The Rocky Cliff

I had no prior knowledge of the rocky cliff when my friend from Sisina Primary School shared his story. I could only feign interest as he narrated it, as there were countless such stories, both true and embellished. However, his words piqued my curiosity when he mentioned a bear descending to the river in the evening, then returning to a cave on that rocky cliff to quench its thirst. In that moment, my attention was captivated, and I began to wonder if this was a daily routine for the bear. If that were the case, I decided to observe the bear in the evening and abandoned my plans to visit the graveyard.

He also spoke about the bear hibernating in the cave and other details related to the cliff. But my sole intention was to see the bear in the evening. Suddenly, a chill wind, seemingly as fast as light, sent shivers down my spine. Despite the discomfort, I persisted in my vigil until darkness overcame my vision, and I saw no bear descending to the river.

On the other hand, during my wait for the bear, I took photographs of the cliff and noticed a peculiar feature in one of them—a face. I initially doubted my eyes but saw the same face in reality the next day. Perhaps others had also noticed it, but for me, it was as if I had seen it at first glance. I'm sharing it here because I observed a larger version of the face, and upon careful inspection, one can discern the faces of a father, mother, and child. These snapshots were taken from the perspective of Sisina Primary School.

The Magic Rice

On the third delightful day of the Songkran festival, an annual Thai celebration that ushers in the Thai New Year with exuberance, my companions and I embarked on a journey to partake in the festive jubilation. Our destination was none other than the illustrious Central World shopping complex, a bustling hub of activity in the heart of the city. Positioned at the grand entrance was a meticulously curated zone, dedicated to the merriment of the occasion. Here, a spectacle awaited – a choreography of artificial bubbles, whimsically cascading through the air, imbuing the atmosphere with an aura of effervescent joy.

Central to this captivating arena was a splendidly adorned stage graced by the presence of illustrious celebrities, the veritable stars of the show, beckoning participants to join their ranks in revelry. The air pulsated with music that resonated in perfect harmony with the rhythmic beating of our hearts, urging us to partake in the festooned dance of celebration. A harmonious fusion of tradition and modernity was evident, epitomizing the essence of the Songkran festival – a bridge between the past and the present, between the jubilant echoes of history and the vibrant pulse of contemporary life.

In the company of dear Japanese friends, whose camaraderie had gracefully extended an invitation to share in this cultural tapestry, we stepped into this enchanted realm. The boundary between participant and spectator blurred as we surrendered ourselves to the embrace of this aquatic jubilation. However, the pursuit of seamless coordination amidst the dance proved to be a challenge for me, a task that demanded the synchronization of intricate movements and the unveiling of spatial dexterity. The mosaic of exultant faces around me was testament to the immersive nature of this festivity, uniting individuals from diverse walks of life in a harmonious dance of water and joy.

As the sun’s journey across the sky progressed, so did the groups of celebrants, ushering in a new ensemble every half-hour, each pulsating with its own unique energy. The intermissions, a delightful interlude amidst the jubilant escapade, offered a canvas for the exchange of warm pleasantries with fellow participants. A splash here, a sprinkling there – the ubiquitous presence of water was a testament to the uninhibited spirit of the festival, where even strangers found delight in drenching one another, inciting laughter and camaraderie.

With the playfulness of the festival came the strategic deployment of water guns, transforming the arena into a friendly battleground of gleeful defense. And so, as the day wore on, the gradual saturation of our attire and spirits became an emblem of our spirited engagement in this aquatic revelry. The journey back to our abode was a testament to the immersive experience we had embraced, with our forms drenched from head to toe, wearing our participation as a badge of honor.

Now, the tale takes an unexpected twist – the narrative thread of technology and modernity intersecting with the tapestry of tradition. Yet, one might wonder, where does the 'magical rice' fit into this narrative? It was on this day of waterborne merriment that fate would introduce me to a poignant encounter with my cherished companion, my iPhone. Alas, a mishap befell it as the jubilation ensued – it found itself entirely drenched, a casualty of the festivities. Panic fluttered within me, propelling me to embark on a series of frantic measures to resuscitate my dear device.

With haste, I endeavored to revive my beloved iPhone, an endeavor that manifested in the press of buttons and the connection to a charger. Little did I realize, in my state of concern, that such actions could potentially precipitate further harm, courting the specter of short circuits. Despite my well-intentioned efforts, evening descended upon us with my iPhone remaining steadfastly unresponsive, its luminous screen betraying no signs of life.

