Who writes our fate?

Chandra B Dahal
New Zealand

A loud wail pierced the early dawn.

Instantly everyone in the nearby huts knew what had transpired.

Puspa’s 7 years old son had been hit by a bullet fired from a Royal Bhutan Army automatic gun while fleeing home with his parents. With bullet lodged in his abdomen for 4 days, the wound had festered and poisoned his body and in one week the handsome healthy boy had withered to succumb to it.

Puspa had been born to a hardworking farming family in southern hills of Bhutan. A handsome village belle she had been a bonny girl and grew tending domestic animals and helping her parents in the farm along with her two older brothers in a remote village that was yet to see a school. Their house built in traditional manner using enviro- friendly materials had been built by her grand parent who had shifted here from a village two days walk away laying claims on a virgin patch of land that had good soil, ample water source and an adjacent forest that provided fodder, fuel and sporadic bush meat too. Her grandfather had dressed stones from the nearby river, carried them on a ‘doko’ (cane or bamboo woven basket) and using the soft clay mixed with cow dung as mortar to lay the foundation of the house. Using axe and ‘khukri’ (traditional Nepali machete) to fell tree, split logs and use it as pillars, post and first-floor and the loft.

Southern foothills of Bhutan are hot and humid. So people over the generation had added enviro‐friendly improvements to make living conditions better. All house usually had their main doors facing east to get maximum morning light and sunshine. The bamboo framed thatched roof was tied down using cane splits and vines making it strong to withstand strong wind and heavy rains. The entrance was a covered patio with a wooden bed that doubled as a visitor’s bench during the day. The door was made of strong hardwood planks which could be closed with a wooden bar from inside.

The village was isolated from modernity and surrounded by dense rain-forest home to varieties wildlife. Encountering lumbering wild elephant herds, shadowy Royal Bengal tigers varieties of snakes and other smaller forest dwellers was common occurrence. Having lived in harmony with forest, villagers were skilled in ways to avoid and dodge direct encounters with wild animals. The many varieties of monkeys who fed on seasonal berries and tender leaves acted as general alarm system and villagers could immediately take evasive actions to prevent wildlife encounters.

Fifty or so odd families lived in the village and survived on collective ingenuity supporting each other within the community. Market, government offices and medical support was two days walk away in a small border town of Sarbang. Some villagers had pony and pack horse to ferry goods from the market but that was a luxury and most villagers went and returned on foot in a group. Besides, going on foot gave more independence to roam the colourful weekly market unconcerned of having to keep a watch on the pack animal. Almost everyone would make a point to go to the market few weeks before the annual festival of Dasai, celebrated during the period just preceding the paddy harvesting.

By the year Puspa had turned twenty, an age the villagers considered almost past the prime for marriage, she had had many suitors to woo her but somehow she had not been able to commit. Her parents were anxious to get her married too, but for her there was no hurry.

“Hey Puspa, are you going to market tomorrow?” asked Thuli. She was Puspa’s neighbour and constant companion too. Both had grownup together sharing belongings and even dreams.

Thuli continued, “I am going with parents. This year I want to buy real colourful dress to wear during Dasai”.
Puspa answered, “I don’t know. If you are going, then may be father will allow me to go as well. Oh… it would be good to go and come back and roam the bazar.”

That evening over the dinner her parents were discussing what they should buy from the market this time. Seizing the opportunity Puspa too blurted out, “Appa,(father) Ama (mother), Thuli is going to bazar tomorrow with her parents, can I also come along with you?”

Father looked at her to reply but before he did so mother intervened and said, “I think, that’s Ok. She can help carry the salt bag. That way we don’t have to hire a porter too.” Then turning to Puspa, she said, “Ok, you can come along. But, make sure to keep close and not to get lost in the crowd”.

The Father meanwhile had turned towards his two sons dozing by the fireside and addressed them firmly, “You two, now that Puspa is going with us, make sure to keep proper eye on the animals when we are gone”.
The excitement was beyond bear for Puspa and she took-­‐off into the night to tell her friend Thuli.

The group had started early. The first rooster’s crow had come when they had crossed village outskirts. The walk to the market had been cheerful with everyone singing and hollering, sharing meals, quenching thirst from the clear and pure streams, plucking and eating fruits that had ripened on trees along the footpath and watching birds and animals that dashed in and out of the forest. The early start had saved a day. The group managed to reach the outskirts of town as the night began to fall. They took shelter in one of the empty market sheds. Those who knew and had been regulars fetched water and firewood and soon had meals on the boil. It was the first real taste of modernity for both Puspa and Thuli. The glare of ‘petromax’ lights, glowing electric bulbs and tube lights was soothing to wonder at. They have never seen such bright light except for the torch father kept closely guarded.

