Mist of Antiquity

2011-08-24T21:23:00.000+06:00

2011-08-24T21:22:00.000+06:00

2011-08-24T21:21:00.000+06:00

2011-08-24T21:20:00.000+06:00

2011-08-24T21:18:00.000+06:00

2011-08-24T21:17:00.000+06:00

2011-08-24T21:13:00.000+06:00

Bumthang dzong at 0500 hours

2011-08-24T21:02:00.000+06:00

2011-07-30T22:37:00.007+06:00

Towards to the middle of the night I woke up to some weird noise just below where I was sleeping. There was a sound of breaking twigs, then quiet and minutes later a rustle in the leaves. For a brief moment I allowed my mind to sink and suddenly I was fully alert.” Bears’ I thought. I was almost hyperventilating from the thought of being a bear’s mid night snack. I remember my father and tried to wake him up. I found him sitting upright and listening to the rustling sound. He looked transfixed and frozen.

“Father, did you find the knife”, I asked. He said no and told me to look for it for he had to keep his gaze in that direction should a bear suddenly appeared. I fumbled through the bag and came across the aluminum spatula which I handed to him. He felt the weapon with his hand and then looked at me. “Do you expect me to fight a bear with this” and in saying so, he hit the spatula on my head. The “twank” sound on my head had somehow got magnified by many folds and reached down to whatever it was and the next thing we heard was the sound of the creature bolting out of the place. We both had a hearty laugh and me a big swelling on my head.

Early morning while my father worked on the breakfast, I went around examining the spot from where the nightly creature made the sounds. I found a number of wild boar foot prints. I reported this to my father. Having eaten, we repacked our bags and took to the path. Unlike the previous day’s walk, it was alongside a river. The clear crisp morning mist floated over the water giving it a mysterious feel. We walked through thick pine woods and came across some majestic and spectacular rhododendrons trees in full bloom with crimson flowers. Occasionally my father waited for me to catch up and otherwise he would busy himself whistling song tunes to himself while walking. I trotted behind him like a small goat pretending to be some engine and making different noises myself. We were both in different worlds.

The path was strewn with wandering roots and at one time I tripped on such a root and catapulted spectacularly into a small puddle. Looking like a wild boar myself, I ran to inform my father of my misfortune.

Just before noon, we chanced upon a small hamlet. The people were all working in the surrendering fields. As we passed by, some viewed us with suspicion while some shouted across asking us to stay for tea. Almost every house had a huge mastiff chained to some posts. Mastiffs as big as bears growled and barked at us. I felt the marrows in my shin twitch. We did not stop for tea for we know from experience that people in that region offered only verbal tea and never real tea.

By midday, we stopped near a stream. While my father engaged himself in the preparations of lunch, I sauntered around admiring the different flowers that grew in the small clearing. To name a few, there were purple iris, baby’s breath, birds of paradise and lots and lots of daisies. I checked to see my father bent over the fire. Knowing that there was no one around, I talked to the flowers and even smiled at them at some point. After all I am still a kid and kids do talk to flowers.

2010-07-10T11:52:00.002+06:00

A moment to remember….
The moment I sat in a restaurant, a plump waitress tumbled along with a menu book. She smiled at me and placed the menu in front of me. I picked up the menu that ran many pages. The waitress sauntered off to attend to other guests. Before I could even complete scanning one page she was back. "Are you ready to place your order, sir" Not yet, I sounded back in a petulant tone. She again sauntered off.

Two minutes later she was back again, this time looking very grim and with an "I will hang you look". Are you done now, she said. “Sorry, I am unable to decide because I am not used to such a long menu book”, I retorted back. Aggrrhh! "You must be new here" she thundered. Yes, I have been away in the prison for a long time, for murder, I told her.

She took a step back and asked me the reason for going to prison. I placed the menu on the table, rubbed my forehead and said I was imprisoned for murdering a waitress for rushing me up. She half opened her mouth and backed off and never came to take the order.

2008-05-31T18:00:00.001+06:00

A trip of a lifetime

I stood on the pier just outside the airport, struggling between dream and reality. A pier besides an International airport seemed ridiculous to me as my eyes darted around to locate a taxi. "There comes our boat" said one of my friends. Perplexed and flummoxed, I gaped at a speed boat shaking wildly on the waves. I gaped extensively and could not believe that I am standing on a kilometer long island that made up of this airport. Someone nudged me from behind and I fell in the line dragging my baggage. One by one we were hurled into the small speed boat. On our seats were tiny striped life jackets and we were asked to wear them. I struggled and struggled with the ropes and rings and finally managed to get the darn thing on, only to realize that I wore it inside out. The man in uniform helped me and my colleges were also struggling with the jackets. We took our seats and I decided to sit by the side where I noticed a metal bar on which I could cling when the speed boat zoomed and roared over the mighty waves.

Sure enough, the boat roared to life and like a machine terribly gone wrong, zoomed out at sea. The long flight and now this was incredible. In the semi darkness, I looked around and saw my friends looking worried and hapless. Few minutes later, I was literally dying as the boat hit the high tide and the big waves. The man behind the wheel clearly looked like a deranged maniac whose hobby, was to crash speed boats on the waves. One friend shouted to me from the other seat and swore that the maniac is none other than "Speedy Gonzales". Even in the midst of life and death I could not help a smile.

Thankfully, after an hour of death defying ride, we caught the sight of a light on another small island. I was beyond caring and was palpitating like a man about to have his seizures. The mad boat slowly slowed down and a sense of relief invaded through the boat. I heard my friends whistle in wonderment. The boat came near another pier and we were hurled off the boat with our baggage. A man at the pier pointed to a lighted house and told us that this was our hotel.

The time was almost 2 in the morning when I was finally shown my room over looking the Indian Ocean. I was beyond caring, too tired and completely shaken up, but I did not spare the tropical fruits with a welcome note handsomely written across the plate. I took out my small scissors and like cut the ribbon.

It was already 7 in the morning when a huge White Sea bird decided to sit on the verandah and look for his bride. I washed myself and took a stroll on the serene beach filled with small crabs skittering about in stolen abalone shells. The tide during the night has deposited a lot of small shells and amazingly, every shell was occupied by a crab. The calm beach and the wonderfully refreshing breeze made me feel so good for a while.

By 9 in the morning, I was again standing on the pier looking like a wreck. My friends did not look great either. We were waiting for "Speedy Gonzales" to shake us one more time and sure enough, I caught the sight of his speed boat racing towards our direction splashing white water in every direction.

2007-12-07T22:28:00.001+06:00

A hunt that misfired

I must confess here that I had no idea what night hunting was about, till I set my foot in Khamdang village some decades ago. Alien to the land, its custom and language, I looked more of a tsagay gesticulating my way around. The villagers were shy and my effort in trying to talk to them in their local dialect made them more uneasy and shy. I was one of the groups of graduates who were sent to the east to help the villagers build a cannel from Buyang to khamdang. We were 12 of us from different professional back grounds.

While work was just supervise the project, many of my friends took to gambling to pass time at the work site and back in the barrack too. There were just three of us who neither gambled nor cherished “Ara or Chang”. The smell of egg fried and mixed with “Ara” was awful and hits you more than the smell of sulphur. To compensate our gambling skills, three of us befriended a Basic Health Worker (BHW) who happened to be from Trashigang. Because one of my friends was a Doctor, the BHW was more than willing to so any errands.

One silent night, I was woken from my slumber with a gentle tap on my shoulder. The doctor was there whispering to me and muttering when I repeated asked him what was that he wants of me. “Let’s go for night hunting” he muttered sheepishly. At first I declined to accompany them, but they eventually convinced me of the delicacy of the forbidden fruits. Even though, I was still apprehensive of this unplanned adventure, that too in a pitch black night, I did not want to miss the fun or whatever it had to offer.

Equipped with flash lights, three of us trotted down the slope with great agility and anticipation. But to be honest, we did not even know where we were headed to. The BHW kept on muttering something and I was conveyed that he was mentally tabulating a list of potential victims of our raid. We might have trotted about 4 kilometers down to the valley, when suddenly the BHW disappeared from our view. I just heard a loud shrill cry of anguish from the same directions he disappeared. Two of us suddenly realized that our mentor, our only guide had fallen off a cliff. Hell broke loose there after. After about twenty minutes, we managed to find our way at the foot of a great boulder from where our guide had jumped. He was down there…sobbing uncontrollably and in great pain. We found that he had snapped his ankle and it was looking awfully twisted.

Our night hunting trip, the first and the last ended two of us carrying the huge BHW back to the BHU. It took us more than three hours of hard labour to finally put him on an empty bed in the BHU to the amazement of the sister in there.

2007-10-02T16:57:00.000+06:00

Nostalgic Goosebumps

One hot summer afternoon, my bus pulled at the then BGTS parking area in Phuentsholing. The old bus coughed a lot of smoke and finally came to a halt. Everyone in the bus hurried out to look for the night’s lodging. I picked my duffle bag and followed the weary travelers in search of a room.

A bleak looking Hotel then called Pemba hotel down the lower market was the only one that I could afford with my scanty resource. A fat old man, whose abundant roll of flesh which made him look as if he was wearing an assortment of inner tubes beneath his shirt was at the counter looking very grim. I sat in the lounge and asked for a cup of tea. Just then another pleasant looking man entered the lounge and sat near me. He looked and smiled at me. It was then I found out that he had no tongue and was interested to engage me a lively conversation. The smell of his armpit was so strong that I had to immediately take flight from that seat.

