by Anirban Bose
As the giant moon-faced watch at the end of the platform turned to 9.29, the train jerked suddenly, as though rehearsing its intention to start moving. A green light shone from outside the guard’s cabin. Adi craned his neck, straining to stretch his sight beyond what the bars would allow.
Suddenly, he spotted Isha at the edge of the platform, running towards them.
The train whistled and began to move. Adi got up and rushed out towards the platform, ignoring the look of surprise on the other guys’ faces. He ran towards her, waving his hands frantically to catch her attention.
‘Isha… I’m so happy you could come,’ he said, when she caught up with him.
She smiled at him, trying hard to catch her breath.
‘Sorry, I was late…bad traffic. Anyway, the train is leaving,’ she said between breaths, ‘you’d better get back on it.’
‘I miss you already, Isha.’
She smiled. ‘Here,’ she said, and handed him a plastic bag.
‘What is this?’
‘It has some stuff inside,’ she said. ‘Some money, some magazines, some food and a bunch of postcards…write to me often. Run now, or you will miss the train.’
Adi grabbed the handrails next to the door and jumped onto the steps at the entrance to the compartment. She walked fast, trying to keep up with the train now slowly chugging out of the station.
Then she said, ‘There is also a sealed envelope inside, Adi. Don’t open it now…open it later, when you think you are ready; when you know what you feel.’
Adi was surprised. He looked inside the bag.
‘The plain envelope?’ he asked.
She broke into a jog to keep up with the train. ‘Yes. Promise me you won’t open it otherwise?’
Adi looked at her questioningly. The train had gathered speed and Isha had to run to keep up. Running and dodging the crowds simultaneously proved difficult. The distance between them began to grow.
‘What is in it?’ shouted Adi.
The train whistled loudly, drowning out her words. She tried to shout but this time the distance thwarted her voice. She slowed down and soon stopped running.
He watched as she stood at the edge of the platform, waving goodbye till she turned into a tiny black speck, indistinguishable from all the other specks that moved randomly in his field of vision.
TWENTY-TWO
By the time Adi woke up the next morning, the train was moving fast, cutting its way through small villages and farmland. He climbed down from his berth, yawning and stretching, trying to find his slippers to go to the bathroom. Rajeev was awake; he glanced at Adi and then looked away.
Adi stared at the scenery beyond his window. Hundreds of small paddy fields stretched for miles like a giant green patchwork quilt. Tender saplings stood in ankle-deep water, shivering in the wind. Men and women worked side by side, implanting the saplings into neat rows of green while their children splashed and jumped around in the pools of muddy water. Buffaloes roamed lazily in the fields nearby, periodically whipping their tails to chase off the crows conveniently taking free rides on their pliant backs.
It was cloudy and a pleasant breeze blew in from outside. Adi returned from the bathroom to find most of the others awake. The train was beginning to slow down for an approaching station. Sam stretched out his arms and yawned lazily.
‘Sam,’ said Rajeev, ‘you better go and brush, man. There’s a station coming up where we can have breakfast.’
Sam looked at him through sleep-filled eyes and said, ‘I don’t brush.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t brush?’ asked Rajeev.
‘I don’t brush my teeth… Haven’t done it for the last six years.’
The others stared at Sam, their faces crinkled with disgust. Sam saw the look and smiled. ‘What? My teeth are as good as yours… Animals never need to brush; they do fine.’
‘Sam, the last time I checked…I was human,’ said Pheru.
They started laughing. Sam joined in the laughter. ‘Go ahead,’ he said. ‘Make those corporations richer as they continue their mass fraud on millions of human beings, convincing them to use their misleading products… I won’t brush and I won’t let them perpetrate this fraud on my family!’
‘Well, you’ll never have that problem, Sam. No woman will let you come close enough to her to start a family!’ said Pheru. Sam remained unmoved by the laughter.
