Deep seated patriotism

U Sharma, Babesa,
Thimphu, Bhutan

An ash-colored Hyundai coupe climbed through a catalogue of landscapes and headed north into the chestnut forest. The nut trees thinned to patchy pine woods hung with hungry cones. The car, then, passed through a steep parkway and came to a sudden screeching halt. Mrs. Sangay Lham alighted from the car and slammed the door secured.

“Mom, what date is today?” asked her daughter, Deki, pushing the back door closed.

Sangay Lham looked at Deki and laughed at the foolishness of her, otherwise, bright daughter. The fifteen-year-old girl god smacked her mother to the nth degree.

“It’s Wednesday, the 12^th of September. And, if you do not know the year, its 1990,” said the mother to her cosseted daughter, sounding a little satirical, albeit for the first time.

“Good Morning, Madam,” came a boyish voice fro behind her.

“Good Morning, Barun,” answered the teacher, without turning back. She did recognize his voice.

“How is everything with you these days?” she asked him with a smile of closeness.

“Good Morning, everybody,” said Mrs. Sangay Lham to her colleagues and took her chair at the corner of the staff room. She pushed the window ajar. She hated the stuffy environment. A gust of zephyr almost blew the calendar that hung on the wall, off its hook. She, then, gave a tactful glance outside to see if Barun could be seen. She met her objective. The gentle zephyr gradually smeared the kohl beneath her dark eyes. She knew about it; and yet, focused her eyes on the lad outside.

The long tintinnabulation gathered the students on the assembly ground. Boys and girls fell in separate lines; class-wise, and in descending heights from the back.

Mrs. Sangay Lham’s eyes quested for Barun. He stood in the middle of the line, drooping his head. His squishy hair glistened against the morning sun. He, perhaps, misjudged the amount of hair oil that morning.

“Of late, it has been reported that the Ngolops [anti-nationals] are on the rise inside the school premises,” announced the principal, Mrs. Nim Dem moving a few steps forward on the pavilion.

“I want to see the Lhotsampa (Bhutanese of the Nepali origin living in Southern Bhutan ) students of class eight in the multi-purpose hall right after the assembly,” said she further, looking intimidating and displaying folds of anger in her womanly face.

Students looked bewildered and god smacked. The term ‘Ngolop’ was vague^_____ it sounded nebulous. Many of them giggled at the novel word.

“Why are only the Lhotsampa friends called in the hall?’ students of non-Lhotsampa clan blew whispers in the air.

“Is it fair?’ whispered some girls from the back of the line.

All of a sudden, there was a big thud on the ground. Two boys picked up Barun and took him to a shady area under the eaves.

Later, that day, Mrs. Sangay Lham had planned an English class test in class eight. She entered the classroom. Her eyes fell on a vacant chair. Barun usually sat on it.

“Where is Barun?” she asked Dorji, the class monitor.

“Headmistress has called him to her office,” replied the dark and lanky boy.

Nobody in the class knew why Barun was called. It appeared to be an outcome of an underground conspiracy.

“Go and call him for the test,” said the teacher, looking at Dorji with a sort of commanding eyes, but with no threats.

Dorji met Barun on the way. His face was swollen and the left ear bled profusely.

‘Oh! What a pity? What happened to you, my friend? Why did the headmistress flail you to this degree? What had you done, my chum?” spoke Dorji, helping his friend to wipe the tears off his chunky face.

“We all know that you were sick this morning and you have done nothing wrong. Anyway, don’t worry, my friend. We shall all stand and fight for your innocent cause,” said he further, trying to solace the weeping victim of a slapdash act of the headmistress.

“May we come in, madam? Said Barun still in tears and Dorji simultaneously as if they have planned a chorus.

“Yes, come in,” came the furtive reply.

Barun sat on his chair whimpering. The teacher looked at him.

“What crime could Barun have committed to receive punishment of such a severe degree at this fragile age?” she spoke to the stoic walls, all in whispers, passing a quick glance at Barun.

Her words should have been heard by the entire class, en masse.

Barun submitted the answer script ten minutes before the scheduled time.

