Archive for the ‘ Untold Story ’ Category

When Beatings Become Routine…

In the prison, Captain Tandin and Captain Ugey took away all my clothing and started charging ruthlessly with wooden baton. Next, they started to beat on the soles of my feet. At first, I screamed in agony. Due to nonstop beating, I began to lose the sense of touch. My entire body started swelling up and nerves began to numb. Slowly, I began to lose my sense of place and time. They stopped beating. One of the officers leaned towards me and said, “Tomorrow, I am meeting the King and what do you think I should tell him for the resolution of the problem?”

Published on Oct 31 2010 // Untold Story

Scrutinizing Silent Sufferings

Before jumping into the subject, I express my heartfelt and sincere gratitude to “Welcome to America Project” for this great opportunity to share our stories. I am; indeed, out of words for those American hearts who have strong attachment with our hearts and understand the sufferings of thousands of Bhutanese refugees and refugees from around the globe. The events in the story may not necessarily say that, but that’s how I felt the story would be complete and meaningful. This character, who was born in Bhutan, grown up in refugee camp in Nepal and now struggling for her future in America, is the most deprived one in the story.

Published on Oct 03 2010 // Untold Story

Tale of Terrible Torture

After completing the final ritual, we had to flee from the village as soon as possible. I neither had money nor any other resources. And I did not have any knowledge as to where we were heading to. In the next few days we reached Kali Khola, a place near the Indian border. Mani Prasad made all arrangements, including the fare, for his family and mine to flee from Bhutan. We waited in the open lawn for three days before we boarded an Indian Truck at 6 am to flee from Bhutan – eventually reaching the refugee camp in eastern Nepal.

Published on Sep 17 2010 // Untold Story

NOC For Rain

My NOC was ready some time ago however they had delayed it with a question. I would stand at the end of the queue for the NOC, when my turn came and the officer asked me to wait. I was again made to join the end of the queue. Every time my turn came, I was asked to wait for some more time. Finally, I took the corner for my place and frequently requested for my NOC. Time changed, days changed and people changed, their ways of interrogation changed but neither did they change their one question, nor did I change my answer.

Published on Sep 02 2010 // Untold Story