Page 84 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

10 THE CALL OF DUTY

The temperature at Nganglam soared as high as 37 degrees in summer. In seconds, the sweltering-sun drenched us
in sweat. So, we remained indoors. I was under the fan, playing with my daughter when someone called me out.
I peered through the window. “Yes?”
“Dasho Dungpa wants you in his office,” said Churpu.
“Hell no! Why?” I replied.
He chuckled, squinting up. “I have no idea. Let’s go.”
I held my pounding heart and said. “Now?
He nodded.
“I’ll come.”
I wore my thin gho and hurried to Dasho Dungpa’s office.
“Are Dorji Wangdi?” he asked.
I bowed to him. “Yes, Dasho.”
He pointed at a chair opposite him. “It’s shocking.”
Wrong? I thought. Did I do something reprehensible?
“Do you know Mr. Bunor, the principal of Kerong CPS?”
“I do, Dasho.”
“He passed away last week.” He blinked at me with a solemn expression. “You must go to Kerong Community
Primary School as an in-charge.”
“Oh, why me, Dasho? There’re other teachers more capable.”
“Your principal has recommended you.”
“I am ready, Your Excellency.”
He beamed at me. “I am glad you agreed. Get ready. Potters would come to pick you.”
I bowed and took leave. “Laso la, Dasho.”
But a porter came to my place, two days later. “I am here to escort you, sir.”
“It’s late afternoon,” I said, squinting at the clear sky. “Can we go tomorrow?”
“It takes three hours,” he said. “We can make it.”
“But I can’t walk. I caught a nasty cough.”
“Don’t worry. I will carry your backpack.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Let’s go.”
We trudged up the trail along the rough terrains and crossed the same river six times. The journey was ruthless,
but I made it.
The school was far below the village. Staff quarters were close to each other. And a stupa was between the
academic block and the principal’s quarter. Behind the principal’s quarter were tiny makeshifts in a row.
“What are these for?” I asked.
“Makeshifts for the students coming from the neighboring villages,” replied the porter.
“Are the neighboring villages far?”
“Two hours’ walk. They stay here as informal borders.”
A lean man scurried toward us. “Kuzu Zangpo la.”
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