Page 35 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

4 FOR LOVE, I COULD’VE DIED

During the winter vacation, I would help my grandparents. I would fetch firewood from the forest and stack in the
lumberyard on the ground floor. My grandparents would use them in the summer.
Every night, I would go to Darjay’s place to sleep. He was my childhood friend. He was a down-to-earth guy
with no pretensions and a fun-loving guy, and he laughed even at trivial jokes.
“Oops, we should take a break from our mundane chores,” I said. “I am tired of them.”
“Yeah, I am tired of my chores, too,” he said, stroking his chin.
“I think we should go somewhere. Where do you think we should go?”
He deepened his thoughts. “Maybe Wamrong.”
“Why Wamrong?” I said. “We have other beautiful places to visit.”
“My sister lives there,” he said.
“What a coincidence. My brother works there.”
“Then should we go tomorrow?” he said with his wide eyes.
I high-fived him. “I am all set, buddy.”
The next morning, Grandma was brewing alcohol in the smoky kitchen. I hesitated to ask her as she was quick-
tempered. The time was running out, and I fidgeted. Darjay was waiting for me outside.
“Grandma, I am going,” I said. “I will return after two weeks.”
“Going?” she said. “Where?”
“Wamrong. Ata’s place.”
“But why?” she said, with her mouth wide open. “I need you here to help me.”
“Only two weeks, grandma.”
“But—”
I rushed out. “I will come back in two weeks.”
Darjay was drooping on his heavy backpack, above his house. “What took you so long?” he said.
“Couldn’t tell granny,” I said, trying to hold my breath. “She was reluctant to—”
“What?” he said. “She would bark at me.”
“Don’t worry, buddy,” I said. “It’s only for two weeks.”
He shot me a worried face. “Are you sure?”
I nodded, worried.
We hitched a ride on a truck till the T-junction at Kheri. The truck left for Mongar. From there, we walked up to
the gas station and stood at the roadside and waved at vehicles for a lift. The sun rays were at their most powerful at
midday, and beads of sweat dripped from our heads. Finally, a white Toyota Hilux stopped at the gas station.
I scurried toward the chauffeur. “Sir, could you give us a lift till Wamrong, please?”
“Ask the boss,” he said in a low-toned voice.
I traipsed to the window and bowed. “A lift, Dasho.”
He rolled down the glass and studied me from head to toe above his dark goggles, and said, “Where’re you
headed?”
I stooped low. “Wamrong, la.”
“Hop on,” he said.

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