The last words

U Sharma
Babesa, Thimphu

He had to walk a good number of forty five minutes to reach his friend’s house___ if ever he decided to go at those odd and late hours to seek shelter for a night.
“What should I do now? He muttered.

The long narrow streets were illuminated with floodlights. Shops and hotels were still active and abuzz. People could be seen hustling and bustling in and out of shops and restaurants. Sarpang, albeit, not a very city, buzzed from can see to can’t see. Kiran, a young boy in his mid-twenties, sat on a large circular cemented platform, at one corner of the taxi park, which was jointly erected by the cabbies. His suitcase lay by his side. The taxi stand looked bleak and desolate.

I must reach home by tomorrow evening, come hell or high water. I must attend my uncle’s 84th birthday,” spoke Kiran to himself in the vast darkness around.

A bitter November wind stung Kiran’s face as he sat on the platform. He looked at his time piece. It read 6.30 p.m. to a T. The dusk of 25th November was pellucid but windy. Moo had just risen in the eastern sky. Few stars could be seen hither and thither in the open sky. The streets were immersed and active. Stray dogs could be heard howling at their own good freedom.

“It would be a silliness to be foolhardy. Walking up to my friend’s house crossing abysses, clefts and crevices, would be a Herculean task. A hotel room would be safer for the night,” he thought. He took out a piece of cigarette but his efforts to light it on went in vain. The gusty gale trammeled him.
The vicinity was clear and bright with the street lights on but not to the degree desirable. he looked up towards the vast firmament. The moon looked glossy. She had moved a considerable distance towards the western sky.
“I must find a room in a hotel. A little bit of shilly-shallying would be a catastrophe,” he murmured, bending to pick up his suitcase.

All at once, a taxi screeched to a sudden halt. It was packed to capacity. A young belle alighted from the front seat. The taxi skedaddled from the scene at the drop of a hat. Perhaps, the belle had pre-paid the charges. She held two bags in her hands. There, again, was a complete hush in the park pro tem. The young belle stood beside Kiran, still holding the bags. Her facial expression showed a dearth of courage.

“Should I ask this gentleman for help? What, but, if he turns out to be ruffian?” she whispered to herself. She amassed courage, valor and lion-heartedness. Eventually she decided to give it a try.
“Excuse me,” said she, “I am in dire straits and I wonder if you could help me finding a room in a hotel for a night. Please forgive me if I have piqued or irked you.”

Her voice sounded refined and soft.
Kiran remained quite for a while.
“W-well, it’s my pleasure, sister, to help someone who is in a problem,” answered he, “and, in fact, I was going to take one for me too.”

He picked up his suitcase and led her towards the line of shops and restaurants across the road. She tailed him with a bag hung on her right shoulder and a bit smaller one on the left. Just upon crossing the road, Kiran stopped walking.

“May I help you with one of your bags?” he asked the unknown companion.
“I would appreciate your generosity,” said she, proffering the one that hung on her right shoulder. It was heavy, indeed. The duo walked along the pavement in the nippy weather. Time was 7.30 p.m. when they entered a hotel. Kiran kept the luggage on the carpeted floor and approached the man at the reception counter. The strange sidekick stood a little away from the counter guarding the luggage. She looked svelte and winsome.

“Excuse me,” said Kiran, in a little sad tone, “do you have rooms for a night?”
The tubby man at the reception desk, with an extraordinary large nasal orifice, looked at Kiran, sans suspicion. He smiled swanking the customer and said, “Yes, we do have.”
He called a waiter and instructed him to guide the guests to the room in the third floor. The fat man assumed the pair to be a married couple.
“Oh! What a matching pair? God makes people but waits,” mumbled the wide-faced man with a unique goatee, at the counter. He gave a strong glance at the pair as they tailed the waiter. The waiter led the duo to the third floor.
“This is your room, sir and madam. You are lucky, I should say. This is the last room available for tonight.”
Madam, you may stay in this room. I will try to find a place for me elsewhere.”
“It’s O.K. It’s already dark and late. And, it’s cold outside. You may fall into a problem. We can manage in this room somehow.”
Kiran found himself in a Catch-22 situation. He approved her proposal. The waiter passed on the key to the room to Kiran and left the scene.

Kiran kept his suitcase on the floor at one corner. He helped his unidentified companion with her bags too. He surveyed the room. It was a double-bedded one. There was a television set and a radio kept on the top of the cupboard. There was a telephone installed too. A john was attached. There was a separate washroom as well. The room looked spic and span. The lighting system was of a sui generis one.