“Have you answered all the questions correctly?” the teacher asked the dismal boy.

“Yes, madam,” came a reply, hissing an inner cry.

“Meet me right after the last bell,” said she, keeping the paper on the table.

At 3.45 p.m., Mrs. Sangay Lham drove Barun and Deki through the steep and snaky road, through the pine forest to her residence. There was no one at home. Just in a trice, Deki brought three cups of tea to the sitting room. They refreshed themselves sitting in the lounge.

“Ma’am, I want to discontinue my studies,” said Barun, in excruciating tears.

His ultimatum came as a bolt from the blue to her.

“Barun, what made you say so? Don’t act childish,” she said, placing the empty teacup on the tray.

Barun sat brooding, pro tem; lifted his head, and with a grain of hesitation, took a sip of tea.

“I must tell the reality to ma’am. She treats me like her son like the mother does at home. I cannot hide anything from her any longer,” Barun said to himself, wiping the tears from his eyes. Mrs. Sangay Lham did see his actions.

“I don’t want to continue my studies,” said Barun, lifting his head and looking at his teacher. A rivulet of tears flowed down his plump cheeks.

Mrs. Sangay Lham stayed calm. She wanted Barun to speak his mind. Her silence emboldened him.

“What have I done to take this type of punishment?” he asked his teacher, anticipating a concrete answer to the reality.

He jerked his head. It looked as if his neck had stiffened.

“Headmistress called me to her office and flogged me for just because I could not go to the hall after the morning assembly. Everyone knows that I fainted and I was sick— I don’t now even recall as to how I how I fainted,” he said, coughing pain out of him.

“She berated me using unfamiliar and rude words—traitor, anti-national, etc. When I asked her the meaning of the vague words, she slapped on my face left and right. She showed no mercy,” he added, sobbing to the bottom of his stoic heart.

“I simply wished some else, not my teacher, was beating me, for I had the answer.”

“Deki,” called Mrs. Sangay Lham.

“Yes, Mom. I will come in a jiffy,” came a reply from the kitchen. In a trice, the three of them started sipping milk. Deki placed a ‘bangchu’ [a bowl-shaped container made of bamboo reeds] containing biscuits, on the table.

It was 5.30 p.m. when Barun bade goodbye to his teacher. He waved his lanky hand at Deki and walked down to the narrow pebbled road.

The next day turned out to be a different day for Barun. He reached the school an hour earlier than the usual time. He sat on a wooden bench in the flower garden behind the main academic building.

The school stood atop a knoll over-looked a line of teachers’ quarters down below.

The eastern was cloudless. Rays of morning sun glistened on the white-colored walls of the residential quarters. The waters on the fishery pond down below shone with a gloss as bright as a hillock of fresh snow on a clear winter morning.

Barun’s eyes fell on the headmistress’s quarters that had red colored roofs, unlike the other green-roofed ones. He evoked the flogging he received the other day. The harsh words quickly echoed in his ears.

“What did she mean by anti-national?” he whispered to the eucalyptus tree in front of him, looking at a triangular mountain peak in the eastern horizon.

“I may come to understand it with time,” he mumbled, pacifying himself with an unbelieving smile on his bloated and swollen face.

Who could have, other than the flower plants around, heard him?

He focused his eyes on the red-roofed one-storeyed house down below.

“Ma’am, do you possess a justification to the inhumane punishment you forced unto me for no fault of mine? If you, ma’am , as a guardian of five hundred students, pick any Tom, Dick or Harry and start flailing to satiate your lustful anger, wouldn’t all Baruns, sooner or later, voice out their masked pains against you? Wouldn’t such an irrational act jeopardize your career as well as image? Wouldn’t such heinous act give you the old heave-ho? I have no ill-feelings towards you, ma’am. I take it as your slipshod move. May be you did that to me to forget your domestic problem back at home.

If your trainers had trained you to use innocent students as a tool to forget your domestic rifts, then, I would ask you to ask yourself whether you are committed to your profession. It’s high time you recapitulated the axiom ‘a stitch in time saves nine.’ Cubs may be harmless but there is always a lioness in a group of puny cubs.

