My Darker side..

The kiss!!

2007-04-18T03:17:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer : The protagonist is a small town lad, and his views, acts and analysis are in no way being endorsed by the author. :)

It was a Friday evening in the capital and I was about to embark on a journey that would never be forgotten, not just for the cause of it, but hell of a lot more so, for the effect it had on me.

Rajdhani Express, the epitome of extravagance for a just about middle class commuter like me, was there waiting on the rails for those elite, oh-I-missed-the-flight kind of passengers to claim their luxury. Quite a subjective term is this, the word 'luxury'. One man’s bare necessity can be a luxury, an indulgence for a lesser mortal. And a lesser mortal I was, they could have gone the length to have pasted my picture in the dictionaries against this word for the sake of citing an example. If only they paid a royalty.

But today this poor old country cousin was clutching on to a ticket that read “A3 22 Rajdhani express New Delhi-Bangalore” under different columns. The train was scheduled to depart at 6:45 sharp in the evening from platform no. 10 of the New Delhi Junction. With still about 20 minutes left, the sun was sinking down the stretched ochre clouds that lined the horizon. The silhouetted buildings were being flushed out of it’s sleepy occupants- the 9 to 5 crowd- the weekend was here.
I am not a competent person at offering such poetic overtures. And so I spare the prose of the torture I may inflict.

It was my first ever train journey where the windows would be sealed, fans concealed, and the tobacco I chewed on would paint the basins at the ends of the coach, The curtains would graciously welcome my filthy hands to relieve them of the ugly evidence that bore testimony to a hoggish dinner; a nose digging session or may be an unwarranted itch lower down my anatomy.

No smelly beggars who collect money for their Indian idol auditions (you should hear them sing!!), No Clappy-happy eunuchs who grab ‘more than’ just your currency notes, No Paan-beedi-cigarette-Taash patti waalahs, were going to bug me here.

The one thing that stayed the same was the anxiety for the reservation chart, hoping that a chirpy, talkative and essentially buxom lady, would accompany me this time in my compartment. And she would hopefully prefer the curtains drawn for her new found love to hatch. Ha!

Our hopes as they say go with us to our graves or to the toilet (for the teens).

After filtering the reservation chart for some F-16’s to F-26’s within a 5 inch radius of my printed name there. Disheartened, I zeroed on a name:

“Poornima devi F-47 21”

She was in the same compartment as I was supposed to be. And she had to be a ‘Madonna’ at her age to coax me to board the train without a novel or magazine to kill time. But she was no Madonna and I was no patron of the written word and so anyway the magazines stayed with the hawker as I boarded the train.

I had a briefcase with me with a humble price tag and a brand-name well known in my native village. The rational question to ask at this point of time would be:

What was I doing in Rajdhani Express??

Actually it was a benevolent friend of mine who had a heart for charity (and a brain for business) and so he sponsored the hefty ticket fare. He was in the same trade as I was but precisely a year back, he came up with an ingenious idea, a goddamn spooky plan that changed his life (and shortly was about to change mine as well). Since then he has made enough dough to feed his new found appetite for charity.

This was a business trip. And my friend who had made several such trips in the past year assured me that this journey would end my days of misery. His reversal of fortunes coaxed me to believe his words.

Before this I used to travel in the General coach squeezed among drunken laborers and their bitchy wives, wailing infants and whining mother-in-laws, pervert blokes and veiled brides, all this immersed in a thick cocktail stench of sweat, shit and half-hearted farts.

I used to spend the nights counting the armpit hair of smelly constables and peeking inside loose blouses of snoring women. Make no mistake I can be gross at times

-------------------------------------

I made my way through the narrow passage effortlessly dangling my suitcase which just had about two polyester shirts and an ill fitting trouser. The coach was mostly empty. And with just about 5 minutes to go for the final horn I didn’t expect a baaraat to arrive and flood the coach.
I reached my compartment; there she was - Poornima devi pushing her bags under the seat. She was looking every inch the poornima devi she was. A pious lady clad in a white cotton saari and a hand-knitted scarf wrapped around her face. Wrinkles were beginning to show on her face, but she seemed to be a lady that didn’t seem to bother much about aging. Her attire (and of course the brand-names of her suitcases as well) suggested she was at a similar social status as I was.

