Page 87 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“Sorry, we are sleeping here,” I asked, raising my hand. “Hotels are all closed.”
He came closer and peered at us. “A bomb exploded here a week ago—be warned. Where you’d you
come from?”
“Mongar.”
“And headed where?”
“Phuentsholing,” said the boys, shifting closer to me.
“And you?” said the police, flashing his torchlight on my face. “What do you do?”
“Teacher,” I said, squinting away from his torchlight. “Recently passed out.”
“Oh, sorry, sir.” He put off the torchlight. “You may sleep on the turret if you like. I have extra
blankets.”
“Thank you,” I said, “I am comfortable with the boys.”
He left.
Boys snored, cuddling amongst themselves. I couldn’t. I gazed at the star-filled sky. It reminded me of
the story Granny had told me about the seven little brothers. “Which star could be the eldest brother?” I
counted all the stars twinkling in the plow-shaped galaxy. “And which one is the youngest? Which is
which?”
They disappeared and then reappeared in the clear sky. As the crisp air caressed my hair, I gazed at
them. Yesterday was a dream, and tomorrow a mystery. Fear and terror gripped my life at that moment.
Eyes closed, I folded my hands and whispered prayers. “Lama la chabsu chhe, Sangay la chabsu chhoe,
Choe la chabsu chhe, Gaedun la chabsu chhe. Kabney dampa chhe la chapsu chhe!”
Footsteps woke me. It was still dark. I sat up and looked around. People were scurrying into the town.
“Boys, get up,” I said. “It’s time you caught the bus.”
We hurried after them. At the border gate, I shook their hands. “Safe journey, boys.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” said Boto, “for accompanying us.”
“You are welcome,” I said, watching them enter the bus. “Bye.”
Shoulders slumped, I traipsed back to the prayer wheel. A hotel next to the cinema was open. I stepped
in and said, “Is there a room?”
“Yes,” said the man at the counter. “Single or double.”
“How much for a single room?”
“Fifty.” He studied from head to toe. “Coming from?”
I glared. “Why are you staring? You got a problem with that?”
“No, I just—”
“I am clean,” I said, frowning. “Bhutanese, not anybody.”
“Key, please,” he said, placing it on the counter. “Room No. 102, upstairs.”
I didn’t care what went inside his mind. I just hankered for some peaceful sleep for the rest of the day. I
hauled my luggage from the prayer wheel and flung myself onto the bed.
My batches—Tashi, Parshu, and Sonam Gyeltshen—joined me after three days. We reported to the
DEO, the next day.
“Welcome to Samdrup Jongkhar Education Faculty,” said the District Education Officer.
We bowed. “Our pleasure, sir.”
“Everyone here?” He counted our heads. “Just the four of you?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “Others must be on their way.”
“Now listen,” he said, shifting his eyes to each of us. “Nganglam is a precarious place at the frontline.
Stay alert. Don’t mingle with the mutineers. Just mind your duty, understood?”
We exchanged glances and nodded.
“Fill in your service book,” he said.
We took more than half an hour to fill in our details.
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