Page 7 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

PROLOGUE

My maternal grandparents enrolled me at Radhi Primary School when I was twelve. I attend the school with a bunch of
scurrilous boys from my village. The first couple of months, I liked interacting with new friends. But seniors bullied us.
We would wash their dishes and carried their bags back home. Sometimes, their bags would be filled with stuff their
parents had asked them to buy from the shop.
That frustrated me. So, I became a truant. I would hide in the caves and trees with others. I picked up the truancy from
them. We would pretend to go to school, and from half-way, go to the riverside. On the way, we would dig up worms to
use for bait. We would spend days fishing and sleep in the forest. No one knew about our whereabouts.
One day, a group of men caught us fishing. While they were walloping my friends, I sneaked into the woods and rushed
up home. But Grandpa was waiting for me with a leather whip.
He glared at me. “Where’ve you been all these days?”
My hands shivered. I looked up, covering my head. “I…I…”
Whip!
“Tell me, where’ve you been?”
“Fishing, Maymay.”
“Fishing?” He raised the whip high. “What if you were washed away? Huh? Here you are! Take this… take this!”
I squirmed on the ground in agony. “Have mercy, Maymay.”
Grandma scurried to us. “What’s happening here?” She grasped the whip and shoved him away.
But Grandpa’s legs were pitched to the ground. In his late 60s, Grandpa worked like any young man. “Stay out this,
Abi,” he blurted.
I gripped his legs and wailed. “Forgive me, please.”
“Get off my legs, you ragamuffin,” he retorted.
“Run,” shouted Grandma.
I looked up and saw Grandpa trying to hold the whip. I released his legs and rushed back to the forest, and returned
home in the evening.
“Come,” said Grandpa. “You will not go to the riverside henceforth.”
I nodded and shuffled in.
On our way to school, weeks later, Kota—who proclaimed as the leader of the village boys—terrorized Darjay and me.
He masticated the fleshy part of the dry fish and gave us the bone.
“Thanks,” I said. “I have a terrible cough.”
“I have throat pain,” Darjay said.
“What the heck is the problem with the fish?” grunted Kota, gnashing his teeth.
“Um, just a cough.” I lowered my gaze and sneezed. “Atishoo! Atishoo!”
Kota’s nostrils flared as he cracked his knuckles. “You scoundrels!” He grasped our collars and pressed us against the
rock. “What’s wrong with the fish?” He throttled us harder, gritting his teeth. “Huh? Tell me!”
I strained my nerves to resist the force on my neck, but the harder I puffed, the faster I choked. Everything around
blurred before my eyes. After a while, Kota released our throats and scrambled up the hill. Coughing and gasping for air,
I sprawled on the ground.
Eyes red, Darjay gasped and massaged his throat.
“Boohoo!” I stomped back home and wailed louder when grandma rushed toward me. “Kota throttled me! Boohoo!”
“What?” she blurted.” I will talk to his parents.”
A week later, Dad came home. He seemed perturbed, and he dusted my shoulder. “Why would he do that to you?”
“He almost killed me, dad,” I said. “What brings you here?”
“Granny told me everything.” He scowled around. “Who is Kota?”
“A friend of mine.” I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Forget it, dad.”
He ran his hand through my tousled hair. “How is your throat doing?”
“Feeling much better now.”
“You will go with me to Mongar.”
Clasping hands together, I grinned. “Really?”
“Yes, we will go tomorrow.”
“Yippee!”
There, he took me to Mongar Primary School. I gasped, seeing the three-storied towering Bhutanese architectural
structure. Wooden windows and chipped-stone walls stood high above the ground. The façade towards the gate bore a
huge signboard with the inscription: KARMA, 1966. Wooden desks and benches furnished the classroom. Yet it was far
better than my village school.
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