Showing posts with label Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Story. Show all posts

Friday, August 25, 2017

The Life of Trees - A Realistic Story



The Life of Trees

This is a realistic story; a similar incident happened in my village once. @first draft 2016


There was a valley, one deep ravine, with a river run­ning roughly through it. By this torrent slope, there were two villages facing each other. They lay close; only a heavy pull of an arrow would reach to the perimeter of the vicinity. These villagers were fertile in terms of sex; each year the population would double and by and by the resources became scarce day by day. For example, to get firewood, everyday they needed to go further and further.

As I said earlier, the length of these two villages was the length of arrow field. People really took this distance as a shooting field; people often played arrows, and they never picked up arrows! In reply, this opened to serious splits of inexorable words; little boys and girls, young and old, all threw their bad spits to each other. I mean poisoned arrows.

The basis of these poisonous arrow heads was the river in between them. While it flowed geographically downhill, people on both sides declared ownership. The river became a spill particularly in summer when crop growing times hit the roof. It turned out that, every household had the right to dig its own canals for their rice field. The result? The river was succumbed to exploitation, and so many tributaries and smaller branches dispersed, and if you looked from the other side of the valley, you would see hundreds of fingerlike- snaky channels everywhere from the mainstream. It had wrought the land to waste and because of these snaky tributaries erosion often took place in summer in both the valleys and villages. On the whole, the type of contention for the villagers to had running water canals, for their own home had built-up inside every mind. The conse­quence as an effect was, the river was too small to provide sufficiently to the entire household of both villages. Forty households were too many for a small river to feed. And almost three hundred heads to fill up the thirst.

The trend quickly picked up that only the wealthy and tough houses’ owners would have large and continuous flows. Therefore, some lowly and modest people did not have a supply. As a rea­son, people went to the dead end to get their shares. Many untoward problems happened on a regular basis. People in congregations went at night to divert water to their own field. It became routine, and there were times; both the villagers would be there in the night diverting the water to their water ways. Fights would break up, and there would be nuisance in the night. As much as all, the river had turned out to be a source of sorrows and infuriation to two villages. No one could live without water, until and unless, people didn’t have good rice cultivation. They would do anything; some even provoked the river, others to the untimely rains. Because of the scarcity of water, sometimes, unfortunate people even led their lives in poverty for the reason that the river wasn’t sufficient.

Villagers began to point their fingers at each other in the broad daylight; they began to form groups and yell at the others, and each village did the same. They claimed their own need, yet the source and the thick tropical forest above the villages were questioned. Their claim was baseless, as the particular land belonged to what they called government. “Who is the government?” Several aged inquired. It was nobo­dy’s land and everyone had right. So there were arguments. The village became the good example of lack of organiza­tion, and lack of cooperation. Everyone was a master. The natives mud­dled themselves. All were one, but one was not all. They didn’t realize the importance of inter-dependence.

The river was an area of fighting to them and some­times there were events of funny scenes. Allies of villagers stood face to face on the two banks of the river. From these two sides, they threw thousands of verbal abuses and rages. The watercourse acted as a barricade and a judge to keep them from hitting one another!

The corollary of such quarrels had shown the way to grave disturbance and destruction to the village’s forest. People begun to hacked down the trees from both sides - enviously. Animals were let to graze mercilessly; the jungle was on fire and within a short span of time the land was reduced to an area empty of trees, for the reason that it was nobody’s ter­ritory.

The cost of this deed was to wait for the next culti­vation. The source of the river dried up, the course was of dry bed, and even a stone thirsted for water. The dripping wet drops in the morning dried up in the leaves. People from both sides gathered with their spade and hoe beside the pas­sage. It was vain. Every time, they stared at each other in consternation, and they bowed back as it was high time for farming activities.

The village elders gathered and looked up at the sky ex­pecting rains. They did the rituals for rain god to release as much drops for their need. Even if the rainfall was heavy, the next day it would be dried. There were no roots to hold the water. The soil got washed away. The course of the river was parched, and the source became earthen. The village was arid as a result. The thin crops beat the heat of the sun, and they soon bent. Birds and animals migrated, and they never returned. The clouds above the villages thinned out and vanished away. No one understood who took the river; was it because of frequent fights between the two villages that angered water demons? Was it be­cause of the consequence of trees that they have cut thoughtlessly and acquisitively? No one knew.

The aftermath was certain. That some - whole years, the rain was scant. There was evidence of poverty in the villages. Some people set out in search of food grains to far-flung villages and came back empty-handed to the home. It was because of the impression of the past and the absurdities of the villagers, other people knew the nature of these villages. So, they are cruelly welcomed by others. On the other hand, their fertility rate was reduced drastically; people even didn’t have energy to work on as they lacked basic nutrition diet.

