I have been away for quite some time. I didn’t write any articles of late. My apologies. Where did I vanish? Why didn’t I write? I was busy and couldn’t write; perhaps it didn’t matter any how.
I was on tour to remote villages under Laya, Jarey, Hilley geogs. Usually after my trips, I write about my trips (how it was and what I saw on the way and the like) but this time I want to write a story of a person I met in Laya. He told me his true story with tears rolling down his red Layap cheeks. He is in his mid 30s, Smart and strong. I will write in 1st person as if he writes this himself.
I am a Layap. Laya is beautiful and I love my village. As a kid, I grew up in the cold harsh weather. I chewed chugo (harden cheese balls). I learned ABC, 1-2-3 and Ka-Kha-Ga etc in one of those cracked classrooms of Laya school. I played with our yaks. I went to jangsa (pasture lands) to reach rations for my father occasionally. I was happy and I enjoyed our own Layap way of life.
Education gave me a ride on the wheels of modernity. Town life invited me for a free ride. I rode on. The walk down from Laya to Gasa was fresh, cool and pure. The night halt at Koina (half way) was dark, silent and memorable.
Mochu, the famous river still gushes down the unchanged gorges, with same purity, originating somehow, some where from within my village. Nothing much has changed the trees, beasts and the peaks. My life got a different story though.
Partial education at partially civilized society got me a job of a driver in one of the ministries. I drove educated people. I began to learn modern ways of living. I was part of the modern city—Thimphu. Life was completely different from my childhood days. I missed my mixed colour yak. Also I missed my cute little darling back home. Thimphu grew in size, space and numbers. I got older, bolder and more experienced in living modern life. I won one of the most beautiful woman’s hearts. I was happily spending my life with my wife in Thimphu adapting to city life. And one fine day everything changed for ever.
I was on an official tour. I came home tried yet in hope and smile only to find my wife missing—would you believe? My wife left me for another better man, a Dasho. And I was a mere driver, for the fact. I loved her dearly despite being a prawn like mere driver in the chess board of employment and life’s game. May be I couldn’t offer her material wealth, but I thought I showered her with all the true and pure Love I had in my small little heart (now wounded with a big scar though). I got depressed. I lost her and I couldn’t take the loss. I went mad or I was tagged mad by people around. I couldn’t bear the tears I cried of losing her—my only way to prove that I really and dearly loved her. I was arrested and beaten up in custody. I lost my job, lost my wife to the Dasho and was about to lose my life. I was deported back to my village and here I am with this story, me, my life and my wife.
My state, no one understands, will never attempt to understand I guess. Life seems to be, all about give and take. I got nothing on offer. Layaps, my own village folks do not accept me in their society. Forget about other people, my own family and relatives care less about my state and living. I am a gypsy and I live a vagabond life. This is where I am and what I got for getting married to a beautiful wife and loving her dearly.