Page 51 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

It was early spring, and flowers were in their full bloom. The birds chirped their stunning tones. And
flamboyant wings of insects added splendor to the garden. The surroundings appeared mesmerizing.
Everything was fine until my two-year-old half-brother brought great concern to us. He was getting
worse with time.
“I think he is getting worse, Dad,” I said. “Why don’t you take him to the hospital?”
“I am not sure,” he said. He looked stressed out. “Okay, I think we should show him to a doctor.”
“Why is Step-mom not with him?” I said.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said.
“He looks malnourished,” I said. “Step-mom has to feed him milk.”
We took him to the hospital right away.
“The baby is malnourished,” said the doctor. “We must admit him.”
“Is it necessary to admit him, doctor?” asked Dad.
“What do you mean?” said the doctor. “We have to.”
“Admit the baby, please,” I said. “Right away.”
The baby didn’t get better even after two weeks with IV and medication. He panted. Step-mom’s
mother, Abi Wangmo, came from the village.
After school, I would go to the hospital to see him.
“Ugyen,” I said, waving my hand. “Look at me.” I choked on a lump to see such an adorable baby
battling for life. “How’re you feeling?”
He wailed.
The next day, Dad came home and sobbed, kneeling on his knees. “Ugyen passed away.”
“What?” I flung the book. “Let’s go.”
The nurses were removing the nasal tubes. Abi Wangmo was sniffling beside the body. I tried not to
cry. Poor Ugyen lay in the bed in what seemed like a peaceful sleep. When I couldn’t bear it anymore, I
knelt beside Abi Wangmo and sniffled.
“Please don’t cry, grandma,” I said, embracing her.
“Stop crying, boy,” said a man from behind. “What’s the plan now?”
I got up and wiped the tears. “I don’t know. Dad would decide on it.”
The doctor patted Dad’s back. “Sorry, we couldn’t save the baby.”
Dad covered his face in his coarse hands and sniffled all he could.
“You must take the body out now,” said the nurse.
“Where should we take him?” I said.
The nurse said, “You can keep it at the end of the exit. Take it in the morning.”
Dad packed the body in a carton box and carried it to the end of the exit. He lit a tiny butter lamp, the
only source of our light at the dark exit. We sat around the lifeless body and chanted prayers.
Dawn broke.
“Dad, now what?” I said.
“Let’s take him home,” he said. “We’ll take him to Chaskhar. To his mother.”
In the afternoon, we began the journey to the village on foot. Dad carried the carton. I carried the bag
and Abi Wangmo cried all along the way. Soon our shadows extended against the afternoon sun. We
scurried. For a moment, I lost faith in God.
A truck heaved up the road, wafting clouds of acrid smoke. We waved at the driver, but he didn’t stop.
“Oh, no!” I said, tears blurring my eyes. “We are stranded nowhere.”
The truck stopped ahead. Malik Wangchukla popped out his head from the window. He was one of the
richest businessmen in Mongar.
Dad scurried up to him. “Please, Malik.”
My heart wrenched, seeing Dad’s hands shaking as he attached his palms like a supplicant.
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