When the waiter brought me the tea, the cup clearly bore the autograph of my predecessor whose “doma” stain imprint was unmistakable. Nonetheless, tea was tea and I gulped it down carefully sipping it from a different angle. The hot tea and humid spring weather makes one’s underwear scoot up every crack and fissure and they clung to you like latex and you have no idea how uncomfortable you can feel.

After the tea I was ushered into a dingy room and to my utter horror and dismay I discovered that the bed, judging by its fragrance and shape, had been recently been vacated by a horse. The dent on the mattress was so severe that I could get out of the bed by splaying all my limbs to their widest extremity. It was like lying flat in a wheelbarrow. That night I had a terrible nightmare and squirted urine every step of the way not able to locate the bathroom.

2007-09-06T06:51:00.000+06:00

Held Hostage for 50 Chetrum

Talk of being poor and a destitute and there I was, a cherry faced idiot. Though, I never stole a pie, I did run errands for better placed friends for a grateful cup “Zoa or kapche” to sooth my ever empty stomach. Everything was uneventful till one fateful Saturday, when a maniacal urge seized me to get my butt off the bed and go for a football game some distance away. After a three hour game, Sonam Dawa my close buddy and I went back to the school through a short cut, while the others headed to the town for refreshments. Halfway to the school, our eyes feasted on a shiny 50 Chetrum wedged between two stones by the side of the road. When we don’t own a single Ngultrum, a shiny chetrum wedged between two stones was the most welcoming sight. With the precision of a master craftsman, my friend picked up the coin.

Equipped with a 50 Chetrum, we turned back and headed to the town. By the side of the lane, we know of a small restaurant where the yummiest “bonda” was sold for 25 chetrum per plate. We headed to that restaurant. The old lady in the restaurant ignored the two ubiquitous paupers with acerbity. Nevertheless, with confidence, we ordered the sweets flashing the 50 chetrums to her. We sat on a rickety bench after handing over the money . Feasting on the sweets after eons of sweet starvation was pure heaven.

It did not take more than a few minutes and we got up to go back to school when the amnesiac old lady asked us to pay for the sweets. We tried our best to convince her that we paid the money and she denied to have taken it. Both of us were in trouble. There was no way to get money from anyone and the old hag would not let us go even after begging her for mercy. After a good ten minute shouting at us on the top of her voice, she asked my friend to get the money by any means and that I am kept as hostage.

I knew I would be dead before night fall for my friend would never find the money nor come back to rescue me. I too, would have escaped minutes after my friend left, had not the old lady kept me pinned down by holding on the collar of my only shirt. Time stood still and I was dying of shame as the old lady proudly announced to a group of my school girls that I ate her sweets and did not have money. I kept my eyes closed not to see, but heard them uttering “awws” and “aieees” instead of rescuing me with a 50 chertums loan.

It was almost nightfall when I felt the grip on my collar loosened and that was my chance to escape or die. With a sudden cry of war, I straightened myself and jerked free of the hold. I ran throwing glances over my shoulder to ensure that she was not running after me. The lady did not even move, for she was thrown completely off balance by my sudden move. Half way to school, I realized that in that moment of life and death, I left behind my only shirt’s collar in her enormous hand.

2007-08-16T15:41:00.000+06:00

Entangled with destiny

There was not a single cloud in the brilliant night sky and millions of stars twinkled down upon the tiny hut in silence. Unknown to Dorji and his wife, in the far eastern corner of the sky, a tiny star twinkled for a brief moment and then exploded lightening up the sky even further. At the very moment, the cry of a new born in the hut shattered the silence of the night. Did nature play havoc with human lives or is there a connection between us and the stars. The following story is not a fiction but is about the same boy who was born that night. A boy whose destiny was written that night by the star that twinkled for a moment before it finally disintegrated into a million fragments.

Sangay joined the monastic school at the age of seven. He was a very handsome boy and his presence in the monastery was envied by every other novices. The teachers marveled at his intelligence and by the age of seventeen, he had mastered the most of the books and excelled in astrology. His calculations and deductions while practicing astrology amazed even the most learned lama in the monastery.

When he was eighteen, he got the news that his father and mother had died in a lightening accident. He took leave and rushed home in a state of shock. After four days of hard walking he finally reached a small hillock over looking his hut. It was almost nine years that he had not been home. The long difficult journey had kept him from visiting his home. His sister must be thirteen years old and now she was all alone in the hut. He dragged his tired limbs and soon he stood at the door step. He peered inside the hut and his eyes caught the sight of his tiny sister bent over the hearth looking into the fire. He then dropped his huge bag and ran in and hugged her. He cried along with his sister and for a long time, they did not speak.

Sangay looked around and to his surprise there was nothing in the hut except for a few rags and some battered pots and plates. He asked the little girl to boil tea while he brought in his bag. After tea, he asked his sister about their parents and amidst tears the little girl narrated the horrible story of how his parents had met the terrible end. She also told him how the villagers gathered and cremated their bodies and later brought provisions for her. He felt grateful to his neighbors and again cried for not being there at the time of the creation.

That night he comforted his little sister and long after she slept, he got up and started his prayers….a recitation from the book of dead. He concentrated hard on the prayers and prayed that his parents hear him guide them in their journey through the unknown realm. It was dawn, when he finished his prayers. He was filled with emotion when he realized how thin and frail his tiny sister looked in her sleep. She was dressed in rags and her beautiful face covered in sooth and rashes. Even as he made breakfast, he vowed that he would never leave her alone.

A year later, the head lama had sent monks from his monastery asking him to come back and join them. He declined the offer and stayed to look after his sister who was then suffering from a strange disease. Almost every night she suffered violent convulsions and often she went in coma. He prepared different herbal medications for her but her condition grew worse with the passage of time. He went around the village looking for other medications that might help his sister. It was during one such tour around the village that the village headman’s wife laid her eyes on him. She invited him to her house at every opportunity and soon the villagers suspected the woman’s fidelity. Unknown to him, the headman plotted with some villagers to get rid of him and called a meeting. Sangay was also invited to join. During the meeting, a selected group of people accused him of having an affair with the headman’s wife. An altercation took place and in a fit of anger, he stabbed a villager to death. He was caught and beaten up and later tied to a post near the headman’s house. Some villagers were sent to call the police. Like an animal to be butchered, he was kept tethered to the post for two days till the police came.

The court sentenced him to eight years of imprisonment and while he was in prison, he heard that his sister too died the very same day he was arrested. He cried his heart out and cursed the twist of fate. After serving his term in the prison, he went to his old monastery to practice his astrology. He was welcomed by his old mates and was asked to stay there as the caretaker. Two years down the line, Sangay was again arrested for theft of antiques from the monastery and sentenced to another three years in prison. While working in an open air prison worksite, he met this beautiful girl called Dema and secretly got married. After release, he set up a small hut and started practicing his astrology once again. The small income that came from his practice was not enough to feed his wife, one child and the in-laws; therefore he started working as a carpenter in the dzong construction. A little over a year, he was again arrested for stealing one of the country’s most priceless antique and was sentenced for life. So much of turbulence all compacted in his tiny frame.

The child whose cry had shattered the silence of the night when the star was exploding in the far eastern sky was fated to leave his blazing trail in the kingdom of Drukyuel.

2007-08-16T15:39:00.000+06:00

That night a star fell

Peeping from my blanket I saw a star fall into my backyard. I was sacred at first and did not move. The stillness of the night was broken only by the rustling sound of the wintry wind brushing through the bamboo groove and the occasional tingling sound of the bells from the ponies grazing nearby. Below me, the tiny calves sneezed in their sleep and the mother swine with her litter groaned in their sleep. Every thing looked weird and unfamiliar in the darkness.

I kept on staring at the place where the star fell, my mind racing till I could hear the sound of my own heart beat drumming against my tiny ribs. There was no way, I could tell the time, because my time, our family rooster was in the seventh heaven dreaming of many beautiful hens in the other cattle shed far way. Watches were then unheard leave alone seeing one. I nudged my brother who was sleeping with me. He groaned and moaned as if he was dying in his sleep. I kept on hitting him with my elbow till he asked me what was wrong. In hushed whisper, I told him exactly what I have seen. His eyes twinkled as he heard me speak about a star falling down in our backyard. I pointed to him the direction where the star fell. My brother thought for a while and then said…hmmmm gods must be smoking up there. I believed him because there was no way a star would have fallen down like this.

In the darkness of the night, we crawled out of our shed. The sky was brilliantly lit with millions of stars and the scene looked spectacular with not a speck of cloud in the sky. We walked a little further away from the shed so that our parents could not hear what we were plotting. We squatted near a big boulder and fervently whispered to each other what we will do if we found the star. We decided that we will hide it under a stone that night.

Slowly with calculated steps, we inched towards the location. We searched everywhere but found nothing. No star and no light. My brother caught my collar and said he would strangulate me for luring him here for no reason. I swore and pleaded that I saw the star fall. That night we did not speak further.

The next day while I was gathering my cows, I noticed a huge red round thing tossing in the wind. It was in the same area where I saw the star fall the previous night. What ever it was, it was massive and moving. I ran towards the shed and summoned my brother once again. He threatened to pull my ears, if I was joking. I showed my humblest and meekest face to convince him that I was telling the truth.

