Page 129 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

platform riveted me. Half-naked, their bodies studded with sores. A quivering old man lay in the corner in silent
pain. And skinny mothers begged, their babies clung to their bosoms. A few beggar boys foraged the trash bins.
A starving dog whimpered from the opposite platform. The scrawny mother dog regurgitated the partly-digested
food for her six scrawny puppies.
“Poor puppies,” I said, clucking. “Gave me twenty rupees, Ama.”
“Why?”
“Look at those puppies. I must feed them.”
“People are watching us. Be cautious.”
I bought four packets of Parle-G biscuits and tossed them over to the puppies. They gobbled, wagging their tiny
tails. They ran after me.
“That should be enough,” I said. “Go away now, you poor puppies.”
A skeletal beggar raised his steel plate right before my nose. “Paisa, baba, bohut bhog legey hai.”
“Choki?”
She gawked at me and said, “Nahi hai, jao.”
“Please, Ama.”
She placed a ten-rupee note on his plate and said, “Ab jao.”
People seemed so much used to the situation. They showed no sympathy for the discarded people and animals.
Beggars were no longer recognized as humans. And animals were neglected like hungry spirits in the movies.
Nobody pitied them, except for a weak-at-heart dude like me. I paced back and forth or looked in the direction the
train was coming. The trains hooted. And the coolies squeezed into the compartments with stuff on their turbaned
heads. Tired and flustered, I sat beside Choki and stared across the railway tracks. “Oops! When would the train
come?”
Young hawkers moved from person to person, carrying groundnuts in a bamboo basket. “Badam le lo! Badam!”
And the tea boy carried a kettle and tiny plastic cups, shouting, “Chai… chai…”
The fruit-seller carried a bamboo basket on his head, laden with fruits. “Apple! Kela!”
I wasn’t interested in all those bustling activities on the platform. So, I stared across the railway track, gripped by
trepidation of my son’s surgery. “Is Christian Medical College Hospital reputed?” I felt sick to my stomach. “What if
it was like AMRI hospital?”
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.

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