Inspired from an entry in my closet (1985)

My closet is a collection of diaries from the olden times, entered by my ancestors at one time or the other.

My trip to Bhutan was supposed to be a peaceful one trekking along the ridges until I found the first settlement. I had arrived three days earlier, facilitated by the palace and arrangements were made at a  local guest house close to the palace. My friend had come along to catch up with his old friends. He was born in Bhutan but had taken up British citizenship. I came across the neatly collared gentleman while I was talking to the men guarding the Indian side of the borders. A small talk about security led into talks about culture and Buddhism. Thereafter we spent two days in Sikkim, before heading towards Bhutan. He had expedited all my arrangements, paperwork etc, otherwise traveling to Bhutan can be more expensive than you might have imagined. The country wasn’t poor but is yet to see the flourishing times. The King was struggling with power hungry elements in his own regime. It was the Summers of 1959.

Mick, my friend’s name, he had shortened his name from what he calls was an inconvenient name for the English. He had migrated twenty years back and had married a Polish girl who took a lot of interest in Buddhism. Earlier his parents had moved from Tibet to Bhutan when they had to run away for better future and bitter past. Mick had taken a step further. At Britain he had created a representation for the Dalai Lama. At Thimpu Mick conveniently slipped into the traditional gho. How Bhutanese he looked. But I would have perhaps said the same thing about him if I were to see him in Tibet. I finally did manage to ask him one question though, ‘what makes people in the mountains bear such a short stature?’. He replied curtly, ‘Did you notice something?’ I asked back ‘What?’. ‘I eat more than you do, I drink more than you do, still I weigh less than you do and can carry more than you do.’ I simply nod my head. They are all strong and their stature is just perfect for the amount of movement they have to undergo and the funny thing is that there wasn’t a lot of public conveyance. I saw a couple of Rolce Royce models in the palace garage that the king took out once in a while to tour his town or when emissaries from abroad arrived in town. Had I represented India, a Rolce Royce would have ploughed for me as well. I had to do  with porters until then, walking along to the guest house. Our walk along the ridge was supposed to start next day in the morning. I had the entire evening and the night to pack. I was never the hurried type, I always did my things at the last instance.

Mick had called some of his old friends over in the evening. I was so cold that I slipped into a gho over my regular shirt and trouser. A team of cooks had taken up the kitchen to cook for the evening. Drinks passed along the hands of the guests with a few more expected. The room dazzled in jewelry, smoke and glasses and the chandeliers lit in oil. I took some local liquor, and it was evident when I repeatedly started appreciating the drink when he invited me for the second filling. His eyes twinkled. I often sneaked to the window to watch the sun go down. The clear blue sky invited you to get out of the four walls, out into the open. I did so, listening only to one voice, mine. The liquor did have its mesmerizing effect on me and I gave in to my urges. As I stepped out and went around the block, I saw Mick standing in a hiding and talking to a fellow, strangely dressed, looking more like a tribal. I could make that much out, though I was sure that if somebody even slapped my head as a mark of greeting, I would have knocked out. I dragged myself. Mick noticed me and held the boy at his shoulders. I then realized that it wasn’t a boy, but a woman but I was sure she was a tribal. He came to me and softly helped me sit on a stool next to him. He told me that he would explain later. He gave the woman some instructions and she stood there, next to me. The liquor had so tripped me that a blink to me seemed like an eternity. I remember that I smiled and asked the woman what her name was, but couldn’t really understand what she said, but that she uttered, is something I can vouch for. She was dark and muscular. I kept smiling and noticed her small feet. I heard a march of feet on cobbles, I thought I was dreaming. The woman shot from the spot like an arrow, through the fields and disappeared. A few officers appeared and started asking questions. Seeing that I wasn’t in the right shape to answer questions, one officer stayed back to keep an eye on me while the rest went inside the guest house. I heard a strange shout from the fields, a shriek that could pierce the ears of an entire population; I again thought I was hallucinating. I remembered how I had read somewhere that sodium in brains could make you hallucinate, which happened when you are dehydrated.  I felt amply dehydrated. Suddenly I felt the thirst killing me, I felt all dry and shriveled up.

I woke up in an alien environment. My head was heavy. I blinked a few times to clean the film off my eyes. My glasses were still on me, I touched to feel it’s presence. I saw the likeliness of a police station and recalled that I was in Bhutan. I saw the bars standing between me and what seemed to be a ray of light entering the doors. I looked around and found a few bodies heaped up. I felt the stink. Why did prisons in all countries have to stink so bad? Mick, I remembered him, where was he?

I was released two days later and sent back to India where I was a free man again. I was ofcourse sent back with a warning never to step into Bhutan again, that was hard luck. I kept hunting for the story that I had missed inspite of being a part of it. The shout of the tribal, Mick speaking to her and his disappearance, somehow the story always haunted me. If only I could see him once again, I could finish the leftovers on the canvas.

Yesterday I happened to be cleaning my things from the younger times. I came across my backpack that I stared at for a long time. I had brought the same one to Bhutan. The canvas had shriveled. Those days hadn’t seen the modern hi-tech fabrics. I opened it up and took a wrapped piece of clothing out. I dusted it. It smelt naptha. My wife must have slipped in a few balls. I let it open full length and put it against me, infront  of the mirror, just to see how I must have looked like thirty years earlier; handsome indeed. I slipped it on. Something felt hard on the back. I removed it again and felt for the spot. It felt papery. I examined it closely on both side and saw stitch marks. I pulled the tread out and it revealed a pocket. A paper was neatly packed inside. It looked partially yellow, but felt older than what it looked, like me. I read,

‘Dear brother,

You must have been deeply surprised by my disappearance. Don’t worry I am in safe lands, far away. I wanted to tell you the truth but couldn’t, a lot of things are at stake. I know you have tons of questions, but I can’t answer them, it goes against my allegiance to the royal family and Bhutan. But I hope that however much you were drunk yesterday, you found the woman beautiful. She is my sister.

I am glad that you travelled with me and apologize for your trip being cut short, but there isn’t another alternative, security is at stake.

I hope you live a good life brother, perchance we will meet again.

Regards,

Mick’