Lioness

Today I was reminder by Facebook and my internet browser that it is Mothers Day. So I wanted to know more about it. I find out that the celebration is an invention of an American Anna Jarvis, who wanted to commemorate her mother. This day is celebrated on the second Sunday of May. So hence today. 

And I have always wanted to write something about my Ama, so today I finally did so, digging through my earliest memories at Tsirang, going on to Trashigang and Yangtse.

My Ama's Love

I have always called my mother Ama, unlike the various names that children of this generation call their mother. Accompanying Apa on his various postings across Bhutan, living in new places, learning new languages have certainly has kept her strong even in her late years.  

Ama can speak a variety of languages and dialects, including a working knowledge of spoken English, Hindi, and Nepali. She used to speak in Nepali among us when she wanted to talk in secret while we were among others. She speaks Hindi and English only in jest, but I can assure you that she can converse quite well in these languages. Her physical strength has not been dimmed by the 17 odd children she gave birth to.

Being the second youngest, I guess I was also at the receiving end of more of their love than other siblings. All those years I remember my growing up with my mother, there is one incident that brings pride to my heart. That was one single moment that made me realize how much family meant to her.

Ama is always the pillar upon which Apa leans; Photo at Rangshikhar, Trashigang

Life Changed

It was in 1990. The infamous uprising had already started from some other places a few weeks ago, and the momentum had reached Lamidara (present-day Meldrelgang) in Tsirang. One fine spring evening, the life as we knew changed forever. 

There were seven of us siblings in various stages of schooling in Lamidara school. Apa was the Zhungkha teacher then, also tasked to teach Driglam Namzha to the students. We lived in a small thatched cottage among the paddy fields. The nearest neighbor was further than shouting-distance, so we literally lived in the middle of nowhere. Three local students also lived with us, since their home was too far away from school.

That spring evening, chaos erupted. Demonstrators came in trucks and swept upon the local high school as they were immersed in their evening prayers. Brandishing knives and sticks, they captured almost all the local ethnic students, who were forcefully rounded up for a planned further march to Thimphu. Only the 'botey' were left unharmed. Amidst the commotion my siblings escaped home. Luckily me and younger sister were already home; we being in class PP and II respectively. Our afternoon classes were off so we escaped the brunt of the commotion.

The Night of Fear

We cooped up inside our house in the middle of the paddy field. Where else could we go? There was no contingency plan for such happenstance.

Later as the evening stretched into the night, we could still hear terrifying yelps from afar. The sounds were frightening. In the distance we could make our odd human shapes peering in the darkness, almost looking straight at us. We feared that these demonstrators might target Apa, since he had been teaching Driglam Namzha to the local ethnic students. Who knows what misgiving might have taken root in their minds?

Slowly darkness engulfed the countryside. A kerosene-lamp was lit, the fire in the hearth kept low, while Apa was on the lookout from the crack of the window, his patang never leaving his side. We prayed that our house would blend in the darkness of the night, so that we might pass off incognito. We kids were huddles on the bed, scared, quiet and not hungry at all. 

Suddenly I heard a sharp breath of intake. Apa beckoned Ama to his side. He pointed to the far distance, to the path that led in the general direction of our house. A beam of light was streaming into the distance, pointed towards our house. 

Apa and Ama at Kichu Lhakhang, Paro

The Wait

I heard a whispered consultation, after which Apa eased himself out of the house disappearing into the darkness. I saw his hand clutch around the patang's handle ever so tightly. I also espied a trickle of sweat on his forehead but his eyes looked determined. I caught his eyes as he left, and it was the eyes of a cornered lion. He knew he was surrounded, but he was not going to go out without a fight.

Suddenly I was afraid. I let out a whimper as I was hastily drawn into a bear hug by my elder sister. We waited with bated breath as the old grandfather clock went tick tock....tick tock into the silent night.

Ama wielded a thick-bladed sickle in her hand as she stood right at the door. I did not see any fear in her eyes. Instead there was a strength that I had never noticed before. He eyes were burning bright with bravery. I saw Goddess Durga right there.

And we waited. I dare say we might even have stopped breathing, anticipating the door to come crashing down anytime.

The Finale

After a long time, we heard murmurs approach the door.

'Ama! Open the door' Apa called out softly. With him were three of his friends from work, who has been sent by the Headmaster to evacuate us to his house inside the school campus. Apa hastily explained how he nearly hacked at his friends in the darkness. Apa had been waiting to ambush whoever was coming en route to our house, and had they not called out Apa's name, there might have been few lifeless bodies lying in the dirt.

Hastily we each packed a bag and trudged towards safety.

...

These days when the family gathers, we sometimes dwell back to that life we led in Tsirang. As we recount that particular night, Ama still shares that she was determined she would have killed anyone to protect us. 

That is my mother, the Lioness ready to defend her cubs, even at the point of her life.

Writer's note: This is a true incident, though certain elements might have been added for the purpose of dramatization