Page 125 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

He went through the synopsis. “It is touching, but we don’t buy the copyrights. Why don’t you self-publish it?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you can publish on your own. We can print books as per your order at an affordable rate, but you
must sell the books yourself. How many copies do you want?”
“I don’t have money,” I said. “I… I am selling it to accrue expenses for my baby’s treatment.”
“Don’t worry about the payment. You can pay whatever you have.”
“I have twenty-seven thousand only.”
“That will do,” he said, “but pay the balance after you sell them. Do you have a soft copy?”
“I haven’t yet done it.”
“You must type. And when you are done, come with the soft copy.”
“Sure. I need some time, sir.”
As I slogged down to the taxi stand, I thought about the edition. “Now who will edit the manuscript? Oh, the
chief editor of Bhutan Observer! I think I should ask him.” I headed for the Bhutan Observer building at the end of
the avenue. The office was on the third floor. A young girl was at the front desk.
“Excuse me?” I said. “Where is the chief editor’s office?”
“Straight left.”
“Excuse me, sir?” I said, knocking on the door.
“What a pleasant surprise.” He showed me the chair. “What brings you here, Dorji?”
I sank into the chair. “I wanted to ask you a favor, sir. I have a manuscript to edit.”
“I am kind-of-busy these days,” he said. “Anyway, what is it about?”
“A story about an orphan, suffering at his tender age.”
“Do you have a soft copy of it?”
“No, sir,” I said, “but I got this.” I handed him the manuscript. “Please have a look at it.”
He skimmed through the pages and said, “I need the soft copy.”
“It will take some time,” I said. “I must type it.”
“Take your own time,” he said.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, pushing the chair under the table. “How much will you charge?”
He thought over it. “Whatever you give.”
“I would pay ten thousand after selling some copies. And five thousand, you should give me some time.”
“I trust you.”
“Deal done!”
Straightaway, I went to school to see the principal. He wasn’t in the office as it was Saturday afternoon. So, I
went to his quarter. I climbed up the wooden stairs and knocked on the door. His daughter opened it.
“Sir?” I asked.
“Dad is away. Mom is sick.”
“Can I see your mom, please?”
She left the door ajar. Ma’am was lying on the sofa. Her head was tied with a scarf. She sat up as I tiptoed in.
“Sorry madam, it’s urgent,” I said, cringing. “I need to use your computer, please.”
“Why not? It’s in that room.”
I typed the manuscript the whole afternoon. For the remaining, I borrowed my landlord’s Acer laptop and
completed it in a week.
My editor saved the manuscript on his computer. “I would try to complete it in two weeks,” he said.
“Please try to complete it. The press is waiting for it.”
He completed it after three weeks. I gave the edited version to the proprietor of Galing Printing Press.
“It’s flawless,” he said. “Now we need the cover photo.”
“Any idea about it?” I said.
“Mr. Wangchuk can illustrate it.” He beckoned to one of his staff. “Call Wangchuk.”
A thin man with a paintbrush in his hand walked in. “Sir?”
“Can you illustrate his book?” said the proprietor. “It’s a good story.”
Mr. Wangchuk studied me from head to toe. “Sure, sir,”
“You can discuss with him, Dorji,” said the proprietor.
“Sure,” I said, shuffling after Mr. Wangchuk to his cubicle. “How much would you charge for it?”
“Three hundred,” he said.
I briefed him about the novel cover.
Two weeks later, I received one thousand copies. So, I hawked the town and public places with my books.
“Buy a copy of my book, sir,” I said to a tourist scurrying down the street.
“Sure,” he said and frisked his wallet. “How much?”

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