As they entered Akola station, Adi checked his timetable to see if the train was on schedule. To his consternation, he realized that they should have been through Akola two hours ago. He cursed the slow-moving train and wondered if he should inform the others. After hesitating for a few minutes, he cleared his throat and said, ‘We are behind…by two hours. Now we have only an hour’s margin to catch the connecting train in Calcutta. If this train slows down any more, we’ll miss the connection.’
‘Maybe it will make up time,’ said Sam. ‘It seems to be travelling fast.’
‘This train is always slow, Sam. If it was the Gitanjali, then maybe it could speed up, but not the Calcutta Express. In fact, sometimes they will let the next day’s Gitanjali pass this one.’
No one else offered an opinion. Adi returned to staring out of the window, unsure if the others were deliberately ignoring him.
The train slowed into the platform and came to a halt. They waited for the initial rush of porters and passenger to subside before getting off to look for breakfast. Harsha volunteered to stay back and keep an eye on their luggage. Train stations were infamous as popular hunting grounds for petty thieves, and the price of a moment’s inattention could be a suitcase.
Adi returned shortly, carrying a cup of tea for Harsha. He handed Harsha the earthen cup with a smile. Harsha, however, looked solemn and took the cup from him silently.
Adi sat opposite Harsha and looked out of the window at the crowds on the platform. People milled about patiently, waiting for the next train to arrive. Porters, in bright red uniforms, carried large sacks of freight all over the platform. Stray dogs hopped about effortlessly from one track to another, looking for scraps of food or the unexpected generosity of a stranger. Adi glanced at his watch, feeling his frustration rise when the train showed no signs of moving.
As he looked around idly, he noticed Harsha steal surreptitious glances at the top bunk.
Suddenly a couple of men came rushing down the passageway of their compartment. They looked very agitated as they scanned the faces of the passengers, looked under the bunks and knocked on the door of the bathroom at the end of the compartment. Intermittently, they called out a name.
Adi noticed Harsha looking up at the top bunk nervously.
One of the men reached their coupe and surveyed their faces rapidly. He stood up on tiptoe to look at the top bunk. His face lit up with excitement and he called out to the others. Three other men rushed to join him.
One of them began shouting angrily, addressing someone on the bunk, right above Adi’s head. His face was flush with anger as he gestured animatedly, promising swift retribution unless the person came down willingly. His shouts drew an excited crowd, all eager to witness some act of instant public justice. Like everyone else, Adi wondered who was hiding and what, if anything, he had stolen. He craned his neck to get a better look.
His jaw dropped when he saw a young woman sitting up reluctantly.
She looked too well dressed to be a thief, and an arm full of red glass bangles along with the thick coat of orange vermilion on her forehead suggested she was a young bride. Her hair was dishevelled from being crammed into the tight space, and tears made black tramlines from the kajal around her eyes. A fine layer of dried blood caked the scratches on the back of her thin forearms.
She sat up whimpering at the sight of her tormentors.
The man who had found her was beside himself with fury. He lunged for her foot. She pulled her legs away and cowered in fear, sobbing uncontrollably. Cursing her loudly, he stood on the lower bunk, readying for another attempt to grab h
er.
Suddenly, Harsha stood up and blocked his path.
‘Get out of our compartment!’ snarled Harsha, pointing towards the exit.
The man was shocked to see Harsha, and, for one instant, backed away. Then, collecting his wits, he explained that she was his wife and she was trying to run away from home; he simply wanted to take her back.
‘Saale! Harami!’ shouted Harsha. ‘You beat your wife, you beat your child. Get out now…nahin to aisa maaroonga!’ Harsha broke into Hindi to explain what he would do if the man didn’t leave her alone.
The man backed away, a look of disbelief on his face. The crowd fell silent, savouring the sudden escalation in the drama. Only the young woman’s sobs grew louder in a constrained show of defiance.
One of the men looked much older. He stepped forward and addressed Harsha. ‘Beta,’ he said, ‘this is between a husband and wife – why do you care? Just let them go home with their child.’
‘Why?’ mocked Harsha. ‘So that he can beat her up when he gets drunk?’
The old man backed off, muttering angrily under his breath.