We marched in line, I bringing up the rear ready to bolt at an instant. The object was still there and still tossing in the wind. My brother halted and gaped at it. No sound came from him, but my touch on his body told me that he was shaking with fear. We drew our daggers and stood firmly poised and ready for an encounter. Besides the constant tossing, nothing happened, so we lunged stone after stone at it till one of them hit it directly. Boooommm!!! came the sound and both of us fell flat on the ground. The object was gone and in its place were shreds and pieces of the same red object. Satisfied that we killed it, we approached nearer. As we neared the shreds, we noticed another square one just behind the bush and it had a rope tied on it. With cautious steps, we looked closer and to my amazement, I saw an english word clearly written on the side of the square box. “ made in United states of America” I read out the letters loud and clear and told my brother that it is from America. The red object was a massive weather balloon and the square box had a lamp in it. The balloon was acting as the parachute to the lamp and that was my star which fell from the sky. We collected the shreds of the balloon and used it as my play tent during my vacation. The box was gifted to my mother who used it was a table to keep the only brass kerosene lamp of the family.

(When I think back to all those times as a small boy wandering with my cattle through the deep southern forest of Samtse and Dorokha, I can not believe that those were the most wonderful period of my life. Most amazingly, I am baffled how this weather balloon reached this side of the world and unto my laps………. )

2007-08-15T22:06:00.000+06:00

Non existent for 24 hours

I flew from LAX on the 1st September and landed at Bangkok Airport two days later. For me there was no 2 September and where it went I did not know exactly. For all I know is that for twenty four hour period in the history of my life, I did not exist. Vaguely, I remember crossing some International Date Line but it still had me goofed beyond imagination.

Even though I vaguely understand the principles involved here. I can see that there has to be a rational line where one day ends and the next day begins, but when you cross the International Date Line some thing of the starkest impossibility occurs. However hard you focus on the time, the food and the numerous walks down the aisle, you are never going to get so fit that you can cease to occupy space for one day. And like wise, when I traveled the reverse way, I lived the same day twice and reach my destination even before I left the location. wahhhhhh

2007-08-11T19:54:00.000+06:00

Crazy perceptions of a changing time

The pace of life is so fast these days because the time keeps changing. When I was a school boy, except for the bland hostel meals and the flea infested bunk beds, there was nothing to look forward to. During holidays and breaks, it’s all washing your clothes by the river side and trying your hand at swimming, be it across or downwards. Lying on the sandy river banks and peeking at the girls washing was every boy’s dream and favorite pass time, simply because voyeurism was never heard of then. Girls on the other hand knew that the object lying motionless behind the boulder are not driftwoods or stray dogs basking in the sun. They would be too happy to show their flashy white thighs and pale thin ankles. It was more of the manly instinct than the lust for anything. But that was more than we can ask for in a far away school located near a river bank.

Life was slow and motionless then. Time stood still.

In a matter of twenty years, the world has become more fluid and unstable. The kids of today are overwhelmed with activities and they complain of not getting time to eat or play. At regular intervals, some weird Day dawns….Teacher’s Day, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Friendship Day, Valentine Day…... so on and so forth like a never ending train in motion. Where the heck were these then? Leave alone all the above Days, I did not even hear about Birthday when I was at the river bank school.

2007-06-25T17:56:00.001+06:00

Part I:

Amidst the stories of Yetis and leopards killing travelers camping on the way, I made my preparations. I was then 14 years old and had to make the toughest journey of my life…through some of the harshest peaks and sub tropical rain forest, a trail that may not be comparable to the great Appalachian trek but still a seemingly an impossible feat for a young boy some 30 years ago.

Usually, during the announcement of the school’s final examination result, someone from my family would be there waiting by the gate to take me home for the winter vacation. But, this year, I had an eerie nagging feeling, silently bugging me.

On a clear and crispy November morning, the school bell rang for the last time before the vacation. We were all lined up by the teachers in the school ground. In front of us, rows of tables were set up with class teachers sitting and arranging the examination papers and the mark sheets. It was a day of excited voices, pats on the back and nervous murmurs from every quarter.

The faces of the sure and confident students glowed in the golden autumn sun, while the majority of the faces that day looked pale and bleak as if hit by a thunder storm. A year has gone by at school, and great many incidents had taken place. Some junior girls had became mothers and later demanded that we should address them as madams after having married some teachers. What an irony.

I kept an eye at the gate expecting to see a familiar figure, but there was none. One by one, the class teachers read out the names and handed the results. When my turn came, I took the mark sheet, folded it and put it in my gho and did not dare look at it for my face that day looked as bleak and pale as Dawa’s, my best friend.

As was the rule, we had to vacate the hostel on the same day of results. I already had packed my things that morning, including a cap that I stole from the great white chief some days ago. He had looked for that cap for over a month and even after 8 months he fondly talks about his lost cap, not knowing that it was my cap now. I needed it more than him, for he shaved my head and the winter sun would mercilessly peal my head skin if I did not have that cap.

Every one wanted to rush out of the darn hostel and no one wanted to stay there for a minute longer. Even, it had been our home for the last 9 months; we did not feel any attachment to it, for it was a nest of fleas and dusts. When I went my hostel, it was silent and it was empty. Except for that rolled up bedding of mine, it was just rows of empty beds and the whole floor was covered with papers and rags thrown by the departing inmates. I looked everywhere on the beds, on the walls for some left over posters or books but there was none. So I picked up my bedding, flung it over my back and went out never looking back.

I went to the gate still expecting to see someone from my house, but there was not a single soul except for some displaced dogs running around in confusions. After one last look at the school, I turned my face south ward and started walking in the direction of my home. Three hours of non stop walking, I finally reached my village, which by then was empty of inhabitants. Every one had migrated to the warmer south with their stock.

At the edge of the forest, my house stood silently as I dragged myself towards it. A huge brass lock hung on the latch of the entrance door and I was truly lost. I l threw the bedding on the verandah and went around the house looking for a place to get inside though the windows.

After an hour of twisting and struggling, I finally managed to get inside the house though the kitchen window. Once inside, I went scavenging through every box in the room looking for some thing to eat. To my surprise, on the shelf I saw a freshly woven basket with its contents still intact. I lifted it to check the contents and was amazed to see rice, butter, cheese and some dried beef, flatten rice and some molasses. I was sure; some one did come to pick me up, but the big question was…who came and where is he now. By night time, I lit a small fire and cooked myself a great meal. I made huge meal with chunks of beef. That night, I laid myself in the bed but could not sleep. I was sacred of the impending journey and I was scared for whoever came to pick me up.

2007-06-25T17:55:00.001+06:00

Part II

The next day, when I woke, it was still dark outside. So I went to the window, opened a small crack and peed through it. I did not have a watch and the rooster was not there to predict the time. So I went back to sleep.

It must have been well into the day when I finally opened my eyes feeling very hungry. I warmed the left over rice and ate it fast. Then I packed two pots and the grocery in my bag. I tucked the match box in my pocket and weighed a huge knife in my ting hand, before seething and tying it around my waist. I threw the bag outside and climbed through the same window and walked towards the river down below.

When I reached the river side, I was pleasantly surprised by a family of otters basking in the sun. I had often come here to try my fishing skills, but never saw this family. That day, unmindful of the squeaks and threats from the otters, I crossed the river and came upon a path. The path was familiar to me, as I had walked through it for countless times, since I knew how to walk. But that day, it was the first step of a thousand miles journey for me all alone.

The path ran parallel to the river for some time. The deafening sound of rushing water through the narrow gorge prompted me to walk faster, but whenever; I came to a wider bank, I rested and admired the tiny trout through the translucent water. I felt an urge to fish, but did not have any equipments. I followed the path singing to myself and at times shouting at the top of my voice to scare any animals that lay ahead in ambush. Towards evening, I left the river bank and walked uphill through the sweetest smelling pines swaying in the breeze. I walked through the dappled light, fearful of the deep bushes on the either sides of the paths and wondering what might suddenly appear and consume me. My hand never left the handle of the knife and since I could not sing walking up hill, I resorted to whistling. The more I whistled, the more fearful I became. I tried to think of myself walking with my friends and every now and then, the uneven pebbles under my foot sent me flying.

Towards evening, I came to a great patch of empty land. The patch was covered with scrubs of azaleas and dwarf rhododendrons. I remember camping here with my parents a long time ago. I remember skiing down that gentle slope with my brother on a small plank. The slope was now covered with dried up wild irises and primulas. On the edge of the patch were all rhododendrons and golden colored maples presenting an ineffable scenario which I have never seen before? Right in the center of the patch, amongst the remnants of an old camp, luxuriant datura flowers were in bloom. I did not know that datura, treated as a poison plant with stupefying effects bloomed in winter. Near by, the giant hemlock tree under which countless people made their camps was still covered with mistletoes with its sticky seeds. I was not tempted to camp under it, but was looking for that huge old gnarled magnolia tree under which I played as a toddler with my brothers and sisters.

I laid down my load and wiped the sweat rolling down my face. Facing right across me on the other side was the hamlet of Dorikha, another empty village devoid of inhabitants. Towards sunset, I made my way through countless bushes of shepherd purses and came across the magnolia tree. I chose this camp because, near by a tiny stream gurgled and the tree itself was wedged between a huge boulders with a small cavern where I could spend a peaceful sleep at night. I collected dried pine leaves and also cut down some thorn bushes to surround my camp. I brought in some big dried logs for the fire and by night fall, I had a huge bon fire bustling with life.

That night, I roasted three huge potatoes and ate them as I was too tired to cook a decent meal. I drank water from the spring and collected some in my pot for the morning tea. Slowly, the cool crisp autumn sky was filled with a million stars and the moon like silver coin cast its silvery light all around me. I could not describe what I was actually going through, but for sure, I was both filled with wonder and fear of the wilderness. The cool breeze rustled through the magnolia leaves and my bon fire cast weird shadow everywhere. I was alone.