“Beta aapki berth kaun si hai!!” ( What’s you berth number my son??) She initiated

“Jee meri 22 hai” (mine is 22)

“Asal me mera samaan thoda jyaada hai..isiliye thoda adjust kar lena beta” ( actually I have some excess luggage…so if you could adjust a bit..”)

“Arey zaroor..waise bhi mere paas just ek chhota suitcase hai..” ( I reassured her)

“Waise aap akeli itna saara luggage leke…??” ( By the way you are carrying so much of it all alone..??)

“Asal me Mera beta bangalore me computer engineer hai….bahut kamaata hai..lekin mai to hariyaane me rehti hoon..gaaon kairana district zind…jab se iske pitaaji shaant huye hai..mera to gaaon me mann hi nahee laage hai…isiliye mere bete ne mujhe apne paas bulaa liya hai…ab uske paas hi rahungi..saara saamaaan le jaa rahee hu apna..wo to usne tikkat bhej diya warna maine to kabhi nahee jaaana tha iss Acee-waycee me…”

(She went on saying that how after her husband’s death she was all alone in her village in Haryana while her son worked as a software engineer in Bangalore and so he wanted his mother to stay with him. As she was shifting permanently the amount of luggage was justified)

She had an unending stock of gossip which she dished out with her sharp tongue breathlessly to my utmost chagrin. She told me how her neighbor’s elder daughter eloped with the PCOwaalah and how her tenants there conspired with the neighbors to poison her healthy 2-litre-a-day goat.

Holy cow!!

I excused myself for a breather near the basin. She was as kind as her goat.

I spat the tobacco, I was chewing on for an hour or so, on the shining basin walls and didn’t bother to flush it down as it would require a battery of fire fighters with their hoses to wash and skin the spittle off the walls.

I waited there near the iron gates for the old lady to doze off in the compartment. It was a pitch black night and Agra was still about two hours away. Then suddenly the train began to decelerate and ultimately screeched to a halt at some godforsaken station. It was Quite unlike Rajdhani, there must be some problem, I felt. Then what I saw was one of the most pleasant sights I ever had in my life.

There she was struggling with a heavy suitcase, trying to push it past the entrance. She was every inch the jaw dropping beauty you would lie to your friends you met. The blue-eyed lass fanned lashes as she looked up. Her lips like juicy rose petals to sip from. A lock of velvety night-black hair spilled over her pink face as she finally managed to climb up the coach. She tucked the wisps of hair behind her ear, and then her eyes met mine. Her eyes had the effect of hashish, those innocent intoxicating eyes.
I was hopelessly awestruck. She looked a bit nervous after finding a man at the door all alone staring at her. After an exchange of blank faces she looked away and made her way to the passage dragging her suitcase behind. I was still gaping.

She was a tall woman, wearing a black saari with her midriff showing and a matching blouse sans any sleeves. She possessed curves so luscious that could drive nobler men to sin, her slim hips proved to be full of life as she walked down the alley. Then she stopped far down and before she entered her compart she turned around and caught me staring, she looked wary.
But neither of us felt uneasy, as for her she was used to this, and for me, she was too precious to even let go of my sight, for even a moment.

I sighed and with a heavy heart moved to the pantry to get myself a bottle of mineral-water. I was so dumbstruck that I even forgot to offer a helping hand to help her lift the suitcase.

But one thing that struck me which was rather unusual about the damsel: She was bare-footed. I noticed it when she climbed up the stairs to the coach. I was back to my coach. I was mulling over this weird fact as I slid the curtain of my compartment to enter with the water bottle in my one hand.

I nearly dropped my bottle for what I saw. The Greek goddess was in my compartment. She was horrified seeing me barge in such a way, but then I assured her, that I was one of the occupants of that compartment. And to my utter relief the old woman was hibernating peacefully on the upper berth wrapped in a railway blanket.

“What’s your berth number??” I initiated this time.

She was at ease now.. “Umm!! Lemme check…I know its in the 20’s..But dunno exactly!!” she chirped like a school girl as she fished for the ticket in her hand bag.

The lady clumsily pulled out the ticket and handed it to me. It was a yellowed piece of paper and with its tattered edges, the look of the ticket was at a conflict with her classy attire. It must have had a trip to the washing machine, I smirked.

I read aloud.

“A-3 23 lower berth, there you go madam, you are here to stay!!” I couldn’t hide my pleasure.