One of Thuli’s cousins Thule too had come from another village. Handsome and well-built lad Thule had found Puspa to his liking on the first sight. Discreetly he had asked Thuli to come for walk around the market place after dinner and bring along Puspa too. Thule, who had come to the market few times earlier, took them on a guided tour of the bazar where travelling shopkeepers were arranging their wares. Clothe sellers arranging their bundles of textiles, grocers opening and arranging their sack loads of spices and groceries; tinkers, small shopkeepers, pot­‐pan sellers, gaming stalls all vying to make their displays look the most attractive. There was smell of cooking coming off the sweets and sweetmeats stall.

Everyone was busy readying their ware for the market day tomorrow as loud music blared in cacophony from radios and scratchy gramophone players.

To Puspa everything was a hazy blur of sound, smell, sight, dusty and sweaty crowd. The night and the next day had passed off even before she was able to soak in the alien glitz and before she realised they were on way home carrying groceries, new clothes and other items her parents had purchased to celebrate the oncoming annual festival. She was spared from carrying the bag of salt but the miscellaneous item she had to carry back home were not very light too.

One day, about a week after the market trip, as she came home after tending her cattle, she saw some new faces talking with her parents. She looked around and found Thuli’s parents there too and immediately behind them sat Thule. Instantly she realised why they were there and without even uttering a word of greeting she rushed into the house and sat by the door nook listening to the conversation outside.

“So it final. You have given your consent, Right?” asked Thuli’s father to Puspa’s parent.

“Yes. We agree” Puspa’s father replied, “We can have the betrothal ritual tomorrow and the marriage two months after Dasai festival. That will give time to complete harvestings and make necessary preparation for the marriage”.

“That’s suits us as well,” agreed Thules’s father. Then turning to Thule he asked, “Do you have anything to say?” and as the age-­‐old custom decreed he just nodded his consent and let seniors take the decision. The group then got ready to leave but Puspa’s mother intervened and insisted that they all share meal tonight to celebrate the new relationship.

Time flew quickly. Puspa and Thule got married. According to custom the bride and groom came back to her parents’ house a week later. After dinner, Puspa’s father turning to Puspa and Thule said, “Son, I want to tell you that we had purchased this 3 acre plot of land for Puspa long ago. Now, I want to give it to you. If the two of you work hard it can sustain you. So far we have been cultivating it, now it’s for you to decide,” So saying he gave the ownership “thram” document to Puspa who was sitting next to Thule. Next morning both took leave to go back to Thule’s home.

Few weeks later, Thule and Puspa came back to the village to stay on permanently. Other villagers and relatives were happy to welcome them. Soon they had a new house and Thule took to cultivating the field passionately. The land was productive and soon Thule’s hard work began to pay well. He surveyed with pride the growing crops which he knew would bear enough grains to last the year.

Thule had been tilling a patch of land that looked good to plant his favoured cucumber he had got from his mother.

“Thule, O Thule” someone was calling.
He looked towards the direction of call and found his neighbour waving. “What’s it?” asked Thule walking towards him.
As he neared his neighbour, he couldn’t help noticing a wide grin on his face and before he could ask the neighbour blurted out.
“I came rushing to congratulate you.” “For what?”
“For going to be the newest father,” the neighbour teased. “What? Don’t joke!”
“You don’t believe? Puspa’s mother told me just now. She had come to your house and had found Puspa unwell and the prognosis was that she is pregnant,” the neighbour kept stating to visibly stunned Thule -­‐ listening but without actually hearing anything.

Abruptly he turned and began to walk home briskly unsure how he was supposed to take the news.

He found Puspa’s mother happily tending to Puspa sitting coyly on a wooden cot on the veranda. They looked at each other– happy, a little shy and unsure how to react. Too soon the day arrived when Puspa went on labour. Thule ran to get neighbours help and soon Puspa was in practiced care of village women helping in the delivery. The village had no doctor, neither a nurse or even midwifes, but the women folk knew what they were doing and soon the house had a new hearty crier, blowing on his lungs as loud as he could and the family’s joy equally upbeat as his howls.