I kept on feeding wood in the fire lest it should burn out and leave me vulnerable to every wild creature that must have by then surrounded my camp. From the deep corner of the cavern, covered in pine leaves almost looking like a solitary wild boar, I kept on gazing at the sky wondering when this nightmare would come to an end. I curled myself up to fit my body into that small crevice of the cave and slowly drifted into a dreamless sleep still clutching the handle of my knife in my right hand. I was suddenly awakened by a thunderous noise far below me. The fire had died out to a few burning coals. I could not move, for I was completely paralyzed with fear of the unknown sound. I recited what ever prayers I could muster and slowly I gathered my guts to bring my fire back to a huge bon fire. I missed my parents and wondered whether I would ever make it home and see them. The terrible stories of yetis picking up sleeping humans and dismembering them, the stealthy panther with its massive jaws killing huge bulls in one sweep were played and replayed in my mind like a tape-recorder. I even burnt some chilly in the fire to ward off yetis and in the process nearly choking myself in the corner of the cave. Thankfully, dawn slowly crept in and lifted my spirits. I hurriedly made a black tea and drank it with mixing some wheat flour in it. By the time, I finished, it was bright and the stars have all disappeared. I repacked my provisions and wandered around the cave in the hope of finding some foot prints of the yeti or the panther and there was none.

2007-06-25T17:52:00.000+06:00

Part III

With the first light, I was on the path again. I walked through the morning frost feeling the chill through my thin canvass shoe. I checked the path for any signs and saw countless hoof prints of some deer or whatever it was. That day, I had a mission and it was to cross the highest peak and make it to the other side of the mountain to another camp I could vaguely remember. As my walk progressed, the pine trees gave way to hemlocks and slowly to ciders and dwarfed junipers. The path led uphill through uneven stony path and water running underneath. As I climbed on, I started suffering from bouts of coughing and a severe pain in my chest. The cold wintry wind blew into my face and I felt the chill run right down to my tail bone. My breath came out like smoke and unconsciously, I even mimicked as if I was smoking and blowing volumes of smoke into the morning air.

As I climbed higher, the water by the side of the path lay frozen. I was amazed at amount of distance I had put between me and the last night’s camp. When the sun’s first ray fell on the earth, I had made it to the top of the peak. I was genuinely elated. I rested my bag on a stone and went to the colorful mound on the peak to say my prayers and thank the mountain with a handful of roasted peanut and a picture of Buddha that I stole from the pages of my history book for this very purpose. Having done that, I sat down and chewed some flatten rice and molasses that my mother had packed for me with the provisions

I continued with my walk through the stony path till my toes hurt. Occasionally, I would lie down in some place and remove my shoes to check my toes. I could see busted blister thereby exposing the tender under sole of my feet. The socks were all wet from the water that had entered through the crack under the sole of my canvass. I tried walking bare foot and realized that I was much better off with my worn out canvass.

By mid day, I reached a small lake. I could not walk any further. So, by the side of the small muddy lake, made a fire and cooked my meal. I mixed the rice with the pieces of beef and added salt, chilly and onion into and made a wonderful broth. I was almost going through a rigor with hunger by the time my broth was finally ready. I did not wait for it to cool and finished it in a record time which even amazed me.

By the time I was ready, my socks had dried up and it was comforting to my worn out feet. I cut down a small bamboo and made myself a nice walking stick. There after, like an old man weighed down under the burden of the load on his back, I walked downhill. The vegetation had changed completely. Every where it was broad leaved trees and there was no sign of either pine or hemlocks. I even saw some giant wild avocado trees. There were fig trees everywhere. With measured steps I descended down and down and down the great mountain. That night, I camped under a gnarled tree. Like this I trudged for another four days, when I finally reached to the village of Denchukha. The whole village was inhabited by people of Nepalese origin. As I walked through their orchard, I picked oranges and filled my bag. I was lucky enough not to be caught and beaten up.

When I came around a giant huge mahogany tree; I rested and collect the seeds. From experience, I knew I could use the seed as a whistle as well as soap to wash my hands. The pungent smell gave me a severe headache, but nonetheless, I still kept the seed.

My journey of a thousand miles came to an end when I finally saw the tiny shed emitting a spiral of smoke and my rhapsodic siblings running towards me. I shed a tear of joy for I was finally home safe amongst my own kind. Much later, I was told, that my father had hired my maternal uncle to get me from school. But as luck could have it, the poor bugger was chewed by a huge dog and was hospitalized for a month. When I finally sat down on the tiny cow skin mat with a mug of tea made by my mother, I realized that I was no longer a child. I dug into my bag and distributed the round sweets that I so carefully treasured for them and gifted the stolen Chief’s pirate cap to my elder brother.

Then window

2007-06-20T16:45:00.000+06:00

Some years ago, while reading a book, i came over this simple story that touched my heart. I could not help but copy it here to stay with me for a long....long time...
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room’s only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation. And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window. The man on the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the outside world.

The window over looked a park with a lovely lake, the man said. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Lovers walked arm in arm amid flowers of every color of rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. The man by the window described all this in exquisite detail; the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man could not hear the band, he could see it in his mind’s eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Unexpectedly, an alien thought entered his head; why should he have all the pleasure of seeing everything while I never get to see anything? It did not seem fair. As the thought fermented the man felt ashamed at first. But as the days passed and he missed seeing more sights, his envy eroded into resentment and soon turned him sour. He should be by that window-that thought now controlled his life.

Late one night as he lay staring at the ceiling, the man by the window began to cough. He was choking on the fluid in his lungs. The other man watched in the dimly lit room as the struggling man by the window groped for the button to call for help. Listening from across the room, he never moved never pushed his own button, which would have brought the nurse running. In less than five minutes the coughing and choking stopped, along with the sound of breathing. Now there was only silence---deadly silence.

The following morning the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths. When she found the lifeless body of the man by the window, she was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take it away----no work, no fuss. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it all himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out of the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not see even the wall. She said…”perhaps he just wanted to encourage you.” Author Unknown.

Chortens

2007-06-19T19:58:00.000+06:00

Every where along side the steep mountains, footpaths, river banks, near monasteries, dzongs and deep in the forests, we find chortens of various shapes and sizes. Very often, we wonder why there are such chortens and what are they for. Even if we ask around, many of our people would not be able to say or explain everything about chortens in depth.

Origin of Chortens or Stupas:

The word chorten means Religious treasure. In English, a chorten is also called a stupa. The chortens or stupas were first constructed in India during the time of Lord Gautama Buddha. It is said that after the Mahaparinivana of Lord Buddha his relics were distributed among eight claimants of eight different cities in India. To preserve these relics and also to remember the teachings of Buddha, the rulers built stupas.

Shapes of Chorten:

Most of the chorten that we see around the country are modeled after the Indian stupas. Over time, the structural shape of the chortens underwent significant modifications to suit to the local environment.

In Bhutan, especially in the western parts of the country, the shapes of the chortens are unique and do not resemble any of the Indian prototype. Most of the chorten in western Bhutan is square and resembles the houses with roofs on the top. However, the chortens found in the eastern parts of the country mostly conforms to the shape as originated from India.

1. The vase shape
2. The bell shape

Symbolism of Chortens:

The first eight great chortens constructed were associated with the eight major events in the life of Gautama Buddha. It is believed that the chortens were constructed at the eight scared places where the events had occurred. Those chortens contained the ash remains of the Buddha and therefore, are memorial monuments.

In Bhutan, there are many different types of chorten built over the years. However, all the chortens are built with a specific purpose, as offerings at scared places, to contain evil, to celebrate victory over adversaries, to preserve bodily remains of saints and kings, to accumulate merits for personal benefits, to appease local deities and to propagate the teachings of Buddha.

Types of chortens.

In Bhutan there are many different types of chortens built through out the country. The different types of chorten commonly found in Bhutan are:

Khandum Mai Chorten: The people constructed these Chortens to revere and please the Khandums who otherwise could bring harm and destruction to the people.

Singpoi khanen Chorten: In olden days, it is believed that Singpos or guardians of particular place or area are fond of eating or killing the human beings. In order to prevent such things from happening, they started constructing Chorten.

Chorten kang nim: Chorten Kang nim or a gateway chorten is built to bless everyone who passes through the gateway. Such Chortens are normally built on highways or near Dzongs.

Chorten Dang rim or Mani dang rim: This chorten is different from others because it is a long chorten with Mani scripts written all over it.

Rigsum gonpoi Chorten: Rigsum Gonpoi chorten has three spires on the top. Each spire is dedicated to the three deities.

Sidok Chorten: This type of chorten is constructed to prevent evil influences from harming the people or an individual.

Kudung Chorten: Kudung Chortens are memorial chortens constructed to honour the death of a great King or a Lams. The Thimphu Memorial Chorten dedicated to the late King is one of such chortens.

Tsa tsa chorten: It is called a tsa tsa chorten because the shape of this chorten is like a tsa tsa. These types of chortens are small and commonly found in the eastern parts of Bhutan.

Benefits of building or circumambulating a Chorten

Chortens are the living symbols of Lord Buddha. A Chorten represents the physical presence of Buddha. Therefore, anyone who builds a chorten is considered a good human being and earns a lot of merits or karma in his lifetime. Since all the chortens are constructed in the open air, it is said that even the animals that circumambulate without knowing are benefited. When we circumambulate a chorten, we will accumulate a lot of merits for our next life. It is also believed that the air that brushes over chorten when touches a human being, will help in accruing merits. The following are the general benefits of constructing a chorten:
a. One will be born in a good family,
b. One will receive praise from all directions.
c. One will be granted long life
d. All the wishes will be fulfilled
e. One’s wisdom will grow
f. One will quickly reach perfection

Value of a Chorten:

Since a chorten is a physical representation of Gautama Buddha, it must contain items related to his Teachings. Merely constructing a chorten without any relics is of no use and will not benefit anyone. Therefore, all the chortens irrespective of sizes and shapes have something of great spiritual value that would benefit humanity at large.