As dawn ushered in a new day, a renewed determination propelled me towards a renowned retailer, the initial purveyor of my electronic companion. However, fate had its own plans, revealing a storefront adorned with a 'Closed' sign, rendering my pursuit for professional intervention momentarily futile. Instinct and a touch of preference guided me to await the retailer's expertise, preserving the authenticity of my device's care and restoration.

Thus commenced a temporary sojourn, a span of twenty-four hours where the tendrils of connectivity that tethered me to the world were gently severed. A night's respite and a day's hiatus granted me the opportunity to delve into the recesses of online wisdom, where fellow users had woven their experiences and solutions into the digital tapestry. The realm of iPhones, complex yet indispensable, held within its vast repository a plethora of narratives akin to mine.

Amidst the labyrinthine expanse of virtual discourse, a glimmer of hope emerged – tales of successful resuscitations and resurgences akin to the phoenix's rebirth. Two strands of remedy captured my attention, both proposing divergent paths towards resurrection. The first, a method involving the delicate placement of my soaked iPhone within the embrace of silica gel, was intriguing, yet its realization posed a challenge in procuring the elusive desiccant.

The second, an approach steeped in simplicity, required the harnessing of a household staple – rice. With a heart ensconced in a blend of anxiety and anticipation, I embarked on this remedy. An airtight vessel became the vessel of choice, its interior filled with grains of rice, ready to assume their role in this digital drama. Within this improvised sanctum, my waterlogged iPhone found its resting place, gently cradled at a slight angle, as though embracing the hope of revival.

Patience, a virtue cultivated in these moments of trial, dictated the passage of time as I awaited the verdict of this unorthodox yet seemingly miraculous solution. Forty-eight hours of suspended anticipation lay ahead, punctuated by fleeting waves of doubt that threatened to erode the fortress of optimism I had erected. Yet, within this tempest of uncertainty, a kernel of resolve remained, underpinned by the knowledge that professional intervention still stood as a bastion of last resort.

As the hourglass of time emptied, my apprehensions mingled with the echoes of hope. The countdown ceased, and the moment arrived – an instant pregnant with potential. With a mixture of trepidation and expectation, I retrieved my iPhone from its rice-filled cocoon. The journey from darkness to light commenced with a tentative press of the power button. Astonishingly, as if scripted by fate, the screen ignited with life, the familiar logo radiating a beacon of reassurance.

Relief cascaded over me, an overwhelming tide of gratitude towards the countless individuals who had generously shared their insights and experiences in the boundless realm of the internet. The camera lens, once veiled in uncertainty, now captured the world with pristine clarity. Each feature and function bore the mark of restoration, a testimony to the unassuming prowess of a household staple.

In this narrative of modernity interwoven with tradition, of water and camaraderie converging with technology and ingenuity, the humble grain had wrought its enchantment. A revival born not of intricate engineering, but of collective knowledge and shared experiences. And thus, my iPhone was restored, not merely as a device, but as a testament to the harmonious symphony that unfolds when the threads of human connection and innovation are interwoven with the fabric of celebration.

In the annals of my personal chronicle, the third day of the Songkran festival shall forever stand as a vivid testament to the convergence of jubilation and adversity, of camaraderie and innovation. It shall serve as a gentle reminder that within the intricate tapestry of our lives, the most seemingly mundane elements can assume the mantle of saviors, unveiling pathways to resolution and rebirth. And so, as this chapter draws to a close, the echo of celebration lingers, a harmonious resonance that celebrates not only a festival but the human spirit itself – resilient, creative, and united in the face of challenges.

A father and Daughter's April Fool

Abstaining from tending to the task of composing and maintaining my blog, notwithstanding the wealth of enthralling anecdotes from my voyages spanning Bhutan to Thailand, was my chosen course. However, on that particular April 1st, I found myself unable to resist disseminating some exhilarating tidings to my kin through a voice exchange on WeChat. Amidst casual dialogues with my spouse, son, and daughter, it was my daughter's elated proclamation that stood out—she had secured the highest marks among her peers in all subjects of her monthly test at Kuenselphodrang Primary School, Thimphu. Her diligence had earned her maternal commendation, yet a minor discord surfaced when her younger sibling appropriated a portion of the reward.

A surge of pride for my daughter's feat and concern for her educational trajectory swelled within me, prompting me to beseech her and my spouse for a glimpse of her test scores. My admiration grew upon perceiving her remarkable achievement in Mathematics, where she garnered 9.75 out of 10. The impulse to share this felicitous news with close companions proved irresistible.

