Her father, an old merchant and farmer, could make do without her labour. My mother would learn of herself only as Chue, the name from her past buried deeply there.Ĭhue was the only girl in her farming village to go to school. A bell commemorates it produces a sound that cuts through the silence. After an arduous ceremony, it was decided that the girl would be now known as Chue, the Hmong word for bell. My mother’s name was changed immediately to thwart whatever unsavoury forces had led her away from home. Keep reading list of 4 items list 1 of 4 ‘Over my dead body’, say Gambian mothers amid efforts to lift FGM ban list 2 of 4 The US war on reproductive rights should concern women everywhere list 3 of 4 Perry guides RCB to first WPL title in low-scoring thriller list 4 of 4 South Korea to China: Why is East Asia producing so few babies? end of list To his relief and dismay, when he lifted her up, despite the rainy day, the girl was entirely dry. She squatted at the edge of the dirty water, splashing her reflection with both palms. What could have happened to the little girl with the thick black hair, the tiny hands and feet? Before dusk, in a light drizzle, a frantic brother found the girl sitting on the banks of a wide puddle far from the house. The whole of the village was notified, and everyone started looking for her, on foot and on horseback. The path leading away from the house was empty. The herb garden behind the house was soaked in rain, the earth slippery, and the orchard behind it looked empty. Still, when it was clear the girl was not inside, her father went out to look for her. Outside the swinging bamboo door, they saw no footprints leading away from the house. In a panic, the parents looked throughout the spread of the house, called for her in all its rooms. By the time the girl’s mother started looking for her, it was close to noon, nearly time for lunch. No one noticed when the girl went missing. Her father felt a cold coming on, so he rested near the fire. Fog rose from the rivers like smoke from a fire toward the grey clouds that hung low over the tops of the trees. The two rivers that surrounded the village were flooded by heavy rains. Her name was changed when she turned three. It was given when she was born in 1961 in the village of Dej Tshuaj, a small village in the Phou Bia Mountains, in the war-ravaged nation of Laos. My mother’s first name is long forgotten.
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