“But the ticket says you were to board from New Delhi. What happened??”

“Actually I was caught up in the rush hour traffic and couldn’t reach the station before the scheduled departure. By the time my husband and I did reach the platform, we had missed it….then my hubby decided to drive me down to Agra so that I could board the train from there…When we were on the way my husband inquired about the position of the train. He was told that there was some problem on the rails and so the train will be taking a halt at this station.. And eventually I reached in time to board the train here….phewhh!!”

The long explanation left just two things in my mind: One of them being the bitter truth that the nymph sitting right next to me was a married woman.

And the second impression was a wise query, as to why did her husband who took all the pains to drive her to this deserted station, didn’t wait to see his beloved wife off and help her with the luggage to board the train..??

The school and college grade sheets have always reflected unanimously that bimbos never liked too many questions being asked. So I rested my queries with myself.

“Looks like your hubby had ‘plans’ for the night..” I teased her.

“How do you know??” she shot back.

“As he seemed to be so adamant to anyhow dispatch you out of Station ha ha!!” I cracked up.

“Excuse me!! My father is critically ill in Bangalore and I didn’t want to miss this train at any cost….and please…I am no ‘object’ to be ‘dispatched’..” she fumed and looked away . I swallowed a lump.

I don’t know how I could have said the words I said. I desperately thought of something to defend myself. And as they say - attack is the best defense. So I said

“Pardon me madam!! But I thought I could afford to crack such jokes at a lady with no sandals on…Unarmed u see!!” I grinned ear to ear rather shamelessly.

She was caught off-guard and let out a sheepish giggle “Uhh ohh actually the stilettos I wore snapped while I was dragging my suitcase over the platform....I can be pretty clumsy at times” a she smiled and the little diamond in her nose ring sparkled..

I smiled in response; one thing was sure- she wasn’t as innocent as she was pretending to be. A woman of such tall stature never wears stilettos (heels) especially in train journeys.

The train was about to hit the Agra platform in another 1 ½ hours so it was high time for me to get on with my business. Luckily she had gone to the restroom to freshen up. I made sure the girl was away for long and the old lady above was still in la-la land. I searched for the girl’s water bottle. It was there in one corner of the berth wrapped with a napkin. I picked it up quickly and rolled it under the lower berth. I flicked open my briefcase and took out another water bottle and kept it by my side. After placing the briefcase where it was, I waited with bated breath for her to return. After another 5 minutes she was back all smiles. I knew after a piss humans get thirsty after a while. And so she began searching for her water bottle as some more time rolled. I was waiting for this patiently.

“What are you searching for!!” I asked

With her eyes filtering the compartment for her bottle she said “ my water bottle”

“Ohh you can have mine…!!” I offered her the bottle which I kept alongside.

Initially she hesitated but then gave in to her thirst and my imploring. I watched her gulp down about ¼th of the bottle. I knew it was enough. I waited as she sat there with the bottle in her hand. And in a few moments she was beginning to drift off.

Before this I used this technique to drug laborers (returning to their native villages with their savings) in general coaches. It was tough and at times pretty dangerous to do it. And what do you expect those friggin’ workers to carry with them.. gold biscuits!! Huh!!. The job was paying too little for the amount of risk involved in it.

It was my friend’s big idea, of investing a bit more in the ticket fare to tap the unaccounted wealth these oh-so-elite people carry with them in their journey aboard such trains. Then there were the curtains to give you privacy while you patiently unburden the ladies of the heavy jewellery and the gentlemen of their cash. Even the trust-factor runs high in such trains. And two such trips per annum were enough for you to party throughout the year.

She was almost unconscious as I unscrewed her nose and ear rings with delicate hands. She looked stunning up close. When I bent over to undo his necklace I could smell her. And she was absolutely intoxicating. Her juicy lips invited mine. I tried to restrain myself but my senses had resigned to her silent invitation, I kissed her. It felt like brushing my lips against ice cubes, they were cold and strange, her lips. She sat there motionless.

I shifted to my heels and quickly stuffed everything in to my briefcase including her hand-bag. I checked the old lady once again and assured myself that she was really sleeping. I made a quick exit and paced up the alley to reach the coach exit. The city lights were visible at a distance. I waited anxiously. I was about to escape. And before the train came to a complete standstill I had hired an auto to take me to my friend’s place.