Madam, you have to help in building the nation; not torpedoing the nation-builders.

Yesterday was Barun, today may be Karma, tomorrow may be Roshan, next in queue, and may be Namgay, and so on. What would be the fate of the nation when it comes to the last student in the register? I can foresee an imminent jeopardy in your career, ma’am.

Ma’am, my body gets goose-pimpled and bristly the moment I see you. My eyes, and Barun, see in you a silhouette of a ghostly beast.”

He shuddered. He realized he had used an inappropriate word to qualify his teacher.

“Oh! No. I am sorry, ma’am. Barun treasures you for you are a teacher. His eyes, but, are scared because you are a complete ignoramus when it comes to administrating a nation-building institution,” he said, looking at a crow, flying over his head towards the quarters down below at the base of the hillock. The inquisitive bird perched on a eucalyptus branch that grew in front of the headmistress’s residence. He wished the rook would convey his grievances.

Barun looked at his wristwatch. There were still forty minutes for the first bell to ring. One or two students could be emerging from different points.

His eyes focused on Mrs. Sangay Lham’s quarters. The ash-colored car was not seen in its usual parking place. He assumed that his teacher had left for school. And, in fact, he had surmised correctly. Just then, two girls sauntered by and sat by the bench next to him. They ignored his presence and he didn’t dislike.

He started thinking of his English teacher. He wondered as to why she treated him like her son. He didn’t know she had none of her own. He remembered how she asked him about his health every now and then, the way she gave him things to eat during off hours.

He had always said ‘NO’ whenever she asked if he had any problems. But his mind always remained preoccupied with questions such as ‘why is ma’am taking so much care of me? Why is she concerned about my health?”

Barun, suddenly, felt uneasy to sit beside the girls. He passed a furtive glance at the pair. They were engrossed in reading something from a newspaper. His mind flashed back to ma’am Sangay Lham.

“I am lucky; lucky, indeed. Yes, I am lucky. I have two mothers, each giving me a share of love and care. The mother in school takes care of me in a way congruent to the care I get from the mother at home,” he muttered to himself.

He looked down below at the road. Students could be seen walking towards the school.

“The two mothers are similar in all respects besides one. The only difference is that the one at home is illiterate, while the one in school is literate,” he mumbled further. He stood up and strode by the girls. They were still reading the paper stuff. Perhaps, there was some sugary substance in it. The young girls looked drowned.

As luck would have it, he encountered ma’am Sangay Lham in front of the staff room on his way to his classroom through the enclosed corridor.

“Good Morning, madam,” Barun wished her.

“Good Morning, Barun,” she replied, standing in front of him.

She was taken aback by tsunami waves to see a white band of cloth tied around his forehead. A close examination showed that he had used it to cover his ear that was smashed the other day by the generous headmistress.

“Barun, come with me,” said she, and walked into the first-aid room. He followed her like a piglet trailing its mother. She made him sit on a wooden stool. She removed the cloth band from his head. Wetting a roll of cotton, she cleansed the wound in the ear. Dipping another clod of cotton into a bottle of betadine solution, she shoved it lightly inside the ear.

“Leave it as it is. Don’t force it further in,” she said assuring him an early healing.

“You will be alright soon,” she added.

Barun’s happiness knew no bounds.

“Thank you, m-o-t-h-e-r.  Oh! Ma’am,” said he, correcting the slip of his tongue, albeit, not a faux pas.

Mrs. Sangay Lham heard the word ‘mother’ from a boy for the first time. She felt she owed a lot more to Barun, and for the first time, said, “Take care, my son,” patting softly on his right shoulder.

The word ‘mother’, albeit uttered unintentionally, touched Mrs. Sangay Lham’s nerves.

“I bless you, Barun. May you be an international personality one day,” said she, patting, once again, on his shoulder like a Good Samaritan.

A month after the ‘September Uprising”, Barun decided to visit the town. He was on his way and that was on 29^th of October, 1990. One could hardly see any vehicles plying on the highway that passed through his village. One or two private cars, owned by orange contractors, could be seen plying on the feeder-roads that snaked into different hamlets.