Within a year and half, the boy was walking and talking and running after the animals tailing his mother, father or grandparents who doted on him. Soon, Puspa and Thule began discussing on how to educate him.

“Maybe we should send him to my parent’s place. The nearest school there is just one hour walk away”.
“That will still be hard for a child to walk to school and back every day. He is too small for that,” injected Puspa, showing mother’s concern.

“He cannot remain uneducated. During our time there were no school, but now every large village has one. May be we should shift to a new place nearer to a school,” Thule contemplated aloud.
“Let’s not worry now” Puspa added, “we can always get good advice from our parents. We will talk with them one of these days. May be in next few years our village too will have a school,” she said ending the talk for the day.

Five years on, the school did not come but rumours began to tickle in that government a made it compulsory to wear the national dress ‘gho’ for men and ‘kira’ for women besides speaking the national language ‘Dzongkha’ which the big officers spoke. The village Headman soon received a government circular in exactly the same line with added clause that anyone found breeching were to be fined Nu.100 every time caught defying the diktat. People found that hard to believe, but obeyed as the fine was too stiff equalling 2 days of labour.

Few months later, a set of new visitors arrived. They were a group of army men to man the border that divide the contiguous Bhutan-­‐India forest. The isolated village had suddenly gained some importance. The villagers however had no idea why. Next day Headman was ordered to muster all able-­‐bodied to build a camp to house them. Trees were felled and the timber use to build 3 strong barracks, kitchen house and store in the clearing so made. People were ordered to remain vigilant, not to go into the forest and restrain all animals within the village boundary.

The villagers wanted to know what was happening. Unable to get any answers from the army men the concerned village Headman with some elder had gone to the government office at Sarbhang seeking to know what was happening. There too the answer was not very clear. Two days after returning from the office they were asked to report to the army camp. All went hoping to get an answer but what waited them was nothing short of brutal barbarism.

As soon as they entered the camp, two soldiers each caught the Headman and his two friends by arms, and stripped them of upper garment.

The camp commander boomed, “So, you were the ones who went to report to office… right? Who gave you the permission to leave village? Did you ask me? … And, you thought I would not know?”

“But, Sir .. we made no complaints. Just asked the officer what was happening,” the village Headman replied.

‘Oh.. you are in mood to argue with me. Right?” said the commander and after a pause added, “why do we need to explain anything to you? Who are you anyway? This land belongs to our King and you are living here at his mercy. We are his men and you lowly lot want to question why we are here.”

He walked to and from banging his military boots in front of the cowering village elders. He stooped, and pointing at one large built soldier barked, “Fetch that supple cane and give each one best of five on their backs.”

The soldier came with the cane and another forcing the half-­naked defenceless men to bend and began to beat. The first one was the village Headman who swooned and collapsed to the ground on the third stroke. When he regained senses he found himself being carried home by two of his neighbours.

The army men’s’ arrogance began to rise from that day. Soon the normalcy had deteriorated so much that people didn’t know what was really happening to their lives. Villagers were allocated duties to serve the army men and look after their comfort. Clean the barracks sweep the surrounding and even launder their dresses. Women folks had to source food and vegetables cook and clean by turns. The army men would march along the village fringe shoot some games and enjoy the bush meat adequately supplemented by free-issue liquor.

The rainy season over, nights were getting longer and cooler. Morning mist had come back bringing with it cooler misty mornings. On one such morning the barracks commander was awaken by one of his sepoy to tell that the ‘gung-­chimi’ (village secretary) had vanished. He and his family seem to have left the village and melted into the neighbouring Indian side of the forest.

The commander’s immediate concern was that what he had been doing here at the camp would be let known to higher official and he would end up in a spot. So, he immediately summoned the entire village to his compound. Villagers remained unaware. Still they had the caution to let off all animals before rushing off to obey the commander’s commands. As everyone, men women and children filed in he began by asking, “Where is the chimi?”

No one replied, as they didn’t know where he had gone.

“So, none of you want to tell? Good.. Good. It seems I have been too caring to you lowly lots. Your chimi has run away and I now brand him anti-national and anti-­king,” he paused and then added, “All his relatives and his immediate neighbours are anti-national too– because they have gone against the king, country and crown because by not reporting the escape of the village chimi.”

