Holidays are the most sought after days. Everyone’s heart
would swirl and they would swing and whirl to the blissful tunes that their
heart have initiated. But it wasn’t the same for a poor girl. When everyone
would be happy at home with their lovely parents, she would be far from her
home, the dwellers of whom she hardly knew. Others would be taking rest after
hectic school days while she would be lending a helping hand to someone. She
would be in the field harvesting potatoes or carrying farmyard manure to their
field or help them cook and do other household chores. But why can’t she do the
same back at her home?
Neither does she find charm in laughing at jokes created by
her friends nor comment on it. She liked being alone and isolated more than
being in a group. Only does she become the hungriest shark when it comes to
learning. She does group study or discussion only if necessary. Otherwise,
she would rather be out in the corridor, the terrace, the meeting hall or any
other place where she could find solitude and peace of mind. She was accustomed
to it and she liked it. She would rather plug in her earphone than to be
plagued by envy and depression on hearing her friends talk about how much their
parents love, care and sacrifice for them.
Nevertheless, she used to appreciate as well as envy those
Indian girls for having a father who accompanies them everywhere like a
bodyguard and the intimate bond they share. Her heart wept every time she witnessed
such incidences. She said to herself, “How fortunate of them to have parents
who insist them to eat, to study, to sleep, to wake them up in the morning,
tell them the dos and don’ts, usher them good values of life and act as an
inspirational force behind their child’s every step”. But she had none.
A laughter or smile could be hardly induced in her and even
if she did, it wasn’t from her heart. She would hardly involve in a gossip or a
conversation unless a necessary intervention was required. Her face would be
marked by sternness or seriousness, the reason here to be foretold. The wall of
endurance and patience that she built around herself for decades trembled down
when she could no longer hold herself from penning down her emotional cries and
let the world realize what a life she had been through. No one would have
endured a life like hers and no one would understand her as much as she does
herself.
The way the
mother earth welcomed her to the world of being was in itself a harsh start.
Instead of the cozy blanket and bed, she landed with her head down on a
stepping stone near the door step while her mother tried to get hold of the
wooden pillar erected there. Though in utmost pain, her mother reached her
gentle hands but only to pick her motionless baby girl. Her helpless mother
shed tears of agony for the loss she have had incurred. But the twist of faith came
when the baby she was holding sprang back to life with a sudden jerk and gave
her first and the heartiest cry. Her mother’s face glowed and glistened even
through the tears.
Her mother's happiness was obscured by sadness on the
other side of the coin. Her mother was abruptly flabbergasted when her father
walked away from them. He walked out of the house, barefoot with a bamboo basket
on his back and his only hand woven woolen blanket in it. They barely exchanged
a glance and neither of them uttered a single word. But he left her when she
was just three days old, when she could barely open her eyes.
Her mother who was giving bath to her could
not control but let her tears drop incessantly into the wooden tub beneath. She
almost lost the control of her senses only to be brought back by the shrill cry
from beneath in response to the water that has become as cold as the
surrounding air.
There was no malice intended in what he was
doing but he was left with no choice than to proceed when her grandparents
drove him away for so silly a reason. They ruthlessly said that he is unfit as
their daughter’s husband but did they ever give a second thought for the child
in between? Never! And they would never.
An
astrologer predicted something about her to her mother, “You won’t be able to
raise her or she won’t live long but if she does, she will be someone with
merit and luck that you will be the luckiest to have her. Let me have her
called as ‘Namgangmo’, corresponding to the tenth day of the Bhutanese calendar
of this December month on which she was born”. A mixed feeling of chillness and
thrill raced through her spines upon hearing so.
Once, her
mother had to leave to a far flung village after having her entrusted to her
grandmother. Her mother returned back to witness blisters all over her
daughter’s leg. The catastrophe took its toll when her grandmother left her
wrapped in a blanket nearby an oven. She moved and somehow fell into the
vicinity of the fire. Her grandmother arrived back to extinguish the blazing
fire when her entire left leg was burnt. She was destined to live though.
The pages
of the calendar were wiped away by time and the time came for her to stroll to school. She was sent to study her pre-primary at Thinleygang with her uncle who
worked there as a Health Assistant.
The
following year, she was brought back to her village to pursue her primary
schooling. It was one of the torturing moments she have had. Captains would
beat her for not giving them papers, given
they would collect bundles from the
innocent ones and stitch it into books for themselves; a teacher slapped her in
the assembly for her absence in the morning study in place of medicine for the
toothache that plagued her the entire morning; a
captain would beat her every time during meals for not accepting his proposal; the then headmaster had her head hit with the same wooden hammer that she is supposed to ring the bell for her failure to do so on time. She was required to ring the bell in every less than an hour or so as bell captain and she once failed when her sleep overtook her senses.
The
situation wasn’t any different back at home. It would hardly be 5 a.m. in the
morning and her grandmother would scare the hell out of her. “Hey... lazy pig!
Would you come out of bed yourself or should you welcome me there?” Knowing the
taste of the thin leather strap very well, she would jump out of her bed.
Without even a cup of water, she would hurry towards the cattle shed and untie
the ropes tethering each one of them to poles, before the next dose of poison stung her
fragile heart.
“Can’t you
take them little further where pasture is plenty?” comes the next order from
the self-appointed boss. “Still, there she is, strolling like a tortoise; you
won’t bear it when I give you some activation energy on your feet. Are you
waiting for that?” With fire in her eyes, she would chase the cattle with the
thought,” I am not following your order, mind you, but I want you out of my
sight”.
When it was
time to milk the cows, she would be terrified to see some of them missing and
her grandmother blazed into the flame of anguish, “Didn’t I tell you to keep an
eye on each one of them? Are you turning a deaf ear to me or have you become
blind? Better go and find them now or else you will be deprived of breakfast
today”. With tears welled up in her eyes and lumps choking her throat, she would go.
A thought occurred to her, “Why didn’t she let me be engulfed by the fire that
caught me once if she hated me so much. I wish I was dead there than to be
treated so”.
“Eat less
and work more” and with this comes the bang on her back. “I bet this girl is
having a stomach of horse and food pipe of a bird; taking hours to finish
breakfast”.
When she
brought her lunch box, her grandmother would exaggerate, “Our neighborhood girl
always goes to herd the cattle without lunch. Not even a bottle of water would
she be carrying. But this bastard won’t spare”. Her mind would be fogged by the
pain her grandmother had inflicted but none would be there to assuage the pain.
She would
come to an abrupt halt to hear the devil shout again, “Do I need to remind you
every time to carry the bamboo basket? How dare you could go empty handed
without spindle and wool with only a dozen cattle to lay your eyes upon? I will
evaluate you in the evening on how much yarn you have spun”.
In the
evening, she would arrive with the cattle, firewood laden bamboo basket on her
back; lunch bag and spindle clutched in each one of her hands. Beads of perspiration
clung to her dreary forehead. The moment she came into sight, she would
start receiving orders. “Drop that load of yours and start washing the plates and
the utensils there in the kitchen. And after that, quickly start kneading dough for the dinner tonight”...
(to be continued in Part II)