Movement of people was thin; courtesy, the September peaceful revolt for democracy.

Barun walked in an uphill road at a leisurely pace. He had no do-it-at-a-rush work as such.

Time was 9 a.m. The day was sunny. Barun could hear the hooting of a car far-off. The sound drew nearer, by degrees, as he sauntered along the road.

A car came to a sudden, screeching halt like a singed cat. It was the same ash-colored Hyundai coupe of his English teacher.

Mrs. Sangay Lham came out of the car, followed, from the other side, by her daughter, Deki.

“Good Morning, Madam,” said Barun, doffing the cap from his head.

She responded with a ‘Good Morning’ and smiled at him. Deki, without shilly-shallying, said ‘Hi Barun’ and smiled too.

“What an eerie encounter?” thought Barun. “God is fair. God is Omnipresent,” he uttered, thanking the Lord for arranging a parley with his teacher. His happiness knew no bounds. He stood immovable like a setter at the scent of a quail.

“What are you doing these days?” She asked, and, “and what are your plans for studies?” resting her back against the car.

Barun vividly recalled the peaceful demonstrations of September last that led to the closure of schools in the southern districts.

“On that day, ma’am, I found myself lucky. I quickly used the gumption in me; sneaked into the pine woods and lay doggo, camouflaging myself amidst the foliage and epiphytic ferns that covered the grounded boughs and twigs,” said Barun, and took a long breath of relief.

“I hurried for home at the fall of the dusk,” said he further, looking around to see if there was any fly on the wall.

Deki stood by her mother and looked at Barun with pitiful, and yet, tearful eyes.

“Madam, your images had gone off from my mind. I don’t know what happened to on that fateful day. I had never ever imagined that I could get to meet you. By the way, how are you, ma’am? And Deki, what about you? he said, looking at Deki, and smiling at her, trying to hiding the tears in his eyes.

“Ma’am, I am walking with two loads on my head.’

“What do you mean, Barun?” she asked, interrupting him. She looked flabbergasted.

Barun, with a strong will, smiled at her. He felt convinced that he could confide his feelings to her. Her image had been imprinted on the CPU of his head as a person whom he can anchor on.

“I am happy now for I am freed from punishments like the one I received on the 12^th of September, for no lapse of mine. I respect her, ma’am, anyway, for she is a teacher like you. This is the lighter load I carry,” said he and paused for, probably, for comments. “On the other hand, I am worried. I am going to live in darkness in days to come. And, this is the heavier load,” he said, displaying a tone of despair and ‘some-one-has-to-help- me’.

The flummoxed teacher didn’t know how to react— she found herself in a catch-22 situation, nor did she find any words to speak. She stood agape, simply looking at Barun.

“Barun, I have got a transfer to a school in a western district. And, in fact, I am on the way to it,” she said, fingering her moistened eyelids.

“If you can, Barun, convince your parents and if my proposal pleases you, I want to take you with me,” said she.

“I can always stay back for a few days for his sake,” she said to herself.

“I shall enroll you with Deki. I shall finance your education henceforth,” proposed the benevolent teacher, assuring him continuity in his studies.

Barun looked at her eyes and smiled. A cascade of blissful tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I must tell the reality,” he murmured, trying to keep his lips tight. He collected guts and decided to open up.

“Ma’am, it hurts me when I bring to my mind the reality. My instincts direct me to tell you,” said he, turning to look around.  Probably, he wanted to make sure there was one on the espionage run.

“After the September peaceful demonstration, the army has started raiding villages at nights. They (army) intrude into the house and force the innocent villagers to leave the country for Jhapa, in Nepal.  I myself don’t know why we are forced to leave our country. They say it’s the fiat of the king to evict the innocent and stoic Lhotsampas from the country.”

He paused for a while. He looked at Deki and back at his teacher. Both of them looked dissolved in thoughts. He continued.

“Army has given the last date to vacate the land^_____ and that’s April 22, 1991 ”.

The teacher listened to him; standing with her hands put under the back of her head.

There was an absolute hush on the road. Deki didn’t look at him. Her eyes were engrossed at the orange orchards below the road.

