Page 36 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“No,” said Jigwang. He slipped away from Bolu’s hand and knocked into me. I exercised all my
strength and bore him far against the bulwark. And we wrestled into Jiku’s room and out and broke into
the bulwarks.
Bolu pushed him into Jiku’s room and latched the door from outside. “Ah! My fingers hurt.”
“I am sorry, Ata,” I said, panting. “He started it.”
“Ssh!” he said. “Go get to your room now. Don’t open the door if he comes again, okay?”
I nodded.
Silence prevailed for the rest of the night. The next day, Jigwang was with his friends on the way to
school. He gawked at me as if he would lunge anytime, but he didn’t. We glared at each other and parted
our ways.
After he left, I held my chest and sighed. “Phew, that was close.”
The next night, Jiku and Jigwang brought another guy. I heard Baggio’s voice.
“Why is Baggio here?” I said to myself in my bed. “To abet Jigwang and Jiku?”
They didn’t bawl. They talked and went to sleep.
Baggio was a bow-legged guy with speed. His curly hair gave him the look of an Italian football player,
Roberto Baggio. Considering his personality, folks should have nicknamed him Baggio instead of College.
I preferred to call him Baggio. Baggio was a bit conceited but generous.
Jigwang and Baggio flunked in eighth grade. So, we became classmates. We also played football in the
school team. Jigwang played on defense. He was the fastest player in our team, and maybe, the fastest in all
the high schools in Bhutan.
Our friendship became stronger with each passing day. One evening, way back home from school,
Baggio slipped his arms around my shoulder and grinned.
“Glad we didn’t fight that night,” he said. “Guess what, I had brought a baton to clout you.”
Stunned and hurt, I grinned. “Oh, you did?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry, I had to.”
Jigwang winked at Baggio. “Forget it, guys,” he said.
It was past and there was no reason I should heed to it. “Yeah, let’s not dig the past,” I said.
After the mid-year exams, Coach told us to get ready for our journey to Thimphu. Back then, inter-high
football tournaments were held at Thimphu in Summer.
On the first day of the summer vacation, we clambered onto the police DCM truck. The body was
covered with a canvas cover and it was dark.
Coach peeped in and said, “Boys, spread our beddings and make yourself comfortable. The journey is
long.”
“Okay, Coach,” we said in unison.
The truck moved, and we sang our first song:

“Yethro Lhamo….
Nyi Yethro Lham.
Chhoe gayi gayi go dhi gi
Nyi lo gi len lab ma tub
Gaan gawai loju enru lab
Nga la nyen sem threl ma chu.”

We sang louder as we moved through the town. People waved at us and we waved back to them. We
crossed a bridge and arrived at a small town where houses were built of shingles. Smoke billowed from the
chimneys of a small restaurant below the road.
The driver pulled over and rolled up the canvas cover. “Nature’s call, boys!”
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