disappeared in the distance soon.
“Where are they taking our mom?” asked Phub Dorji.
“To a faraway place,” I said. “We will never see our mom from today.”
Why?”
“She left us,” I said. “Forever.”
Tashi Wangchuk, the youngest, wailed. “Mom! Boohoo!”
I knelt and embraced them, sniffling.
Nothing remained of her now, not a photo to remind us of her. Dad and Grandpa returned in the
evening. Grandpa leaned against the door and sobbed. Poor grandpa. Mom was his one and the only
daughter. He sobbed more when people stared at him.
“Come, grandpa,” I said. “Stop crying now.”
Butter lamps flickered as we all sat and mourned her. I gazed at the empty corner Mom used to groan.
The pain was too much to bear, so I covered my face in my hands and sniffled.
“We’ll conduct her rites in the village,” said Grandma. “What do you say, son-in-law?”
Dad paused sobbing. “That seems convenient,” said Dad. “We can’t conduct the rites here.”
Three days later, we boarded the bus. Grandma sprinkled rice along the way, and up onto the bus.
“Follow us home, Uchi. Come with us.”
“What is she doing, Dad?” I asked.
“Grandma is calling Mom’s spirit,” he said.
“Is it necessary?”
“We must take the spirit back home,” he said. “It’s our culture.”
After the 21st-day rite, Dad and I returned to our place. We kept Phub Dorji and Tashi Wangchuk back
in the village with grandparents.
Before we left, I pecked them on their faces and said, “Bye, my brothers. Don’t go to the riverside, and
obey grandpa and grandma, okay?”
They sniffled.
“I will come in the winter vacation,” I said.
Two weeks later, Dad said, “I must go home for Mom’s 49th-day rite. You will attend school from
Tashi Ama’s place, okay?”
“Who is Tashi Ama, Dad?” I asked.
“She is Mom’s best friend,” he said. “She is a kind lady.”
“How long would you take, Dad?”
“I will come back after the 49th-day rite is over.”
Three weeks later, Dad returned from the village. He knelt and hugged me.
“What’s the matter, Dad?” I asked. “Tell me.”
“Tashi Wangchuk passed away, son!” he said.
“What?” I knelt. “Did you say Tashi Wangchuk—”
He nodded. “Tashi Wangchuk passed away!”
I wriggled on the floor. “Oh, my dear little brother!”
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