Page 12 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

Hair stood on the back of my neck. I searched for a means to get away, but they cornered me. “Um, Kezang
gave me.”
“Don’t you lie to me,” said Dad. “It’s rotten.”
I raised my elbow and covered my head. “I swear Kezang—”
“Here, buy some sweets for your brothers,” said Mom. “Don’t feed them with rotten fruits.”
It was a two-ngultrum note. That made me jump with the glee, but my heart wouldn’t stop thudding under my
chest. I sighed and called my brothers. “Come, let’s have Parle-G.”
Every day, I looked around with the expectation they might reappear. Often, I knelt and turned back. “Come,
Wangchuk. Get on my back. We will go for a long walk.”
Assuming he had climbed onto my back, I walked, talking back to him.
When Dad left for the village, I put up at his colleague’s place. His colleague’s daughter wasn’t happy with me for
offering food to my departed souls. Every time I sprinkled rice, she shook her head.
“Please don’t sprinkle rice,” she said. “Spirits would harm you.”
“I must.” I scooped a handful of rice and placed it on the floor. “My mom and brother would be hungry.”
She glared at me. “Stop it, please.”
“My dear mom and brother, please have it,” I murmured. “Hope this would satiate you.”
“Oh, please don’t!” she said. “For god’s sake, stop it.”
“I have to,” I said in a low-toned voice. “This is our culture.” As I sat alone in the small dingy room, the reality
bore me down. I cried without stopping for hours. I longed to go far away—to a distant place where painful
memories won’t reach—somewhere I had not been before.
We lived on the ground floor at the end of the row that served a common purpose—the living room, kitchen,
and bedroom. All we had were three wooden boxes and a few utensils in the semi-partitioned kitchen. And a few
mattresses lay beside the window Dad had sutured from the rugs. A modest home, but I liked it.
“A humble home,” said Dad. “Hope you don’t regret it, son.”
“No, Dad.” I grinned. “I am okay here.” I glanced around the room. “I am happy with whatever we have.”
He ran his hand through my straw-colored hair and said, “Sorry, I couldn’t save your mom and brother.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” I said, “One day or the other, everybody must die, but I am grateful for a caring father.”

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