It was a regular, hot, humid afternoon in Delhi. Somehow, the heat and humidity at the railway stations are directly related to the when the train arrives on the platform. Ram Singh knew this well. He was visiting his home town, a lot richer than when he had left ten years ago. Ram Singh was the son of a poor daily wage worker. He had no formal education and got married when most kids his age in the city were still to learn the fine art of shaving. Everyone in the village looked down upon him, for he could not earn any money no matter what he did. One day, during one of those quarrels between man and wife where tempers always run high, he challenged the entire world that he would someday become rich and only then would he step back into his village. The wife, knowing this all too well, coerced him and goaded him further. But this once, she was wrong. He left, leaving behind a seven month old baby, the wife, the parents, the village, even his favorite tree.
The city was not a place where you could relax under the tree. You had to keep moving, keep pushing and keep up with being pushed. When he arrived at the station, he immediately made friends with some coolies, and started life as a coolie with gusto. On the third day, he realized that his dream was running away while he was lifting luggage and haggling for measly amounts of money. He had to do something. What could he do? That night, the usual drunk party of coolies, including the old one, sat together, recounting stories of their past and lost glories. The old one lamented upon his lack of physical strength which once came in so handy. When prodded further, he revealed that during his heyday, he not only used to help people with their luggage, but if they were slow, he most often used to help himself. Yes, that was it. That was his answer.
You would agree that anything addictive this world has to offer is most often morally wrong. So the coolie became the conman. From the platform he moved on to the second class compartments, from there to the third AC, and finally to the First class. He was established in the trade now. He knew who he should share the booty with, and how much. He knew how to charm people in five minutes, and had devised ingenious methods of his own in trickery and sly.
He was making money, lots of it, but there are times in a man’s life when he tends to question ethics and morality, though he might not have either. Ram Singh too did the same one night, reminiscing about the good old days in the village. He suddenly remembered his son, his wife and everything and everyone right up to his tree. As expected, he was overcome with the feeling to go home. He decided that enough is enough, and packed all his belongings, including the cash and jewels in a separate bag, bought some toys, and boarded the frontier mail.
As he sat there deep in thought, he noticed the girl sitting opposite him. She was so beautiful, almost the same age as his son. And then reality sunk in, his son would be quite big now, how would he react? Maybe it would take some time to explain, but Ram Singh was sure he could convince the boy that he was his father. With this happy thought, Ram Singh looked at his fellow travelers, the girl and her mother who had a round face and a warm smile, the old man who was busy reading a book. He engaged the young girl in conversation which was soon joined in by the mother. The old man, realizing this conversation was there to stay, dropped his book and joined in too. They discussed about where they were going and why they were going there. It was dinner time and the girl and her mother, noticing that Ram Singh had not brought his dinner with him, decided to share theirs. He had a hearty meal because tonight, there were no worries. He had paid his dues and he was on his way home. He noticed that he was unusually feeling sleepy and attributed that to the same thought of going home.
When he woke up, the fellow travelers had gone, for he had overslept, the train had been at the platform for over half hour, and he was woken up by one of the urchins who scavenge the trains for any lucky leftovers. He washed his face, came out on to the platform, smelled the fresh air and hired a tonga to his village.
Everything had changed so much around here, he wondered loudly, upon which the tonga driver gave a city-ish smirk as if he was saying “bloody villager”. As Ram Singh neared his house, he got down, paid the tonga driver, and took wary steps. He knocked on the door, a small boy opened it. For a full minute, He just saw the boy and took the reality of it all. Then he managed a meek, “what is your name?”. “Bholu”, came the reply.
“Is there someone at home?”
“No. What do you want?”
“Where is your mother?”
“At the fields, she has gone to give lunch to my father.”
His mind went numb. He turned back, and then, remembering that he had bought toys, tried giving them to the child. After a long doubtful look, the child asked him to put the toys near the door and leave.
As he was coming out of their street, he saw his wife, and called out to her.
“Vimla!”
“You! But…but they said….you were dead….”
“Its OK. I promised you that I’ll be rich, here I am…”
He opened his bags which were full of stones and other assorted debris, carefully assembled to match the weight of all the riches he was carrying. He understood now why his sleep was so content. He smiled at her, as if to say goodbye and sorry at the same time, and she nodded in similar fashion. Even his favorite tree was cut down to make way for the road, and his parents were dead.
The end?
It was a regular, hot, humid afternoon somewhere in India. Somehow, the heat and humidity at the railway stations are directly related to the when the train arrives on the platform. Ram Singh knew this well. As he sat on his berth in the second class compartment, he surveyed his fellow travelers and gave them a benign smile. He had to charm his way again through life.