Kiran was already feeling ravenous. He desperately wanted to eat something.
“Let’s go down to the restaurant,” he said, “and have dinner.”
The stranger nodded with an approval. She was equally hungry. They walked out and Kiran secured the door.
“Excuse me,” he said to his cobber, “would you mind if I light a piece of cigarette?”
“Oh, no. Please go ahead.”
They had booked a table for two and they sat facing each other.
Kiran lighted a piece of Marlboro Lights and offered one to his companion.
“Thank you for the generous offer,” she said, smiling, “but I am a non-smoker.”

A rangy looking, thick-bearded waiter approached the table.
“What time do you close the restaurant?” asked Kiran.
“At 10 p.m, sir,” replied the lanky waiter with a cachet in his voice. Kiran asked his unnamed friend as what she would like to have as hors d’ oeuvre.
“I would like to have a cup of mocha,” said she, lubricating her bone-dry throat.
Kiran ordered for two cups of coffee while the young belle browsed through the menu.

In a jiffy, the waiter served two cups of coffee. The belle ordered for a plate of venison chowmein and a bowl of asparagus soup; while Kiran, after a delayed decision, asked for a plate of red rice with veal cum mushroom curry. The waiter noted down the order and left the scene, giving an untimely smile at the duo.

The belle’s eyes were engrossed in the television set attached to the wall at the side of the counter. She was enjoying the movie ‘Chhoe Dang Jigten’ directed by Chencho Dorji. The weather was nippy and cold and warm nestle coffee did warm them up.
Meal was soon served. The duo ate taking their time, with a relish. The meal was, sans doubt, yummy and scrumptious. At 9 p.m. they left the table.

Kiran unlocked the door of their room. They stepped in and Kiran bolted the door. The girl stood beside the big teak bed, looking like a cat on her bricks. Kiran looked around for drinking water. There were three bottles of spa mineral water in the cabinet of the selflessly made cupboard. He sat on the bed. He asked the belle to sit on a plastic chair that was kept beside the bedside table.

“She resembles my sister ____ a replica,” he whispered. he saw a golden pendant hanging on her neck, and sadly, reminded him of his sister, Rupa, who used to wear a similar golden pendant on her neck
His sister, Rupa, had golden hair and was well-coiffured. It cascaded down her back. Her eyes looked sharp and dark____ they were never decorated. No trace of the so-called kohl could be seen around her eyes. Her face was well-shaped with beautiful rosy cheeks. She looked a sui generis svelte with long legs. She was charming and winsome. Her visage glistened like a glittering supernova. And, Kiran found his sister’s traits in that young belle who sat a plastic chair opposite to him. He developed a deep feeling of brother-sister relationship. Yet, he didn’t speak it out. He remembered how unfortunately he had lost his only sister three years back.
There was an absolute silence in the room.
“Excuse me! Would you mind introducing yourself to me?” said Kiran, breaking the eyes,” and a bit more of you if that pleases the pigs?”
She looked at me____ ironically one that a sister shows towards her brother.
“I am Roma,” she said, “but my mom calls me Phulmati. I don’t know why___ and I have never ever asked for her raison d’ etre.
“Oh! What a wonderful name? Your mom, probably, has derived this unique pet name for you from your rosy and mixed chinky looks,” said he, smiling at her. She reciprocated with a similar smile.
“Rupa used to smile in a similar way whenever I talked good of her,” he murmured.” “I wish my sister had escaped from that dreaded killer____ pneumonia,” moaned he to himself.
He lighted a piece of cigarette.
“And, what about your home or birth place?” he asked her, who was, then, sitting on the chair, biting her nails. Unfortunately, she bit one of her nails to the quick.
“I am from Maogaon Gewog. My parents are farmers. I have two brothers. The elder one looks after the farms and the cardamom orchard while the younger one studies in a public school in Delhi in twelfth standard. I am the only daughter in the family.”
“What do you do?” asked the avid listener, anticipating something great.

“I am a final year student of Sociology from Dr. Grahame’s Home, Darjeeling,, and am going to write my final exams in coming March.”
“My sister, Rupa, would have by now completed her degree too had the cruel fate spared her,” mumbled he.