A chorten contains the following relics and because of those, a chorten is counted as a treasure of religion connected with Buddhism.

Buddha relics: It can be a direct relic connected to Buddha or could even be one of the books of his teachings.

Buddha Statue: Since, it is difficult to obtain relics directly related to Buddha; the people started putting the image of Buddha himself inside a chorten.

Precious items: In order to enhance the value and also to revere it as a sacred object of Buddhism, the people put precious items like, corals, Gold, Zees, Pearls, Silver and other personal valuable items.

Medicinal herbs: A chorten also contains medicinal herbs of different variety.

Grains: The people also put all the variety of grains (dru na Gu)

Perfumes: Perfumes like sandal, camphor, saffron, Agaru (Eagle wood) and nutmeg

Tsa tsas: Small chorten like earthen mould known as tsa tsas are placed inside to enhance the spiritual value

Food essence: Different types of food essence like salt, sugar, butter etc are also used inside a chorten

Shokshing: In the middle of the chorten, a good quality pole from Junipers tree is inserted as the shokshing or Life tree.

I have tried to compile an exclusive background on chortens, but due to lack of authentic informations and materials, i could not do a good job.

The Moments......

2007-06-19T12:25:00.000+06:00

One perfect moment
Can never be repeated
Only remembered

Craps from my coffee cup

2007-06-19T09:02:00.000+06:00

If my parents had not bonded just as they did, I am sure. I would not here writing this carp. And like wise if your parents did not bond in a precise timely manner, you would not be here either to read this carp of mine. I do not know, at this point in life, whether I should thank my parents for bringing me to this world or to scorn at them for bringing me out here just because they wanted to bond at that precise time.

Over the last forty years of my life, I have been through every single possible thing that a man of my age should have undergone. In school, I was punished for playing truant, my butts covered in a million prickly nettle stings. I was incarcerated under the floor of my classroom for blowing my nose behind Choden’s back and letting loose those slimy grease all over her beautiful checkered tego.

I was also a very inquisitive kid in the block. Thanks to the abundance of time and will power, I knew exactly what the great White chief would be doing at that precise time…dozing on the table with his head on the school dictionary, and how it felt sneaking quietly in his office and stealing a comic book form the shelf. Back at the white chief’s house, I knew how to relax in his arm chair in more than twenty different positions and on his bed in approximately thirty more and the best I knew how to appreciate a really good fart be it yours or mine.

I had a friend called Sangay (commonly called Sanja). He had to be Sanja and all people with names like that have to always be a Hap. Sanja was a good boy, immaculate and hard working. My befriending him was not for any particular reason, but I could bully him to do my homework and say “present sir” during the class attendance. He enjoyed mimicking my voice and would in variably be caught as always and land up pulling his own ears in one corner of the classroom and squatting and rising raging like my family bull.

Saturdays always meant fun. Every boy or a girl would be sent to collect firewood. While the students in groups disappeared into the woods across the river, the teachers would conduct their weekly meetings. The forest would be filled with boisterous noises, some singing and some shouting across to each other. For me, it means a grand long nap amongst the sweet smelling pines and some drudge would be collecting my firewood.

I was made the school house captain by the amorphous, choleric and irascible great chief after vetoing in the meeting. Later, I was told that my selection was not based on any merit, but my speed in a running around the football ground which even, amazed the stray dogs around the hostel.

One day, I came across a group of small children discussing something in hushed murmurs. They told me that a new girl’s warden had just arrived in the school. Even at such a tender age, these brats had the cheek to discuss how pretty and affluent she looked. After sending them to the study hall, I went back to the hostel. The next day, very early in the morning, I went to urinate near a bolder with my eyes half closed and just as I was about to complete the ritual, I heard a sharp voice from behind. I threw a glance in the direction and lo…stood the new girl’s warden looking at me as if her eye were about to burst. Without a second glance, I darted in the direction I was facing never looking back.

Back in the class, the math’s teacher was sick and so the new lady warden walked in as a substitute. The moment she entered, the fragrance emitting from her body filled the classroom. Her insouciant air lifted my heart. She was so beautiful, no wonder even the tiny brats had her on their gossip agenda. She was young and looked so voluptuous and charming. Her smile, and the way she looked at us is unforgettable. Some bigger student would lean on the desk supporting their chin with the palm of the hands and would immediately go into a deep reverie. Much later, I heard that she slapped another fellow teacher for trying to get closer to her and that ended my wild dreams.

"There are moments in life when you miss someone
so much that you just want to pick them from
your dreams and hug them for real! "

The Great White Chief

2007-06-17T12:12:00.000+06:00

The Man who curved my Destiny. I have mentioned about him so poignantly in my stories commonly refered to as the white buffalo chief.

2007-06-17T10:25:00.000+06:00

The timeless in you is aware of life's timelessness; and knows that yesterday is but today's memory and tomorrow is today's dream.

A moment in life

2007-06-17T10:16:00.000+06:00

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

By "Max Ehrmann "

Echoes from the past

2007-06-17T09:34:00.000+06:00

When we reach a certain age in life....something..in us shakes the whole being and prompts us to take some time...sit on a lonely spot and let mind meander back in time. The nostalgic past..comes in waves..one after the other....like an apparition rising out of the mist of antiquity.

I do not see any memorable incidents except for the intense hardship and toiling. My tiny toddly years were nothing but cows and cowshits. The tattered tiny "gho' had a huge gaping hole right on where my buttock was. Air condition was, therefore; offered free of cost even at an altitude of over 6000 meters above sea level. I never saw a shoe till i was nine years old, and when i finally got my first shoe...i had to wear an adult sized one as the palm of my feet had been flatten and battered over time.

Growing in a family of then five and being the second eldest was no fun. My elder brother was always with father...either grazing the herd or collecting fodders. It always fell on me to be permanently tied with my baby sisters either puking or urinating gladly. Therefore, my tiny tattered "gho" besides its gaping hole was also a landing pad for both regurgitated food and urine.

Born to a nomadic family and raised in the impenetrable wilderness of Drukyuel was a boon for me. I was not only tough and rough, but also learnt many survival lessons from nature. Even as a small boy, i could set traps for wild pheasants and also knew that we should never let a leech enter in our nose. The slithering leech eventually becomes so fat that it almost becomes impossible to lure him out. I was also an expert honey collector. Equipped with an axe, no trees would stand against me expect for the poor forest guards who would never reach my forest.

Growing up in the wilderness....is like growing up to be the wilderness itself...for i would not see other human beings except my and another person's family for months on end. So any eventual encounter of another human being at any given point would be like seeing a ghost. I was a constant visitor to the other family's shed and was always received with acerbity by the lady. She never liked me and always called me names. So whenever i go to her shed, i always make sure that one of her chicken is tucked well in the fold of my tattered tiny Gho and sacrificed on my way home.

Hoping from mountain top to mountain top with the herd...was like living along with the Gods, for we were always above the clouds and can only be reached by the thin spiral smokes from the valleys below. Even as a child, i use to admire the glorious sunsets in the dusk and the magnificent sun rises at dawn. The sun always looked bigger at this time and it sends an eerie chill through my blade thin spine...rocking my whole body at times.At night time, when the sky stays clear, i sit astride on the fence and gape at the stars and wonder...why they always twinkled at me. The moon fascinated me more than the sun. In the silence of the night, the lonely moon was always a welcome companion, illuminating the white winding paths in the distance

The First Step…a lonely one

2007-06-17T09:32:00.000+06:00

From the corner of my eye, I watched the village headman walk towards my cowshed. It seemed very unusual. He never comes to our cowshed, but today he did and it looked very ominous. Even at seven years, I was an intelligent kid and would pay keen attention to everything around.

I saw my father get up and welcome the headman. He laid out a cow skin and asked the headman to sit. I saw the headman many times; he is a fearful looking man. His bow shaped mustache would twitch ever time he talked. From a distance, I could only hear mutters and saw my father’s face glow and then frown. The headman took out some kind of a paper and was peering at it with great difficulty.

It was time for me to round up the cattle, so I trotted away with my brother in search of our cattle in the forest.When I came back, the headman was gone. My dad was still at his place talking to my mother. There was something in their eyes that bugged me, yet they would not tell me. After completing the chores, we finally sat for dinner, when my dad looked at me and shattered my small world. He cleared his throat and said. “Chimi,” mother and I decided to send you to school. I sat there numb, suddenly feeling very sick. I looked around for support and all my brothers and sisters looked at me as if I was a stranger. The food tasted bland and rubbery. I stared threateningly at my younger siblings.

That night, I groaned and rolled on the cowskin mat. I could not sleep and my mind kept leaving my body. I did not want to go to school. If I went to school, who will help my parents, who will play with my younger siblings. Life in the jungle was hard and filled with dangers. What, if a bear mauled my father, what if mother fell from a tree and a cow gored my sister. These thoughts came back in waves one after the other.

The next day, my father measured my frail body and my flat yeti feet. He then left for the town loaded with butter and cheese, probably to barter with clothes and shoes. I saw him limp slowly and disappear from the view. My mother, who usually did not like my garrulous pranks, looked at me in a different way on that day. She called me near her and put her hand on my head. She said, “chimi,” I know you are not happy with our decision to send you to school. But believe me, in years to come, you will have a life which none of your siblings can have. At school you will learn many things and someday, you will know why we send you out there. “No” I chided. This is my world and I belong here, I told my mother. But she would not say another word.

