Saturday, November 1, 2014

A Dissipated Life-A Story of Love and Sacrifice



A dog chased him out of the school’s gate. The dog growled closed behind him for some time. Latu leaned against a tree and threw a slice of bread. The dog ran after it and munched haughtily. It stayed quiet.
“This dog can become familiar after so many days,” Latu thought.
             
The condition of the day was brutal, and by evening, the wind busted some trees’ branches, some clouds showered heavy rains and the thunder rumbled loud. Latu was alone on his way towards his home. No, not really his house. Before long he was on the track to his actual journey. Yes, to his actual unknown road. The heavy downpour had bathed his body.

There, into an unknown place, Latu felt lost. He climbed on the quivering treetops to see his home’s light. He saw the faint light and it was like miles away. He didn’t know where he was now. He knew only that he was in a deep jungle. This was his first journey himself. His friend, Kagtong was bedridden and couldn’t come to the first day of his school. Since Latu’s father and mother had gone to some kind of training in a foreign land, he was sent to this village for his study. It was only three days since he had arrived from the capital of Bhutan to this village. He was to stay with untidy grandparents in this village. Now, Latu listened and scanned every direction of the jungle. He was scared of ghosts and spooky things in the deep jungle. He was afraid of wild animals. Latu was late today as there was the distribution of textbooks as it was the first day of school. And as he was new, he was given the textbooks at last.

It was already seven in the evening. He ran wildly to where ever his thought took. It was the fastest run he ever made, and before he fell down on the ground with exhaustion, he saw a house in front of him. It was a stone and mud-built with a thatched roof. He wanted to ask whoever in the house to direct him the right way to his home. With a great relief, he went inside the house. He flung open the ajar door and he was greeted by a young girl of his age. She was cooking something. Seeing an uninvited guest she shouted with fright for a second or so. He looked, thirsted, and wished in despondent. Dazzling in stunned startle, he saw that she was a simple looking, a slim, a bunched hair, an utmost level girl but terribly pretty. He succumbed with impassive dumb at this instant.
 Oh God, to be loved by her!’
“Who are you…!” she mumbled.
“I have never seen such a girl in Thimphu,” Latu unknowingly bursted out.
“What!”
The heavy rains suddenly lessened its rains. It drizzled. The pit-a-pat of the rain had become love, a wind of breeze, the thundered was music, and now, everything had become the trance of love and wish. Soon he esteemed that today, tomorrow, the next week, the next month, or someday to be with her. He watched her and his happiness exploded. 
She asked numerous questions, which further made him blank. He looked at her lips and the eyes. They were perfect. An angel had visited a poor home.
“I just wanted to ask you about the way to Memey Dogdola’s house,” Latu quivered.
“Oh, you are a new guy from Thimphu, to study here. Go seven steps down from my house, and you have a straight path towards right.” She beamed.
“Okay, okay, I will come tomorrow,” he said hurriedly as there were some noises outside.             
Latu counted down a few steps gladly when a powerful torchlight from the right side forced him to stand still. His face was now in full light.
 “So when we are away, this is what our daughter has been doing?” a man snubbed.
Guess. It was her father and mother.
“Oh, no, I came here to ask my way to home,” he said promptly.
“Who are you?” a woman voiced it flashing her torchlight on Latu’s face.
“I’m Memey Dogdola’s grandson,” he said and he hurried while they murmured and went inside.

He felt an awful emptiness going home, while the rain beat. He could only hear his heartbeat. Once he reached his home, Latu sat at his desk and pretended to be studying, so he wouldn’t be inquired by his Memey. Inside his mind, nothing had been omitted thinking about that girl.

The next day Latu met her. It was a great surprise that she was there too, in the same school at Nangkor High School, and the same class of nine.
“I didn’t see you the first day,” Latu said in the class.
“Yes, I stayed helping my parents,” her soft gust of breath entered inside his heart.
“I am Latu Tshering, and you?”
“Choden.”

Soon they become a good friend. They shared everything under the sun. Everything was perfect, especially their romance. Their relationship developed a kind of bond that was hard to fall apart. Their days were the shortest and the happiest of their life after they found each other.
This had become his daily routine. Whatever the weather, whatever the troubles in the night, quietly, he went on, and spent his night over her house.

A year or so passed. Having rare discussions about their future, they decided to drop school and get married. The main reasons were that they couldn’t study properly and were detained in the same grade, when school teachers groused about their manners, when their parents frequently reminded them about waste of hard cash.

After a yearlong life of marriage, Choden said like a changed mind.
“My Ajang Karpo asked me to come to Thimphu,” she said.
“For what?”
“To find a job, to be frank, if we stay like this, our life will be ruined in this village. He got me a job.”
“No, how can? You and me, we will start, work and survive through,” Latu sighed.
“I will come and take you after I got a job, maybe a month.”
And this was how she went, leaving not even a time to satisfy how much Latu loved her.

He hated those people who seek to chitchat with her. Jealousy was a crazed love. He noticed in their schoolmate days. Now, she had gone away-very far. What the shittiest way she would be living?

To pour his desperation, Latu gained the guts to write a letter every day, He wrote awfully letters about erstwhile languished, cheered her up to no end. He told everything, gave heart and soul. He wrote how she broke his heart into pieces when she left him. He wrote all hope of seeing her soon. They had no secrets. Moreover, the only real fear was that they might one day lose each other without staying together.

Days went by incredibly okay. She also shared in response. She promised that she would get a job and come back to him. She asked him that he should wait another two months. She wrote to him that they would make a comfortable life with the money she would earn.

Their foam-like love lasted for three months. Latu wrote almost every day to her. But she had begun to send less; one or two letters in a month. And it went on to several months. Then he received none. Latu was in hell. Those trances of happiness and charm vanished forever when he heard from a village’s hearsay that she was floating on the Thimpchu River.
Life was dead. The ways were blurred; silent traces of memories killed him, shut to his bosom to be valued and cherished, that he couldn’t bear it. It was a nightmare. He couldn’t accept that so many months after his love, she would be gone, leaving nothing but grieves to show that she was around.
Why should she go when there was so much beauty in her, so much life to be lived, so much love that she had got?
He walked out on his-on all his dreams.

He cried in defeat.

Three days later, her Ajang Karpo gave him a small chit that was found in her room. It read:

Dear Loving Latu,

The truth of life is sometimes difficult to disclose, you know especially when one had so much love. I know my life. I have deliberately separated from you. Hope you will understand. This short life of mine is shortened by a brain cancer. I was to live another month. I couldn’t think myself, and I cannot see you me dying in front of your eyes. So, I drank my life in a pool of water, far from you

Start a new life Latu. I lament for we cannot even remain with each other lifelong. The little saving I had made is in your name.

Your Ever
Choden


Latu sweated with cold tears.



(I wrote this story when I was a student at Jigme Sherubling HSS in Khaling. It’s a true narration of one of my friends.)

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