Page 31 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

A young Japanese man in a kimono dress carries away his mother in the mountains in a bamboo basket. There,
he abandons her amidst vultures tearing flesh from a heap of human bones. The poor farmer sobs as he returns
home.
But the scene didn’t move me. So, I returned to our place and went to sleep. They returned late at night.
The next day, Coach gave us a hundred ngultrum each and said, “This is your expenditure, don’t spend it at one
go.”
“Yes, Coach.”
But I spent it in two days. We lost to Jakar High School in the first match and returned home in the same DCM
truck without Coach.
One week later, the principal called us to her office.
My heart pounded. “Why us, Captain?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I have no idea, but something awful for sure.”
I tiptoed in after my friends. The members of the games and sports committee were seated in a semi-circle,
facing ma’am principal. Coach was in the middle, eyes downcast. Even Mr. Nimrod with a warm personality seemed
distraught. I fidgeted as the principal gawked at each of us from head to toe.
“Be honest, boys,” she said. “Did you take meals in hotels?”
We exchanged glances. “We didn’t.”
“Where did you eat?”
“We cooked for ourselves, madam,” replied the captain.
“Cooked for yourself?” she said. “Where did the money go then?” She frowned at Coach. “Coach, where’s the
money gone?”
“We spent the money,” said the captain. “We’ll reimburse it, ma’am.”
“What money are you talking about?” she said.
“I can explain, madam,” said the captain. “Coach gave us a hundred ngultrums each.”
She stared at Coach again. “That’s not a day’s expenditure, Coach.” She waved a bunch of bills. “And why didn’t
you escort the players back home?”
Coach fidgeted in his seat.
“Boys, get back to your class,” she said. “I have unfinished business with your coach.”
I shuffled out the first, cringing. “What do you think might happen to our coach, captain?”
“No idea,” he said. “Hope he is not guilty.”
Whatever might have happened to him, he remained as a great coach in my heart.

***

Towards the end of the year, Golapo scurried up to me. “You know what?” he said. “Putula is in hospital.”
“What?” I said, eyes popping out. “What happened to him?”
“Poor guy,” he said. “He had an accident.”
“How?”
“He veered off the road. Very serious.”
“Oh, no!” I said, slapping my forehead. “When?”
“Two days ago. You should visit him.”
“I will.”
In the evening, I visited him in the hospital. “Sorry to hear about that, buddy. How’d it happen?”
He cringed his face. “I was driving… I didn’t find the brake and I couldn’t stop it.”
I held my chest, unable to say anything.
“He had an operation,” said his father.
“What for?” I asked.
“Intestine. They removed a portion of it.”
“Don’t worry, Apa,” I said. “He will be fine.”
He stroked Putala’s head and sniffled. “I am afraid.”
I patted on his shoulder and said, “Don’t worry, Apa. Everything will be fine.”
Three weeks later, I heard my old buddy succumbed to injury.

***

Coach called Purna Kumar, Baggio and me to his office. “Boys, you’re selected for Zhongar 11. You will go to
Thimphu for the tournament, what do you say?”

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