From that day, my younger siblings would make fun of me and call me a lopen. To them, it seems fun, only if they saw what I was going through my frail improvised body. I loved the wilderness, I loved my cows. To me the forest was my world and the trees are my playmates. How on earth can I leave them behind and go to a new place called school. What would I do there, what is the point of studying when I have my fun here?

My father limped back after four days. On his back, I saw a big pack and wondered what it contained. Mother gave him tea while we children squatted around him anticipating some sweets. After the tea, he pulled the bag towards him and opened it. He pulled a pack of cookies and asked me to distribute amongst ourselves. Wow…cookies with both its ends curled up like my dog’s tail was our favourite. It was just cookies and nothing more but cookies that we had whenever my dad went to the town.

Parents then asked us to play outside and leave them alone. We rushed out with cookies in the hand. As luck could have it, I slipped on a cow pooh and my much awaited cookie went flying. It landed exactly in a puddle freshly created by the family bull. Just as I was about to grab it, my dog rushed in and grabbed it Dang….what lucks. Just then, I espied my baby sister strolling around with a giant cookie in her tiny hand. So, I wandered around my tiny sister who was having difficulty in chewing the cookie with her toothless gum. Even before she knew what happened to her cookie, I took a great bite and mimicked a monkey to amuse her. She was too small to understand and even know what a cookie is and how it tasted. She just giggled at me and asked me to do it again. With pleasure, I did it again and again, till there was none. The little girl was amused at first and then realized that her cookie was gone.

At dinner time, father announced that the next day, father and I was heading to the school. The school was three days journey. Mother packed all the essential items including pots and plates. My father showed me all the stuffs that I would need in the school. One rubber shoes, which looked pitifully small, a black socks and a navy blue gho. Even before, he said a word; I told him that those are perfect fit on my elder brother. I pleaded to mother to send my “acho” to school and not me. I also demonstrated to her, how useful I can be around the shed by doing all the chores. She was silent too and I knew I was doomed.That night, my siblings gathered around me and looked grim. They did not realize that their monkey brother would be gone the next day. It was a fitful night and I once again groaned and moaned. I was scheming on how to get myself out of this mess and instead send my brother.

It was the longest night of my life. Some time, late into the night, my family rooster flapped his wings and made his first call. It was an ominous call for me. For when the day breaks, I will be leaving everything behind and moving to another land…another galaxy. My dreams of swinging on the trees, playing in the pond and running wild in the great grassland came to an end. All shattered by that idiotic village headman who came to my cowshed that fateful day.Just when it was time to leave, my mother came to me and handed me a small bag with a string attached at its mouth. She said, it contained soap and every day I should wash my face with it. She dug into her purse and took out four coins which she handed to me. I saw tears in her eyes. I was dressed up in the blue “gho” and the rubber shoes. The shoe pinched my mighty huge feet and the new under pant was a pain in my butt. I bid farewell to my siblings and promised them that I will be back during the winter vacation with a lot of cookies.

On the second day, we reached the peak of the mountain. I looked down and saw a thin spiral of smoke come out of my tiny shed far below. I felt a lump in my heart and I broke down. I heard my dad yell at me from above and I followed him like a sheep taken to be butchered.

The year was 1968 and I was eight or nine. The Government started schools in the districts but none came forward to join. So the district administrator summoned all the village headmen to his office and threatened them to send as many kids as possible to school. I was the first victim and there was no escape. On the third day, we finally reached the school.

It was mid may and school was in session already. I saw sleek and clean boys with well combed hair and very pretty girls walk past me. They looked at me as if they are looking at some weird creature that just emerged from the forest. My father nonchalantly led me around the u- shaped building and into some office. Inside the dark office, I gazed upon a very old man, who looked like my grandfather. His hair was white and so was his mustache. My father bowed to him and placed before him countless balls of cheese and butter. The fat old man cleared his throat and took off his reading glass and peered at me. He made us sit on the floor and offered us tea. He then asked me my name and asked me whether I knew any of the alphabets that hung by the chart above his massive head. I said no. I felt pissy and very sweaty. At last he let us go and asked us to come to his house for lunch. Just before I escaped from there, another man came in and told me to follow him. I looked at my dad, my eyes pleading to save me. He nudged me and in a flash I was dragged down the hallway to a room filled with handsome boys and pretty girls.

The school did not have any boarding facilities. So my dad attached me to the same old man from the office. Only later, I came to know that everyone called him a “white buffalo” from his back. (Buffalos are supposed to be very short tempered and dangerous animals) My father left a day after staying with me and it was my saddest day. Soon after my father left, the white buffalo called me and asked me whether I could cook. Since then, I was his cook and cooked for him for the next five years till his retirement at the age of seventy nine.

My first day in the school was a disaster. I was handed a slate board and a small stone pencil to write. The foolish me, did not know that slate would break if you sat on them because, I neither heard nor saw a slate my entire life. When the class teacher entered the room, I was peeing in my pants with a broken slate. When he asked the other students to copy what he wrote on the black board, I was holding both my ears and doing up and down in the corner and it went on for the entire period. (The entire period was half day in those days). Luckily for me, white buffalo came around and asked me to go and cook his lunch. That night, I peed in my bed.

Life in a hostel

2007-06-17T09:02:00.000+06:00

Most of the students had their grannies living in makeshift huts around the school, cooking for them. They were basically at home and enjoyed the love and care of the family. I on the other hand, was a cook, a bonded labourer and a washer-man for the great chief “White Buffalo”. The chief would wake me up every morning by throwing at me what ever article he can lay his hand on. Red eyed like a raging bull. I would throw glances at him and fold my bedding and push it underneath the huge box. Every morning, I would squat near the hearth and blow my lungs out to make the fire.

Cooking was a very hard thing, especially when the great chiefs was standing near me and watch over the proceedings. He liked “shakam” (dried beef) for curry with very little chilly. He would measure the rice and hand it to me for cooking. When it iwas time to make sakam curry, he would sit near me to make sure that I have put all the shakam in the curry and not hide it somewhere for myself. Once the food was ready, he would appear with his favorite “Dapa” (wooden bowl) and sit near the hearth. Till he finished his food, I would just sit looking at him like an orphaned puppy swallowing gallons of saliva. Before, he handed me his bowl for washing, he would take a look at the curry and say eat fast and come to the bedroom for your night studies. He would then disappear farting.

Every evening he would make me sit near his bed and read. He usually carried a walking stick and it’s always near him. Work was hard during the day, and by evening I was half dead with sleep. The moment he noticed my head bow down he would tap on my head with that steel edged stick. But I was one naughty boy too. I had lots of tricks up my sleeves to fool the old man. Electricity was not heard of then. Everyone used kerosene lamps. So the room was always poorly lit and the chief could not see well with his poor vision. I took advantage of his weakness and devised a way to make him believe that my eyes were open and reading. I would use two tiny twigs as support between the eye lids. This kept my eyes always open and he thought I was studying. He would notice only when I rolled over the book after losing balance. It was both fun and dangerous.

Every night, before going to bed, I had to take the lantern and lead him to the toilet for his daily pooh. He would squat in the tiny wooden latrine and I would do the same out in the bush, making occasional noise to tell him that I was still around and not swallowed by any creatures. Having to squat in the bush especially in darkness was like dying a hundred deaths. Sometimes, I could hear bears sniffing around in the bushes not far away. In such times, I would bolt from the bush like lightening and shout “sir bear sir bear!” “Bear” he would shout and dash out of the toilet and run. In such times, he was much faster than me even without his walking stick.

One fine Sunday morning, I asked the chief that I wanted to go and take bath in the river. Surprisingly, he let me go. I ran to the riverside, took off my dirty” gho” washed it. After that I took off the little bag, my mother so lovingly gave me and hung it over a small willow post. The little bag was the closest thing I ever had to remind me of my folks back in the forest. I never used the soap for I wanted it to last the many lonely months at school. I jumped into the pool and started splashing around when I heard a familiar sound of a raven near by. Since ravens were all around, I did not pay heed and it cost me my priceless treasure, my soap bag. The raven had picked up my soap bag from the willow post and was already airborne. I shouted at him and ran after him, but it was too late. I sat there dazed and watched till the raven disappeared behind a hillock. I broke down and pounded the earth with my tiny fist. My mother’s gift, a remembrance, a link that kept me going so far was now gone. Suddenly, I felt so lonely and missed my parents, my sibling and my hut in the forest.Three years later, the teachers managed to set up a hostel.

Two classrooms were converted into boys and girl hostel. I was asked by my teacher to move to the hostel since he did not like my daily flooding his floor. I felt so happy, as if released from a prison, as if someone had lifted a load off my head. We were twelve tiny boys in the hostel without a door. Every night, we would chat and tell each other stories of ghosts and get scared. We use to compete with each other in finding a space in the middle of the group. I truly felt like a destitute. The cotton inside my mattress had somehow rolled up and became a hard mound on one end. The blanket was too thin to protect me from the chill. For pillow, I used a small log stolen from the cook’s house. He could never find it because I hid it so well under my mattress.Every morning, I would get up and run to make breakfast for the chief and I also cooked his lunch and dinner.

Even though I was in the hostel, he would not let me go. So I was still his official chef for many years to come. He would never share his meal with me even on an auspicious occasion. I would run back to the hostel to eat. In the hostel, breakfast was “kapchi” (wheat flour dough) and the warden would make them round and throw at us from a distance. With it they served us black tea with salt. The food was never enough to fill our huge stomach. So we substituted it with mugs of water from the tap.

