Mingma

Mingma Sherpa dozed in the mid-morning heat. He lay on his pellet on a hard wooden plank, a few feet from the floor, trying to read. The book fell off his hand soon and his eyes closed. He dreamt of the bright white sunlight streaming down from the skylight near the ceiling of the tiny dark room, lighting up the cage. It was an ordinary iron cage holding the little bird. A sparrow, looking rugged, also dozing, its little head tucked into its feathers.

Mingma asked himself why the sparrow was in a cage.

It was the most ordinary among birds. Caged birds were supposed to be the most exotic. Like the folktales said. An ordinary little bird had come in through the palace window, left open by a princess. It hopped to the cage that held a beautiful snow white bird with a bright red plume and asked the bird inside, don