The commander knew he was in problem. He had to devise ways to keep the villagers from revolting and reporting the matter to higher authorities. Swiftly he needed to ensure what he was doing here never got reported. He had to think fast. Suddenly he had a bright idea. Keep family members apart and separated. The best way was to confine all females to one of the barracks. That way, they would continue to cook and clean and no male would escape without his wife and children.

The order was immediately passed. All females, young and old along with babies were detained at the barracks. The male members were ordered to fetch womenfolk’s clothes and beddings under armed escort, while all females got herded into one of the barrack build to house the army men.

That night the ordeal began. Around sunset 10 armed army men rounded up all male villagers and confined them to the house abandoned by the village chimi. The soldiers devise a Russian roulette style caning completion to amuse them while the villagers got beaten by turn.

At the barrack, the enraged commander was unsatisfied at the unfolding events. He didn’t want to be blamed for what was happening here. Somehow these villagers had to take the blame and allow him to come out clean. As he walked between the barracks his eye fell on a young woman trying to calm her child. It was Puspa. One glance and he forgot all his troubles and priority changed.

Then things happened fast. A guard came and herded Puspa to the commander’s bed chamber. She was too shocked and scared to protest. Her feeble resistant stood no defence against the butt of the pistol on her forehead. Next morning, Puspa woke up with a swollen forehead and abused body. Staggering out of the room she could see that the soldiers had taken turns to rape and abuse every woman there. The women had to clean and cook whole day and in the evening the soldiers abused them silencing all protest with the show gun barrel. The physical abuse of women in the barracks and the men confined to the chimi’s house continued for four weeks.

One day, the army store master reported, “Sir there is almost no ration left”. The store has dwindled down to two days stock. With no one to take care, all cattle, goats and buffalos too had either been slaughtered or run away into the forest. Somehow ration had to be brought in from Sarbhang. Conscripting villagers to carry would be a solution but the commander couldn’t risk anyone informing on him to the superior officers. The only way was to help roundup few of the villager’s mules still sheltering in the stables.

So he decide that six men would stay back and keep watch on the barrack and villagers with armed guns, while the rest took the mules to fetch ration from the district depot . The round journey would last at least 5 days. It was risk but the commander had no options neither did he want his superiors to come and see what was transpiring in the outpost. Besides he was confident that the daily abuse had sobered all villagers from any form of rebellion.

While herding the mules with soldiers, the village Headman got to know of the commander’s plan. He waited until retuning to the shelter. Soon he saw the commander and soldiers departing camp leaving behind six soldiers as guards. The village Headman looked around and realised their shelter guards too were missing. This was the time he had been looking for. With his hand he signalled everyone to gather inside the house. He kept two men on watch outside so that the guards standing near the barrack would not become suspicious.

Once inside he began, “Dear Friends we have been suffering at the hands of the cruel bastards for more than a month now. I have lost count of days. We don’t know how our wives and daughter are faring. We also don’t know why this is happening. I don’t think king can be so cruel to his subjects. However, the way army is treating us looks like everything is happening with full authorisation of the king.”

One of the other elder said, “You are our Headman and leader. I know you will guide us well. I feel I am losing my sense and may not last long. So, I suggest we escape to Indian side of forest. I have once walked that route to reach the market. It had taken me eight hours.”

“We have to escape but, what about our womenfolk and children?” added another elder. There was a low rumble of agreement from all as everyone agreed to escape into the forest on other side of the border.

The Headman, a bit more happy at collective agreement said, “We are descendants of valiant Gorkhas. Now it’s time we let some blood boil. While herding the mules this morning the soldier was unhappy that just six or seven of them were to stay behind. So, tonight, when the guards come, we will use our ‘khukri’ to disarm them. We will then tie them up and shout for help so that the other guards rush in to help. We will do the same with them as well.” Everyone agreed to the plan and each person given a task and briefed what to do.

That evening as the sun was about set, three armed guards came to herd the male group to the temporary house of confinement. As briefed villagers began closing around the guards enquiring where the rest had gone. The villagers had been always passive so the guard did not see what was coming. Suddenly three sturdy villagers who had been easing behind each guard unsheathed their khukri and holding the soldiers by the scruff of the neck held the razor sharp blade on their throats. The plan was so far working but the turned situation suddenly emboldened the tortured villagers to vent their anger and before the Headman could read their action, all three army guards had their throats slit and were lying on the ground grasping for breath, eyes wide open choking in their own blood. The villagers had not intended to kill but the month long pain and suffering had been too strong to restrain the urge to slit the guards’ throat, almost in unison. Everyone felt as if the danger and threat to their lives and sufferings was gone and there was a sudden involuntary whoop.

