Page 15 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“I am sorry, son,” he said. “I couldn’t save him.”
“Wangchuk, my dear brother,” I cried. “Please come back!”
Tashi Wangchuk was only five. I couldn’t believe fate took him away at his pubescent stage. I cherished
the moments I had spent with him. We would scavenge trash bins and pick half-rotten fruits from the
gutters. Sometimes, we would pilfer cookies from the shops.
As I laughed, I tasted my tears in loneliness, even in the crowd. When I stayed with friends, I wished to
be alone, and when alone, I wanted company. I missed my little brother every day.
One evening, I chatted with Dad. “Dad, what happened to Mom?” I asked. “What caused her death?”
His teary eyes turned into a fierce glare, and he clenched his teeth. “Black magic.”
“What? Black magic?”
“He too would die one day,” he said. “He will suffer.”
“Who is he?”
“You don’t have to know. I’ll tell you later. I repent for Mom’s great loss. She had fine qualities.”
“What happened to Tashi Wangchuk?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but his whole body swelled,” he said, “and he bled from his mouth and nose.”
“My poor brother.” Tears replenished my eyes. “What’d you do with his body?”
“Dead bodies of children under eight are forbidden to cremate,” he said. “So, we carried out the water
burial.”
“Water burial?” I wiped off the tears. “Which river?”
He stopped sniffling and cleared his throat. “Gamri.”
“Which spot?”
“Samtorong.”
In winter, I visited Samtorong below the village. The sound of the gushing river brought agony to my
heart. The closer I walked, the faster my heart thudded. I pressed my chest and said, “Why my little
brother, God?”
As I neared the riverbank, his musical laughter echoed into my ears. Birds soared above my head and
chirped, flapping their wings. Except for the sound of the gushing river, the surroundings remained serene.
I climbed a rock and watched the river flow downstream. Bubbles buoyed as the fast-flowing water filled
the rapids. And the breeze caressed my face. I missed my little brother more. I rested my chin on my palms
and gazed at the cerulean sky. “If I could build stairs to heaven, I would visit you.”
I cherished the time my brothers and I strolled into the town. We walked along a gutter clogged up with
garbage. Maggots squirmed in a long stretch of the murky water. A ripe mango that lay beside the gutter
tempted me. I slobbered, so I tried to pick it. But the pedestrians walked around. We waited and the
moment the street became empty, I picked it.
“Hurry,” I said. “Let’s go home.”
We scurried to the water tap and washed the mango. Standing at the dimly-lit entrance, we licked the
mango in turns.
“Where’d you get it?” asked Dad. “Let me see.” He peered at it. “It’s rotten. Wait here.” He returned
with Mom. “See? They’re eating rotten fruit.”
“Let me see it,” said Mom, snatching the mango from me. “Where’d you get that, Dorji?”
Hair stood on the back of my neck. I searched for a means to get away, but they cornered me. “Um,
Kezang gave me.”
“Don’t you lie to me,” said Dad. “It’s rotten.”
I raised my elbow and covered my head. “I swear Kezang—”
“Here, buy some sweets for your brothers,” said Mom. “Don’t feed them with rotten fruits.”
It was a two-ngultrum note. That made me jump with the glee, but my heart wouldn’t stop thudding
under my chest. I sighed and called my brothers. “Come, let’s have Parle-G.”
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