One dark night, we were awakened by a shrill cry of someone in pain. Then, we heard a sound on the wooden floor. Whatsoever it was, it was taking a stroll in our room. “Dok, dok “it went around and then went through the door. When the sound reached the hallway, we heard the warden’s dying cry and than a bang on the door. It was then, we ran to the hall way all in a group. The creature bolted from the hallway and ran into the school vegetable garden. The warden hearing us came and joined in the chase. In the garden, we saw the creature; it was a huge deer with massive antlers. Just before we could react, the hostel dogs attacked it and chased it away. The same evening, the warden put up a fence to our room and asked the big boys to come and sleep in his room. So the story goes on and on…

Appeasing the spirit of Mountain Gods

2007-06-17T08:56:00.000+06:00

It was mid summer, which means exam time. Every one was excited and was looking forward to a wonderful summer vacation. During the evenings, the excited boys would sit in groups to discuss what they would do during the vacations. For us, who had homes far from school would mean endless adventures, fishing by the day and stealing fruits or vegetables from the villager’s fields at night. Some times, during the morning assembly, we would see locals come and complain to the teachers about the previous night’s raid in their garden. Those were the most dangerous moments, we would be shaking like leaves fearing reprimand if identified or caught. But these fears or apprehensions did not last beyond the assembly session and we were again scheming for another raid.

The day before the summer vacation, I was engaged in a heated discussion with some friends from Radhi. We could not come to an agreement whether we should go for a picnic the next day or play “degor at the school itself. In the midst of our argument, another student came up to me and said that the Chief was looking for me.

Knowing his temper, I excused myself and ran to his house. I found the chief curled up like a cat on his bed and was shaking and coughing. He was sick. Concocting his face, he asked me to run to his village and inform his brother to come down immediately. Without wasting time, I headed to his village and conveyed the message. The brother of the chief was also an old man. They shared similar features, except that the brother was much thinner and very mild. It was love at first sight and I genuinely felt at home in his company. He offered me tea and enquired about his brother’s health.

I explained to him about the constant cough and high fever.We hurried back to the school. We found chief groaning in his bed and a nurse taking his temperature. Immediately, I went to the kitchen and prepared tea for the nurse and chief’s brother. I must have had been mighty thin and tiny for when the chief’s brother saw me making tea in the kitchen, he giggled. He came over and said, “Son, move aside, I will make the tea”. We were instant hits and stayed friends till I left that school in 1975. That night, the two brothers discussed about the sickness. The chief asked his brother whether he had performed the puja on that mountain and this waterfall. I listened intently to their talks, and at times; forgetting my place and size, I, absentmindedly butted in their talks only to suffer the wrathful look of the chief.

The same night, they decided that both the mountain god and the spirit of the waterfall must be appeased the very next day. The brother decided to send his nephew to the waterfall the next day. He then looked at me and said “ Chimi and some student can go with me to the mountain top to appease the gods up there”. That was music to my ears. I nodded and said “yes grandpa, I will carry the load and you can walk safely behind me”. He again giggled. The chief was in no mood to talk to me. I was cooking dinner, when chief’s brother came over and said “can you find two more strong boys to go with us tomorrow into the mountains.” He also said that the journey will take two days and we would take all the essential items for the journey through very dense forest. I told him that, I already thought of two friends who are very strong and can carry a horse load. While talking, he made rice porridge for his brother and beef curry for us. The sick man drank two huge bowls of porridge and we joked saying that he was starving and was not sick. After dinner, the brother asked me to come to the village early morning along with the two friends. He then left saying that he was going to send his wife to cook for his brother.

I told my friends about the adventure the next day. Every one was eager and wanted to go with me. Some even offered to give me “zaw and kapchi” (rice snack and wheat flour) if I agreed to take them. But I already had decided to take my two buddies one from Radhi and another from Wangduephrodarng. That night, three of us talked late into the night. We even sharpened our knives preparing ourselves for any encounters or eventualities on the way. It sounded fun and even a minute’s escape from the school means something wonderful.

None of us slept that night, for we were too excited about the journey through the forest and to the mountains.At the crack of dawn, we hurriedly washed our faces and trotted to the village. We made to the village in record time. Mr. K (I hereafter refer to the chief’s brother as K) was near the hearth cooking. Something smelt so wonderful….the smell of “Nosha paa” (beef sliced and fried) He offered us tea and asked us to pack the things in our bags. He had already divided the things into four equal parts. He said “Chimi that ribs are for you to carry” and to my horror I saw four huge yak ribs bundled into one and looked bigger than a bamboo bow. I wondered how the hell I was going to carry this through the forest. I could not pack it in my bag but had to carry it by a sling like a rifle. We all tested our loads and I felt so uncomfortable with those stinky ribs poking everywhere. Mr. K fed us rice and chilly curry and told us that the beef was for our pack lunch.

The sun was already up when we started the journey. All through the morning we headed east through oak and pines forest. We talked very little and everyone was panting and blowing smoke from their noses. The journey was hard and mostly climbing. We rested at every waterhole to quench our thirst. Mr. K was a unique man. He was calm, mild and very sweet. Even though he talked very little, we could see that he was enjoying the company of thee chimps.

By mid day, we reached a trees-less hilltop. Near by, we saw a yak hair tent and a great Tibetan dog chained to a small post. The dog barked at us so frantically and we made faces at him knowing that we are safe. A huge man in dirty clothes came out of the tent and when he saw us, he smiled. He called us to his tent and offered yoghurt. For the first time, I truly felt at home in that smoky tent. We unpacked the lunch and enjoyed one tasty lunch.

After thanking the herder, we headed down the hill and into the misty mountains. The vegetation was different on the other side of the hill. It was maples, conifers and spruce everywhere. After an hour of walking downhill, it was a steep climb to our destination. The air was thin and trees slowly gave way to scrubs and bushes of rhododendrons. The path was very stony and water ran though the path. Rivers of sweat flowed through our bodies, but we walked on nonchalantly still excited about what was to come that night. As we climbed higher, our bare feet began to feel the chill. Every once in a while we blew large amounts of water from our noses. By evening, we almost made it to the camp. K told us that there was a small cave and we would camp in it. We did not know how much we walked, but we realized that we were almost floating in the mist.

It was almost dusk, when we finally reached the mountain top, our destination. K led us to a small cave and fortunately for us, someone had left behind a huge pile of dry firewood. We laid our load down and rested for a while. K rolled a smoke and started smoking. We sat down facing the valley down below. The valley was covered in clouds and we were above the clouds. A sense of elation and relief overcame me. I was at home.

That night we made a huge bon fire. During the dinner, K told us about our errands tomorrow. I was to assist K in making dough for the ravens and my friends were to bring juniper leaves for making smoke during the puja. That night, I asked K whether my chief was going to die. He just giggled once again and said “even the devil could not come near him, so the question of him dying is very remote”. We curled up in our Ghos and slept like logs.Early next day, K prepared breakfast while we went around gathering leaves and wood. K took out a string of coloured clothes from his bag and asked me to tie it on a small pole. In the meantime, k cooked rice for the God of the mountains; he packed it in a basket and handed it to me. He said that the spot for the puja is a little away from the cave. About hundred meters away from the cave, there was the spot. I noticed that many people had visited this place from the many similar coloured strings tied on different shaped poles Once there, we made fire and fed enormous amounts of leaves. We did not know why we had to make smoke. I erected the pole with the coloured strings and K wore his “kabney” (scarf) and sat down on a flat stone. From his bag he took out numerous articles and laid them out on another flat stone. He asked us to make a butter lamp from the dough. The huge ribs were laid out on either side of a dough man riding on a yak.. He made many “tormas” and lined them up. We watched with great interest. The last item was the ‘ara” (rice wine) poured in a dough cup. Once all set, he looked around him and then at us. He said “ boys, put a lot of juniper leaves in the fire and make a lot of smoke.

The ravens that dwell in the far away craggy mountains must see the smoke and come to feed here. He also told us that ravens are the messengers of god. He further directed us to shout at the top of our voice and call the raven “ Ola Chaa tshaloooo !! (Honestly I don’t know what that means) We started the smoke and then shouted at the top of our voice “ ola chaa tshelooo!!. It was so funny and we laughed. K was already muttering something every now and then; he would occasionally close his eyes to remember what to say next. He never went to a school or monastery, he was a cowherd himself and spent most of his time in the forest. I can not explain why, but the raven did appear after a while. K scooped spoons of rice mixed with meat and bones from the ribs and threw it the raven that hungrily fought amongst each other. The number of raven increased minute by minute and by the time it was over, there were almost thirty ravens or so. K was beaming and looked very happy and satisfied. He gave us “arra” to taste and he himself gulped down three cups or so. The puja took almost an hour. K then rolled up a smoke while we chased ravens allover the place.

The sun was already up and the mountain top was warming up. The mists from the valley rose once again blanketing us. We headed back to the cave and it was time to relax for a while. K happily enjoyed the arra and we went around the cave investigating and looking for slate pencils. Everywhere, there was profusion of colors. The whole mountain top was covered by tiny flowers. Unfortunately, we did not have the eyes to admire the beauty or appreciate Mountain god’ creation. We were wild and free. We rolled down the slopes and mimicked mountain goats and jumped around. But the fun was short-lived; it was time to head back once again. Back at the cave, K fed us with the last remaining ribs and rice.

