The short winter days passed with bright sun
rise and the smiling warm sun set. Closer it came the day when I must leave my
dear aged parents back at my long stayed village, working in the beautifully
patterned fields.
My beloved mother sweating and drooling
carried on with her tiresome work. She lined up the potatoes on the rows made
by my father. My caring father dripping in a pool of sweats wearily pulled
spade full soil over the lined up potatoes. I squatted on the border of the
field and watched them working tirelessly. My parents though in other days call
me for my help that was my last second day before moving to Wangdi they didn’t
allow me to work. They just wanted me to tell farewell story to them as they
keenly listened and responded with breath filled in their hearts. I cannot
think of living my life without their presence. But my fated novel profession
soon swung with my separation from them.
My tightfisted winter holidays ended. On the
5th march 2013, with the sun rise I started to pack my things
looking nooks and corners in my house to make sure I have left nothing unpacked.
The day was called off, I wondered all around the rooms, unbolted the cases and
cupboards whole day. Within the crawling of dusk I finished packing the things
including my mother’s puffed rice packed in an old ragged green plastic and one
full measuring bowl flattened rice packed in a pink plastic. She had also
packed a bundle of dried beef and dried eggplant in a faded yellow piece of
cloth especially for me.
I was bed ridden on that tiring evening and I
was not able to prepare anything for my parents who were just back from their
exhausting day long work. I was in a deep slumber enjoying a very humorous
dream in my mother’s cozy bed.
I heard a vague voice of an old hoary man
shouting from below our kitchen window, “hello! Anybody is home”. I answered,
“Yes we do, and can I help you”. “Can you please lend me a room for a night
halt?” hurriedly I jumped from the bed and looked out from the huge opened
window of our veranda. I saw an old grey haired man, wearing a tattered black
woolen gho carrying a big old traditional lidded bamboo basket leaning on our
downstairs room’s windowsill. I was bit scared and murmured the words to
myself, “If I answer him from here it seems I am disrespectful to the elders
and if I go out and welcome him won’t he be a robber or won’t strange things
happen”. I tried practicing my words before I went out. “Kuzu zangpo la! Na ga
dem chi bay jem”. ( Hello! What made you to be here?)
I tumbled down the stairs and went outside to
answer the old man. I hounded the practiced words and remained in silence. He
replied, “I came here to sell something worth some valuable things”. I was in
big doubt, “What could this be?” Then he slowly put down the bamboo basket and
told me to open the lid. At a snail’s pace I held on the leather handle and
pulled the lid up…….. Three small skinny monkeys jumped out of the basket which
scared me and started yelling “Tseyak! Tseyak! Tseyak!”. In a worry I closed my
eyes and jolted around the old man and cried out “Azaii”. When I opened my eyes
I felt stars blinking in my round shocked eyes. I saw my mother standing beside
me. I think my mother came running in our bedroom and slapped me on my face.
Sadly, the funny dream ended with a hand harsh slap on my cheeks. I wished if I
could end that humorous dream what kind of story this would have been.
Quickly, I have gotten up to make fire in our
small rusted bhukhari in the spiced aroma kitchen. I carefully plugged the
boiler. Then rinsed the rice and made it ready to cook. Hastily, I made a
pickle out of chilly, tomato and onion putting a little mashed Bhutanese
cheese. Mean time I saw the light indication of the boiler on warm. With half
of the boiled water in the tea pot I have put scoop full yellowish local butter
with pinch of salt and homemade tea leave named Yonten Dem. I stirred it hard
with the blender and boiled on the fire. My suja got ready for my dear tired
parents.
The heat from the fresh cooked food warmed
the cold freezing room along with the bhukhari’s rambling heat. I made
everything ready in front of my parents. We started our late evening meal. As
usual my father won the race of the evening mealtime. Then he started filling
up hot water in the flask. My mother arranged the pots and plates in the proper
place. While I plugged my laptop extension code and began face booking in front
of the Bhukari. I bid farewell to my college mates who were online and chatted
with my close friend Sonam Choden studying in Banglore whom I haven’t met for
more than six years after secondary grades. I bid her goodbye for a while. That
time I stayed late into nights listening to my mother’s life stories and essence
advices.
The day before hangover has put me into deep
sleep, morning till eleven. I have gotten up late and went to veranda to wash
myself. There I saw our old white flask bunged beside the aluminum bowl on the
cement. I shook it and found the flask was half full. Actually when my brother
and sisters are home two full flask of hot water isn’t enough for us. Now, they
all have left home on their studies. So presently a flask of water remains more
than our use. I washed myself hastily and joined my mother and father for the
breakfast. The warm shiny pots placed on the circular bamboo band filled with
local red rice and a very hot red chilli with cheese. A grin on my mother’s
lovely face greeted me. Happily we enjoyed the delicious breakfast chatting.
It was almost 10. My mother in a hurry dialed
her taxi driver friend’s number and asked for his hand. ...........to be continued............
