Page 81 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“Yes, Mamay.” I knelt and stroked his hair. “It’s okay.”
He held my hands and sniffled. His eyes were shrunken and his wizened hands shook. “Abi is no more with us
now.”
I pecked him on his forehead. “It’s okay, Maymay.”
“To the tent, Dorji,” said my uncle.
Butter lamps flickered and the incense smoke filled the tent. Relatives sat around the body. They shooed flies. I
sat beside the cadaver, trying not to sob.
“Tomorrow’s her cremation,” said my uncle. “We’re taking the body to the crematorium at dawn.”
“Why can’t we keep her for another day?” I said.
“We can’t,” he said. “The body has started to smell.”
At dawn, we carried her to the crematorium at Ranjung. The funeral procession took the entire morning. As the
flames engulfed the pyre, I prostrated and prayed for her soul. “May you be reborn soon,” I said.
The incineration took the entire afternoon. Before the dusk fell, Cousin Phuntso and I scattered her ashes at
Gamrichhu.
Two days later, I returned to Samdrup Jongkhar to get the loan. And after the 21st-day rite, I returned to my
workplace.
The next winter vacation, I went to Mongar Lower Secondary School to attend a workshop on Jungrab. At
Samdrup Jongkhar, I met a lady from my village. Straight away,
She said, “Hope you got the message about your grandpa.”
“No,” I said. “What happened to him?”
“Didn’t you hear?” She looked at me straight in the eye and said, “He passed away yesterday.”
I couldn’t help myself. My jaw dropped to the floor as my eyes blinked with tears.
“Are you going home?”
“I will but I must attend my workshop first.”
“Why? Cremation is after two days.”
“Yes, but I have a problem.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded.
My colleagues left Mongar in a Bolero taxi while I was looking for a lift. In the afternoon, a truck rumbled up
with tiles.
I stood at the roadside and waved. “Mongar, please.”
“We are only up to Trashigang,” said the driver. “Do you want to go?”
“I must go, please,” I said. “I might get other transport from there.”
I got down at the gas station at Trashigang and stood by the roadside, waving for the lift. Trucks and cars came
but didn’t stop. Darkness fell. Soon, I saw a car’s headlight coming towards me. I hunched and waved at it. It
stopped right beside me. It was a Maruti van taxi.
“Mongar, please,” I said. “It’s urgent.”
He glanced at the woman, next to him. “Should we take him?”
“It’s a hundred and fifty ngultrums,” said the woman.
“That’s okay.”
The cabbie stuffed my luggage in the back seat. “Sit here, please,” he said.
I heaved a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
I lay back on my seat and thought about my tragedy. The cabbie and the woman conversed like a newly-married
couple.
“I am glad we celebrated Dau Dangpa Losar with my parents,” said the woman. “My grandparents were happy
with us.”
“Next year, we will celebrate it with my parents,” replied the cabbie.
“Yeah, why not?” she said. “They would be happy as well.”
I closed my eyes, trying to ignore their conversation, but the awful thought wouldn’t go away. My stomach
rumbled, so I nibbled on coconut biscuits. In the darkness, the old taxi hit potholes and creaked, flinging the
sleeping woman.
“Your station, sir,” said the driver.
I opened my eyes and peered through the glass. “Where are we?”
He pointed at the towering Bhutanese traditional building below the road. “Mongar Lower Secondary School.”
I gave him the fare. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.”

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