We walked down fast and passed the nomad tent with the huge dog barking at us. The man did not come out and we did not stop for another bout of yogurt. It was almost nightfall when we reached to K’s village. Once in the house, K informed his folks about the ravens and the good omen. He said, his brother will be fit again in another few days. K’s niece had dinner ready and after dinner K handed each of us a yak cheese and said “thank you boys” you are such good children”. Our eyes lit up and wondered whether we were really good kids after all. We lit pine torches and went back to our hostel. We were on summer break and still had many days of holidays. That was something to look forward to. Back in the flea infested hostel, we sat down on our bed and again schemed about what to do the next day, only if we knew that “tomorrow was god’s secret and we were not supposed to peep in there”. !!!!

Back in the wilderness

2007-06-17T08:54:00.000+06:00

After the summer vacation, I had to skip classes for almost a month. My duties were to nurse the old chief and wash his clothes and give him occasional baths. I was happy to be away from the class, for studies were not of any particular interest the little boy who grew up in the wild. One day, out of no where, I heard a roar and it grew bigger. I saw everyone run out of their class and look skyward. I too could not resist the temptation and went outside to see what was there in the sky. It was a helicopter, orange colored. It was circling around the school ground as if looking for a landing pad. As it came nearer to the ground, the huge rotating blade blew enormous amounts of dust. I saw many villagers come running as if they are late for the reception.

The villagers were most the astonished and bewildered ones for they neither heard about such flying creatures nor saw one. At least, the students looked a little calm but excited excited. As the helicopter touched the ground, the people started talking in whispers and some even thought the King had come to their school unannounced. When the door opened a huge golden haired man alighted from the helicopter and waved at us. No one moved, not even the villagers. I stood there, looking like a real nut, mouth gaping and transfixed. I never saw a helicopter and a man like him, so white and handsome. Another man immediately jumped after the white man and to our relief he was wearing a “Gho” and wore a hat. He talked to the other person for a while and then headed in our directions. By the time he was near, I noticed that every villager had his cap in his hand and was ready to bow down at a moments notice. The man did not resemble our king, but he was a very handsome man and very clean too. He went straight to my chief’s house. Someone from the crowd suddenly realized that it was the conservator of Forest and ran after him. Since, it was my duty to prepare tea for the guest, I too bolted after them. When I went into the room, the handsome man was there on the bed holding my chief’s hand and talking something in english.

I knew my place and headed to where I belonged. I served him tea and “zaw” and bowed to him and went backwards till the door like an orphaned slave boy serving his master. I saw him hand over lots of things to my chief and amongst them were biscuit tins and lots of fruits. I never saw any of them after that. The Chief had hidden it, god knows where..After a while he hugged his father and then called me in to the room. Even before he touched me, my nostril caught the waft of sweet fragrance exuding from him. I stood in front of him trembling and my head bowed as if waiting for the Gorkha master to strike the final blow on his sacrificial sheep. He caught me by the shoulders and said “ Chimi , please look after my father as you have done till now and . I am very grateful to you. I will come again next month and take my father to Thimphu for treatment.” Yes Sirrr…was all I could say for my whole lower jaw was locked. From his purse, he took out a note and handed it to me. He then headed back to the helicopter. The moment the helicopter lifted, I ran to the near by bush to see what was that he gave me. Wooww !!!! I could not believe my luck….it was fresh five ngultrum note. For the first time in my life, I saw a five ngultrum note.. That evening, the chief called me and asked me to deposit the money his son gave me. He said students were banned from carrying money. With much reluctance, I handed him the money and never saw it again. I thought I was a lucky boy to possess a big amount of money, but then my luck died soon after it was born.

Those days, money was very scarce. To possess five ngultrum meant you were rich, and with that amount, I could buy myself a good shoes and a nice pair of socks which was my dream then. I sulked and acted deaf to chief’s constant moans and plead for some hot water. But even in his illness, he was still strong and one swing of his walking stick would send me flying against the massive box. He would fume, fret and curse me and call upon his Gods to knock me off that very hour. My agonizing cries meant nothing to him, but he would shoo me away the moment he noticed the noodle look alike snort hanging my by nose. I went back to my hostel after more than two months with the chief. He was much better and his brother’s wife came to stay with him. I was therefore not wanted anymore.

Before I went, I asked for the money and got a big blow on my chest instead. Back in the hostel, I found my tiny wooden box in pieces. Most of its lid part was missing and so was my only shirt and shoes. My aluminum plate resembled a pot completely black and dirty. Some kids must have had used it as a frying pan and a pot to cook something. Whatever they have cooked, the remnants had stuck there and could never be removed even with sand and grass. My cotton mattress was no where to be found and so was my pillow, the log. I was lost for words and did not know what to do.

My friend Dawa came over to tell me that I could share his mattress bed and I gladly accepted. That night, in my friend’s bed, I experienced hell. First I felt my body slowly begin to itch and then the area of itching increased and by late night I was scratching like a mad dog infected by scabies. He slept peacefully and did not even move once. Unable to bear the itching, I went to the corridor and slept there in my gho and blanket. The next day, I went rummaging around the garbage pit and there I saw the remnants of my cotton mattress. That day, I stole a jute sack from behind a shop and used it my mattress. It was terribly thin and my body ached so much on the hard wood floor.

Few days later, I managed to get hold of some dried pine needle leaves and fill it up. This was much better than my cotton mattress which had numerous cotton mounds ever where.As winter approached, the air around cooled and soon, there was frost on the ground. It was a good sign for us; for winter meant a long vacation and time with our folks. Soon business minded villagers would bring baskets of oranges and bananas and would sit near the school fence for hours luring kids to buy. Some kids with money bought them and ate them greedily and fast. They would not want to share this first fruit of the season with anyone. For me and those without money, we would simply dream and watch with eagerness praying that some kind hearted students suddenly appear and share his fruits with us. But kind souls are hard to come by in a school like mine, where students would not mind stealing your food if you happened to leave it unattended and went to the loo.

By the beginning of November we gave our exams and a few weeks later the teachers announced our results. The result announcing day was dreaded by everyone. Some cried and some jumped with joy as the results were announced. I was on the borderline but managed to get through to the next class. That night was the last night in the hostel and from the next day, not even a soul would be found around. We spent the night singing and dancing, happy at the thought of going home. But I was a worried man. My family being migratory nomads had moved to the south with their animals and livestock. It meant a five full day walk for me. Usually, just before the announcement of the results, my parents would ask someone or send some one to fetch me. That winter, everything was quiet and there was no news. The next day, i forgot my worry and went around bidding farewell to my friends. At the same time, i was keeping an eye to see whether some one from my family had come to get me. It was a clear sky and without a single cloud. Silhouetted against the gleaming sunlight, I saw a familiar figure leaning on the fence and staring at me, and it was my father. I ran to him and held his hands. He smiled at me and from his pocket; he took out an orange and handed to me. It was a dream come true.

After five hard days of trekking from the alpine mountains to the southern foothills, I was finally home. From a distance, I could see my shed with its shiny new bamboo mat roof. As usual, I announced my arrival with a loud howling sound, a code between me and my siblings. They came running to greet me and father. It was a long journey back but I was not tired at all. Soon, the monkey brother was busy telling stories of the life at the school…only if they knew that few days later…this brother was going to be their chief disciplinarian………

Burden of child

2007-06-17T08:43:00.000+06:00

Midway between my winter vacation; it suddenly dawned to me that I was suppose to read the English text book for the next class. The Chief had packed a book for me to learn “Radiant Reader”…Sing mother sing, Pat can sing; Mother can sing was all I learnt before I foolishly distributed the colorful pages to my siblings.The last remaining page was rolled up and smoked by my brother.

This sudden realization came a little too late and I knew I would be in deep shit when I got back to the chambers of the dreadful buffalo. I know exactly what he will do to me and the same thing had happened the previous year when my book was mercilessly chewed and clawed by my tiny sister. I felt a sudden fear engulf my frail weak frame, for I knew, the moment I entered the chamber, I would be firstly grilled, then chopped and finally smoked. As usual, he would make me stretch both my arms far and wide like an eagle in flight. Then he would take out his book from underneath his pillow and shoot questions one after the other. Flushed and perspiring, I would gulp down many ummms, ekkkks and ewwwwws and chew my tongue and bite my lips. My pathetic face would have little impact on this merciless buffalo. The next thing, I would be doing is to run around his house; my hands still stretched making a sound brrrrrrrrrr so that the chief from the comfort of his bed can hear my location. Third round and then back inside once again. The next few question and then he would ask me to roll up my gho from behind. Before, I could make my face , take a breath and utter " lopen kuchey la;" the first whack would send me reeling into the corner of the room. I would try acting dead. He would have his own ingenious way to wake the dead with a second whack. Before the third came in, I would be running for my dear life out in the open. Life then was all about running and hiding from the mischievous buffalo with a pirates cap.

Till the thought came to me, I was enjoying my vacation swinging among trees, collecting avocado fruits and setting traps for a yummy wild fowl curry. My days were spent in some of the deepest jungles of Bhutan and contact with other humans was almost rare. The world I lived in had no place for fancy books or pencils, but knives and guns. The thought of getting punished at school hung heavy and my mood changed drastically from a fun loving wild boy to a sad lonely wreck. The days went faster then and my agony grew heavier. Every night, I would stay late, thinking of the impending dangers and the thrashing that my tiny body would undergo. I started walking in my sleep. At one time, when I woke up, I found myself on the roof of the hut. Amazing. When it was time for me to leave, my sibling would again pester their parents to give them some coins to give to me as farewell gifts. My little bag would be heavy by the time I step out of the little smoky hut and bid everyone a tearful farewell.