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

Friday, August 25, 2017

Life of Trees - A Story



The Life of Trees

A similar incident happened in my village once. @first draft 2016


There was a valley; it was a kind of 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 at the side of the vicinity. These villagers were fertile in terms of sex; each year the population double and by and by the resources became scarce day by day. For example, to get some firewood, every day, they needed to go further and further.

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

The basis of these poisonous arrowheads was the river in between them. While it flowed geographically downhill, people on both sides declared ownership. The river became a spill particularly in the 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 fields. The result? The river 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 have running water canals for their own home had built up inside every mind. The conse­quence was an ill effect as the river was too small to provide sufficient to every 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 house 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 then. People in congregations went in the night to divert water to their own field. It became a routine, and there were times when both the villagers would be there in the night diverting the water to their waterways. Fights would break up, and there would be a 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, not even animals. 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 water wasn’t sufficient.

Soon, villagers began to point their fingers at each other and 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 a right. So there were baseless arguments. The village became a good example of a lack of organiza­tion and cooperation. Everyone was a master. The natives mud­dled themselves. All were one, but one was not for 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 as 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 outragious 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 began to hack 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 number of rituals for the rain god to release as many 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 the energy to work as they lacked basic nutrition diet.

Then, 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. Everyone 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 were 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 the country. Some permanently locked their homes and went to their relatives’ houses. Some went looking for jobs of any kind. A few groups of people from both villages had nowhere to go, so they had to stay. Whatever might be, they wouldn’t mingle with each other and talk.

That was this dark tragedy in these villages. After seven years, the terrific rains - unknown in their history, washed away many houses. It had cost life of seven people; three from one village and four from another. This incident had repercussions on them 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 question to be asked. They stared at 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 groups 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 the 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. This brunt was 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 a happy reunion. It turned out to be an informal gathering. Many even talked about private matters and some common things with another. At that time, 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 thousand 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.

Seventeen years later, a for­est of trees grew from where their grandparents had planted. The river once again flowed noisily. People who left the village came with a big congratulations. Birds and animals roamed. Their neighboring villages looked upon them with awe 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 a 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 use in 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 it on the blog.

Once upon a time, there lived a woman named Passang. She lived on a mountainside in a small hut made of bamboo. She lived in a fresh surroundings 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 a 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 an 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 that 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

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.)

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 artwork. “What a beautiful drawing Pema?” And in a 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 a poetry writing competition at 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 a 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 dream; he was trudging in a dangerous cragged of rocks and was sweating to cross over this, his 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 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 sleep was gone. It was already dawn. Knocks were all that he could hear.

Pema opened the door. And he 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 a 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 his fellow students. Miss. Dema read it 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, a bunch of friends, a bunch of girls. His mother, brothers, and sisters all were over the moon. His tree had brought changes too. His whole life had a U-turn. Life had no twist then, it moved straight; no crooked and no hooked. He was to stay here; writing and awards.

The day was swift, there was merriness everywhere, but one thing always hinged on his mind; his father's returns. He was said to have gone far for further studies or some sort of training in the USA. Pema had been waiting for him for more than six years. His father left him since he was two years old. His 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 my papa 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 someday.

If Pema was to divide his mind into parts; about seventy percent of his mind was in a 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 meltdown too. He was sitting in the entrance, reading his poem ‘Tree.’ Lost. There was a rush of wind and a sweet aroma from the door. Pema looked. He saw a gentleman, standing tall, looking at him, and smiling at 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 his 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 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 dream 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 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 solution. I know this now! Sitting near the laptop, I feel like some flickering parts of my life have shattered and the darkness has ascended. A swamp of memories rush 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 learned 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 day. The days were the longest and saddest of my life. That wasn’t before she ditched me like a duster.

She was so incredibly stunning. Central of bait to many people like me, who had fallen and were victims of love. I played a little role in her life. She fooled me staying around all my life. I began 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 loves someone? It was a kind of ambivalent feeling; I both hated and loved her, what was more? She was charming and gracious. Love was nothing to do with wealth and fame or 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 much attention and loving sweet smiles. How do they take in and feel with it? I guess, they would be flying high in the space. I knew some ladies simply stab it in the heart with a sweet poisoned knife, shattered green hearts, speak out the cruelest words, break hearts into pieces, and move away silently. 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 drug. 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. My mouth was opened wide when she greeted me lovingly. I busted into a sly smile. My mind said, “How many years must she want to make me suffer? Anyway, all love never leads to married life. True, love lasts forever- as long as you find another true love.”

The karma might have, it did not come 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 left me and he is dead now!”
“Somebody you were in love with?” I asked her dryly.
A wave of dull anger begun to gather at the back of my mind.
“Yes, a year back when he left me and home cause of some quarrals, on his way his car went off the road. I think he died because of me.”
Choking with some sobs, she was overcome by her emotions as she dropped down onto my knees.
Raged. A huge rush of thunderstorm raced in my blood.
“Will you kill me too? 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; a wealthy man died because of 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 the other hand, her girlish beauty had almost gone. But my past feeling towards her cooled the thunderstorm raging inside. One by one, they all became shades, and then faded like the dying embers of the fire. Soon generous tears filled my eyes. “Did she know what am I going through all those longed years?”

I was modestly taken by love. It poisoned, most probably by her beautiy. I ask her happily, “Sorry, what can I do for you”.
“I knew you 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 to hurt. “Only I was diffident and could not approach her lead to a story and a 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 and 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 smelled a lot.




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