Nonetheless, my endeavor to procure the scores of her other subjects met with my daughter's rationale that she lacked the papers. Curiously, she possessed knowledge of her marks, later revealing that she had glimpsed them on her teacher's desk. My persistence was redirected by my wife, who instructed me to direct my queries to our daughter.

After days of mounting anticipation, I finally addressed my daughter during our voice exchange, a hint of sternness tingeing my tone. Witty intervention came from my wife, who jestingly asserted her ignorance and advised me to approach our daughter. And then, the astonishing truth was unveiled: "Apa Nga Gi Choe April fool Zoyiba"—Dad, I orchestrated an April Fool's joke on you! For six days, she had masterfully deceived me, masquerading as the top scorer. A smile of appreciation surfaced, testament to her ingenuity and sagacity.

I find myself profoundly fortunate to be the parent of such an imaginative and ingenious daughter who bridged the divide between us through this indelible April Fool's Day escapade. I record this chronicle, nurturing the aspiration that someday she will peruse these lines, reminiscing about this delightful and heartwarming interlude we shared.

A Journey of Gratitude: From Butter Lamps to the Chief Guest

On the auspicious morning of November 11, 2015, I stirred from slumber at an early hour, propelled by a deep sense of reverence and national duty. The occasion was the grand commemoration of the 60th birth anniversary of the revered Fourth Druk Gyalpo of Bhutan. As per a cherished tradition observed across the nation, I engaged in the venerable custom of illuminating butter lamps, a symbolic gesture resonating with profound respect. The heartwarming ceremony known as "choesham" concluded by 8:00 am, leaving me in quiet contemplation.

However, this tranquil morning took an unexpected turn as my phone rang, bearing an unfamiliar number. Intrigued, I answered the call only to find the principal of Tsaling Community School on the other end. This esteemed institution was my apprentice stomping ground. The principal extended an impromptu invitation for me to assume the role of chief guest at the school's elaborate celebrations that day. This unforeseen request stemmed from an unforeseen emergency, causing the original guest of honor to withdraw. Understanding that I was a familiar presence and fitting substitute, I hesitantly agreed to step into this prestigious role, all while being conscious of the fleeting time.

Upon arriving at the school premises, a lively scene greeted my eyes – students, parents, and faculty members had gathered, forming a vibrant tableau on the modest grounds. The principal, along with a few teachers, extended warm greetings, underscoring the camaraderie that marked the academic community. Together, we proceeded towards the designated celebration area. Following a harmonious rendition of the national anthem, I had the honor of raising the national flag – a symbolic act of unity and loyalty.

While the expectation was that I would deliver a prepared speech, circumstances found me unprepared in that regard. Yet, I adroitly adapted, weaving a spontaneous narrative drawn from my personal experiences. Addressing the distinguished principal, esteemed educators, parents, and beloved students, I expressed an overwhelming sense of privilege and honor in being present on such a significant occasion. With sincere gratitude, I acknowledged the warm reception extended to me, as we collectively paid homage to the Fourth King's 60th birth anniversary. In the spirit of this auspicious day, my words resonated with a fervent aspiration for prosperity under the benevolent reign of our monarch.

In the course of my address, I ventured to share an intimate vignette from my life, an anecdote that mirrored the transformative power of the King's benevolence. In my formative years, I had witnessed the influx of non-national workers into our region, drawn by opportunities in construction and other endeavors. These individuals, primarily from Assam, India, gradually became integral to our community. The gradual integration and mutual exchange of language and culture were emblematic of the rich tapestry of coexistence. Their stories of seeking a better life in our land while leaving their own behind left an indelible mark on me.

Against this backdrop, the tale of our local orange trade unfolded – a livelihood that connected us with the bustling market of Nganglam. However, this journey was not without its perils, as criminal activities along the route cast a shadow on our lives. I recounted a disturbing incident involving truck robberies, marking the incursion of mischief along our borders. The increasing presence of these elements heralded more sinister events, which I chronicled on my blog, www.kingyen.blogspot.com, providing an avenue for further exploration.

As my narrative evolved, I transitioned to the darker chapters of my region's history, recounting the harrowing infiltration of terrorists from ALFA and BODO groups. Their presence had plunged our lives into turmoil, compelling us to face a stark reality that disrupted the daily rhythm of our existence. Their menacing actions left an indelible scar, the memory of which still reverberates. These events culminated in the tragic loss of young lives, including a dear friend's, reminding us of the gravity of the situation. Amidst this turmoil, a beacon of hope emerged – our Fourth King, a figure of solace, whose sacrifice and empathy encapsulated the spirit of a true leader. His intervention and relentless efforts underscored the lengths to which he would go for his people.