When I reached his flat, he was fast asleep. I banged the door a bit scared. He opened the door rubbing his eyes.

“Kaam ho gaya?” (Mission accomplished??) He asked casually.

It was routine for him. He was doing it for the past 3-4 years but for me it was the first time. I nodded and barged in. He directed me to a cot to sleep on and he collapsed on his bed. I had a much needed bath and then slept with a jittery feeling inside.

The next morning I woke up I saw my friend glued to the TV set. Some news channel was on. I asked him jovially

“To news aa gayee, ek jawaan aurat ko train me loot liya gaya hehe!!” ( So the news is out huh?? A young lady drugged and looted of her belongings haha!!)…

“This is something strange!!” he was sounding ominous.

“What strange??..” I sat upright.

“Have a look…”

The news reader was speaking..

“…once again I repeat. In the Bangalore bound Rajdhani express a middle aged woman named “Poornima devi” was found dead on her berth when the train reached Bhopal this morning. The dead body was discovered by a train attendant when he went to collect the sheets and the pillows from the compartment. According to the attendant she was sitting with her eyes wide open with an expression of mortal fear on her face...the doctors are yet to discover the actual cause of the death….”

“Jesus Christ!! I was in the same compartment……Ohh my godd!!” I was panting.

My friend screamed his lungs out and grabbed my collars-

“Youuu son of a bitch!! You drugged her to death!! You asshole I warned you to use it fucking carefully with older people!! You….”

“ I DID NOT drug her!! I don’t know how the FUCK she died…We were THREE people in that compartment…” I almost cried

“What Bullshit!!! When you called me from the New Delhi station you said there was only an old lady in your compartment..”

“So how would I know, the reservation chart said…....”

suddenly something struck me hard . “…wait a minute…WAIT A FRIGGIN MINUTE”

*She had the ticket reserved from New Delhi but still her name didn’t show on the reservation chart…holy shit!!* I feared the worst.

I jumped to my briefcase and opened it to get her hand-bag

“What the hell are you mumbling???”

“Shut the fuck up”

I burrowed in her hand bag to pull everything out. There were some old newspaper clippings, i checked the date, the clippings were exactly 2 year old . One of them had a headline

“Suicide attempt onboard Raajdhani express”

Bhopal, In an unfortunate event , A resident of New-delhi Mrs sheetal gupta was found unconscious in her compartment when the Bangalore bound NewDelhi-Bangalore Rajdhani express reached Bhopal this morning. She was immediately rushed to the hospital, where the doctors declared it as a suicide attempt with excess dosage of sleeping pills as the cause. Doctors say she is out of danger now and her condition was stable.
According to her neighbors the lady had a fight with his husband the previous night and in a fit of rage she stormed out of the house and was going back to her parents place in Bangalore…

The clipping had the photograph of the lady as well posted with the news.

My friend saw the clipping and he snatched it from me. And he went ballistic.

“How did you get this?? Tell me!!!...How did yaa....”

I could see the fear in his eyes and so I asked “Why!! Do you know this lady???”

“Yeahh!!!..holy shit.. She didn’t attempt a suicide..I was onboard that day, she was my catch….and I gave her a overdose.. It was me..” and he started weeping.

“Oh my gawdd !! She escaped that time but you know what I DRUGGED the SAME lady last night…I don’t know how she would react to the drug the second time….” It was a deadly coincidence I thought.

“React my ass!! You moron.. That lady died the next day in the hospital exactly 2 years back .. do you get it NOW!!”

A chill ran down my spine. Her tattered ticket was 2 years old. I was motionless. Almost mechanically my hands gloved the lady's handbag and unearthed a letter.. which read..

“My wait is over young men. Your breath, your smell, your kiss will lead me to you. Run you must but I’ll follow you just as this letter has followed you. And then I’ll wreak my vengeance.

May the soul of the old lady rest in peace unlike mine.

- you know who”

The 37th milestone...

2006-10-26T07:27:00.000-07:00

“Sir, We’ve got only four bottles of Platelets!!” Dinesh , my assistant looked concerned..

“Don’t worry I don’t think even these four bottles will be of any use !!” I reassured him with an air of superiority.

