TOKTOZAMPA

The year was 2009. Mr. Phub just joined Kharsa Primary School as the new principal. Kharsa is a small rural village of about 20 household (in 2009). It is located about about 15 kilometres from Jakar. It is connected by the newly constructed dirt road that goes all the way to Chokhortoe and the only way in and out of the village. The settlement is scanty and houses are spread around the gentle slope of the valley. 

At the end of the village or the beginning, depending on whether you are going out or coming into village; as one makes steep descend into a gorge towards the river, is the bridge of Toktozampa. An old cantilever bridge, infamous for it's hauntings and sinister stories.

Mr. Phub was greeted with smile and a heart welcome from the villagers. He had no trouble moving in to his new place, with all the people that volunteered to help him. By midday everything was moved into his house and arranged to his liking. People even swept his surroundings and mopped his floors before leaving. 

As they bid farewell, the village headmen came up to him and warned him not to travel alone at night, especially if he is planning to go towards Jakar. The dirt road is the only way in and out of Kharsa. About 10 minutes away, at end of village, as the dirt road makes a steep descend, is the bridge called Toktozampa. 

People never travelled alone when if they had to cross the bridge. Before, people did not even dare to cross the bridge even during the day. 

Mr. Phub, half believing and half skeptical nodded and never went alone or crossed the bridge. He always went with someone if he thought he will be late when coming back home from Jakar.

One day, he went to Jakar to take care of some official errands. What was supposed to be an hour of work go delayed and by the time he left Jakar, it was already 5 PM in the evening. He thought for sometime and even considered staying over at his friends place but he had some important meetings the next day. So, finally decided to make a run for it.

As his scooter rattled on the dirt road, he grew increasingly anxious as he neared the deep gorge of Toktozampa. It was pitch dark and except for the sound of his scooter, it was dead quiet. As he descended towards the bridge, he clasped on to the throttle and gave it a full spin as soon as he reached the bridge. 

As he sped across the bridge, he felt a heavy weight on his back seat. Spooked out of his wit, he focused on keeping the scooter straight. As he neared the end of the bridge, the weight became heavier and heavier. 

As he crossed the bridge, the weight became too heavy for the scooter to move. Cold sweats ran down his face. His heart was racing and he was shaking violently. He pulled the throttle cable to his fullest and put the scooter on the highest gear. Still, his scooter won't budge a bit. The weight clamped down and swerved left and right, the wheel spinning violently and kicking off pebbles and dust. 

Helpless, he began to cry and shouted for help. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a unusually tall women, skinny to the bone, hands that are on his scooter are shrunken and no bigger than a stick. Wearing a black dress and head bald as a marble. He could barely see the face in the dark. The face was nothing but a curled up and distorted horn of a ram, no eyes, no mouth or nose, just a plain, ragged horn all over. She held tight on the backside of his scooter and began to shrill as she pulled him closer and closer towards bridge. 

Just as he thought he lost all hope. People from the village came running, shouting at the top of their voice like a warrior. Each of the men had a fire in their hand and without delay, some shouted and sprayed powdered wood, on their fire to fight off the lady while others quickly dragged Mr. Phub away and ran back, hollering and shouting, as the lady dragged the scooter into the river.

Although saved, Mr. Phub was never the same again. He became all dazed and confused. For weeks he didn't even come out of his house. Since then, he couldn't even focus on his work and eventually resigned from his job. He became like a child and needed extensive care and supervision. 

P.S. : He lived for 10 years after that incident before we lost him and never even recovered his body. The last thing he told me was this very story. We never saw him ever since. Maybe he is alive somewhere or maybe not. But we feared the worst and did every rites and rituals for his sake. He was a very honest man. A kind man and a generous individual. He was my elder brother.





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