“Thank you, ma’am, for your magnanimous offer. But I have the onus on my shoulder towards my parents. I will not desert them. I will go with them wherever they are asked to go by the fiat of our beloved king. I know, ma’am that my country expects a lot from me and the like. I just curse my fate. I wish I were born in the northern part of the country. A patriot can, ma’am, serve the nation in many ways.  Patriotism in me, ma’am, which is inborn, I am sure, will definitely educate me to serve my country whether I am inside the country or otherwise.

The least a patriot can do for his motherland is remember her pious name; talk good of her, and pray for the peaceful living of the lucky compatriots who get to stay back in the motherland. I may not be one of the glitterati but there the sense of love for my country shall never fade away from my heart. Ma’am, this may be the last moment to meet you,” said Barun and broke into open tears. He bowed to the feet of his teacher and skedaddled from the scene at the drop of a hat, leaving his cap on her insteps.

A one-storeyed house stood in a sub-urban area. A large and well-manicured flower garden in front of the bungalow added elegance to the view of its facade. A car could be seen parked, in the moonlit night, at the back side of the house. Three people sat in a large and comfy dining room. Dishes could be seen displayed on a large table.

“Mom, what’s wrong with you? You look totally lost in the wilderness of thoughts,” said Deki, nudging her with the elbow and breaking the stillness in the room.

Mrs. Sangay Lham broke fro her reverie and shuddered her body like a novice weightlifter in a warm-up session.

“It’s nothing, my child,” said the mother. “It’s just the dream that hovered in front of me,” added she, giving a furtive glance at her husband who sat beside her. He was busy with the meals and failed to notice her glance.

“What’s the dream all about, mom? Please tell me. In fact, to us, if it pleases you,” said the inquisitive daughter.

She became restless and couldn’t resist the temptation.

“Please mom, tell of it, or else ——,” said she, pushing her dish plate a little away.

“Let’s finish the meals first. I shall tell about it, later,” said the mother, egging on Deki to resume eating.

“Mom, just wait. I will do the dishes and come. Then, you know what? Dream^_____,” said the daughter in a jocularly serious way and vamoosed with the empty dishes into the kitchenette.

Soon, Deki entered the sitting room and sat with her mother on the sofa. She reminded the mother to narrate the dream.

“The dream should be absorbing looking at the way it engrossed mom in deep contemplation,” she whispered.

Silence enveloped the room, pro tempore.

“Sangay, why don’t you start your dreamy tale? Deki is getting panicky. So restless is her father too,” said Sangay Lham’s husband, Dorji, keeping aside the copy of a crossword puzzle he was solving.

Mrs. Sangay Lham was left with no excuse She narrated the entire dream^_____ the story that had engrossed her.

“By the way, what is so great about this Barun character?” asked the husband, showing inquisitiveness. He added, “I have seen this name in your diary too.”

“Barun is a goody-goody and a rarity, a one-off. He is one person that the nation shouldn’t have missed,” said Sangay Lham to her uxorious husband, while the father-daughter duo listened with ‘should we believe or not’ ears.

“If I were to describe him, I would call him a true son of the soil; an encyclopedia, a person who has that je ne sais quoi that differentiates a genius from an ordinary simpleton, a boy deserving an intellectual research on his inborn qualities and finally, a boy born from a lucky womb,” said she, throwing a glance at her husband who sat god smacked and flabbergasted.

There was silence again for a while in the room. Only the sound of the wall clock could be heard.

“Sangay, you said Barun is one person that the nation shouldn’t have missed, right. What has unerringly, en passant?” asked the husband, breaking the silence in the room.

She preferred not to parry him.

“Barun is no more in this soil,” started she. She looked at her husband. He looked at her too and gestured to resume the tale.

“You are well aware of the faux pas of the nation ^_____ how the innocent Lhotsampas had been evicted from the country after the September uprising. His parents have fallen prey to the malevolent act of the coterie of sycophantic officials, under the royal fiat. He is languishing somewhere in Nepal in a refugee camp,” said she, controlling the pitch in her voice.