On this sacred occasion of the Fourth King's 60th birth anniversary, I extend profound gratitude on behalf of our community. His unwavering courage and leadership have lifted us from despair to prosperity, nurturing an environment where industries flourish, educational opportunities abound, and lives are enriched. Today, as we join hands in celebration, let us echo the rallying cry of "Pelden Drukpa Gyello" with unwavering pride.

The dream-like narrative I shared was a testament to the impact of the Fourth King's reign, a testament that culminated as my hand instinctively lifted in the heat of the moment. Yet, it was not a flag but my blanket that yielded to my grasp. The dream had ended, and it was time to embrace reality, as I prepared to partake in the actual festivities at the Bhutanese embassy in Bangkok.

Balancing Dreams and Reality: Embracing Unexpected Paths in Pursuit of Success

Dreams are an integral part of our lives, but not everyone can fulfill them according to their desires. Individuals have their own dreams and aspirations, and sometimes they are forced to abandon their ambitions due to parental decisions. This factor can significantly disrupt personal interests and opportunities in the workforce within our society.

As an individual, I once dreamt of becoming an engineer. However, after completing my secondary education, I did not meet the requirements for pursuing my dream. Instead, I decided to pursue my field of interest and joined a Polytechnic institute. Unfortunately, this did not work out due to conflicting opinions between my brother and me. He wanted me to become a teacher, and ultimately, I had to comply. This experience taught me that sometimes, you don't need a specific plan; you just need to breathe, trust, let go, and see what happens.

Even after entering the teaching profession, the desire to become an engineer never completely faded from my mind. The thought continued to resurface because I noticed that many of my friends who graduated from polytechnic were earning a better living as engineers. Ultimately, I realized that money does matter to some extent.

As a teacher, it has become necessary for us to continually upgrade our qualifications. It has become challenging to sustain ourselves with just a degree qualification in this profession, as it is quite precarious. Consequently, I applied for the TICA scholarship program in Bhutan and pursued a Master of Science in Physics. I successfully completed the interview in July last year and received the acceptance letter from Mahidol University in Thailand in February this year.

To my surprise, the Master of Science in Physics program had been revised to Master of Science in Materials Science and Engineering. This development greatly inspired me because the course aligned with my aspiration to become an engineer. Since I will be studying in a field related to engineering, I do not regret not being able to fulfill my ambition of becoming an engineer. I will give my best effort and trust in a higher power for the rest.

I would like to express my gratitude to the Royal Government of Bhutan, particularly the Ministry of Education and RCSC, for providing free education and offering this opportunity. Furthermore, I would like to extend my heartfelt appreciation to the Thai government and Mahidol University for considering me for their full scholarship program.

ROAD TO MY CAREER

1. Education and Professional Journey:
2. Dechheling Lower Secondary School: Commenced enrollment at Dechheling Primary School in 1993 at the PP level. 
3. Progressed to Class I in 1994. Advanced to Class II in 1995. 
4. Elevated to Class III in 1996. Promoted to Class IV in 1997. 
5. Uplifted to Class V in 1998. 
6. Achieved promotion to Class VI in 1999 and undertook the board examination. 
7. Sarpang Higher Secondary School: Enrolled in Class IX in 2002. 
8. Successfully completed Class X in 2003 and participated in the BCSE exam. 
9. Zhemgang Higher Secondary School: Enrolled in Class XI in 2004. 
10. Attained completion of Class XII in the Science stream (ISCE) in 2005. 
11. Trashiyangtse Dzongkhag: Took on the role of an Apprentice Teacher at Tsaling CPS in 2006. 
12. Paro College of Education: Engaged in the pursuit of a Bachelor of Secondary Education degree from 2007 to 2009. 
13. Wangduephodrang Dzongkhang: Served as an educator at Bajothang Higher Secondary School from 2010 to June 2015. 
14. Thailand: Undertook a Master of Science (M.Sc) program in Materials Science and Engineering at Mahidol University from July 2015 to July 2017. 
15. Acknowledges the nearly 24-year journey to reach the current stage of their professional career and personal development. Expresses sincere gratitude to the Royal Government and the courageous Kings of Bhutan for their unwavering support.