Then, the poverty hit for many years. Two villages looked deserted. People became lean and thin because they had nothing to eat. Even then, they would never come together. Every one played a blame game. Other villagers said to another that they were responsible for this. But, none accepted the fault. Everyone reasoned, but nobody listened. Villagers flung apart, they wandered in dread of famine, as cultivation was not viable. People knew that there was no way to live in their own village. They began to shift to different parts of country. Some permanently locked their house and went to their relatives’ home. Some went looking for any kind of jobs. A few group of people from both villages had nowhere to go, so they had to stay. Whatever might be, they wouldn’t mingle each other and talk.

There was this dark tragedy in these villages. After seven years, the terrific rains - unknown in their history, washed away many houses. It had cost seven people’s life; three from one village and four from other. This incident had repercussion on them of coming together. This tragedy alerted everyone. They didn’t think. They acted briskly. And it was the tragedy that came as a blessing to the two villages. Both the villagers helped each other to dig up the bodies, and showed sorrows and condolences to the affected families. The villagers also came to know that a few houses of both the villages stood unaffected by these terrific rains. They went around to look together, and to their surprise, they found that each safe house was surrounded by trees and bushes. There was no questioned to be asked. They stared each other for some time and walked away indignantly. Nothing came to their mind. It was only those trees that they thought for a long time in their home. These few group of people had to bear the brunt of everyone.

They soon decided to gather, and they soon mingled. They talked about life saving trees. They agreed that downing of trees had deserted their lives. They agreed that the source of their river was trees. They agreed that the trees were the food to them. They agreed that nothing would be possible without trees. For the first time, they thought jointly, discussed together to find a resolution to the water problem. They became a good friend. They became like a family. The river was running in between their villages for ages. They knew they fought for it, and they knew they fought for individual benefit. They knew it was a mistake. Their realization took another generation to bring back. The brunt needed to be borne by children’s children.

The people of these villages came together hastily. They had a gathering. The discussion was followed by a sumptuous lunch. Each household brought whatever food items left at their home. It was a grand celebration of happy reunion. It turned out to be an informal gathering. Each individual talked away private and common things with another. As of now, they didn’t have anything, but they had happiness and unity.

In their public gathering they decided that every person would bring seven saplings of any trees from the thick jungles below their villages. The date was fixed. And on that day, they agreed to bring packed lunch and have a picnic of a sort. So, on the said day, together, they planted two thousands species of plants. The barren land was dotted with green saplings. They took care of each tree like their sons or daughters. They fenced from domestic animals. They were their only hope. The cost of their destruction was to wait another twenty or more years, and they did.

Seventy seven years later, a for­est of trees grew from where their grandparents had planted. The river once again flowed noisily. People who had left the village came with a big congratulation. Birds and animals came back. Their neighboring villages looked upon them with awed for their accomplishment. The river was shared properly with one another. It was equally divided for them. Each village had one big canal supplying water for all homes. And at least, there was no nocturnal by the riverside, but the nocturnal grew in the two vil­lagers; boys from two villages travelled boldly to the neighboring village hunting for their beloved ones.

This was a valley, with deep ravine, with a dry river bed. By this torrent slope, the two villages lay closed; facing each other. Once it was a place of disorders, it was a place of differences and contentions. But now, they didn’t play arrows singularly. They played a match, an archery match almost every month. Now, little boys and girls, young and old, all threw their spits to each other. This time they screamed playfully to distract players. I mean arrows of happiness.

These villagers continuously remained fertile; with the free passage of villagers to and fro, the cocks had no used of signaling people to wake up. They walked out from the house of their lovers, leisurely.

Copyright @ Saacha Dorji 2016

Monday, May 23, 2016

Passang, the Healer

The story below was written by Sherab Zangmo, one of the students from class six. I reproduced her story here as she asked me to publish on the blog.

Once upon time there lived a woman named Passang. She lived in a mountain side in a small hut made of bamboo. She lived in a fresh surrounding and she depended only upon the forest. Berries and forest products were her food. She was lonely and no one wanted to see her.

Passang was sent away from her village for the crime she didn’t commit. Everyone in the village considered her evil and believed that she cursed her village. When a small problem came in the village, they used to blame her. They hated her and made her feel low and bad. But she never said anything back to them. She was too kind to say anything to them.