The crowds were agog with curiosity. They piled over one another, blocking the aisles completely, trying to get a glimpse of the action.
The men looked at each other uncertainly. They traded irate stares and self-righteous nods before turning to glare at Harsha. ‘Ehhh, bhadwa! Who do you think you are? Move or we’ll skin you alive. You don’t know who you’re dealing with!’
Harsha stood his ground undaunted, silently seething with anger.
Rajeev looked around nervously. ‘Harsha, you could get into trouble, man…just let her go with them!’ he hissed.
‘No! I won’t!’ Harsha snapped back.
Harsha’s dissent shocked Rajeev. He turned to address the others. ‘Guys, talk some sense into him! What is wrong with you, Harsha?’
The others looked at each other, unsure of what to say. Harsha meanwhile continued to stare at the men ferociously, unmindful of anything or anyone. His hands were curled into tight fists of rage and his round pudgy face was bursting with indignation. His meagre frame was trembling with anger, his eyes locked on the husband like a laser beam.
Harsha’s courage amazed Adi.
Rajeev turned to Harsha again. ‘Let her go, Harsha! It is for her own good, man!’
Harsha didn’t even bother to acknowledge Rajeev.
Rajeev shouted angrily, ‘What is your problem, Harsha? Who is she to you, huh? Why do you care?’
‘Because nobody cared about my mother and me! Nobody!’ Harsha shouted back, wiping away angry tears. ‘I won’t let anyone beat up this girl or her child, ever again! Saala… I’ll cut off the hand that tries to touch her!’
A sudden hush followed his outburst: the source of Harsha’s strength abundantly apparent.
Adi stood up. Putting his arm around Harsha’s shoulder, he faced the men. Sam and Pheru followed suit. Seeing the others, Rajeev joined in.
The train hadn’t moved an inch. The altercation brought the train conductor out of his cabin. Seeing him, the men started complaining that a group of young boys were refusing to let a husband see his wife and threatening to beat them up.
The conductor, a portly man with a thin moustache and a soft pudgy face, surveyed Rajeev, Pheru, Harsha, Adi and Sam suspiciously. Dressed in shorts, slippers and crumpled shirts, they were a sorry sight – one that did nothing to inspire any faith in the conductor’s eyes. His eyes narrowed, and, placing his hands on his hips, he said, ‘Tell me, why I shouldn’t call the Railway Police and have you arrested?’
Before anyone could reply, Pheru whipped out his college ID card and flashed it in front of the conductor’s nose. Then, in chaste, accented English he said, ‘We are doctors from Grant Medical College, Bombay. We would like you to call the police. We want to report these men who have been threatening and abusing this young girl. You can ask her…she will testify. According to Indian Penal Code 324 section 2 clause 9, these men should be arrested for this crime…so please go ahead and call the police!’
Taking a cue from Pheru, the rest of them dug out their IDs and flashed it for the conductor’s benefit, each wondering what was written under Indian Penal Code 324 section 2 clause 9.
The poor conductor was so impressed by Pheru’s authority not only over medicine, morals and the Indian Penal Code, but also over the English language, that he immediately took off his cap and started addressing Pheru as ‘Doctor sahab’. Pheru nodded with an authoritarian importance that completely belied the fact that none of them was qualified enough to prescribe aspirin, and ‘Doctor sahab’ had spent five years trying to pass the exam that taught him the properties of that drug.
The conductor verified with the girl that she didn’t want to return with the men. Then he turned around and gave the men a severe tongue-lashing for stopping the train and causing a disturbance. He offered them the choice of getting off the train quietly or having a chat with the Railway Police.
The men got off silently, their eyes burning with anger. They stood on the platform, huddled in conspiratorial hatred, shooting loathsome glances towards the compartment. The crowds dispersed reluctantly, turning back every few minutes to confirm the conclusion of the drama. The conductor returned to his cabin, and after five minutes, the train began to move.
Adi checked his watch; they had lost another hour.