The sound, albeit muffled, seems to have alerted the other guards at the barrack compound. Two slung their automatics and began to run towards the villagers. By then one of the villager, a hunter and with some knowledge of handling a gun, had picked one belonging to the guards and lying low on the rice terrace had squeezed the trigger at the approaching two guard. None were bothered of the sound but everyone could see the two running figures slowly double up, fall and be still.

There was aloud victory shout and all ran towards the barracks. The lone guard seeing the villagers fast approaching managed to slink away and take to the woods. At the barrack all locks were soon broken and everyone clinging on to their loved ones. Seeing each other almost after a month all pains they had suffered seems to have vanished. However, the Headman knew there would be more trouble to stay on so told them to move on quickly. He gathered all in an opening just outside the barracks and told them to get all their valuables, their documents and wear as many layers they can and not carry anything large. Then, pointing to a clearing cross the border he said, “All of you assemble there before sun sets. Everyone, please wear your khukri. I want even women too to carry one each. The forest stretches almost 40 Km and we have to cross it, if possible, tonight itself.”

Men ran to salvage all the cash and jewelleries they owned, which they had buried to hide when the army had moved in. Within half an hour everyone had returned to the clearing. The Headman asked each family to check if anyone was missing. The setting sun crossed horizon and dusk fell.

Suddenly there was a loud crack. In a last bit attempt, the guard who had slinked away had come back to fire a single shot into the fleeing group. The Headman shouted at them to run and everyone took to heels, plunging into the darkening forest, as far as their legs could carry.

Puspa too ran into the tangles of branches and bushes with her son on her back unmindful of the cut and bruises. She reached a gully on the stream bed and kept running to keep up with the rest of the group. Half an hour later she felt something warm and sticky tricking down her back and presumed the whimpering son had relieved on her back. She was not bothered by that. She could always clean herself on reaching the edge of the forest. The boy was asleep and that was good. She could walk and keep up with the rest of the group. Everyone walked single file and she just walked on barefoot, following the person walking ahead of her. They could feel the watchful jungle eyes and hear animals slinking away into the night. At first there was deafening jungle noise but soon it became part of their walking rhythm. None bothered, everyone wanted to get away to safety as fast as possible and reach the village on the Indian edge of the jungle.

They kept on walking and through the tree and foliage the first morning light could be seen. It was getting dawn. There was a sigh of relief when first roosters’ crow was heard some distance away. The jungle too began to thin and with the first ray of the sun they reached the bank of a clear flowing stream that bordered the village.

“Puspa, what happened? Your dress is soaked in blood?” cried the lady walking behind her. “Must have been bitten by a leech,” she replied stopping on the edge of the stream to wash. She slowly let go her son and set him down on the bank. Then saw blood all-­‐over him too. She panicked and called Thule over and together began to soak and wash off the blood. While doing so, the boy woke up and pointing to the spot where blood seems to have clotted said, “It pains here. Something pricked me there”. They washed the clot away to reveal a neat hole on hip. The lone bullet fired by the last guard had pieced the boy’s hip and lodged there.

Thule and Puspa quickly cleaned the boy and washed themselves too. So did the rest of the group. After resting for a while the weary group began the trudge again. They had to find some food soon. Adults could hold on to hunger on but the children had begun to cry. They saw a large house loom some distant away and all began walking towards it. It turned out be a house of a wealthy local resident. After hearing their story he said, “It’s most unfortunate to hear about you all and how much you have suffered. Some of your Bhutanese youth were here last week. They too had been targeted for attending a general demonstration in Sarbhang. They left for Nepal next day. They were saying that the Bhutan Police have bribed the local Police Officer here too and were not safe. I think it’s not safe for you as well. The whole thing is most unfortunate…”

“I will try and find out what we can do to help you people,” he added. Then, ordering his household to feed the group he left.

Puspa, and Thule knew that their boy needed urgent medical attention but a bullet wound meant enquiries and they were too traumatised to approach anyone in uniform for help. So they just kept quiet.

