Page 22 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“Don’t worry.” He scooped out a handful of marvels from his pant pockets. “Here you are.”
“Wow, plenty of marbles,” I said. “Yes, let’s play.”
Chimmi, another imbecile in the town, pelted stones at the marbles. Lips thick and snotty nose, he
gritted his teeth when furious. His unremitting disturbance ruined the charm of our play.
Annoyed, Penjore said, “Don’t interrupt us, please.”
But Chimmi curled up his lips and continued pelting stones.
“Stop it!” blurted Penjore. “You rogue, stop it.”
“What’d you say?” He shoved Penjore. “You jerk!”
When Penjore burst into tears, my blood frothed. “Hey Chimmi, watch your hands.”
“Another scrawny Charlie.” He swaggered toward me. “It’d be wise not to make more of an enemy of
me, idiot.” He knocked me hard onto a heap of rubbish. “You heard what I said?”
In a fit of anger, I picked a stone and lunged at him. “You damn brute,” I said.
He unbuttoned the shirt. “Come on, hit me here.”
Penjore winked at me from the side. As desperately as he wanted, I dived and clasped Chimmi’s legs.
Penjore butt-headed Chimmi’s chest. And the moment Chimmi fell on his back, Penjore scrambled onto
him and held his hands against the ground. Chime squirmed hard to get free, but we held him firmer.
“Drat!” he said. “Let go of me!”
“Penjore, don’t,” I said, puffing. “He would kill us.”
“I will break every piece of bone in your body, you wretched,” blurted Chimmi.
My heart thudded as I thought of the ramifications. “We must not free him, Penjor.”
Penjore grunted as he gripped Chimmi’s hand. “Yeah, I won’t.”
Half an hour passed. A woman carrying a baby on her back appeared from nowhere. “Let go of him.”
She shoved Penjore and dragged me away. “What do you think you are doing? Kill him?”
“What have you done?” I shouted, running for my life. “He would kill me now.”
After a short distance, Chimmi grasped my shirt and tossed me onto the ground. “How dare you?” He
hopped onto me and biffed my nose. “Don’t you ever mess with me!”
Blood oozed from my nose. “Help, help! Dad!”
Chimmi ran away.

***

Real football was rare and expensive. It cost around two hundred, which was my dad’s half salary. So,
my friends and I used old socks to make a ball. We filled in with the crumbled paper and stitched the outer
layer of the socks. The rectangular sloppy field behind the hospital building would be occupied, every
evening. On weekends, we would occupy the ground from as early as 6:00 am to dusk. Legs clattered, and
we limped, but the game went on for the entire afternoon without a rest.
“Hey, Dorji,” said the team captain. “We have a football match in the afternoon.”
Pricking my ears, I said, “What time?”
“3:00 pm sharp,” he said. “Report to the ground before twenty minutes.”
“I would,” I said. “Thanks for the information.”
Opponents wore a uniform. The match went uninterrupted until I kicked in Netenla’s shin.
“Ouch!” He threw himself onto the ground. “Watch your steps, moron.”
“I am sorry,” I said. “It was unintentional.”
Netenla endured in silence. He fought no one before, but his sudden burst of anger came as a shock.
With a vindictive glee in their eyes, his teammates shout his name. Even Jaga—my father’s colleague’s
son—supported him. “Netenla! Netenla!”
Netenla gawked and bounced around, fists punching the air like a UFC fighter in the ring.
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