“By the way are those pamphlets ready??…we need more than 500 of them…”

I was issuing orders yawning on a folding chair which has just been carried down from the caravan with other medical equipments.It was an October morning and the sunrays were struggling to pierce the morning fog. A chilly morning breeze was running over the mustard fields to reach us. The wet grass under feet was washed by the overnight dew. A steaming cup of tea was what I hoped to be served with.. And the headmaster of the Government school where we camped obliged me soon.

“Doctor saab, I haven’t seen anybody in our village getting infected by this disease in my entire life, then suddenly a dengue check-up camp… ”
The headmaster was apprehensive about our visit, as he was of any other visit by any government official, be it the auditors from the education ministry or the least bothered doctors from the health department like us. And it didn’t require any second guesses looking at the obese built of the headmaster saab that he was the in-charge of the school funds released by the govt. too. His apprehension was justified.

“Naah masterji it’s not exactly a check-up camp…but we are just taking some precautionary measures by spreading awareness about this deadly disease among the village folks, its just a one day formality”

I wanted to add a “so don’t worry” at the end.
He was visibly content and at ease as I looked up from my cup while sipping the last swig.

Yesterday evening while I was attending to my patients in my private clinic in Bhopal I received a call from the dean of the government hospital, where I worked in the early hours of the day. he explained me that As our state M.P. is the only state where There hasn’t been any cases of Dengue reported yet, the health ministry wants to maintain the status quo so it has ordered us to organize awareness cum check-up camps in rural areas. And I was to head a team of 4 junior doctors to kick off the campaign In Jhaabua.

Jhabua was a spooky village of the tribes who had taken to civilization, but nevertheless we had heard gruesome stories about the people of this place. The village was mysterious and surreal to an extent. Witchcraft was prevalent here. We had read several cases of parents sacrificing their own children and even drinking their blood to please their god. Some say their ancestors were cannibals. I don’t resent that.

The secluded village had a thick forest cover, ideal for the tribes to flourish and it was not long before these people got accustomed to a glowing bulb, power and then the power cuts. The local people didn’t like outsiders.

It was a four hour drive from Bhopal taking into account the state of the roads which had more potholes than the population of jhabua. I drove my Fiat which was a gift from my father-in-law when I got married (Ok ok call it dowry!!) some 15 years back.

The junior doctors were huddled up in the caravan with the medical equipments, banners and pamphlets and of course my folding chair.

***************************

Now the headmaster Mr. Dubey or dubeyji, as he was called here, showed me around the school harping on everything ranging from the inadequate government funds to spoilt students.

I looked at the pillars, supporting the roof of the school building which were replete with graffiti. Several hearts shot with an arrow midway, were etched on the pillars, with names at either end of the arrow like..RAJA + GEETA ..,GOPI + GEETA…NARESH + GEETA etc No guesses who Miss-jhabua ‘06 was.

We reached the left boundary wall of the school where a portion’s height was lowered by knocking off some bricks. I gave dubey ji a questioning look. He was grinning shamelessly. This was the emergency exit for the students. After eating their free mid-day meal they would jump over this portion to freedom. And no reason why there were more hawkers and street vendors lined up near that lowered portion outside the school campus than they were at the main gate. The business moves to, where the customers are.

During my talks with Dubey ji, as we were moving around I came to know that the pass percentage of the students was roughly equal to the growth rate of the Indian economy.i wasn’t surprised.
But Then I encountered this. Written on the whitewashed wall in big bold RED letters…

“ Ek baar aa gaye ho to waapas jaa nahee paaoge” ( translated from the local dialect)

I was dumbstruck.
Dubey ji held my hand in an act of reassurance seeing the horror on my face. He explained me that this is a routine affair. Every time any government official visits this place he is greeted by such words. He told that this must be an act of a few local chauvinistic tribesmen who didn’t like any intrusion on their land, even if its there for their own good. I knew he was hiding something.
I went close to the wall. The writing was fresh as the paint was dripping. Dubey ji tried to pull me away from the place. But by George I was horrified for what my profession has taught me, for what Dubey ji never would have imagined; that was not red paint dripping down the wall but that was BLOOD, human blood, I could have put my 15yrs of experience on the line claiming that was human.

I didn’t mention this to any of my junior doctors for obvious reasons. They were done with putting up banners and even the pamphlets and handouts were ready to be distributed. But something else was playing on my mind.