One day, an unknown disease started to spread in the village. Everyone got infected with it and no one knew its solution. As always, people went and blamed Passang. She wanted to tell them that it was not her fault but they never let her answer her. Passang was then banished from the village.

Passang had the ability to understand different diseases and make its cures. The ability of Passang was known by only one person. But she was too afraid to tell about it as she thought she would be blamed like Passang. As the disease never stopped spreading, Passang’s friend finally spoke up. She told that Passang only knew the cure to the disease and that she was expert in it. 
 
Finally, the villagers desperately seek help from Passang and Passang first examined the disease and knew the problem. She went to the forest and collected a unique flower which contains a cure, extracted and provided it to the people. The sick people got better and they apologized for their mistreatment. She was able to return to her village at last.

Sherab Zangmo
Class VI C
Darla Middle Secondary School

Saturday, November 1, 2014

The 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. He 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,” he thought.
             
The condition of the day was brutal, and by evening, the wind busted some trees’ branches, the 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 first day of his school. Since Latu’s father and mother had gone to some 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 ghost and spooky things in the deep jungle. He was afraid of wild animals. Latu was late today as there was distribution of textbooks as it was the first day of the school. And as he was new, he was given the textbooks at last.

It was already six in the evening. He ran wildly to where ever his thought took. It was the swiftest run he ever made, and before he felt down on the ground with exhaustion, he saw a house in front of him. It was stone and mud built with a thatched roof. He wanted to ask whoever in the house to direct him a right way to his home. With a great relief he went inside the house. He flung opened the ajar door. He was greeted by a young girl of his age. She was cooking curry. Seeing an uninvited guest she shouted with fright for a minute or so. He looked, thirsted, and wished in despondent. Dazzling in stunned startle, he saw that she was simple looking, a slim, a bunched hair, an utmost level girl, a terribly pretty. He succumbed with impassive dumb at this instant.
 Oh God, to be loved by her!’
“Who are you…!” mumbled that girl.
“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 of music, and now, everything had become the trance of love and wish. Soon he esteemed that 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 in a poor home.
“I just wanted to ask you which way is Memey Dogdola house,” Latu quivered.
“Oh, you are the new guy from Thimphu, to study here. Go seven steps down from my house, and you have a straight path.” 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 other direction 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 women voiced it flashing torchlight again on Latu’s face.
“I’m Memey Dogdola’s grandson,” he said and he hurried down while they murmured and went inside.

He felt an awful emptiness going home, while the rain beat. He could only hear his heart beat. 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 full surprise. She was there too, in the same school, Nangkor High School, and the same class of nine.
“I didn’t see you the first day,” Latu said in the class.
“Yes, I stay 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 didn’t interest them than their romance. Their relationship developed a kind of bond that it 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. Reasoning rarely about their future, they decided to drop school and get married. The main reasons were that they couldn’t study nicely and were detained in the same grade, when school teachers groused about their manners, when their parents frequently reminded 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 ruined in the 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 hatred those people who seek to chitchat with her. Jealousy was 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 guts to write 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 respond. 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 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. Hell was how Latu lived. 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 was a nightmare. He couldn’t accept that so many months after 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 has 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 the brain cancer. I am 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 you 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 in Jigme Sherubling HSS in Khaling. It’s a true narration of one of my friends.)

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Coincidence (Story)


Life has many twists and turns, and these twists and turns are the facts and figures of realism. For every curve, there is a bending and for every bending there is a curve. For every significant day, there is an insignificant day. Because of this so-called not important day, a notable day is there in our life. There are moments in life, there are thoughtless days in our life, and there are unforgettable days in our life.

Pema too has this moment; an unforgettable day.

Pema, the celebrator of the day is a brilliant boy of ten. Brilliant; yes, he is the topper from his class. Teachers gasp at his art work. “What a beautiful drawing Pema?” And in school drawing competition, the first prize is booked for him, always. And that is Pema. Pema Tashi.

He is ten now, but he would never forget the day that shaped his life forward, blissfully. That was when he was eight years old.

He would care, recollect and muse over the day; the most important day of all his days in his life. It was a day when he heard that he had won poetry writing competition in the National level. He got the news on 12/11/2004. He was cherished, and one of the happiest persons in the whole world. It was the most important - the turning point in his life. Because of that particular article he became recognized figure now. The enamored day had encouraged him to continue writing from the heart and from his hand. It was not only that winning, but on that day something bizarre, unexpected, special sort of things happened to him. It was greater than his winning.

