Laho(Lhasa's father) woke up with the first light of dawn, the aroma of freshly brewed tea beside his bed wafting through the air. The chill of the morning air bit through his thick woolen coat as he prepared to head out to graze the yaks. His movements were swift and practiced, years of routine guiding his every action. He glanced back at the small home nestled against the mountainside, where Akar slept peacefully.
Outside, Laho's breath formed misty clouds in the crisp air as he checked the ropes securing the yaks' pen. He smiled fondly, a sense of contentment settling over him as he patted each yak in turn, ensuring they were ready for the day ahead. In the distance, the sun began to crest over the rugged peaks, casting a golden glow over the valley below. Laho took a moment to appreciate the beauty of his surroundings, the majesty of the mountains contrasting with the peaceful simplicity of his daily tasks.
Meanwhile, in the buckwheat fields adorned with delicate flowers, Lhasa Mother, her hair covered with a woolen shawl, was already hard at work. Her nimble fingers deftly navigated the stalks, skillfully harvesting the buckwheat with practiced efficiency. The sun-kissed petals of the flowers swayed gently in the morning breeze, creating a picturesque scene that seemed straight out of a painting. As she worked, memories of her time with Laho and their children in the field brought a smile to her face. She felt happy and blessed to have met Laho at the local market years ago.
Lhasa Mother's presence added to the beauty of the landscape, her laughter tinkling like a melody as she occasionally hummed a tune. Despite the physical exertion, her spirit remained undaunted, fueled by a deep-rooted connection to the land and the joy of providing for her family.
Back at home, Akar woke up and didn't find his brother Lhasa beside him. He quickly got out of bed, his small feet hitting the cold wooden floor with a soft thud. The room was dimly lit, the first light of dawn barely filtering through the small window. He hastily dressed, pulling on his clothes and covering his hair with nervous hands.
As he stepped outside, the early morning air was chilly and biting, but Akar hardly noticed. His mind was racing, and he started running towards the field where he thought his mother might be. The path was familiar as his mother used to carry him covering with big shawl, yet today it felt strangely foreboding.
Suddenly, as he ran, a series of terrifying visions invaded his mind. He saw people from the village with grotesque blisters covering their bodies, their movements jerky and unnatural. The images were vivid and horrifying, as if a dark shadow had cast a spell over his thoughts. He saw faces twisted in pain, mouths open in silent screams, and bodies contorted in unnatural positions.
These visions were too much for his young mind to handle. He stumbled, nearly falling, as he tried to shake off the horrific images. His heart pounded in his chest, and tears streamed down his cheeks. The fear for his family gripped him tightly, making it hard to breathe. The thought of his loved ones suffering the same fate as the people in his visions was unbearable.
"Mother!" he cried out, his voice breaking with fear and desperation, as he continued to run towards the field.
Hearing Akar's cries, Lhasa Mother looked up and saw him approaching with tears in his eyes. "Akar, what happened?" she asked gently, concern evident in her voice.
Akar collapsed into his mother's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. "Don't cry, Akar," she said softly, wiping his nose with her dress and cleaning his face. After a while, Akar sniffled, his tears pausing momentarily.
Lhasa Mother felt a pang of worry, as Akar didn't cry easily or often. "What happened, son? Are you fine?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.
Akar cried out loud again, the trauma of his visions too overwhelming. "I saw... I saw people, Mother. They were... they were hurt," he managed to say between sobs.
Lhasa Mother felt a mix of sorrow and terror as she tried to calm him down. "Shh, it's okay, my love. It was just a bad dream," she said, gently rocking him. After a long time, when Akar calms, she wonders inside, "Akar has never cried like this" and remembering Akar's words, "Whom did he saw being hurt?"
Small Akar, swollen from crying, nodded slightly as he fell deep asleep free from visualization on her lap. "Sorry to have kept you alone in the house. From now on, I will take you with me," his mother said warmly, hugging him close."
Back in the village, Oda's mother, Norbu, stirred from her sleep with a groan. Her small, dimly lit room was sparsely furnished, the morning sunlight filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls. Norbu blinked slowly, trying to orient herself as she struggled against the fog of forgetfulness that often clouded her mind.
She saw a paper beside her bed that read, "Rest in the house. I've prepared two meals for you. Don't go out of the village. – Oda."
She felt a pang of sadness, about to tear up as she realized Oda had not addressed him as Son as he used to.
She sat up slowly, her aging joints creaking in protest. With deliberate movements, Norbu gathered her shawl around her shoulders and rose from the thin mattress. She moved cautiously towards the small table by the window, where a faded, torn photograph patched up with tape lay nestled among other mementos.
Norbu picked up the photograph gently and returned to bed as instructed by Oda. Her fingers traced the familiar faces captured in black and white. Memories of happier times flooded her mind — Oda's bright smile as a child, their home filled with laughter and warmth.
"Oda," Norbu whispered softly, her voice tinged with longing. "I must remember Oda today."
She placed the photograph beside her carefully, her resolve firming as she repeated to herself, "I will remember. You will be happy as in your young childhood days." She smiled with joy and ate the meal Oda had prepared for her.