The village sarpanch was waiting for me. He rose from his chair and we exchanged greetings. Dubey ji left after introducing me to the sarpanch. The headmaster promised to join us in the evening. The Sarapanch seemed to be a courteous man. It took me a while to explain him the purpose of our visit which he listened to very intently. I wonder how much he understood it himself. But he was sure that it was for the well being of the villagers. He showed immense gratitude and took all the pains to lead me around the village which was backward like any other in our country.

He told me about the problems he faced here dealing with the local people as his roots were not tribal. I rarely paid attention to his words as I was a bit scared doing the rounds of the narrow lanes of the village. Hostility was emanating from the eyes of the local people. They didn’t like me.
We were here to look for possible cases of dengue and to warn people about the dangers of the fatal disease and the preventive measures. But here I was the one who was in danger.

Yes I admit I am a timid creature !!.

After I was done foraying into the village I instructed Sarpanchji to cover up and sanitize some areas which were susceptible and could be the possible breeding grounds of mosquitoes. The Sarpanch arranged the pamphlets to be distributed among the villagers.

I returned to the school with a nagging feeling. The junior doctors ceased idling around as I entered the school premises. I chatted with them to lighten up my mood. We waited for any cases to come to us as the distributed pamphlets read clearly that any patient can come directly to the camp for a free check-up. But I didn’t expect any of them to turn up.

There was still an hour to go before we could wind up as per the instructions from the dean.
Then suddenly a man carrying a child feverish looking feverish walked briskly past the school main gate. I immediately signaled the ward boy to help the child on the folding bed.

The boy looked abnormally pale. He kept staring at me coldly as I plugged my ears with the stethoscope. The man who brought him here was a tall man and looked frail, but he bore an eerie calm on his face, rarely did he speak any words.
I wore the stethoscope and checked his heartbeat. It appeared to me that it was not a normal fever, so I ordered the junior doctor to administer a blood test quickly. The man who accompanied the child sat by the side of the boy as we waited for the results to come.
The boy kept staring at me to my discomfort.

Then suddenly there was a power cut. And quite dramatically our emergency Genset also choked. It was already past the stipulated time for winding up.My junior doctors were getting impatient to leave that place before darkness fell. We waited with butterflies in our stomach. Sure it was a scary place

After an hour or so power was restored but we had to do it (the blood test) all over again which would take more than 2 hours. The case was looking genuine so I decided to stay on. And in a “captain of the ship” gesture I ordered my juniors to leave as I had my fiat to drive me home. They agreed to depart after some initial protests. I assured them that I can do it alone. They left with the caravan and I waited.
Around 11pm the first results came and to my respite Dengue test was negative. The boy had caught some minor flu. So I prescribed some analgesics and released the boy. The man left with the child and as he reached the main gate of the school he turned back looked at me and smiled mysteriously.

The night was pitch-black and conditions got overcast with the clouds looming large. As I was about to get into my car Sarapanch ji told me to stay over as the roads were not “safe” late night.
“Arey Sarpanch ji!! I am a doctor who drives a defunct FIAT returning from a FREE check-up camp. Who would bother to rob me, and I would have thought about staying over if it had not been a free check-up camp and I would have charged my fees” I chuckled.

His stone face showed no signs of amusement..

“They are not there to rob your money, doctor saab, they are looking for something ...else.…There have been ‘sightings’ on the road…and need I tell u more..?”

At any cost I was not going to stay in this village for a single minute more let alone for the full night.
I told him that I’ll drive non-stop and I would reach Bhopal by 5 in the morning. Sarpanch gave in to my imploring half heartedly.
As I walked to get in to my car I saw a strange symbol painted on the bonnet of my car with the ‘red paint’. My heart sank. I looked at the Sarpanch. I wanted to ask him “Is this the reason you want me to stay in this hell of a place for the night??”. It was utterly disgusting.

He maintained a stiff face.

I quickly got into the car without saying a word. I turned on the ignition and after a few hitches the engine growled.
I bid good bye to the Sarpanch and Dubeyji and few other helping villagers. And I set forth at a good speed. It began to drizzle. As it was a Saturday night, Commercial vehicles were scarce. I toggled a switch for the Wipers to operate. Soon the drizzle burgeoned into heavy showers with storm as well. The wipers were struggling.