The host family fed the whole group. The host came back accompanied by local police Inspector and few villagers after about an hour. The Inspector looked very stern and uncompromising and by his demeanour he didn’t want the intruders to stay on in his Beat. the Inspector began. “I don’t want to know why you have come or where you are headed. But, but you can’t stay here. So by tomorrow, I don’t want to see any of you lingering in this or surrounding area,” growled the Inspector. Then turning to the locals he added, ‘We already have lot more problem in hand to solve. I don’t want a new one added. So make sure they leave the village by tomorrow. Otherwise I will be force to take action against you first”.

Now the homeless Headman being baffled said, “Sir we don’t know where to go”.
Almost instantly the Inspector retorted, “I can see you speak Nepali, so I think you all should go to Nepal,” and then quickly added almost like directing the traffic flow, “Others too have gone that way too”.

Headman visibly afraid to annoy the Inspector, feebly added, “We have no money. We had to leave at night abandoning everything. Besides we don’t know where Nepal is.”

The Inspector must have a pre-­‐meditated plan. He immediately turned to the local leader and said, “Arrange two trucks to carry them up to Nepal border. I will talk to my seniors and justify the cost to keep peace here.”
No one present really understood why the Inspector had suddenly turned so generous. It was baffling to everyone listening.

Next morning two large roaring monsters approached. Scared of the approaching truck many villagers and youngster from Bhutan took to heels. Most of them had never seen one before. Children and even adults stood at a distance to see what would happen. The two policemen who had come with the truck herded and hustled everyone on the two trucks. With no option everyone climbed into the monsters warily. Thule and Puspa, who had fortunately seen one before, boarded the truck carrying the slightly feverish boy. Soon the group was speeding away west on the dusty highway.

The group looked back into far and fast receding green hills. That was their home till yesterday and now it looked so far and forlorn. Puspa, Thule and all others had tears in their eyes. What had they done to deserve this fate? What mistakes had they committed? May be it was fate ordained yet unsure if they would ever see their homes again.

It felt like eternity. The trucks raced on for hours. Motion sickness enveloped everyone. The trucks sped through neatly trimmed tea gardens, tidy green paddy fields, orchards and cattle grazing on the sides of the highway. Roaring, honking and blaring vehicle of all sizes passed them. It was sight people from an idyll forest cocooned villagers had never ever imagined. They passed through roadside towns and settlements that looked like city to them and rivers many times larger than the one that flanked their village. The sun played hide and seek in the sky and so did their eyes gazing into the horizon to see when the journey would end.

The trucks slowed down and took a turn, and began to jostle the road with rickshaw tricycles, honking cars, jeeps and Lorries. There were equal numbers of people walking to and fro too, everyone busy. Some even craned their neck to peek into the truck which had come to stop on the Indian side of border to Nepal. A man in khaki uniform came, looked over into the truck and turning to the driver said, “All these people from Bhutan? If that’s so, you can’t leave them here. Drive them on to the Mai Camp. Nepal police will escort you from their check post and back. That’s our mutual arrangements.” The driver tried to protest but was silenced by the uniformed person.

The Truck move on again and stopped few minutes later at the Nepal border outpost. One man walked up briskly and asked, “Are you from Bhutan?”
“Yes,” replied the Headman. “From where?” he asked again.
“Sarbhang district,” replied Headman.
“Don’t worry I am from Bhutan too. So are others here as well. You are safe now. There is no need to be afraid. Those other trucks also have more people from Bhutan. If you want you can come down and go to toilet.” He added.
“Oh.. Thank you,” was all he could say.

Suddenly his eyes began to flow uncontrollably. It seems the six weeks of tapped emotion had suddenly burst on hearing of safety. Everyone else in the group too began to sob and cry holding each other for support and comfort.

Then everything happened in a quick fast-­‐forward. Names were noted, family counted, some food and fruits distributed and soon found themselves along with others from other parts of Bhutan sheltered by volunteers who were exiles like them heading towards the Mai refugee camp.

At the camp site, Puspa and Thule, were taken to the far end corner of the impromptu camp and a volunteer measured a plot to build a hut for themselves.

“We will give you some plastic and ropes. Go to that forest there and get some branches to use as poles and make your lean-­‐to. Be careful when you lit the fire. It’s windy here, so as soon as you finish cooking kill the fire and douse the embers too.” Then pointing towards another wooded spot on the far side the volunteer added, “To relieve yourself go there. Left side is of the wood is for men and the other side for women… if you have any serious issue let us know.”

Most business-­‐like he got ready to move on to measure a fresh plot for another family that had come after them.