The young woman’s name was Aruna. At twenty, she had run away from home to get married to the charming young man who had promised her the world. Within a few weeks of marriage, she realized that he enjoyed beating her every night. She had borne this for a year, and they even had a child together. She had hoped this would make him less violent. Unfortunately, it was not to be. Instead, he beat her even more. His beatings had driven her to attempt suicide, but without much success, when the rat poison that the street peddler had sold her turned out to be fake. She had written to her father, but her husband had found the note before she could post it, and beaten her mercilessly that night. Finally, after waiting for a few months to regain her strength and having consulted the astrological charts to predict a successful escape, she had climbed through her bathroom window on the fourth floor, down the drainage pipes, while her fifteen-month-old boy slept peacefully in the sling she had strapped to her back. After successfully negotiating the most difficult part, her carefully planned escape had nearly been undone when her brother-in-law had heard the loud squeak from the old hinges on the house gate, and raised the alarm. She had run halfway across town to reach the station, just as the Calcutta express was pulling in. She had clambered aboard the train to try and reach Bhilai where her parents lived – a station fortuitously on their route.
Adi marvelled at the merits of the astrological chart: not only had the train’s two- hour delay served her well, amongst the hundreds of passengers on the train, she had chosen to ask Harsha for help. Harsha, recognizing the look of terrified desperation on her face, had immediately conspired with her to evade her hunters.
She sat silently on one corner of the lower bunk, the object of prying eyes and hushed debate in the compartment. She was pretty and seemed fairly well educated. Her body was youthfully slender; her face long and graceful, with intense dark eyes and full lips. A smudged bindi adorned her forehead and a linear streak of orange vermilion disappeared among the roots of her long black hair. She wore a red and green sari, and the matching blouse hinted at an ample bosom. She sat encircling her knees with her arms, resting her head in its folds, occasionally burying her face in them to sob quietly.
A baby’s wails suddenly disturbed the quiet in the coupe. She perked up and rapidly climbed up to the top bunk to tend to him. She stayed up there, nursing him for a while. Eventually, when no sound was forthcoming, Adi looked up to see that both mother and son were fast asleep.
Pheru raised the obvious topic. ‘What will she do in Bhilai?’ he asked.
‘Her parents are there, right?’ said Harsha. ‘They’ll help her.’
‘Yeah, but socially she is really screwed,’ said Rajeev.
‘Softly!’ admonished Harsha. ‘She may hear you!’
‘What do you mean she is socially screwed?’ Sam asked Rajeev.
‘You know…she’ll have trouble getting back into society. She’s married and has a kid and has run away,’ he explained.
‘Rajeev, I can’t believe you would say such a thing,’ said Sam. ‘For all your modernity and your latest fashions, your mind is still in the eighteenth century.’
‘I’m just stating the facts, man,’ replied Rajeev. ‘It doesn’t matter what I feel…the status of women in India is still second class. And married women…third class. A married woman with a child who has run away from home…no class. You think she’ll find it easy to get back into society? She’ll be lucky if her parents take her back. You cannot deny that her future is not going to be a rosy ‘lived-happily-ever-after’ even if you choose to believe in it. Don’t lecture me…I don’t care about it at all!’
‘You may not care, Rajeev,’ said Pheru, ‘and it’s because you don’t that society is the way it is. But there are people like Harsha who see things differently and will give her the chance she needs and deserves.’
Harsha smiled.
‘Yeah, Harsha obviously sees it differently,’ joked Sam. ‘She is cute!’
They laughed.
Rajeev chuckled. ‘Aha! Now I understand why Harsha stood up for her. Hmm, very smart, Harsha.’
Harsha smiled but didn’t say anything.
‘I think her helplessness adds to her sex appeal,’ said Rajeev.
‘Rajeev, you bloody pervert!’ whispered Sam. ‘And you think I’m dirty because I don’t brush my teeth?’
‘Shh…!’ hissed Harsha. ‘She is coming down!’
They stared at her climbing down from the upper berth. For an instant, her sari caught the edge of a bunk on her way down, providing the onlookers with a flash of her firm thighs. They exchanged naughty looks before prying their eyes away and grinning slyly at each other.