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Home is a place for love and happiness not for violence

“Home is a place for love and happiness not for violence”

I wish to extend my profound respect and admiration for the pivotal role that your office plays in the empowerment of women, not only within Bhutan but also on a broader scale. It is with a heavy heart that I compose this correspondence to draw your esteemed attention to an ongoing and distressing matter involving the persistent abuse suffered by my illiterate sister within our village.

A considerable span of time has passed since my sister's marriage to a local resident, a period marked by a consistent pattern of verbal and physical maltreatment inflicted upon her by her spouse. This situation remains unaltered despite their joint parenthood and the responsibility he bears as a father to their two children. Regrettably, his conduct in this regard has remained negligent and void of the expected care.

For an extended duration, he was absent, employed as a laborer under subcontractors. Instead of fulfilling his obligations towards his family, he chose to disregard them, resulting in profound distress for my sister. Investigations unveiled his proximity to Nganglam, where he initiated a relationship with another woman. Their interactions extended to nocturnal rendezvous within hotels and work sites, culminating in his being caught in flagrante delicto.

The impact of this situation has been gravely detrimental to my sister, exacerbating her emotional suffering. We have endeavored to enlist the support of the Gewog administration, engaging in mediations with the hope of reforming his behavior and fostering familial support, but these endeavors have not yielded any amelioration; his deleterious conduct persists.

He further exacerbated the situation by eluding us through altering his contact information, purposefully evading our attempts at communication. Subsequently, we uncovered his cohabitation with another woman and her children. Despite our numerous attempts to reason with him via telephone and encourage him to rectify his actions, his willingness to listen remained absent.

Upon successfully establishing contact and notifying him of his grandfather's demise, we implored him to return home to fulfill his responsibilities as a grandson. Although he agreed to return, his behavior exhibited no alteration. Instead, he continued to subject his family to threats of violence and even engaged in a deplorable attempt at assaulting my sister, leaving her in a constant state of trepidation and unrest.

Repeated visits to the Gewog administration by my younger brother and myself, aimed at resolving this distressing matter, have regrettably proven futile. After a span of three weeks, he returned home, accompanied by his second wife, further intensifying the turmoil within the household.

In this critical juncture, I humbly beseech the support of your esteemed office, which has consistently stood as a bastion of hope and assistance. The gravity of the current circumstance cannot be overstated, and we find ourselves deeply concerned for the safety and well-being of my sister and her children. The absence of decisive action against this abusive individual raises concerns about the prevalence of gender-based violence within Bhutan.

I earnestly anticipate a response from your office, recognizing that your intervention holds the potential to markedly alter this distressing situation. Your invaluable guidance and assistance are sorely needed, and we entrust in your office's commitment to safeguarding the rights and safety of my sister, along with other vulnerable women facing analogous challenges.

DAY TO BE REMEMBERED

On the present day of Monday, December 15, 2014, coinciding with Monday, December 15, 2003, a span of eleven years past, I distinctly recollect the events of that particular day. As we commemorate the 60th Birth Anniversary of our revered fourth king, I wish to offer the ensuing recollection as a tribute to our nation.

The day marking the culmination of my Class X BCSE exam at Sarpang Higher Secondary School was December 13, 2003. The weight of year-long academic burdens lifted from the students, and a prevailing sense of relief permeated the air. Echoing throughout were exclamations of "It's finally over!" The following day was dedicated to a farewell party for the departing students of Class X. Excitement radiated from the outgoing students, while teachers and leaders busied themselves with preparations. My friends and I were animated, our exuberance manifesting through spirited movements and shouts that resonated far and wide, celebrating the conclusion of our year-long academic endeavor.

As twilight descended, around 7:30 PM, after partaking in dinner, our dormitory warden entered with an announcement that those hailing from Nganglam were required to depart for home the next morning, preempting the farewell festivities. Although our group complied without hesitation, my friends and I felt a tinge of disappointment at departing prematurely, missing out on the anticipated farewell gathering.

The subsequent morning saw us embarking on a journey via lorry from Gelephu gateway. Positioned at the truck's rear, passengers engaged in varied activities – some admired the passing landscape, some sought rest, others engaged in lively banter, and some, like Mr. Tshering, expressed a sense of dissatisfaction due to being responsible for tending to the school's pigs throughout the year. The larger pig had been reserved for the farewell feast, a fact that weighed heavily on his mind.

Our voyage traversed seven hours through the territories of West Bengal and Assam in India, ultimately reaching the border gate of Nganglam. The atmosphere exuded a sense of serenity and calm. Despite apprehensions about encountering elephants along the way, as well as concerns about ULFA and BODO insurgencies, we undertook the two-and-a-half-hour trek back to Dechheling, our hometown.

