Windhorse by Kaushik Barua

Author:Kaushik Barua
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2013-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

16

BOD RANGZEN

1963: New Delhi, India

‘I’ll go for the meeting. I want to see. But I don’t want to be too involved.’ Norbu shrugged.

‘Don’t want to be too involved? Because these are the kind of people you shouldn’t be involved with?’ Dolma asked.

‘The two Khampas who came seemed okay. Lhasang and Ratu.’

‘I was joking,’ Dolma said.

‘I know. But they’re following this guy named Thupten, Thupten-la.’

‘And what about him?’

‘He’s raising a rebel army. I’ve heard things about these rebels.’

‘What kind of things?’

‘That some were bandits. They stole from Chinese camps.’

‘So, let’s think about this,’ said Dolma. ‘They stole from the people who are occupying them. That makes them bandits. And when your father steals from the Indian government, it’s obviously okay. Because he does it over a bottle of Scotch.’

‘Stop bugging me about my dad. He’s worked bloody hard his whole life for it,’ said Norbu. ‘And that’s true. It doesn’t matter what else he’s done.’ He stepped out with the dog.

Outside, as the day rustled to life, Norbu walked Rani through the lanes, tugging her away from the piles of garbage or translucent corners of piss which interested her immensely. Norbu had skipped work for the day. He didn’t like the idea of shirking his responsibilities, but this wasn’t neglect of duty, it was simply prioritizing: Tibet over work. But if he lost his job, he would lose face. In front of whom? Karma? However, he had already walked out on his parents. In fact, it was a wonder Karma hadn’t got him fired from the job. He couldn’t talk to Karma anymore; not after the fertilizer-girl suggestion — no, order.

Should he just surrender and join his father’s business? Or join Dolma in whatever plans she had? Plans, what plans? Become an officer in Dharamsala? Sometimes he sensed, more with his gut than with his mind, that there was another destination for him, some destination, nameless and barely visible — like a lighthouse in the fog. But who would understand this? Not his parents. He hoped, and sometimes he feared, Dolma did.

He was nervous about the meeting. And excited. Could these people actually fight and free Tibet? They would have to be great warriors, heroes. Or a bunch of madmen — was there a difference? If he was Tibetan — and he was — didn’t he owe a bit of himself to their insane quest? He was worrying too much. All he had to do was translate for some American guy.

He spent more than an hour outside. That was enough for the dog and for Norbu. When he returned, Dolma had already left for work. After a breakfast of daal and rice leftover from the previous night, he still had too many hours to kill before the meeting. He knew what he could do. Start working on a guide for his student Ugen, the two-syllable kid.

Norbu drew a line through each page, one side for the Tibetan text and the other for its English translation. First he tackled the three persons: first, second and third, making sure the Tibetan words included both the normal and the honorific.

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