Page 156 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“Dad is away. Mom is sick.”
“Can I see your mom, please?”
She left the door ajar. Ma’am was lying on the sofa. Her head was tied with a scarf. She sat up as I
tiptoed in.
“Sorry madam, it’s urgent,” I said, cringing. “I need to use your computer, please.”
“Why not? It’s in that room.”
I typed the manuscript the whole afternoon. For the remaining, I borrowed my landlord’s Acer laptop
and completed it in a week.
My editor saved the manuscript on his computer. “I would try to complete it in two weeks,” he said.
“Please try to complete it. The press is waiting for it.”
He completed it after three weeks. I gave the edited version to the proprietor of Galing Printing Press.
“It’s flawless,” he said. “Now we need the cover photo.”
“Any idea about it?” I said.
“Mr. Wangchuk can illustrate it.” He beckoned to one of his staff. “Call Wangchuk.”
A thin man with a paintbrush in his hand walked in. “Sir?”
“Can you illustrate his book?” said the proprietor. “It’s a good story.”
Mr. Wangchuk studied me from head to toe. “Sure, sir,”
“You can discuss with him, Dorji,” said the proprietor.
“Sure,” I said, shuffling after Mr. Wangchuk to his cubicle. “How much would you charge for it?”
“Three hundred,” he said.
I briefed him about the novel cover.
Two weeks later, I received one thousand copies. So, I hawked the town and public places with my
books.
“Buy a copy of my book, sir,” I said to a tourist scurrying down the street.
“Sure,” he said and frisked his wallet. “How much?”
“One hundred twenty-five ngultrums. Where are you from?”
“USA.” He flicked the pages. “Nice book.”
“Thanks,” I said and approached other pedestrians. “A book for sale, please.”
A young female student came up. “How much is it?”
“One hundred twenty ngultrums for students.”
And my colleagues and students took a few copies for their friends and relatives. Choki’s relatives called
me to send them a few cartons. And Chedra Jamtsho took a carton for his staff at Amankora Resort.
Two days later, I got a phone call from my editor. “A news reporter at the BBS Service wants to talk to
you. Can I give her your contact number?”
“A news reporter from BBS?” I said, scratching my head. “Why would she talk to me?”
“Maybe something good.”
“Okay,” I said after a pause. “You can give her my number.”
My phone beeped after half an hour. “Mr. Dorji Wangdi?”
“Yes? Who is speaking?”
“I am the head news reporter, calling from the BBS.” Her voice was soft. “Your editor must’ve told you
about me, did he?”
“Yes, he did. Anything I can do for you, madam?”
“I bought your book. I suppose you are selling them for personal reasons. Can you tell me the reason,
please?”
I gave myself a profound thought, trying to figure out my reason. “Um, I don’t think I have any
personal reason—”
“I heard your baby is sick, isn’t it?”
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