Arrows and Sorrows
Penjo and Tawchu were great friends. Their bond was further strengthened by their being on the same archery team. But they drifted apart. No one except them knew why.
The crescent moon drifted slowly on the vast expanse of the sky. The calm of the night was frequently interrupted by the whistling wind and the distant howling of the jackals. At this late hour, Ap Penjo, well-known in the village as the chipon (messenger), had been summoned to gup (village headman) Tawchu’s house.
“Don’t wait for me,” he said to his wife as he put on a muddy pair of chappals (slippers). He began his descent down the well-worn narrow staircase carved out of a single trunk of thongphu-shing (blue pine) by his ancestors. He often wondered whether he should have a modern concrete staircase like Norbu’s, the proud owner of the only shop in the village.
Tawchu’s house lay a mere arrow’s shot away from Penjo’s. Tawchu and Penjo had been cattle herders and good friends when they were young. They had shared not only countless meals together, but also shared dreams and fantasies. Their bond was further strengthened by their being on the same village archery team. Both of them were ace archers and inspired awe in the adjoining village in the New Year’s archery matches. In the intermittent period they drifted apart.
Now many yearls later destiny brought them together. They both served the village administration, Tawchu as the headman and Penjo as a mere messenger. While Penjo plodded his way to Tawchu’s house through the cattle-dung strewn meadows, he reminisced of the fateful day when their relationship soured.
It was exactly twenty one wheat harvests ago. The inter-village archery tournament had begun and the village folks from far and near had gathered at the archery range to witness the final match. The villagers showered their archers with praise and booed their opponents until their throats ran dry. It was a trying moment for the inseparable buddies. Amidst cheering of their womenfolk and jeering of the opponents, they both flew their arrows well, each one hitting the target or missing it by a newborn’s hair length.
Beads of sweat dropped from their faces as they finished the first two rounds under the glare of the scorching autumn sun. the final round was to be the deciding one for the glory of the village and the fate of Penjo and Tawchu. What had happened before the game was known only to them.
Both of them loved Pechum – the girl from the next village and each yearned that her love was reciprocated. It was a difficult choice for her as she loved both of them equally. They had decided that the one who won the archery tournament would marry Pechum. Notwithstanding the cheers of dancers, the only thought that goaded them was ‘the more the hits the better the chances of winning Pechum’. Though immensely tense, their behavior was normal, as if they were herding cows together, joking, heaping insults on each other and occasionally shared domas (betel nuts).
However, they looked visibly tense when the score stood at eleven-fourteen and the last arrows started flying. The tsip (astrologer) had strategically placed them as the last two archers. A dobji (double hit) would seal the fate of the game and make the village the proud winner of the Harvest Tournament of the Earth Tiger Year. But for the archers – Penjo and Tawchu, the thought uppermost in their mind was who would win Pechum.
Tawchu’s eagle feather-fletched arrow flew and found its mark just on the edge of the outer circle of the bull’s eye. His opponent missed.
Tawchu’s second arrow blessed by the sanctum of the village gonpa (temple) also found its target. A wave of whistles from Tawchu’s team and a groan of disappointment from his opponents echoed in the crowded pine-needled archery field.
The score now stood at fifteen for Tawchu and Penjo’s village against their opponent’s fourteen. Everyone knew that it was premature to predict the fate of the game. A pair of successful hits from opponent’s arrows could change the course of the game.
Penjo confidently stepped forward in the arrow release position and took up the buttock protruding stance. He released his jungle fowl-feathered arrow with grace. Its brass-tipped arrowhead sparkled in the haze of the afternoon sun as it thudded on the decorated target. The onlookers in praise of the archer’s performance shouted in unison ‘Waha, Waha, Taie aehu huuhuuuhuu’.
Score seventeen-fourteen.
Nado, an archer as competent as Penjo and Tawchu from the other village stepped forward. The archery fraternity of the village feared him ever since he was hired by a team from Thimphu just few months ago to play in the famous Changlimethang stadium in Thimphu. Nado had returned from Thimphu with a copy of Kuensel (National Newspaper) where there was a picture of Nado holding the coveted winners shield. He even had a seeded archer’s certificate with Lyonpo’s (Government Minister) signature on it. It was every village archer’s ultimate dream to join the famous Thimphu Archery Club.
Nado stepped forward in a Thimphu-styled archer’s dress-up. Short socks worn over long USA-made socks tucked neatly inside worn over long USA-made NBA sneakers. Even the gho he wore was a pesar (new design) from the Sephub shop in Thimphu. He looked like one of those government officials who frequented the village. His deadly missile streaked towards the target just to chip the edge of the target and fell to the side.
Penjo with a frown of concentration on his brow took his buttock protruding stance again and took aim. The arrow hissed and impaled the willow tree stick festooned with colourful dyed cloth that stood on the sides of the target.
Having missed his target, Penjo lost his chance to win Pechum too. Crestfallen, he trudged lazily to the side, took out his lacquered wooded bowl from the folds of his gho and poured himself a fiery shot of ara and downed it in one big gulp. He was not even bothered when village folk lifted him their shoulders.
As expected, Tawchu married Pechum on the next auspicious day. She gave Tawchu two beautiful girls and a boy who mysteriously had the features of Penjo’s nose and eyes.
Ever since the birth of the boy, Tawchu and Penjo’s relationship was further strained. To Penjo’s astonishment and Tawchu’s joy, people from their village elected Tawchu as the gup and Penjo as the chipon. It didn’t surprise anybody in their quaint little village when they were re-elected for their second term. Being men of principle both of them served their village well and executed all plans and projects the Dzongkhag (District Administration) had laid down for their little village. Besides establishing a community school, their latest achievement was to educate interested elders in a programme aptly called Non Formal Education.
Penjo reluctantly entered the house. Tawchu was lying in the corner of the incense filled room. “Penjo my friend I just wanted to see you for the last time. We had a lot of good times, didn’t we?” he said feebly as his body shuddered and suddenly arched back. Tawchu had saved his last gasp for his beloved buddy and left him and the village for ever. Clutched in his hands was a wireless message that read “Wife and three children dead. Bus accident yesterday. Come to Wangdue. Urgently claim bodies.”
By: Tshering Dorji