On November 11/2004, he had a dreamt; he was trudging in a dangerous cragged of rocks and was sweating to cross over this, the whole body sweated, and a moment later, from nowhere, there came a bird- he couldn’t name that bird, it was a white bird. The bird got beneath him and carried him to his said to be a home. It was such a beautiful home with the radiance of candles and butter lamps. In front of him was the Jampelyang- the god of wisdom. He bowed low. And soon, he was awoken by a piece of music. He couldn’t grasp the lines. That was just a dream! To hear the music, he slept again, but his slept was gone. It was already dawn. Knocks were all that he could hear.

Pema opened the door. And was surprised to see a bunch of friends near the door with newspapers with all smiles and claps from the morning. He was down –to the earth! What happened! Without any delayed, those friends told him, what he wouldn’t forget throughout his life. They showed him the newspaper; his poem and his name there. Last weekend, he had sent a poem to the newspaper for the Kids’ Poetry Competition. He wrote about a tree in the treeless land. How a tree had changed the lives of many people? How the tree had helped to shelter many lives? A single tree was it. He described the shape of the tree and the surrounding picture of land and weather conditions of the place. It was a good poem, he thought at least.

The poem was nominated as the best in the country. He had become a single lonely tree to be thronged by so many people within a short time. This day had changed him as his tree in the poem had changed many lives. In the struggle of his life, there came a white bird, this bird was his poem. He flew high. He was elated with the hived of life. The day was made more elated, when his English teacher read his poem and set him as an example to the fellow students. Miss.Dema read it for three times! His teachers were proud, his mates were proud. His school had something to be recognized. It was uplifted. Everyone congratulated him; the whole teachers, bunch of friends, bunch of girls. His mother, brothers and sisters all were over the moon. His tree had brought changes too. His whole life had U-turn. Life had no twist then, it moved straight; no crooked, no hooked. He was to stay here; writing and awards.

The day was swift, there were merriness everywhere, but one thing always hinged on his mind; his father return. He was said to have gone far for further studies or sort of training in USA. Pema had been waiting for him for more than six years. His father left him since he was two years old. Father sent letters. He sent photos. And it was only those photos, Pema had seen his father. His father sent love and hugs but never came. Pema’s mother expected him to return any time for his children, if not for her sack. “The hope of meeting my father will remain as my dream”, Pema said to his mother one day. She always made him think of other things than his father and always told him that he will come some day.

If Pema was to divide his mind into parts; about seventy percent of his mind was in merry mood. He felt incomplete on that day. The sun was moving and was touching the tip of the mountain. His heart melted down with the sun. His happiness began to melt down too. He was sitting in the entrance, reading his poem ‘Tree.’ Lost. There was a rush of wind and the sweet aroma from the door. Pema looked. He saw a gentle man, standing tall, looking at him, and smiling to him. It perfectly matched those photos. Behind the man, his mother beamed and came with a sudden outburst, “Here’s your father.”
Pema ran towards him, his happy tears ran down too. “What a coincidence of happiness,” Pema blurted out.

If his happiness was in volume, it would measure the whole space of the earth’s happiness.

From the long awaited father, Pema had expected something from him; his expectation did come true on that day. His father gave him a white laptop from his black suitcase, where he could do more writing. Moreover his father promised that he would stay the whole life with them. Pema had reached his happiness to the brimmed and that day had chosen him - the life had chosen him, the god had chosen him. He was the chosen one, the most important one, the most important one on that day, the day was unlike, and unlike was because of the series of momentous events of the day. Pema soon narrated his day’s events to his father and concluded with the remark, “This white bird is my white laptop.” The mother laughed out saying, “This white laptop is not a white bird.” And the father said, “This laptop is a white bird.” All laughed.

And that day was his important and the most colorful day in his life. If he ever had a remote control of his life, he would rewind and pause for there to have a slow enjoyment. And he wondered if he had a better dreamed like the dreamt he had on that day, and one day he hoped that the white bird would take him to the real world and hear him that beautiful music.


Sunday, January 13, 2013

Why Are You Reminded After a Long Time?



People say take stuff as it comes on the way; time is the only reason. I know this now! Sitting near the laptop, I feel like some flickering parts of my life has shattered and darkness has ascended. A swamp of memories rushes in upon me of long-struggles; my afflictions, my wasted life and my moments of loneliness. Now, I feel very hurt but I keep back those bad memories and thoughts to myself. A shameful consciousness of my own person harasses me. I see myself as clownish, the pitiable guy in a glimpse in the reflection. But I have learnt to shake off myself free of it and continue to caress my life. And I question now, why I had been so different and hesitant?
               
It was an awful empty days. The days were the longest and saddest of my life. It wasn’t until she ditched me like a duster.

