Page 41 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

Dad packed the body in a carton box and carried it to the end of the exit. He lit a tiny butter lamp, the only
source of our light at the dark exit. We sat around the lifeless body and chanted prayers.
Dawn broke.
“Dad, now what?” I said.
“Let’s take him home,” he said. “We’ll take him to Chaskhar. To his mother.”
In the afternoon, we began the journey to the village on foot. Dad carried the carton. I carried the bag and Abi
Wangmo cried all along the way. Soon our shadows extended against the afternoon sun. We scurried. For a moment,
I lost faith in God.
A truck heaved up the road, wafting clouds of acrid smoke. We waved at the driver, but he didn’t stop.
“Oh, no!” I said, tears blurring my eyes. “We are stranded nowhere.”
The truck stopped ahead. Malik Wangchukla popped out his head from the window. He was one of the richest
businessmen in Mongar.
Dad scurried up to him. “Please, Malik.”
My heart wrenched, seeing Dad’s hands shaking as he attached his palms like a supplicant.
“That’s a corpse, isn’t it?” said Malik Wangchuk.
Dad nodded in tears. “Please give us a lift, Malik. We will get stranded.”
Malik Wangchuk bit his lips for a while and clucked. “Get on the truck.”
I climbed to the back of the truck and took up the carton and helped the Abi Wangmo up. All along the journey,
Dad and Abi Wangmo wiped tears.
We got down from the truck at Pahadrang, below Athingkhar village.
“How much is the fare, Malik?” said Dad.
Malik Wangchuk popped out his head and said, “Need not pay.”
“Thank you, Malik,” said Dad.
Malik waved at us as the truck moved away. “Take care and my condolence, please.”
Dusk was crawling in. We schlepped the carton way uphill and arrived home after one hour.
Step-mom rushed to us. “What happened? Where is my baby?”
Dad brought down the carton box and opened it. “Sorry, dear. He didn’t make it.”
She blurted, “What do you mean he didn’t make it?”
“Ugyen Wangchuk passed away,” said Dad, sniffling. “We could save him.”
She embraced the carton box and wailed.
One after another, neighbors converged and pitched a tent in the backyard. The body smelled in the summer
heat. Three days later, we cleansed the cadaver and took it for the water burial.
At the confluence below Sherichhu, the astrologer chanted funeral prayers. We placed the cadaver on the waves,
which at first whirled and flowed downstream.
Knot in my chest, I watched the waves wash it further downstream until it disappeared. “Goodbye, my brother.
May you be reborn soon!”
Tear-jerking moment.
Back in school, Baggio embraced me and said, “Sorry about your brother, buddy.”
I lowered my eyes. “Thanks, buddy.”
“How’d it go?”
“Water burial.”
“Sorry, it’s not the right time,” he said, “but I must ask, what’s your decision on Nyingthenma?”
“You’re funny, buddy,” I said. “I should mourn my brother, not rejoice in the name of a girl.”
“My apologies, but how long would you mourn for your brother? Whole year? Entire life?”
“You want me to propose to her, right?”
“Talk to her, buddy.”
“Why are you so much into this?”
“In honor of our friendship.”
I blushed. “Okay, fine.”
“Tomorrow?” he said, raising his hand for a high-five. “Will you?”
I returned him a gentle high-five. “I will see to it.”
The next day, Baggio dragged me outside the classroom. “Come.”
“Where?” I said.
“Just follow me.”
“Hold on, buddy,” I said. “Where are you taking me to?”
At the door, he craned in and said, “She is alone. Go propose to her.”
“Oh, no!” I said. “For heaven’s sake, I can’t.”

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