The roadside dreams

Somewhere near Thrumsingla, by the side of the road to Mongar, there is a small lonely hut. Chhimi was born in this hut one cold autumn night. At that time of the year, even the nomadic herders had started to migrate downwards for fear of cold, but her parents, being road-workers (Gyelyong Lemi) had to stay on here to clear a roadblock caused by a recent mudslide.

"Ungee...ungeee...." her first cry echoed far and wide among the forlorn landscape, announcing her arrival in this selfish world. Her father said a small prayer in his heart, invoking the mountain deities to protect his little princess. He had conducted the delivery himself. Hardly any vehicles passed through that place at night. It was a silent night, except for her cry.

When his wife complained of abdominal pain that evening, he had waited for someone to give them a lift to Mongar hospital. But all cars paid no heed to his request, and sped by proudly along the very road that he helped to keep open. What an irony of life!

But he did not complain. He never did. A sincere man, he worked hard. He and his wife each earned Nu. 3,000 a month. That was enough for their life on the roadside. Whether they were happy or not, I am not sure. Contented, they were.

Days rolled into months and months rolled into years. Chhimi grew up sleeping or playing under the shade of trees and rocks, as her parents carried on their work on the road.

"Look, how beautiful our daughter is growing up to be." He said to his wife one Sunday as they sat outside listening to BBS broadcast on an old transistor radio, their prized possession."Yes, soon it will be time to send her to school." She replied."She should live a better life than ours." They agreed and continued to watch her play.

But as it often happens, some dreams are hard to be realized and they remain just a dream forever.

When Chhimi was five, they had to move to a more remote place. The next year, a new baby was born to her parents. And the next place that they had to move to did not have a school nearby. In the midst of such circumstances, Chhimi's time to go to school just went past like a speeding train. There was no next train.

Her childhood saw her babysitting her younger sister, collecting water and firewood for the hut, and then at 12, joining her parents on the road-works.

Nobody thought it strange that a child should waste her learning years by the roadside. Most of the children of road-workers did not attend school. It was normal. This ensures another generation of laborers for our roads.

Today, Chhimi is 17 years old. She got married last year with a man who also works on the road. She is pregnant with her first child. Will she have the luxury to give birth in a hospital? Will her child ever get to go to school? These are just some of the questions that came to my mind as I watched her pregnant body making effort to break endless heaps of stones in the hot sun by the roadside.