Around 9:30 PM, we arrived in Bapta, our village, where we bid our friends farewell, dispersing to our respective homesteads. My journey concluded by 10 o'clock, and upon reaching home, I found my stepmother engrossed in chanting mantras (Om mani padme hum ri). A shared meal, already consumed by her and specially accompanied by the ara (local wine) she had prepared for her son and me, ensued. Our conversation meandered through various topics, and eventually, the day drew to a close as we settled down for sleep.

Dawn of the next day, December 15, 2003, ushered in the customary activities of our village. With the crowing of roosters, daily life resumed its rhythm. Villagers busied themselves with cooking and preparing oranges to trade in Nganglam. During winter, a significant portion of the village's population would venture down for trade, leaving the village somewhat deserted by morning.

On this fateful morning, around 10 o'clock, my brother's father-in-law paid me a visit. We engaged in relaxed conversation while partaking in the locally crafted bangchang (wine). Suddenly, the tranquil air was pierced by the sound of gunshots emanating from the ulpha and bodo base camp, located 5 to 10 kilometers from our village. Apprehension gripped us as we speculated about potential harm to our fellow villagers on their trade route. A tense silence enveloped us, shattered only by the escalating cacophony of gunfire and explosions. The students from the nearby Non-Formal Education (NFE) center, who were engaged in an exam on the football ground, scattered in all directions, seeking refuge in their homes. A neighboring girl rushed to us, her face etched with fear, proclaiming the outbreak of war and questioning where to seek safety. I reassured her while struggling with my own concerns.

In response to the unfolding chaos, the villagers began migrating en masse to a designated area designated by the village leader, carrying with them their possessions and horses. The bizarre sight of villagers hauling heavy loads alongside their horses during this tumultuous flight left an indelible mark. Amid the escalating sounds of violence, my stepmother, father-in-law, and cousin brother chose to remain behind, while I watched, powerless to sway their decision.

The scene continued to unravel – a cloud of smoke emerged from the terrorist camp on the opposing hillside, compounding our distress. We remained immobilized, our hearts heavy with worry for the traders en route to Nganglam. After a while, some of the villagers returned, bearing harrowing accounts of their ordeal. As they approached Kangrizee, the hill that separated our village from Nganglam and the location of the terrorist camps, they encountered a deafening explosion, followed by a barrage of bullets. This traumatic encounter severed the line of horses from the procession of people. Some villagers retreated, while others pressed onward, leaving behind their laden horses and embracing the perilous flight for survival.

The unsettling sight of fighter jets overhead further intensified my anxiety. Among those who returned from the Kangrizee incident, families could be reunited. Tragically, families proceeding beyond Kangrizee toward Nganglam experienced the loss of parents and, in some cases, infants as well. It fell to us to care for the infants, feeding them cow's milk for a week. Those who were unable to cross Kangrizee were accommodated in Nganglam, provided with shelter and sustenance until they were eventually released to return home after a week.

The day following this episode, a local official encountered a group of terrorists – men, women, and even babies – traversing towards our village with guns and explosives. Swiftly relaying this information to the armed forces, a confrontation ensued. Our soldiers acted with determination and precision, managing to apprehend the intruders. Subsequent investigations yielded a cache of guns, bombs, and a significant sum of currency. The captured terrorists were duly transferred to Indian authorities along with their belongings and funds.

In the days that followed, another incident transpired in the neighboring village of Kulamanti, involving three more armed men. Our armed forces were swiftly dispatched, resulting in a confrontation that concluded with the elimination of the intruders. These occurrences compelled us to remain indoors after 4 o'clock for two weeks, as our village became a fortress of sorts, guarded by the Royal Bhutan Army.

Amid the turmoil, a group of laymen were arrested for unlawfully removing bones from buried bodies, intending to craft trumpets. While the nation grappled with adversity, these actions were deemed an affront to the law, leading to their imprisonment. The deceased were cremated in accordance with legal mandates.

Gradually, life regained its semblance of normalcy. The peace that ensued was a testament to the valor of our armed forces and the dedicated volunteers who safeguarded our nation. To Cheyi Chari Ngang, our beacon of happiness and joy, we offer our tears of gratitude. Your heroic spirit shall forever reside within our hearts, guiding and inspiring us. Pelden Drukpa Gyelo – may the protective deities guard our beloved nation.