Kiran listened to her with interest and enthusiasm. He rang the reception desk. He ordered two cups of coffee. Roma entered the powder room.
There was a tap on the door. As Kiran unbolted the door, a waiter stood at the threshold carrying two cups of coffee on a tray. Just then, Roma entered the bedroom. Kiran sat on the plastic chair and gestured Roma to sit on the bed. The waiter kept the tray on the bedside table and walked out uttering a humane valediction.
The two of the sipped coffee over a gentle tête-à-tête. Roma placed the empty cups on the tray and placed it on the table.
She, then, sat on the bed leaning her back against the wall. Kiran, on the other hand, sitting on the chair, compared Roma with his sister. The same face, and surprisingly, a mole on the right cheek, matched the two of them.
“Roma, you are a duplicate of my sister who left me three years back. I am lucky to have found a replica of my sister, but, how can I express or tell her?” whispered he, looking out into the darkness through the window, in order to avoid the cascades of tears that rolled down his cheeks, from Roma.
Roma folded her legs on the bed and made herself comfortable.

“May I know something about you too?” she asked, breaking the momentary silence in the room.
“W–ell, I am Kiran from Dovan Village,” said he, adding, “I am on my way to home from college. I have just completed my Master’s from St Stephens College, Delhi University. I have a younger brother who studies in Punakha Higher Secondary school in the eleventh standard. I had a sister like you, and of you age; she left us in despair three years back being the victim of the sophisticatedly simple disease___ Pneumonia. She was, then, studying in the twelfth standard. My parents stay in the village and do farm works.”

There was a shadow of sadness in Roma’s face. Kiran knew his narration of the bare bones of his sister’s death did touch her through some angles. He stood up from the chair and switched on the radio, intending to entertain Roma. There was a Narayan Gopal’s hit ‘MAALAI NASODHA KAAHA DUKCHHA GHAW’ being played from Radio Nepal.
Unexpectedly, Roma, albeit touched with the sad narration, started singing along with the singer and she sang to the full. Kiran simply stared at her and remembered his sister. He came to suss that Roma was a d doyenne in singing. Rupa was a good singer and had won laurels and several medals.
‘By the way, do you know Rekha?” asked Roma, taking a long draught of spa mineral water.
Kiran racked his brain, trying to remember a girl by that name.
“Wee, I don’t know her exactly, but the name rings the bell. What does she do anyway?”
‘We study in the same college; same class, and are the best of friends. She says she is from Dovan village. She has invited me to her place and am afraid my journey would be a wild-goose chase.
“We will find out once we reach there. But, Roma, you said the two of you are in the same college and same class too. How come she is not with you if she has invited you to her place?”
“Oh, she had some urgent work in Kalimpong and she had to go. She had left a week earlier than me so she would be at home when I reach there,” said Roma.

Time was 10 p.m. the night was cold. And, they started feeling sleepy.
“I shall tell Roma to sleep on the bed and I shall sleep on the carpeted floor,” he made up his mind. He stood up and switched off the radio.
“Roma, please, sleep on the bed. It’s getting late. I shall sleep on the floor,” spoke he, looking at her with a sense of brotherhood.
He, again, recalled his sister. He saw Rupa’s face in her. Tears rolled down his cheeks, yet, he avoided them from her.
“No! No! I shall sleep on the floor. You will occupy the bed,” she retorted.
“What should I do? How should I convince her? How can I make my sister in disguise suffer on the floor? No. I am a man ____ a being that can endure suffering. She is a young belle who is fragile and delicate. I must respect and honor a woman. And, i must teach a lesson to the world that a woman has as much a stand as a man has in the society. There is no clap sound by a single hand. Woman is a second palm that helps produce a clap. I must make her comfortable. I must make her sleep on the bed and I must sleep on the floor,” he spoke to himself, holding his breath.