She was so incredibly stunning. Central of  bait to many people like me, who had fallen and were victim of love. I played a little role in her life. She fooled me staying around all my life. I begun to sink further into the bleak of silent love, the more I watched, the more I despised my weakness. She tormented my thinking; never let me into good slept, visions and images filled all around me.

There were many students I could name them, who looked physically fine looking to my eyes, but her history told me that she had never accepted any one of them. She was viewed as an extravagant girl.

What happened when one love someone? It was a kind of an ambivalent feelings; I both hated and loved her, what was more? She was charming and gracious to boot. Love was nothing to do with the wealth and the fame or the beauty. It would simply happen. Loving her would love everything, if only I had her!

I wonder how these beautiful ladies react when they get too many attention and loving sweet smiles. How do they take in and feel with it. I guess, they would be high-flying in the buoyancy. I know, some ladies simply stab it in the heart with sweet poisoned knife, shattered green hearts, speak out the cruelest words, break hearts into pieces, and move away safely. And guys dissolve into unpredicted works; drinking, drugs, quarrellings, going mad, attempting suicide and more unsay- able acts.

These were some of my reasons that made me petrified and regretful.

In the college, I would wait, however, timing the moment when I could pass her on the stairs and gulp, “Good morning.” And she would answer cheerfully, “Good morning.”
And that was all that ever passed between us.

Women are like empty pots, waiting for the fillers. They need three sweetening rubbish reasons to fill them and make feel wanted and happy.

Watching her everywhere, anyplace, anywhere, she would laugh with her friends, roam with many boyfriends. Her heaven walked the space she occupied. But she, yes she, the girl whom I loved so much was ignorant of my presence. “Does she know if someone loved her?” I often asked that. The refusal was the most horrible drugs. In my thoughts, I would have done everything with her. Je ne sais quoi was she!

My tortured soul told me, “Hold her in now in arms and never let go.” But it wasn’t worth it. She must have a choice of her own, too. I was shilly-shallied.

“Will she makes a choice a man who he loves very much?” I wondered. At all cost I was away from her until and unless she wanted to see me. If not, I would only suffer.




Two years later, she came to meet me. I saw her again, looking sadden and worried.  I opened my mouth wide when she greeted me lovingly. I busted into a sly smile. My mind said, “How many years again she must make me suffer? Anyway, all loves never lead to married life. True love last forever- as long as you find another true love.”

The karma might have, it did not apply to me at that moment. When she put her hand on my shoulder and closed her eyes and asked, “Are you married?”
I couldn’t answer her. Although, my heart was brimming over with happiness. Just when I was wishing for it so much, she had come to me of her own accord.
It was the best and the worst thing happening in my life.
“Why?” I asked.
“He is dead!”
“Somebody you were in love with?” I asked her dryly.
A dull anger begun to gather at the back of my mind.
“Yes, a year back when he came to meet me, his car went off the road. I think he died because of me.”
Choking with sobbed and overcome by emotions she dropped down onto my knees.
Raged and thunderstorm raced in my blood.
“Do you think I’m a fool-spoiled brat? Do you think I’m your second man-to come and drive whenever you like?” I said into the voidness. She didn’t hear.

So she had had that romance in her life; wealthy man died for her sake. It pained to consider how poor a part I had played in her life. NO, not supposedly, it is the biggest role I played in her life.

The lady i had longed for so many years had vanished in just a second. On other hand, her girlish beauty had almost gone. But my past feeling towards her cooled the thunderstorm raging inside slowly. One by one, they all became shades, and then faded like the dying embers of fire. Soon generous tears filled my eyes. “Did she know what I was going through all those longed years?”

I was modestly taken by love. It poisoned me to ask her happily, “Sorry, what can I do for you”.
“I knew that for so many years that you wish to live with me,” she said in a remote tone. “I am sorry I ignored you. But why didn’t you tell me the day you loved me?”
The last sentence seemed hurting. “Only I was diffident and could not approach her lead to a story and wasted life. I regretted.” It rang in my mind.
“Yes now, I shouldn’t refuse you, I need you. I should not blame you for it was the only love, Choden.”I told her.

Trembled; with a mixture air of delight and sadness I stood close to her. She put her hands on my shoulder and at her sudden hug; I had fallen to her so easily.


But the story I never asked my wife now is about that wealthy lover who died for her sake. How long will it continue like this? In fact to our very last breathe. Because if you dig the decayed stool, it smells a lot.




Note: This story is a seemingly reflection of one of my friends and my own in some parts.