Page 127 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

I didn’t notice tears in my eyes when the interview ended. The cameraman shut his camera and packed it.
The news reporter fidgeted. “I am so sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t control it. I hope you understand my vibes, ma’am.”
She held her chest and tapped her fingers on the table. “I am sorry, oops. But this program would promote your
sale. Believe me.”
“I would appreciate that, ma’am. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You need not thank me. Take care.”
The next day, my cell phone buzzed. “Hello, Mr. Dorji?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Your programme will be aired on the 7:00 pm news.”
“Oh, really? Thanks.”
“Who was that?” asked Choki.
“From the BBS office.” I gave a profound thought. “Oh, hell, no! It’s embarrassing. How could I sob for a TV
show?”
“How could you not?” said Choki. “You did the right thing.”
My eyebrow arched. “How?”
“Wait and watch.”
As the news flashed on the screen, I shrunk back and cringed. “Oh no! I can’t watch it. Why didn’t they remove
my sobbing scene?”
“It’s okay, Apa,” said Choki.
“Really?” I said with a wide grin. “Thanks for the compliments.”
Next day, my phone beeped
“Hello?” I said.
“How’s your baby, sir?” said a woman.
“He is okay for today,” I said. “May I know who is speaking?”
“When are you taking your baby for the treatment?”
“Maybe after one month.”
“Okay, I will phone you later.”
I felt my phone beeping inside my pocket two hours later. “Yes?”
Another soft female voice echoed in my ear. “Dorji Wangdi?”
“Yeah. Who is speaking?”
“I am calling from the town. I appreciate your initiative. My father agreed to contribute some money for your
baby’s treatment.”
“That’d lessen our burden, ma’am.”
“I will call you in a few days.”
“Anytime.”
People from across the country phoned me to send the books. Some assured to donate in cash. The next day, I
got another phone call from a lady.
“Dorji Wangdi?” she said.
“Yes. May I know who is speaking?”
“I work for the UNDP. Can you wait at the school gate, please? My father will come to see you.”
“Your father? Why would he want to see me?”
“Just be at the gate. He would be there anytime.”
“Okay.” I rushed to the school gate.
Minutes later, a black Prado stopped beside me. An elite man in dark goggles rolled down the glass. “So, you are
the one?”
I bowed. “Yes, Dasho.”
“How’s your baby?”
“He is okay.”
“Here, take it.” He handed me a bale of hundred Indian notes. “Treat your baby well. Do you have books?”
“Yes, Dasho.”
“Three copies.” He flicked through the pages and said, “Safe journey.”
He rolled down his window and drove away.
My jaws dropped, looking at the notes in my hand. “Who’s this philanthropist? Never saw him before.” I
returned to the staff room and counted the notes. It was five thousand. “It’s huge! Who on earth would give such a
huge amount these days?”
“He is Guup,” said Mr. Nidup. “The ex-personal attendant to His Majesty, the Fourth Druk Gyalpo.”

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