The wrong Train

Prologue

Every situation has some irony associated with it. The irony is either amusing or tragic. Since I travel by train a lot, I believe my responsibility to describe in detail the aspects of travel and the social ethos associated with it, is essential. As they say, ordinary situations create extraordinary circumstances. Again, I wonder whom are people referring to when they use “they”. I liberally assume that “they” refers to a group of cranky village philosophers sitting under a peepul tree delivering random statements with no particular significance. The best thing to do is not to mess with them as they may be wannabe motivational gurus desperate for recognition. My grandmother tells me that it may be their first step towards “shankaracharyadom” of some “new” ancient mutt which will be discovered later by carbon dating and the new TV serial on NBC. However, I should move on with my story about the passenger train “Gondwana express”.


Chapter 1: People

Getting inside a train is an easily forgettable experience. Because, by the time you reach your seat, devious railway agents may already have reserved that seat for three other gentlemen, who on confrontation show pale sweaty faces filled with remorse and exasperation. They realize very soon that until the TT arrives their travelling seat and bed would be the famed Indian railways toilet. After settling on my seat, I invariably look out for the most dangerous traveler – a travelling middle aged lady. The travelling lady usually occupies a lot of space, and it should be noted that I’m not simply trying to pour scorn on obese ladies. It is just that, irrespective of their size, volume, weight, area, and head weight, these ladies carry a great deal of baggage. They probably carry some of their housing bricks with them, just to avoid homesickness.

In fact, given a chance, the lady would hire a carpenter to construct an open wardrobe in the train and shed tears of joy watching her 150 pieces (!!!) of clothing dance with joy in the peaceful wind blowing through the train windows, while other harried passengers would haplessly dash for a place in the already overcrowded bogey, leaving the unluckiest ones to cling on to the ceiling fan like primates.

She would then pull out a mammoth sized lunch carrier from her mountain sized handbag and wait for the train to start. As soon as the train starts to move, she would execute her plan with skillful precision. Out of nowhere, the “she- Houdini” would produce 5 jars of pickles and hand it over to the nearby passengers who hold them with intense curiosity, peeking at the lifelessly floating pieces of vegetables in the sea of oil. Shortly afterwards, she would pass on some of the food to her daughter- in - law who would invariably seat herself at the end of some other coach. Assuming that she is bound by law to not get up from her seat, the travelling lady would play a game of “pass the parcel” with the passengers. By the time the container reaches her daughter – in - law, most of the food is already in the stomachs of vengeance seeking passengers (some of whom are genuinely hungry).

The train is however, not a platform for a one man/woman show. There are other interesting people who unknowingly make their presence obvious. There is always one old man removing his dentures before going to sleep. There is another fellow who would squat like a heron while his friend would lie down like Lord Venkateshwara in his heavenly abode “Vaikuntham”.

Then, there is a first time mother, holding a seemingly claustrophobic baby and adjacent to her seat an experienced mother instructs her confidently on bringing up children the right way, while her 15 year old son is busy gazing at the nonchalant European girl sitting in some other compartment and secretly picturing his own fantasy version of a transcontinental “Romeo and Juliet” with her. There are also some passengers who catch up on their extended afternoon siestas that generally last for days and nights.

Chapter 2: The Setting

This time my compartment had all these characters from the above described social ensemble. The incident I shall narrate involves three compartments in the bogey. In my compartment an old man, two afternoon siesta fellows and two newly met individuals were having a dull time. The two newly met individuals engaged themselves in a dry conversation and alternately assumed the heron and Lord Venkateshwara position, while I sat on the top berth with a magazine as the train chugged through stations. The old man was very particular that his dentures were safe and to ensure its safety he didn’t allow his to eyes wander. It is critical to note here that the two sleeping people made no significant contribution to this setting but I should include them for the sake of completeness and humanity.

The adjacent compartment consisted of the seemingly claustrophobic baby, its mother, the over confident experienced mother and the fantasy driven teenager, all of whom were deeply involved in their social engagements as described in the previous chapter.

The next compartment had the danger woman – the travelling middle aged lady, the European beauty and three disgruntled men.


Chapter 3: The Night

In my compartment the two newly met individuals talked for a long time, exchanging ideas, smiling at each other, posing arguments and twisting their moustaches. They were discussing the outcome of a cricket match between Muscat and Egypt. After a lot of head scratching and moustache twisting, they came to the conclusion that the argument had no significance as Muscat and Egypt probably don’t even have a cricket team (even if they had one, nobody cared as such). The short balding man wore a blue shirt while the other guy sported a French beard and wore horn rimmed glasses. For the sake of simplicity I shall refer to them as “Baldy” and “Frenchie”.