Unsure on how to approach for help Puspa motioned her eyes to Thule to talk about their sick son. Taking cue, Thule hesitantly asked, “Sir, my son is very sick. It seems he was hit by something on the hip. Is there any way to treat please?”

“Where is he? Let me have a look,” said the volunteer. By that time Puspa had unfolded the shawl that covered him. One look at the wound and the volunteer said, “That’s a bullet wound,” and feeling lightly with his finger he added, “it looks like the bullet is still there. You need to see the doctor. He is gone away today but will be back tomorrow around 8.30 in the morning. Just bring him to the medical hut then. First we have to remove the bullet.” Puspa sat there stunned. Fate seems to have hit her worst. She had suffered mentally and physically. Been abused repeatedly, raped for a month and made to work to the bones. The fate too seems to have singularly selected to be unkind to her. Even the final astray bullet fired from motherland by the last guard had bid its final farewell to her alone.

Next morning Puspa waited for the doctor to arrive. Whole night the boy had been in pain, delirious, feverish and sweating. She knew nothing other than crooning lullabies to sooth his pain. Soon a middle-­‐aged man in white shirt came and entered the medical hut. Two volunteers stood near the flimsy bamboo door to regulate the crowd.

Suddenly someone was calling, “Puspa,.. Puspa .. with the wounded child.. Is she here?” Instinctively, she said, ‘yes.. that’s me.”

The volunteer beckoned her to come and she moved to the front. There was murmur of protest up ahead on the line but the volunteer said, “Her boy has a bullet lodged still inside. So, all of you be patient. Doctor will operate and then will treat you all as soon as he is done.”

Puspa entered the hut. But, there was nothing in there. It was all bare. Doctor who was sitting behind a table motioned her to sit on a bench next to him.

She knew not what to say, so just unfolded the shawl that covered her son. Doctor took one look, and said, “when did this happen?”
“Three night ago .. sir” she said mechanically.
“It looks bad. The wound seems to have been poisoned and is festering. I can’t promise anything but will do my best with the medicine that I have here. I need to remove the bullet first. Hold the child but look that side, this will be tough.”

The boy gave small whimpers as the doctor worked on him. He must have been too tired to feel the pain and soon Puspa heard a metaling clang on the bowl. Turning her head she saw a blood soaked bullet in it and the doctor tying a bandage over the wound.

Then, rummaging through a pile of sample medicine donated by nearby towns’ clinics, many well beyond expiry dates, the doctor picked up two strips and gave to her. “Give two tablets three times a day. Come every morning to change the dressing. I do hope he gets well. Let me know if he doesn’t improve,” saying so, the doctor motioned for the next patient.

With the bullet gone, the boy looked visibly much calm. A sense of relief flooded her too and that night she managed to sleep calmly forgetting all the trauma and pain she had had lived for last six weeks.

She woke with a start. Something was amiss. Her sixth sense sensed it. It was not morning yet, but the camp was abuzz with people moving to fetch water or to relieve themselves. She felt for her son sleeping next to her. He felt cold. She wanted to wrap her shawl to warm him and as she lifted the boy, he had gone stiff. She nudged Thule saying, “See what’s wrong with him?” In the dark Thule placed hand on the boy’s chest. Then, felt his breathing and rocked him a little. Suddenly holding Puspa he began to sob.

Puspa knew instantly that her boy too had left her. She let out a piecing wail as if wanting to wake up the boy from his eternal sleep. Fate had been particularly cruel to her. She had lost two most precious things in life ­‐ a dear motherland and now her most dear son. She began to cry and lament.

Thule had somehow recovered and turning to his distraught wife said, “Don’t cry. I think he was born just to save you. God’s ways are strange. Just think, if it had not been for him, it would be you laying there rotting in that clearing on the border. Now he is gone. We should cherish all the memorable moment he left behind for us to remember.”

Something seems to tell her Thule was right.

She turned to look at her boy. He looked calm, composed and in peace. He just seems to say – I came to give you a new life. At that instant the first ray of the sun shone on his death bed making a halo as if scripting confirmation.

(The edited version of this story has been published in book “THE BLOOMING LOTUS”  SHORT STORIES BY FORMER REFUGEES IN NEW ZEALAND  (ISBN 978-0-473-30274-0) published November 2014 by Refugee Trauma Recovery and Voice Arts Trust,  New Zealand. The story appearing here is the unedited original version by the authors and may differ from those published in the book ” The Blooming Lotus” .)