There was a short silence in the room. Kiran stood up from the chair and opened a bottle of water. He gulped it to its half.
“Roma let us not let the time waste us. Tomorrow, early in the morning, we get started from here to the village,” he said, sweeping the carpeted floor at one corner of the room, with a hand towel that hung on the wall. That was his Hobson’s choice.
“By the way, Roma, you know we will have to travel the same route tomorrow. You know you will have to pass through my village to reach your village. Tomorrow morning, we shall start early, probably, by six o’clock,” he reminded her. He sat on the floor and slept keeping his right hand as a pillow.
Roma couldn’t help. She agreed to sleep on the bed, willy-nilly. She picked one of the blankets and passed it on to Kiran on the floor.
She switched off the Bengal lights, leaving a solitary dim bulb on. She got onto the bed and wrapped herself inside the Eskimo blanket.
A few minutes later, Kiran started snoring.
Roma didn’t get sleep.
“Oh, God! You have created people. When I first met this person in the taxi park, I had a suspicion on him. My evil mind even told me to be aware of him He may be a scoundrel, my foul mind had said. I am sorry, God. I am, in fact, lucky to have met a right person ____ a benevolent gentleman. Had there been about one hundred people like Kiran, I am sure, the earth, definitely, would have been a better place to live,” she whispered, covering her face with the blanket.
She quietly raised her head and looked towards Kiran on the floor. He was sleeping very uncomfortably. He had made himself small, bending the knees, almost touching his chest. She praised him as a man of principle and a man among the best men in the world. In fact, he was a man who possessed a hidden sangfroid in him. While appreciating the gentlemanly and the benevolent behavior of Kiran, she fell into a deep slumber.

While on the deep sleep, Kiran had an eerie dream. He found himself standing in front of a magnificent bungalow occupied by an old man. The bungalow stood in the middle of a deep and dark forest. The occupant was a gray-bearded man with a bald scalp. He wore a long white-colored robe that hung unto his toes. He was toothless. he summoned Kiran into the room. The room was bright albeit there were no windows. Sitting on the floor, the gray-bearded man asked Kiran to sit by his side. Kiran obediently agreed. There was shiny silver kettle and a brass mug by his side. The old man poured some white liquid into the mug and offered it to Kiran, who sat by his side, looking god smacked and befuddled.

“Take this. This is the holy milk from God. This will lengthen your life. I have been waiting till this day to serve this holy milk.”
Kiran, sans hesitation, drank it all. All of a sudden, darkness enveloped the entire bungalow. The old man was no more there.
Kiran awakened from the dream with a loud squeal. He looked at his watch. The time was twelve midnight. He looked at the bed through the dim light. Roma was sleeping blissfully. He covered his face with the blanket and went to sleep again.

Time was 5. A.m. Roma woke up from her sleep. At the pace of a cat, she entered the powder room. Next, she washed and refreshed herself.
“Good Morning, Kiran,” she uttered at the top of her voice, intending to wake him up. She succeeded. Kiran opened his eyes.
“Good Morning,” she uttered once again, and this time, in a soft and gentle tone.
Kiran raised his head, rubbed his eyes and said,’ Good Morning,” with a smile. She smiled back.

“What time is it exactly, Roma?”
“It’s 5.30.”
Kiran jerked his head and emerged out of the blanket His right hand was paining. He jerked it two to three times. Roma knew what had happened, yet, with a feeling of great pity, she kept quiet.

By 6 a.m. the duo sat on a table at the restaurant for breakfast. Kiran ordered the breakfast____ purely Continental.

“Oof! Eleven hours from here to Dovan. An uphill trail for seven hours and so on,” Kiran brought to his mind the strenuous odyssey they were going to soon start.
“Kiran,” Roma asked, “how long will it take us to reach Dovan?”
“Cor! Don’t ask of it,” he said.” “If we are slow and steady we will set Thames on fire after eleven hours. We will have to use the services of a porter to carry our luggage. It would be a Herculean task to walk ourselves with baggage on our backs.
Kiran called waiter and asked him to arrange a porter for Dovan. The waiter obediently nodded and sauntered out of the restaurant. As they finished having their breakfast, the waiter stood in front of them.
“I have arranged the porter. He is waiting outside,” informed he. “He is an energetic man in his late twenties.”
Kiran footed the bills of the room, dinner and breakfast. He gave good TIPS to the waiter and asked him to call the porter in.
Roma, we need to carry some packed lunch or else we will collapse on the way,” said Kiran, adding, “What do you think we should take?”
Standing at the threshold, Roma looked at Kiran’s face and smiled.
“Rupa, my late sister used to give me a similar smile,” he mumbled, looking away from Roma. He cried unseen tears, recalling Rupa’s face, while, whose replica stood in front of him.
‘I wish she were my consanguineous sister,” he whispered.
Let’s browse over the menu and see what would be best for lunch,” Roma said. They sat on a table, called the porter in and offered him a cup of coffee. They ordered two for themselves as well. Over the cup of , Roma started reading out the items to be packed while Kiran scribbled them down on a piece of paper. By the time they finished sipping coffee, the list was ready too. Their lunch included four veal cutlets, four hamburgers, two loaves of bread, and five bottles of preserved mineral water, a packet of Amul butter, a bottle of cherry jam and five packets of Wai Wai noodles.
Roma instructed the waiter to keep the food items ready without dilly-dallying. Kiran, all of a sudden, remembered his mother’s likings ___ the betel nuts. He gave a fifty rupees note to the porter and asked him to buy ready-made pan for the whole amount. “Tell the shopkeeper to properly pack them in a plastic sachet.’
“Yes, sir,” said the porter and walked out.
Soon, the waiter appeared in front of the duo of Roma and Kiran. He carried a considerably big bag containing the ordered lunch. He handed over the bill.
Roma pulled the bill from his hand, ran her eyes at the amount. She footed the bill. The waiter received another round of TIPS. He saluted the duo and walked away.
“Some people are born generous. May they live long,” whispered the waiter, stuffing the note inside the pocket.
“Please put the pan packet with the lunch bag and we shall start going now,” said Kiran to the porter. They walked along the bank of the snaky and winding river. They took a slow and steady; crossing the same river a couple of times to by-pass the gorges and crevices.
“Let’s rest here and have lunch,” suggested Kiran, after walking a good five hours.
“I was about to speak what you just spoke,” said Roma, like a sister who could read the mind of her brother.