“Sangay, to supplement your description of the boy, I would add one if that doesn’t pinch you,” said the husband. In fact, he got a clear picture of the Barun character, albeit he had not seen him.

“I would call him The Unseen Genius and I mean it,” he said.

Mrs. Sangay Lham found the description very apt for Barun. She felt satisfied upon hearing from a second person the word ‘genius’ for the first time. That had, anyway, been in her mind for yonks.

“Let’s us pray for an early repatriation of Barun and the like,” he said.

He looked at his wife and said, “Let’s now close the chapter. Even the walls have ears,” he concluded.

Soon, Sangay Lham was engrossed in the television while Deki and her dad started their routined game of tic-tac-toe.

After the closure of schools in southern Bhutan, Mrs. Sangay Lham started teaching in a school in northern Bhutan. It was her first class in her new school. She roved her eyes around the classroom.

“Barun,” she uttered. Soon, she realized that she was in a new school. She carried on displaying her savoir faire.

“I like to see all my students as Barun and want to see in all of you the je ne sais quoi and the sangfroid that he possesses,” she said, trying to hypnotize the thirty-six heads in the class. The class fell into an absolute silence. Students looked perplexed.

“Madam, who is Barun that you were talking about,” asked a girl-student, seated on the front bench.

“He is as a student whom I taught in my previous school. He is a boy who I regard as a student ambassador of Bhutan,” answered the teacher.

There was a pause and silence enveloped for a while in the class.

“Where is he now, ma’am?” asked the same student, showing a high degree of curious concern.

“I can’t tell about his whereabouts,” she said, and, “I am sorry.”

There was a request fro the whole class in unison.

“Truth is truth and it has to be narrated,” she spoke in whispers, and said, “I and the nation as a whole miss him.”

Students showed crosses of sadness on their, otherwise, jolly and blissful faces. They looked at the new teacher with expectant eyes and faces. They seemed to have assumed that Barun had died. There was a pin-drop silence in the room.

“But, I am sure he will return one day to our country. He is, probably, living a hellish life on the river bank somewhere,” she spoke the bitter truth to her students.

Few students raised their eyebrows upon hearing the words Jhapa and Nepal . The teacher could see suspicion on their faces.

A month later, Mrs. Sangay Lham received an official letter from the higher authorities. She felt happy initially. She assumed that it was a letter of confirmation of her further studies in La Trobe University, Sydney in Australia . She had filled a nomination form for a Master’s degree, a month ago. The letter in her hand, ironically, was carrying a message of misfortune that had befallen upon her, in reality. The very mention of the whereabouts of Barun to students rewarded her with a kind punishment transfer to a remote school in eastern Bhutan .

Mrs. Sangay Lham didn’t bother herself to find the culprit in the conspiracy. Being a devoted teacher, she accepted the humiliation as a challenge. She believed in a cliché’ ‘the heart of a teacher never grows old’. She joined her new school in a week’s time, showing to the nation, if not to the world, that woman is no weaker than man, with added zeal and enthusiasm.

“Barun has brought me her, and he has, in the bargain, come much closer to my heart. May he live long. Let me be able to hear from him or see him once. “God sees the truth but waits,” she remembered Count Leo Tolstoy’s words. I know the Maker is fair. May my wishes be fulfilled,” she prayed to the Omnipresent God, sitting in a lonely room.

Since then, Barun became the dearest thing on earth for her. She prepared herself to accept any form of punishment in the name of Barun. She even went to the extent of changing her pedagogical; strategy. She started using Barun as example oft and often. She narrated the true story of the fall guy whole-heartedly whenever students asked.

The bold and self-centered teacher` was not surprised; nor pained, when she received a letter of termination from her services. She felt happy to leave her job, for, that brought Barun further closer to her heart. She bought a two-storeyed house in Thimphu and started her life afresh as a columnist in an international daily, as well as a political essayist.

Sixteen years had passed since Barun last saw his teacher-cum-mother figure, Mrs. Sangay Lham. The last time he saw her was in 1990 when he was a boy merely fifteen years. He always wanted to contact her from the soil in exile but had not been able to trace her whereabouts. Being a staunch believer of the adage, “where there is a will, there is a way” Barun always told to himself that he would become a great personality one day; a productive man in the contemporary society, and return to his native land to serve her. Thus, he gathered second wind.

