The Chiseled Plan (15/02/25)

The Chiseled Plan

The present story was written on 21st September, 2017.

[This story is dedicated to one Mr. Sonam Tshewang and some other wonderful people, who have been encouraging me to take to writing more seriously. “Will be looking forward to the next one. “In case you are getting fed up with my story writing spree, let me tell you that I’ve two more bundles of answer-scripts coming up today that’d keep me busy for the next week or so. Happy weekend.]

The Chiseled Plan

DHAA…..RR…MM!

It’s a loud thud as if something or somebody had fallen down the mossy, grassy wall some 15 feet high in between the shortcut that separated the raised ground on one side, which the local people used for playing archery on holidays, and the Teachers’ Quarters on the other.

Mr. K.C. Jose was about to retire to his bed when he was startled by the loud sound. Extremely conscientious by nature, he started scurrying through his books on the table, trying to find his torch.

“What’re you doing now?” asked his wife from the bed with the blanket up half way through. Their only child was lying beside her, sound asleep.

“Didn’t you hear the sound? Are you deaf or what? I think a cow or something’s fallen down,” countered Mr. Jose irritably.

“Do you think you’re the only male teacher around this place? If anything’s fallen down, there will be others out there soon.

Switch off the light. I’ve got to get up early tomorrow for the

Chemistry Practical…”

Deki, the niece of Lop. Ngawang was brushing her teeth on the passage leaning against the railing atop the concrete stairway in between the buildings. She was just charmed by the early sky turning from black to pinkish in the eastern horizon above the boys’ hostel, when something lying below the leaking pipe on the uncared gardens with the wild plants and weeds two feet tall, caught her attention. What’s that? A man? With his face upside down and legs doubled up? Holding her breath, she ran in to call her uncle. The police were duly called. They came in their van and cordoned off the area. The doctor from the hospital joined them soon. After an hour or two came the fingerprint specialist from Thimphu. While a couple of teachers holding their kids by the hands, watched the hub of activities, silently from a distance.

Back in Phulbari, a small village at the edge of Jolekha town, life was beginning to stir up in the early hours of the morning. Am Demo was sweeping the area near her shop. She was a hefty woman, in her mid-thirties. She looked more than her actual age. On this particular morning she looked haggard and worn out. Her husband, the drunkard, the eternal parasite didn’t come back home again last night, like he did on most of the nights these days. She was cursing her luck when two policemen came, asked her to follow them inside and consequently informed her of the tragic death of her husband. The poor lady looked aghast, shell-shocked and couldn’t even cry out like most other women would have done in her case. They left soon after with the word that they would be coming back again.

Sitting there on the sofa, Am Demo looked out the window into the distance, thinking about the tricks Life had always played on her. In her childhood, Demo was a good student. But she’d to leave school after her father died of a stomach ulcer. There was no one to run the shop. Acho Tshewang, her father’s friend, though a few years younger to her late father, proved himself to be a god-send in those days. No one in Phulbari knew much about him though. He was a good looking bloke once. But lately, he spent most of his time at their shop, helping them with the chores.

What had to happen, happened. Now with her father gone, Acho Tshewang, under the spell of alcohol one night, took her virginity. She bore his son in due course of time. All her dreams of a happy married life went down the drains. She pinned all her hopes on her son subsequently. She was careful to deal with him with a firm hand from the beginning.

As Lekden, her son, started growing up, Ap Tshewang continued living his life much the same way. His day began with some pegs of Highland from the racks and he went to bed reeking of alcohol as well. Initially, Am Demo tried removing the drinks from the racks till her shop survived on serving drinks to the customers. The sales of the stationeries were not very profitable. Bringing the bottles of highland from the hidden places did not help things either. Besides, when she had removed the bottles of highland, Ap Tshewang would go for whatever was available. After breakfast, he would stay out most of the time and be back home, if she was lucky, just after dark. Of late, Am Demo had started taking a strong dislike to his behaviour. There was no change in the lifestyle of the rascal. But who cared? A couple of days back, he came back home drunk as usual, uselessly picking up a quarrel with the son she doted upon. When she tried to intervene, she was pushed against the burning bukhari (1). Luckily for Am Demo, but for the back of her left palm which got burnt a little, there were no major injuries.

She did not know where that strength came from but despite the pain in the left hand, she got up, caught him staggering by the neck and implanted the fear of God in him with her verbal outburst. The next day, she was sitting behind the shelf, ruing her life, when Roald (actually that was his nickname as in his younger days, he was a die-hard fan of Renaldo) turned up. She had recently started taking a liking to this lanky young man with the physique of a boxer. She poured out her frustrations to him. Soon they were seen discussing something with their heads put together.

“I’m telling you…a man in his senses might, but a man out of his senses, doesn’t stand a chance. Have faith in me and do what I’ve asked you to…” Roald left soon afterwards.

That night when Ap Tshewang came back a bit early, he was surprised to see Am Demo in a good mood. She even offered him some ara fried in butter with eggs. While the few customers were enjoying their drinks, she came back to their bedroom and asked him if he could go out near the turning and get the money she owed from a friend. Ap Tshewang was humming “Bum, Bum, Bum, chewa mindu mei..” despite his wavering steps as he went out.

He met Roald near the BPC colony. He asked him if Ap Tshewang would be interested in a peg, an offer he gleefully accepted. While taking the shortcut through the trail behind the teachers’ quarters, Ap Tshewang was on the left, just above the wall bordering the teachers quarters. The lights in the quarters were out. Teachers are nice people, they go to bed early. All that was needed was a slight push with his shoulder. Ap Tshewang fell headlong into the dungeon. ‘Wai lama’ remained stuck in his throat as the creatures from hell took hold of his last breath.

After a day of hectic activities, interrogations and reports, the police passed the verdict in Am Demo’s favour. Next day there was a short, shocking article in a corner of Kuensel (2):

A man called Ap. Tshewang, a resident of the Phulbari area, fell off the wall behind the teachers’ quarters in Jolekha and lost his life instantaneously. The police investigation denied any foul play and confirmed that the man died under the heavy influence of liquor…

Life in Jolekha town went as usual.

The End.

Author’s Notes :

(1) bukhari – a multi-purpose oven used mainly for cooking and keeping rooms warm.

(2) Thimphu -Thimphu, a beautiful town, is the capital of Bhutan. 

The end