They sat on a green glade and ate the meal as much as they could according to the choice of menu. Each one of them found the meal sumptuous.

Kiran lighted a piece of cigarette.
“Do you smoke?” he asked the porter.
“Yes, I do. I usually smoke biri,” he replied, “but I forgot to buy a packet this morning.” He looked at Kiran, scratching his right cheek with his index finger, and anticipating a piece of cigarette to subdue his urge.
“Take this. There is nothing to hesitate. We all are friends as a team. If you get an urge later on the way, fell free to tell me,” said Kiran, proffering a piece.

“By the way, what’s your name?” asked Roma. The porter displayed a wide grin on his face and said, “My name is Mangalay, but my friends call me Maila.”
“Oh! May be there is someone stronger and heftier than you, who, probably, is called Jetha,” said Kiran. Roma burst into laughter and she almost went in stitches. Maila turned his away as if he felt ashamed.
Roma packed the left-over, all clean and shoved inside the bag.
“This is for you, Maila Dai. You may eat it later.”
She opened a bottle of mineral water and they emptied it, drinking in turns.

It was to a T 1.p.m when they started the uphill trail, leaving the river bank. Maila walked in front of the short queue. The early afternoon of November was windy. It was terribly cold, as well.
“Let’s halt for a while,” said Roma, after walking for about fifteen minutes, adding, “I want to put on my pullover. I am feeling cold.” She already had goose-pimples on her skin. She opened her baggage and took out a blue-colored woolen sweater and worn it over it over the T-shirt she was wearing.
“Sir, I suggest you to put on something warm too. We shall reach Dhap Forest after two hours of steep ascent. It will be snowing there,” informed the generous porter.
Kiran took out an anorak from his bag and worn it over the shirt he was wearing. He realized instant warmth in his body. They resumed the uphill trail after preparing themselves to face the cruelties of nature. Mailo was pre-prepared____ his experience was rich.

