Page 126 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“One hundred twenty-five ngultrums. Where are you from?”
“USA.” He flicked the pages. “Nice book.”
“Thanks,” I said and approached other pedestrians. “A book for sale, please.”
A young female student came up. “How much is it?”
“One hundred twenty ngultrums for students.”
And my colleagues and students took a few copies for their friends and relatives. Choki’s relatives called me to
send them a few cartons. And Chedra Jamtsho took a carton for his staff at Amankora Resort.
Two days later, I got a phone call from my editor. “A news reporter at the BBS Service wants to talk to you. Can
I give her your contact number?”
“A news reporter from BBS?” I said, scratching my head. “Why would she talk to me?”
“Maybe something good.”
“Okay,” I said after a pause. “You can give her my number.”
My phone beeped after half an hour. “Mr. Dorji Wangdi?”
“Yes? Who is speaking?”
“I am the head news reporter, calling from the BBS.” Her voice was soft. “Your editor must’ve told you about
me, did he?”
“Yes, he did. Anything I can do for you, madam?”
“I bought your book. I suppose you are selling them for personal reasons. Can you tell me the reason, please?”
I gave myself a profound thought, trying to figure out my reason. “Um, I don’t think I have any personal
reason—”
“I heard your baby is sick, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. How’d you know that?”
“And I read your letter.”
“Oh, you did?” I said. “Um, I don’t remember sending any letter.”
“I suppose you are selling the books for your baby’s treatment, right?”
“Oh, yes. I remember now. I am taking my baby to India.”
“I want to meet you for a program. Can I come to your school—say this afternoon—at 1:00 pm?”
“Sure, ma’am.”
She came in the afternoon with her crew members. “Sorry, we’re late,” she said, briskly brushing her sleek tresses
with her fingers.
“It’s okay,” I said.
“Let’s shoot now. Can we use the staffroom?”
“Over there,” I said and ushered them into the staff room.
Her eyes—outlined with blue eyeshadow—blinked in excitement. And her lips layered with lip-gloss sparkled
against the dim light in the room. My heart thudded as the cameraman positioned the stand.
“Are you ready, sir?” she said. “And cameraman?”
Before the cameraman showed a thumbs-up sign, she flipped her hair back. Luminous lights flashed, and the
camera swarmed in on us. She switched on her charming-camera smile. “Can you tell me about the book?”
I cleared my throat and faced the camera. “Um, the book is about an orphan boy suffering at a tender age. He
suffers at the hands of his callous uncles.” I cleared my throat in nervousness. “Um, unable to bear the brunt, the
boy absconds from home and roves the Thimphu town. And one day, a boy from the upper echelons of society
ensconces him. His parents adopt the urchin. Later…” I scratched my head and glanced at the camera, trying not to
stumble over words. “Later… um… a femme-fatale jilts the urchin for his brother. The poor urchin absconds from
the palatial house… and he joins the army and sacrifices his life.”
She looked at me with her jaw dropped. “What is the title of the book?”
“Tears of Suffering.”
“Well, the story sounds touching. What is your motive behind writing this book?”
I tucked my collar nervously. “Um, the main motive is to generate expenditure for my baby’s treatment. We’re
taking him to India soon.”
“How much have you invested, and how much are you expecting from the sale?”
“I invested over thirty thousand ngultrums so far, but I can’t tell you about profit yet. Um, maybe, fifty thousand
or more.”
She glanced at the camera. “Would it suffice your baby’s treatment?”
“By my calculation, yes.”
Her manicured nails glimmered as she held the mike near my mouth. “As a father, you do every bit, but do you
think it will pay your efforts off?”
My heart ached. “Um, I… I…”

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