She touched the tree, and time bent....as if it had been waiting only for her.
~~~~~
When she opens her eyes, she is no longer beneath the tree. She is by a wide river , surrounded by thick forest.
She is wearing a yellow, Gho and Kira— traditional Bhutanese clothing.
She scrambles to her feet.
"Is someone there?" she yells.
No answer. She begins to run— away from the river, through the forest, calling out, but there's only the sound of birds and dry leaves underfoot.
Hours pass, the sun is about to set. Dusk paints the forest in gold and grey....still no one.
Exhausted and scared, she sits on a large rock, her head drops into her hands.
A faint sound breaks the silence.
A bullock cart.
She lifts her head, startled, and sees it roll slowly along a narrow dirt path.
She rushes in front of it. The cart lurches to a halt.
The driver, an older man, shouts something in a langauge she doesn't understand.
"What are you saying? Speak in English." She yells, panicked.
The driver responds again, his tone sharp and foreign.
"Do you have a mobile? I need to call someone!" She pleads.
A young man seated behind the driver hops down.
"You don't speak Hojang?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
"No, I don't," she says breathlessly. "Can you help me? I need to make a phone call, just a quick one. Please!!"
He studies her for a moment. "I am headed to my university. You can make a call from there."
"Why would I need to go to a university to make a call?" she snaps. "Just give me your phone."
"Telephone? On this cart?" he says, clearly annoyed.
"Figures," she mutters, "riding a bullock cart.....how would you afford one."
The boy scoffs and climbs back onto the cart. "Let's go," he tells the driver in Hojang.
The cart begins to move again.
"Wait" Ahmaya calls after him. "Please.....don't go."
They stop, again.
"Not even a feature phone?" she asks, almost pleading.
"Miss," the boy says more patiently, "if you're really in trouble, the nearest place to get help is Konway University. I'm going there. You can come with me. Or not."
Ahmaya stands frozen.
The boy is strangely composed. Clean-cut, tall, glowing almost, with sunlit skin and a quiet presence.
Who is he?
Why a bullock cart?
Should I trust him? But do I have another choice?
The forest is getting darker.
"Okay, take me to the university with you," Ahmaya says finally.
The boy nods. She tries to climb onto the bullock cart, But the kira dress is heavy and awkward. She has never worn anything like it.The fabric clings and twists around her legs.
The boy notices. He offers his hand.
The moment she touches him, a vision flashes... that sandalwood tree, vast and glowing, the leaves trembling.
Startled, she pulls her hand away and stumbles, landing hard on the ground.
"Miss... are you okay?" the boy asks.
Ahmaya stands up, breath short. "Take me to the university. Please. Quickly." She brushes herself off and takes his hand again — but this time, more cautiously. She looks into his face.
His eyes are calm. Still. They seem too deep for someone his age.
"Do you want to go to a hospital?" he asks gently.
"No," she says sharply and climbs on the cart. Her heart races. She needs to get to a phone. She needs to call her grandmother, to get out of here. This is wrong — all of it is wrong.
She sits beside the boy, tense, holding her breath. She mutters to herself, Please, God… please don't let anything happen. Just let me get home.
The bullock cart finally stops at the entrance of Konway University.
Ahmaya stares in disbelief.
The whole place feels….. different.
People walk by in formal clothing.....men in pressed suits and hats, women in gloves and long skirts. Their posture is upright, proper. Everyone moves with quiet discipline.
No earbuds. No smartwatches. No visible phones. Not even a trace of modern life.
"Follow me. I will show you where you can find telephone," the boy says.
Ahmaya follows him across into the admissions building. Inside everything smells of polish. A peon sits behind a desk, flipping through papers.
The boy speaks briefly to him, then points to a phone at the corner.
Ahmaya walks up to it and stops cold.
It's a rotary phone — beige, heavy, and strange-looking. It doesn't even have buttons.
She reaches for it, hesitates. How do I dial a mobile number on this?
She turns, panic rising. "Do you have a mobile?" she asks the boy again. "Please…. Just one call."
But he's already turning to leave.
She grabs his sleeve. "Please don't joke with me. If you don't have a mobile, ask someone else to help me. I'm begging you."
He looks at her, baffled. "I think you're confused. There's a phone right there. Use it." His voice is firm now. "I'm sorry. I don't have time."
He walks away.
Ahmaya turns to the people nearby.
"Ma'am, please… I need a mobile phone. Just a phone. Please."
"Sir, can you help me? I'm lost."
But no one responds. They glance at her with confusion and suspicion. Their eyes flicker across her dress, her voice, her desperation.
They whisper to each other.
"Who is she?" "What is she talking about?"
From outside the door, the boy watches.
Something shifts in his expression. He walks back in and grabs Ahmaya by the wrist.
"If you keep shouting like that, they will throw you out," he says, guiding her outside.
She's trembling. "I don't understand what your problem is. I am just trying to get help."
He exhales slowly. "Can you explain what this… mobi-something is?"
Ahmaya stares at him. "Wait… what exactly is this place?"
"East Khasi Hills" he replies, as if it's obvious.
"Do you know Mawphlang village? I live there. I need to get there." Her eyes widen.
"This is Mawphlang.....," he says with a frown.
She steps back, eyes widening. No. No, it isn't.
"This doesn't look like my village," she says. "Which East Khasi Hills are you talking about? What state is this?"
"Assam."
Her legs nearly give way.
What? No. That's not possible.
"Mawphlang on the East Khasi Hills is in Meghalaya, it can't be Assam," she says quietly, more to herself. "
(NOTE: Meghalaya, where this part of the story is set, didn't exist as a separate state till 1972. It was the part of Assam till then, Meghalaya only became its own state in 1972. )
He just stares at her.
Her breath catches. Something on the nearby wall draws her attention — a template.
She rushes toward it, scanning the paper.
The date printed at the top reads:
12–10–1935