Page 16 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

Every day, I looked around with the expectation they might reappear. Often, I knelt and turned back.
“Come, Wangchuk. Get on my back. We will go for a long walk.”
Assuming he had climbed onto my back, I walked, talking back to him.
When Dad left for the village, I put up at his colleague’s place. His colleague’s daughter wasn’t happy
with me for offering food to my departed souls. Every time I sprinkled rice, she shook her head.
“Please don’t sprinkle rice,” she said. “Spirits would harm you.”
“I must.” I scooped a handful of rice and placed it on the floor. “My mom and brother would be
hungry.”
She glared at me. “Stop it, please.”
“My dear mom and brother, please have it,” I murmured. “Hope this would satiate you.”
“Oh, please don’t!” she said. “For god’s sake, stop it.”
“I have to,” I said in a low-toned voice. “This is our culture.” As I sat alone in the small dingy room,
the reality bore me down. I cried without stopping for hours. I longed to go far away—to a distant place
where painful memories won’t reach—somewhere I had not been before.
We lived on the ground floor at the end of the row that served a common purpose—the living room,
kitchen, and bedroom. All we had were three wooden boxes and a few utensils in the semi-partitioned
kitchen. And a few mattresses lay beside the window Dad had sutured from the rugs. A modest home, but
I liked it.
“A humble home,” said Dad. “Hope you don’t regret it, son.”
“No, Dad.” I grinned. “I am okay here.” I glanced around the room. “I am happy with whatever we
have.”
He ran his hand through my straw-colored hair and said, “Sorry, I couldn’t save your mom and
brother.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” I said, “One day or the other, everybody must die, but I am grateful for a caring
father.”

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