Page 161 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

Guwahati–Trivandrum Express (12516) for Vellore arrived. Two coolies hauled our luggage while I
dragged the red suitcase with money inside. Choki and Ata Gelong carried the baby from the rear door.
“Where the hell are you going?” I shouted. “Hey, Choki! Here!”
Ata Gelong gesticulated me to get in. The train gained its momentum. “Where the hell are they?” I
dragged my suitcase along the narrow aisles crammed with passengers. “Hey, coolie, hum ko pechi pechi
awo.”
“Jaldi, tinso rupee,” said the coolie. “Train jara hai.”
After taking the money, they jumped out.
Choki puffed behind me.
“Where were you?” I said, huffing. “I thought you missed the train.”
“Don’t worry while I am there,” said Ata Gelong.
“Is the baby okay?” I asked.
“He is asleep,” said Choki.
“Okay. Let’s find our seats.”
After two hours, it halted at a station. I peeped through the glass, but it was dark outside. A
bespectacled woman and a young girl hauled their bags to our compartment. The girl was slim and
beautiful, like any Bhutanese girl. Her lips were red.
“Oops!” said the girl. “Here is our seat.”
The train pulled away after two minutes. We exchanged smiles with the two strangers.
“Which station is this, Aunty?” I asked.
“NJP station,” she replied. “Siliguri.”
“I see. Where are you from?”
“Sikkim. You heard about it?”
“Yeah. We have been there. Many Bhutanese go to Deorali Gompa. To get blessings from Dodrup
Rinpoche.”
“You are from Bhutan? How far is it from here?”
“Maybe two hours by car from Alipur Railway Station. And how far is Sikkim from here?”
“It takes over three hours from the Siliguri town. I am escorting my daughter to her college.
Bangalore.”
The girl nodded.
“Oh, really?” I said.
Over dinner, she shared her deep-fried pork. In return, Choki gave her ezzay (chili pickle) she had
brought from home. The train zoomed day and night. The plains befuddled me; I had no idea which
direction the train moved. Passengers moved in and out at every station. I had to be watchful about the red
suitcase under our seat. If it disappeared, everything would be gone.
At 2:00 am the second night, a TT came to check our tickets. He was fat with a serious face.
“Which station should we alight at to go to CMC Hospital?” I asked.
“Katpadi Station,” he replied, glancing at my ticket. “Three more stations from here.”
“Katpadi Station,” I repeated.
“We would arrive there at 4.30 am. Stay awake forever. You might miss it.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll keep count on the stations, but are you sure Katpadi Station is after the three
stations from here?”
He scowled at me. “I’ve traveled this route all my life because I am a TT. Who else would know this
route better than an itinerant TT?”
The college girl peeped down from the upper bunk. When I glanced up, she rolled up the blanket over
her head. Maybe she was giggling.
“I am sorry. Thank you.” I turned to Choki. “You can go to sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”
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