There was a thick forest cover at either side of the road. The trees would twist, twirl and bend over the road with the gale quite ominously.
I drove at full speed what my Fiat had to offer. Even after two hours the storm showed no signs of settling. The winds breathed life in the trees either side of the road. Conditions were looking gloomy.
But in the next five minutes quite unbelievably everything became dead quiet. The wind ceased to blow, the rains stopped, and even the trees were dead. I could only hear the engine roar as my ’90 model FIAT was screeching ahead on the wet road. I was driving all alone on the Jhabua-Bhopal bypass with no other vehicle in sight.

Then I encountered a strange sight. At a distance on the roadside a child probably in his early teens was sitting on the 37th milestone wearing his school uniform. I slowed my car. He was wailing loud enough for me to hear.

It was really weird to find a boy in his school uniform in the middle of nowhere at 1 ‘o clock in the night. There were no inhabited areas within miles from that place.
I halted my car. The boy stood up seeing the car stop. He came near to the car. I was watching his every move very very skeptically with my one foot on the accelerator.
He said peeping inside the rolled up window glass “Uncle please!! Mujhe bachaa lo mujhe yahaa se le chalo uncle!! Mujhe ghar jaana hai…”
I was motionless .I couldn’t decide what to do. I couldn’t see his face clearly. The boy kept repeating the same words mechanically. He started banging the window glass with his little hands.
Then suddenly there was a lightning with thunder. I saw his face in the flash. Jesus Christ!! He was the same boy whom I treated a few hours back in the village. How he could reach here??. My blood ran cold. I stepped on the accelerator with all my might.
It got jammed. The car didn’t move to my horror. The boy kept banging the glass viciously repeating the same words. I kept trying madly for my life.

Then suddenly the car lurched ahead, I succeeded. I closed my eyes , sped the car at full throttle. I was running for my life. The boy tried to chase me and when he couldn’t keep pace he let out a blood curdling yell.
My heart beats were galloping hearing that spine chilling scream. I drove the next 3 hours at full speed to reach Bhopal at about 4 in the morning. I parked the car in my garage, my wife Sarita woke up hearing the car coming in.
She was standing on the doorway I went and hugged her tightly and then kissed my sleeping kids, Sarita was pleasantly surprised by this sudden burst of affection, but she didn’t question. There is no place like home, really.

I told Sarita not to wake me up in the morning as I was tired. I slept peacefully after such a traumatic night.
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It was three ‘o clock in the afternoon, I woke up rubbing my eyes. It has been a long time since I slept for so long. I was experiencing a slight headache. I asked Sarita to bring a cup of black tea for me.
After freshening up I eased myself on a chair in the porch. The Evening daily Mid-day was kept on the centre table. I picked it up to look for today’s su-do-ku. Then suddenly my eyes grew wide seeing a report.

“Tragic end to the Anubhav aggarwal kidnapping case”

Bhopal. In a tragic turn of events, Anubhav aggrawal, son of the famous builder Ravi Aggarwal, who was kidnapped last Wednesday while he was returning from school ,was run over by a truck today morning around 5’ o clock. As per our sources say, the boy escaped from captivity of the kidnappers late night. The eye-witness accounts confirm that he was asking for help to the people who passed by the Jhabua-Bhopal bypass. But nobody helped him out. The boy got too scared and as a result in a futile attempt to stop a truck for help, he was run over by the vehicle. The truck driver fled the scene leaving the truck ajar. A visibly shaken Mr. Ravi aggarwaal has blamed the police for its incapability to nab the kidnappers in time. Anubhav’s body will be handed over to his family after the post-mortem….”

I couldn’t read further. My whole body numbed. How could I be so stupid??.How could I be so indifferent??.I could have easily saved that child, had I been rational. Being a doctor I am expected to save people’s lives, in this case due to my very own home grown stupidity and superstition a life was lost.
I met him at 1’o clock..the poor little soul begged for help for another four hours. And I fled because he looked similar to the boy I treated in the village ..Such a poor excuse..Damn!!!

I saw my wife coming with a cup of tea and a newspaper in the other hand. She looked worried..

“Still reading yesterday’s newspaper!!”

“What..????” I checked the date; it was indeed yesterday’s newspaper which I was reading from. My blood froze. That means that boy died 20 hours back and still....

“Here have a look at today’s headline..!!” she said nearly weeping..

CARAVAN COLLIDES WITH A TREE
6 killed including 4 doctors near 37th milestone on the Jhabua Bhopal bypass

I fainted.