At 3.30 p.m. they the last step of the ascent. They reached the Dhap forest. It was wonderfully cold and there was a thin mantle of snow on the ground. The branches of trees looked all papery with snow. The tender branches of blue pine drooped with the weight of snow. The gale had blown down hundred of trees. Some trammeled the track and, they had to practically hop and bounce at places. Dhap was a dense forest. Sounds of different with wild sounds could be heard. To hear such scary sounds was extremely unique, unusual,, borderline unheard of for Roma. She was walking at the end of the queue and she quickly settled herself between Kiran and Maila. She looked terror-stricken.
Maila stopped walking. He turned back.
“Sir, may I have a piece of cigarette?”
“It’s my pleasure Maila,” said Kiran, proffering a piece to him.
Maila fumbled in his pocket for a lighter. The gusty gale obstructed him. He tried for the second time. He failed.
“You cruel, foe,” he cursed the strong wind that obstructed him.
They walked on; maintaining a silence. Maila turned back and looked at Roma. Her face looked terrified.
“You don’t have to get scared, madam. i have a Khukuri with me,” Maila secured Roma, showing a two-feet long, well-brandished Khukuri tied to his waist. “And, as such, no wild animals have ever dared to walk on this trail during the day. This is a frequently used track and the wild animals, as of now, the history tells so, keep themselves away. Occasionally, we may come across monkeys and squirrels, leaping and bouncing from one branch to another above and below the track,” said Maila, conjecturing that Roma was a bit scared upon hearing the sounds of wild beasts.
By 5 p.m. they crossed the dense and scary Dhap Forest. They walked on a moonscape for almost fifteen minutes. They were shivering and their mouths had already gone dry. Their hands were numb to no mercy.
“How long now from here to Dovan?” asked Roma, anticipating a soothing and consoling answer.
“It will take full one and half hours from here. It’s a downhill track now all the way up to Dovan,” said Maila.
“How come this lady is asking me all these questions____ this is her usual path, to and fro,” whispered Maila to himself.
“I must ask her the mystery. There may be something interesting,” he said to himself again. He stopped walking all of a sudden and turned back. The duo of Kiran and Roma was flummoxed and perplexed. Roma turned back and looked at Kiran wit a pitiful expression on her face.
“What’s wrong, Maila?” asked Kiran.
Maila simply smiled____ and doubly smiled.
“Madam, one thing surprises me. You are from this place and you obviously have had walked on this track several times. Why do you ask me all these questions as if you are a new-comer?” said Maila, showing a grain of curiosity in his voice.
“You are right, Maila Dai. This is my first time walking along this s path. This is because I have to visit my friend’s house in Dovan____ she has invited me. In the past, I always used an alternative route. I used to go to Gwang from Maogaon and to Surey, the road points,” answered Roma.
“You should have apprised me of this earlier,” he said in a jocular way.

“We should be a little careful now. Although we are descending, we will have to cross fast flowing rivulets, gorges and crevices,” he informed her.
“It’s going to get dark now. But there is nothing to worry about. I have carried two torch lights. We shall defeat the darkness,” he secured her; keeping in mind that Kiran was a man and could understand the difficulties. That information was not new to Kiran. Kiran blamed himself to be a fool for not bringing unto his mind the paraphernalia on that dreary and long odyssey. A torch light and a weapon to equip with!

At 7 p.m. sharp, they saw Kiran’s house. It was neighbored by around fifteen others, mostly mudded ones.
“This is my house,” said Kiran to Roma.
Maila kept the luggage on the patio, under an awning.
“Sir and madam, I want to go back as early as possible. I have a friend, a kilometer away from here. I shall go and spend the night there,” said Maila, looking a little hurried.

Roma took out a five hundred note and handed it over to him as his charges for the day.
“Madam, this is too much. I charge only three hundred rupees,” he said.” Too much of anything is bad, madam,” he spoke in a pellucid voice.
“Maila Dai, take this. I am giving you this from within my heart. You are a great person,” said she, appreciating the honesty of a poor porter. Maila thanked the duo, bade valediction and left the house with a satisfied smile, although not seen in the darkness. He soon ran away from the scene with exultation, holding a five-hundred rupees note in his hand. Roma waved gaily at Maila in the darkness. The light of his torch could be seen until he crossed the knoll above Kiran’s house.

“Gee! The house is locked. Where could have my parents gone?” said Kiran “What could be done now?”
He asked Roma to stay on the patio of the house for a while and walked to the nearest neighbor. That house was locked too. He was totally non-plussed. That problem couldn’t have been digested and endured even by a bold headed person like Tom Cruise, Who has acted in Bryan Singer’s movie VALKYRIE.

“Damn it!” he cursed his luck. He hurriedly ran to another house. There was an old lady in it. Kiran recognized her and she did too. The villagers called her Saili Baju.

“Saili Baju! Have you an inkling of my parent’s whereabouts? I have just arrived from the college in India. My house is locked. I am tired and famished with hunger. On top of that, I have a guest with me. I am in a befuddlement,” said Kiran, huffing.

“Why such a fuss, Kiran? Haste is good only in catching fleas. Take a seat,” said she, and she sat herself on a three-legged bamboo stool.
“Saili Baju, please tell, if you know, where my parents have gone,” said Kiran, almost sobbing, and staring at her with a hope of help.
“Yes, I do know. Please sit and relax,” said the old lady. Kiran had no choice____ that was his Hobson’s choice. He sat on an old-fashioned vinyl chair and asked for a glass of water. She offered one and he gulped it at two shakes of a lamb’s tail. He heaved a sigh of what-to-do-next?