Baldy was a bit younger than frenchie, but frenchie was younger than the old man. As the night descended over the train, the old man made preparations for sleep. The lights were off and everyone assumed sleeping positions as darkness infiltrated the compartment through the windows. After a few moments I heard some strange noises and in moments someone turned on the lights. The old man was up on his feet and Frenchie and Baldy were looking at each other with anger and bewilderment. “Awwyooeh vooeuyyuu? Whaayaay doyeee?” said the old man. It took us time to understand that the incoherency in the old man’s speech was due to the absence of his dentures. After putting them on, he reiterated his words “What is this? What are you doing”? Immediately, both Baldy and Frenchie stood up and shouted “This man is a thief”.


Chapter 4: Confessions

After this development the characters in the train exhibited an unprecedented transformation in their behavior and eagerly took turns to interrogate Baldy and Frenchie separately. The travelling lady was visibly terrified that someone might steal her sandals, which would seem out of context here, but the thought process that goes inside the mind of a travelling woman is so complex that even experienced researchers have often found themselves at sea while analyzing this dangerous traveler. With utmost caution she put her sandals in her purse while people walked all over her luggage frantically, just to catch a glimpse of a thief. The real problem is that thieves usually do not look notorious nor do they have fungus infested faces expressing cruelty. They may even resemble your friendly neighbor- hood spider-man. In fact the spider-man outfit helps these burglars to hide their identities. The important issue at hand was that the thieves were deceptive and, after a lot of thought the old man ordered Baldy and Frenchie to give a brief account of the incident.

Frenchie was conspicuously calm and elegant during his disclosure. “I was reaching for my bag when this gentleman made a dash for my left back-pocket in which I had my black leather wallet.” Suddenly Baldy rose from his seat and exclaimed “Aha, your wallet is in your right back-pocket and your wallet is not black, but brown in color, you liar”. Frenchie gave him a wry smile and said “Oh yes sir, you must be correct; after all I couldn’t keep an eye on it all the time. However, it seems that you were responsible enough to look after it, for me, thank you.” With this he crossed his arms and looked at the confused audience flashing a victorious grin. By this time Baldy had realized that Frenchie had bamboozled him, triggering the sudden outburst of truth from him, which would eventually precipitate his downfall. Baldy nervously explained events which could never possible occur in a train and stuttered so many times that the crowd unanimously felt that Frenchie was a better speaker and had the potential to turn into a politician some day. It was evident that Baldy had technically hammered nails on his own coffin because everyone was convinced that Baldy had made a dash for Frenchie’s wallet. They chained baldy to the upper berth ladder and one exceptionally excited man rushed to the train guards. Soon, the gathering dispersed and people started losing interest in the thief. Slowly Frenchie approached Baldy and whispered to him with supreme confidence “I’m sorry mate, two thieves cannot loot the same train, it just shows that you are an amateur. If you were my apprentice I could have taught you backup measures in case you get caught. You see, the key to burglary is tact, and as you can see I’m a master of this art”.


Moments later, the railway policeman tapped on Frenchie’s shoulder and as Frenchie turned around; his expression underwent a sea of change. Frenchie’s shock revealed rivers of sweat on his face, as soon as he saw the policeman.

Chapter 5: The Culprit

“Mr. Patel, isn’t it? You were the one who stole my gold watch last week from this very train. We were having a wonderful conversation after which, you snatched my watch at night and vanished. That day I was off duty and probably you caught me off guard as well. But, I cannot believe that you would commit the classical mistake of boarding the same train the second time” said the policeman as Frenchie hung his face in shame and disgust. As everyone watched in silence, the policeman released Baldy and frisked Frenchie away to the police compartment. Baldy heaved a sigh of relief and wore a defiant smile accentuating his ultimate victory over Frenchie.

Two hours later we found out that Baldy had just disappeared and the travelling lady’s box of jewels was missing. It is very surprising why no one could point out to the policeman that even Baldy might be a thief. However, the only thing that ran in my mind was the one line Baldy would love to tell Frenchie if they ever met in future- “I may have touched the wrong wallet, but you boarded the wrong train.”

Glory

As long as mankind shall continue to bestow more liberal applause on their destroyers than on their benefactors, the thirst of military glory will ever be the vice of exalted characters. ~Edward Gibbon



Year: 2025


Location: No Man’s Land on the Indo-Pak border.


