Page 55 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

The next day, I went to Rezemo Community Primary School to see the principal. It was about five miles south of
Mongar town. The school was closed. A was a man watching me hobble the craggy hill, sitting on a wooden chair on
the porch of a small quarter. He looked shabby in his faded Adangmathra.
“Excuse me?” I said. “Can you direct me to the principal’s office, please?”
He flashed me a humble smile. “Any work?”
“I am an apprentice teacher, sent by the ministry,” I said, fanning my face. “I need to see him.”
“The office is closed for the day, sir. Come on Monday, please.”
I fidgeted hearing the word ‘sir’. “Um, where can I meet him? I have to submit my documents.”
“It’s me,” he said, grinning. “You can come on Monday.”
“Oh, sorry, sir,” I said, ambling down the hill. “I will come on Monday.”
I taught English and Mathematics in the fourth grade. With my first pay of two thousand ngultrums, I bought a
mattress for Nu.900 from a Tibetan shop.
Dad’s old friend—who had come to see a doctor about his TB, said, “At least you have a mattress. I appreciate
your effort.”
“Thank you,” I said, grinning “This would be my first time sleeping on a cushy mattress.”
Dad grinned at me, maybe in appreciation.
With the next pay, I bought a pair of sneakers for one thousand five hundred ngultrums. It looked glitzy with
black and white strips around. But the synthetic vamp and skin cracked after a few days. “Oh, no! I wasted over
seventy-five percent of my hard-earned money!”
Autumn arrived and evenings got colder with each passing day. The town was a beehive of activities. Mostly,
Indian laborers flocked in the market.
One evening, a laborer in the late 50s staggered up to me and bawled. “Boohoo! What’s this life? I’m doomed.
It’s miserable.”
My jaw dropped. “What happened to you? And how do you know my name? Have we met before?”
He stopped bawling. “Who wouldn’t know you? You are a goalie.”
“Where are you from?”
He bawled again. “From Bihar.”
“Stop that! What do you do here?”
“I am a thrigadhar.”
“Stop bawling,” I said. “A thrigadhar wouldn’t cry like a baby. And drink less.”
“Buy me a drink, please.”
“Sorry, I don’t have money.”
I headed home and lay in my bed, but couldn’t go to sleep. At such silent moments of late autumn midnight,
only barks filled my ears.
I peeped through the window to see if the old man and a young woman with her suckling baby—which I had
been seeing them pacing the vegetable shade for the past five days—were still in the shivering cold.
During the day, they cooked for themselves. At night, the baby wailed because of the cold, maybe.
But that night, I didn’t hear the baby cry. Dogs barked furiously.
“What’s the matter tonight?” I muttered, peeking through the darkness. “Why’re the dogs barking unlike
before?”
Suddenly, a man scurried out of the darkness with a suitcase in his hand. His head was turbaned with a muffler.
As he dashed down the road, the buildings echoed with the sound of his footsteps.
“Oh, no! That darn Thrigadhar is stealing the old man’s suitcase,” I said. “What should I do?”
He disappeared into the darkness and I peered after him aghast.
The next morning, the buses honked. I yawned and peeped through the window. The old man was rummaging
the bus roof for his suitcase, and his daughter paced around. Soon the buses left and the crowd dispersed, leaving
the old man and his daughter in the depth of despair.
“Forgive me,” I said to myself, keeping my hand on my chest. “I know the thief, but I have no idea where he
stays.”

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