“Your paternal uncle, the village headman, is bed-ridden. It has been a month. Neither the medicines nor the witchcrafts could work on him His eyes are wide open but he can’t see. He is speechless. He doesn’t even recognize his own people. He is struggling to meet the Maker any moment. Your parents are there ____ they have been there for more than a month now.”
Kiran was god smacked when he heard the news.

“Saili Baju, I shall go and bring my possessions here at the drop of a hat,” said Kiran, keeping his chin up and ran towards his house in the darkness like a startled deer. Saili Baju gave a quick look at his dirge like lugubrious face____ but she missed the charm. Roma waited on the forecourt, standing like a deer in front of a hungry lioness, amidst the vast darkness.

“Please come with me,” said Kiran to Roma, picking up the baggage. He walked towards Saili Baju’s house and she followed him like a faithful pug. She decided not to ask anything for the moment. Perhaps, she sussed something serious. Again, she made up her mind to take the risk.
“Kiran, what’s wrong? Your face tells that something unusual is on the horizon. Please tell me,” she pleaded.
“I will tell you just in a minute,” said he and trod on. They reached Saili Baju’s house. Keeping the baggage in her house, he requested the septuagenarian lady to look after the baggage. He led Roma and walked towards his house.

“I am in dire straits. My uncle, I am told is ill and bed-ridden. He is speechless and it’s been a month,” said Kiran, tears cascading down his cheeks.

“How old is he?”
“he is an early octogenarian ___ eighty four to be exact,” he said with an element of certainty.
“How far is your uncle’s house from here?” enquired Roma.
“It, probably, would take good fifteen minutes at an average pace.”

Without dawdling, they left for his uncle’s house amidst the vast darkness of 26th November. The chill weather stuffed their breathings. En route to the uncle’s house, they had to cross a beck. Kiran sprinkled water and removed the dust off his black pants. He washed his visage and refreshed himself. The duo reached the uncle’s house five minutes before 8 p.m. There was a multitudinous gathering in the house. Relatives and well-wishers from far and near come.
“My uncle had worked as a village headman for the last thirty five years. And, no wonder, this throng here shows how deeply he was respected and honored,” Kiran murmured to himself, looking at the throng outside and inside the house. Lanterns were lit both inside and outside and it was bright to the extent necessary.

Kiran could hear wails and moans____ the fatigued cries inside the house. He pushed his way through the crowd, followed by Roma, and entered the room where his uncle lay writhing to die, as he guessed.
The ailing man lay on his back and stared at the ceiling above ___ ironically the wide open eyes could see nothing. His body, below the shoulders, was sheltered by a soft duvet. The relatives were seated surrounding the ailing codger. Some were muttering the usual mantra RAM NAAM SATY HO……..
Kiran sat close to his uncle and looked at his face. He looked much older now; pale and gaunt, hollow-cheeked with sunken deep eyes within the wilted sockets. Roma stood beside Kiran. He lifted his uncle’s head and placed it on his broad laps. Tears streamed down his cheeks. The ailing octogenarian stared at his face without a blink.

Kiran’s mother, who was already in tears, ran her eyes at Roma from head to toes.
“I wish she were my daughter, Rupa,” she moaned, tears stampeding down her creasy cheeks. She moved her eyes to the sick man; then, to Roma, and back to the ailing man. She continued this for a few times.

“Are you not Kiran? When did you come? I have been waiting all these days to see you,” said the uncle.
“Yes, I am here,” Kiran whispered, sobbing.
His mother threw her eyes at Roma and back to the ailing man and back at Roma again.
She saw Rupa in Roma ____ a replica of her Lt Daughter.
“R-Rupa! My daughter!” squealed she. She jumped pushing the throng in pell-mell.
“My d-a-u-g-h-t-e-r! She shrieked.
She, unexpectedly, held Roma, embraced and hugged her.
“Daughter! Daughter!” she shrieked and screamed.

On the other hand, the ailing octogenarian caressed Kiran’s waist and breathed his last on his lap.

“Take this. This is the holy milk from the Gods. It will lengthen your life. I have been waiting for you to serve you this holy milk,” Kiran recalled the words of an old man in the eerie dream he had in the hotel room the previous night.

Tags: Bhutanese Literature U Sharma