Samara Lama



Trinity Rai is one of Sikkim’s most intrepid writers, especially…
A heart-wrenching tale of betrayal, self-discovery, and resilience, following Samara Lama, a young woman from the North East, as she navigates the turmoil of her relationship and ultimately redefines her future.
Samara Lama, the bubbly, petite, and friendliest girl from the North East—according to her English Honours second-year batchmates at Lady Shri Ram College—was returning home to Gangtok. This time, it would be the last, as she had decided to leave for good.
Her boyfriend of two years, Karma Gyatso, had completely shattered her when she caught him, quite literally, with his pants down with another girl in his room.
Karma Gyatso—that lanky, aloof, good-looking chap from Kurseong—had stared at her with those bewitching, seemingly innocent dark brown eyes that had once won her heart. But now, those same eyes seemed fake, even sinister, as he mumbled some half-hearted apology.
As for the poor, naked girl, Samara felt nothing but pity for her. She knew how gullible the girl must have been to have ended up in such a humiliating situation, discovered by the man’s girlfriend. Without saying a word, Samara had closed the door on them and retreated hastily to her hostel. She found solace in the arms of her senior, Pinky di, a firebrand Bengali and sassy third-year student who had once warned her about her boyfriend’s wandering eyes.
Through incoherent words and desperate sobs, Samara poured her heart out to Pinky, who patiently listened, made her a steaming cup of Complan, and calmed her down—just like she always did.
Samara had just returned from her hometown of Gangtok, excited to surprise her beloved boyfriend. But instead, she was greeted by betrayal in its most shocking form. She had caught them mid-act, so engrossed in their passion that they hadn’t even bothered to latch the door. Perhaps it was destiny knocking some sense into this foolish girl.
At twenty, chubby yet pretty Samara had always been a geek. Throughout her schooling at the strict Holy Cross School, she had never dared to even glance at a member of the opposite sex. But everything changed during the Freshers’ Welcome party organized by the North East Students in Delhi.
She had felt utterly lost in the sea of outgoing and talkative youths, a stark contrast to her introverted nature. And it was then that this tall, dark senior from Hindu College had noticed her.
“Hey, bahini (younger sister), I’m Karma Gyatso. I’m from Kurseong, passed out from St. Paul’s, Darjeeling. So nice bumping into you.”
He had grabbed her small, childlike hand in his large ones and danced with her throughout the evening—much to her awkward discomfort at first, but eventually to her complete ease.
Karma relentlessly pursued Samara, who loved reading novels and writing poems in her free time. Despite her initial resistance, his tenacious attempts and amiable humour finally won her over.
But on that fateful day, when she found him in such an act of betrayal, she had felt numb and hollow. She walked back to her PG in a daze, called her parents, and sobbed like a five-year-old denied her favourite candy.
Her father, Dr Raj Lama, a single parent, didn’t hesitate for a moment to send her extra money for her train journey home.
From the SNT stand in Siliguri, she booked a seat in a shared cab and was relieved to get a window seat. As the cab left the hot plains and climbed into the cooler hills, she gazed out at the raging Teesta River. Back then, the Teesta was free to flow—no dams to chain its wild beauty.
The river, wild and furious, captivated her. It seemed savagely gorgeous as it danced and swirled, remapping the shorelines. Samara closed her eyes and prayed for the river’s spirit to remain unharmed. Alas, perhaps her prayers backfired, for in the years to come, technology would shackle the mighty Teesta, rendering it a shadow of its former self.
But on that day, as young Samara returned home, broken-hearted and crying bitterly, the Teesta was still free. Watching its fiery waves, she wished to be one with the river, imagining its arms caressing her with comfort.
Then her thoughts turned to her father, who had been her anchor. Left alone to raise her when her mother chose to leave for another man, her father had been both parents to her.
She remembered the day her mother, Dikila Bhutia, had walked out. A seven-year-old Samara had watched her mother pack her bags, thinking they were heading out for ice cream. Instead, her mother had roughly pushed her aside and locked her in the flat, leaving her in total darkness until her father returned.
Dr Raj Lama had been her world—cooking, bathing, and feeding her, attending every parent-teacher meeting, and crying unabashedly at her first poetry recital.
Snapping out of her thoughts, Samara spoke aloud, “Stupid, selfish Samara! What about Dad, you idiot? What about Dad, you ungrateful fool?” The man sitting beside her looked at her in disbelief.
By the time she reached Gangtok, Samara had made up her mind. She decided to leave English Honours and apply to law school in Gangtok.
Today, 2025
As Samara busied herself with an important divorce case, the door to her chamber opened.
“May I come in, madame?”
That familiar husky voice made her look up. It was Karma Gyatso. Swallowing his pride, he almost begged her to take his case. His wife, Arpana Rai, had made his life hell.
Samara smiled. “Don’t worry, Mr Karma Gyatso. As long as you’re truthful to me, I can help you. But you must be completely honest this time. Can you do that?”
Karma turned beetroot red, fidgeting uncomfortably.
The door opened again, and a medium-height, fair, bespectacled man entered.
“Have your tiffin, Sammy. I just came to remind you,” her husband said lovingly.
Karma watched the exchange, a pang of jealousy coursing through him. Samara’s light brown eyes shone, the way they once had for him. But now, they glowed for someone else.
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Trinity Rai is one of Sikkim’s most intrepid writers, especially of stark short stories, and has also taken to poetry. Currently, she is a teacher in Holy Cross School, Tadong, Gangtok