There are moments in life so profound, so seared into the soul, that even time dares not erode them. And then, there are the quieter echoes—the ones that linger in the shadows, haunting us with questions we scarcely dare to voice: Did I do enough? What did I leave undone? And what kind of citizen does that make me?
These moments do not cry out; they dwell in silence. They are quiet burdens that steal our sleep and press upon the rhythm of our days. And yet, even in our darkest hours, there flicker sparks of light, gentle reminders of how profoundly we are blessed. Not by mere fortune or the whims of chance, but by the grace of a leader whose courage became our shield, whose wisdom became our compass, and whose boundless love for his people became the quiet force that held us together.
The days between December 11 and December 19, 2003, were such moments. They did not merely test my strength; they deepened my understanding of what it truly means to be Bhutanese. These were days marked by hushed prayers and sleepless nights, when the fragility of peace met the unshakable resolve of a people, and a leader ever willing to stand firm. They left sacred imprints: reminders of how profoundly we were protected, and how courageously we endured.
At the time, I was a young officer, newly inducted into the Royal Monetary Authority as a Banking Supervisor. As regulators of Bhutan’s financial institutions, our duty was to ensure compliance with prudential norms, and I was in Phuentsholing to conduct the year-end inspections on-site.
It was sometime around the evening of December 10th or 11th , 2003 when I received an unexpected visit. A friend of mine, also a young officer, had come from Haa where he was serving in the Royal Bhutan Army. We met briefly, and he told me that they had received orders to report to one of the southern districts and they were leaving that very night.
We knew the ultimatum had been issued; Indian militants on Bhutanese soil had been told to leave peacefully. But we didn’t know that diplomacy had reached its end, that our soldiers had already begun to march. We didn’t know that history was unfolding just beyond our reach.
In the days that followed his departure, Phuentsholing remained calm. It was almost deceptively, as if the stillness itself was holding its breath. I searched desperately for news, clinging to fragments of information hoping to ease the weight of uncertainty that hung in the air. It became nearly impossible to focus on my daily tasks. For, how could one attend to the ordinary, when our King was engaged in the extraordinary, standing at the frontlines of battle to defend the very soul of our sovereignty?
On December 15, I heard that the operation was a success. We had triumphed, not by chance, but through the strength and vision of a leader who led from the front and inspired the soldiers to stand tall.
I also heard that His Majesty had commanded there be no celebrations. Here was our Dharma King, victorious, yet humble. I heard that women and children from the militants’ camps were treated with dignity and safely handed over to the Assam Police. This was not just leadership; this was compassion in its purest form. This was empathy in action.
I cannot remember a day that filled me with such overwhelming relief and joy as December 15, 2003. It was a day that reminded me of the quiet strength of righteousness and of the extraordinary King who carried us through.
A few days after the successful operation, one of the banks hosted dinner for us. By then, whispers of the military action had spread. We heard stories of courage, of sacrifice, and of how His Majesty the Great Fourth led our soldiers into battle with unmatched bravery. I remember being seated next to a well-known businesswoman that evening, and the conversation naturally turned to the operation.
In that moment, a wave of shame crashed over me, raw, inescapable, and absolute. I was speechless. My friend had stepped into the shadows of war to defend our nation, while I remained behind; in comfort, in safety and hidden behind ledgers and numbers. I was young, and yes, my duty lay elsewhere. But none of that silenced the truth that echoed within me: when the country called, I had not answered.
That feeling has never left me. It lingers still, a quiet ache, a reminder of a reckoning I cannot undo.
From that day on, I made a quiet, unshakable vow to myself that no matter where I was placed, no matter what role I held, I would serve the nation with everything I had, fully, honourably and with unwavering dedication. It would no longer be defined by position, but by purpose.
Looking back, I see now that we were not unpatriotic but simply unprepared. Not in spirit, but in understanding. As young officers, we looked to our seniors for guidance and for a deeper sense of purpose beyond our job descriptions. But during that time of national urgency, many of us remained unaware of the magnitude of what was unfolding.
Our education system had taught us to be loyal, to stand together, but often without asking the deeper questions, what are we standing for?
As we guide the next generation, we carry within us the lessons carved by our own journeys, moments that moved our hearts, moments that forever reshaped our understanding of what it means to serve. Our children, the future of Bhutan must grow not only in knowledge, but in purpose. They must be rooted in a deep, unwavering love for the land we call home, and inspired by the values that have shaped our nation’s soul.
It is our sacred duty to pass down the values our Fourth King so profoundly embodies: love, compassion, sacrifice, wisdom, and empathy. We must teach our children that true patriotism is not found in grand declarations, but in quiet integrity, in unwavering loyalty, and in the courage to do what is right, even when no one is watching.
They must understand the extraordinary legacy we have inherited, a nation shaped by selfless monarchs, whose wisdom and love have always placed the well-being of their people above all else. This is the spirit we must nurture. This is the light we must carry forward.
They must come to know how our beloved Great Fourth Druk Gyalpo, at a tender age, carried the immense weight of a nation on his young shoulders and how, throughout his reign, he made countless sacrifices to protect, guide, and uplift his people. They must understand how His Majesty, with unwavering dedication, profound wisdom, and extraordinary foresight, has worked tirelessly, day after day, to safeguard our future and to shape a Bhutan that is stronger, more compassionate, and more resilient than ever before. This is the legacy we inherit. This is the duty we must honour.
To me these are not just stories of the past , they are living lessons. And it is through honoring them, through serving with all our heart and strength, that we teach our children the true meaning of patriotism, loyalty, and love for our country.
Dorji Phuntsho,
CEO, RSEBL
