Page 97 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“No, they come out at night.”
“But it’s riskier at night. They’d kill you in sleep.”
She stopped grinning. “What do you want to buy?”
“How much for a small Coca-Cola?”
“Fifty.”
“One bottle, please. What else you got?”
“Biscuits and potato chips.”
“We don’t have time for such things,” said the eldest from a distance down. “We should continue.”
“Please continue,” I said. “I will follow you.”
I sat beside the girl and refreshed myself with coke and a packet of potato chips. “Bye, stay safe.”
She waved. “Travel safe, la.”
The next few hours were laborious. Sweat dripped from my head in rivulets in the blistering afternoon
sun. In fifteen minutes, we arrived at a riverbank. Three bamboos were laid across the deep gorge. Without
railings. My travel mates crossed it to the other side of the bank.
“Come one, sir,” shouted Sangla from the other side. “Walk across.”
My nerves overran me. “I can’t!”
“Come on,” shouted the youngest one. “You must do it!”
“Can you cross the river?” shouted Sangla.
I nodded. “I guess so!”
I climbed down to the bank and stood there, trying to pluck up courage. When I stood there, my travel
mates disappeared into the woods.
“Oh, no! They are leaving me,” I said. “I must cross it.”
I waded across the freezing river, deeper and deeper. “Oh, I am sinking.” I swam across, but the
current swept me farther down to the other bank. I sat on a rock and glanced at the river, knees wobbling.
“Oops, that was close.”
I staggered into the dense wood. The risk of encountering wild animals still loomed. Soon I schlepped
up the mountain. The ruthless heat felt like nothing at the base, but within ten minutes of climbing
drenched me in sweat. They trickled into the eyes. That there was no one around increased my fear. I
could have sat and wept in loneliness. Footsteps seemed to follow me from behind, pacing up the already
extreme thudding of my heart. I couldn’t make out if it was sweating the ruthless heat had produced or
tears my eyes had shed. One thing was certain—my heart cried as much as I sweated. “God, why is this
happening to me?”
Rashes around my pelvis troubled me. I limped for the rest of the journey that seemed to take forever.
Dizziness worsened as I schlepped up the steepest part of the mountain. I jolted every time I felt
something move, even when the wind rustled through the leaves. It reminded me of a Dredpu’s myth told
by a Brokpa. Brokpas were the semi-nomadic highlanders of Sakteng and Merak in Trashigang, eastern
Bhutan. They said the abominable snowman mimicked a human voice to coax its prey. Once the prey was
within its reach, Dredpu lunged at it with its open pouch. Brokpas were familiar with the Dredpu. They
said their forefathers had named the elusive creature as Dredpu.
In winter, they came to our village and halted at their host’s place. Each Brokpa had a host called
Neypo. They went around the village and bartered their dairy products with grains. The most expensive
dairy product was Yosha, processed by storing it in a yak skin-bag. It emitted a rancid scent, yet I enjoyed
the yosha-flavored curry the most.
“Dredpo is huge like a gorilla,” said our Neypo. “It is black and furry and smells of garlic.”
“You saw it?” I asked.
“My grandfather told me when I was a kid. We worship it as a deity for protecting our pasture. It’s a
harmless goblin unless provoked. But once aggravated, it would attack anything that comes its way.”
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