By 2006, Barun had forgotten the pains and sufferings he withstood during his first fifteen years of life. He had even forgotten the loss of his father who left him in 1999, followed by the sad demise of his mother in 2003. But, he couldn’t forget the love for his country^_____ the native land. He was left with a remembrance of two objects in his mind; his mother-figure Mrs. Sangay Lham and his motherland, Bhutan .

“Mother figure, where are you?” he called, and, “how are you?” once, every morning. He flipped through the pages of Atlas, looked at the map of his country and said, “I am in a position now to serve you, my birth land. I shall definitely come back for I owe you a lot and I am proud that I have gathered enough to give you.”

It was the 4^th of September, 2006 . Barun picked up one of the Indian English dailies from a book kiosk in Bangalore , the cyber city of India . He walked into a bistro and browsed through the pages of the daily over a cup of nestle espresso. His eyes fell on an article that brought a ray of hope in him. It was written by his teacher, Mrs. Sangay Lham. And, at the bottom of the article was her email address. Without letting any grass grow under his feet, he copied the email address and saved it on the mobile set.

He walked out; without forgetting to pay for the espresso. He had to catch a scheduled flight to Delhi at 10.30 a.m. He shoved the newspaper into the side pocket of the handbag that shelved his laptop.

“Tomorrow is 5^th September, The Teachers’ Day,” said Barun to himself. He harked back the 5^th September, 1990^_____ how he had reached Mrs. Sangay Lham’s residence at 7 a.m. with a bouquet and a card.

“Have a Happy Teachers’ Day,” he had said then. The very words echoed in his ears.

He decided to send greetings to her. And he wrote, “I wish you a Happy Teachers’ Day, ma’am ^______ BARUN.”

He uttered the greetings three times in vacuum. The stoic walls stood the eyewitnesses. He wished his teacher could hear him uttering the words. Then, he remembered Shakespeare’s words, ‘If wishes were horses, beggars would ride……….” His words had gone into stitches.

Barun continued to write. ‘Ma’am, first of all, I would like to say that I have taken you to be in fine fettle. May the Almighty bless you doubly on this day? Ma’am, I am extremely happy to have come across your email I.D. through a newspaper article.

I would like to inform you, madam that I lost one of my mothers^_____ in 2003. And, I am still happy fro I have you as my second mother. My sixteen years of prayers gave me a shipshape reward^_____ your contact address. I consider myself a lucky person. You are so dear to my heart, teacher-cum-mother. Ma’am, I thank you for your words which you had spoken on the 13^th of September, 1990 , in the school’s first-aid room while you nursed my ear. I vividly remember your invaluable words and sweet, as well. You had said, ‘I bless you Barun. May you be an international personality one day’? Ma’am, your words rewarded and paid me in each and every step I took all these years. I did my Master’s in Political Science, followed by a PhD in South Asian Politics, which I completed in 2004. This is to further apprise you ma’am, that I was awarded a gold medal for topping the Masters with excellence. I am soon visiting eight South Asian countries to study political philosophies that would suit democracy in Bhutan in the 21^st century.

Ma’am, now that I have attained enough knowledge, kudos to you, to serve my country. I am for a divine day to walk back to my motherland. I assure you, madam that I shall return to Bhutan with a patriotic ointment that shall heal the sour wounds of the innocent, like me; suppressed, oppressed and the stoic compatriots.

Ma’am, My contributions, initially, may be a drop of water in an ocean, but that will also be the tip of the iceberg, in reality.

Ma’am, I want to sit online tomorrow at 4 p.m. Please make it, loss, toss or cross.

Bye,    BARUN, your student”.

Barun adroitly file attached a card wishing Happy Teachers’ day taken and edited from Khattam.com website and emailed to his teacher.

Late Om Pokhrel used a pseudonym for the fear of persecution- Editor. 

Tags: Bhutanese Literature U Sharma