The sun rose in the sky driving away the cold of the night. The barrenness of the desert added to the horror. The silence of the desert can break the spirits of even the bravest. It was dead silent. As the sun’s rays struck his badge with menacing force, the name shined in the emptiness of the place. Vikram Singh Jaiswal. He tried to open his eyes but the left eye won’t open. The eyelid had been covered by dried out blood. He tried to get up but his legs gave away. His body pained as if it was about to explode. I must be already dead, he thought to himself. If not, he was convinced he would die here alone. Just then a voice threatened to shoot if he moved. Despite the threat, it had a reassuring effect on him as now he was not alone. He turned and saw a man sitting some feet from him pointing a gun straight at him. The badge read Joseph Turning.


Joseph: Don’t move or I’ll blast your head off.

Vikram: I can barely move, even if I could, I couldn’t hurt you.

Joseph kept the gun pointed at him. He was still shivering from the cold of the night. Vikram noticed his legs were badly injured too. So there was no way either of them could walk away from that place.

Vikram: Relax. Killing you isn’t the right choice for me now. Besides, we are not under the orders of a commander right now, so we don’t need to kill each other.

Joseph(reluctantly putting his gun down): Did our troops leave us here? Did they think we were dead?

Vikram(shrugging): I am sitting here with you. How can I know that? But that seems to be the case.

Joseph seemed to lose it. He looked around, shouted for help. But nobody appeared.

Vikram: Cool it you moron. They will find us. Stop shouting.

Joseph: Oh now!! Are you going to call help on your fucking mobile.

Vikram: I don’t have one. And if you shout again, I’ll blow your brains out.

They picked up their guns and pointed them at each other. They could have shot but they knew they couldn’t.

Joseph: You Indians dragged us to this war and now I have to die here with an Indian.

Vikram: We dragged you to war. You piece of shit!! Who occupied Pakistan? You or us?

Joseph: Shut the hell up.

They threw their guns to the ground and lay there staring at the sky. Nobody seemed to cross that place. Without food, they knew they would not last long. Vikram pulled out a jerkin from his jacket and drank some water. The English man stared at him.

Vikram: You want some?

Joseph(staring at him): Yeah.


Day 2


They had been there for a day and a third soul had not crossed that place. The sun glowed with all the fury. Occasional winds added to the misery and with dust settled inside the throat, the sensation of thirst became unbearable.

Joseph: We are going to die here, isn’t it?

Vikram kept quiet.

Joseph(shouting): Goddamnit, we are going to die here.

Vikram: Didn’t you choose this when you joined the army?

Joseph: I didn’t choose this.

Vikram: That’s the tragedy of our times. People grow up thinking all would end well even before they have ventured out. You would join the army and grow old retelling the tales of your bravery to your grand children. Isn’t it?

Joseph(irritated): Why not. I just don’t want to resign to my fate the way you have done,

Vikram: O Yeah !! What have I done? What can I do? Can you go and call help. No !!

Joseph: Don’t you want to get out of here?

Vikram: We are at war. We get out of here and one day we might be fighting again and one of us may kill the other.

Joseph: I would like that.

Vikram: So let me kill you now.

Joseph: You don’t see the difference in the two scenarios, do you?

Vikram(after a pause): Either way a life would be ended.

Joseph: That would be an honorable death. (sitting up) that’s the way I always wanted to die if I should, in a battlefield.

Vikram: What do you mean?

Joseph: When you joined the army, you wanted to serve your country and you were not afraid to lay down your life for it if the occasion arose. But isn’t there a way you would have liked to die?

Vikram: I don’t like to think about my death

Joseph: But you do realize that in the army it’s a possibility, always. Well, I do. And when the time came, I would have liked to die staring at the enemy in the eye with a rifle in my hand, pierced by a rain of bullets. Yes, a rain of bullets. That would establish the fact that I was a danger to an array of soldiers who wanted me out of the way. That I did my job well.

Vikram: Pass me the water.

Joseph(reluctantly passing it to him): Don’t drink it all.

Vikram(after gulping down some water): That’s the way all soldiers want to die. You are right. But you have to realize that in the present scenario that is almost an impossibility. We may die here out of starvation or eaten by some animal.

Joseph: I realize that but don’t want to accept it. I want to be found. Live to fight another day or may be live to die a better death.

Vikram(smiling): Amen!!


They lay there for some time. Time seemed to have stopped. They tried to crawl but their legs just didn’t have the strength.


Joseph: I am dying of starvation.

Vikram: Then talk less. A lot of energy is wasted when you keep on blabbering.

Joseph: I can’t even walk far to get some food.

Vikram: What would you find in this place that you can eat?

Joseph: Anything. A scorpion. A snake. Anything.

Vikram: Delicious. I am not that hungry. Not yet.

Joseph: I didn’t say I would share it with you.

Vikram: Then go eat.

They lay there with nowhere to go and nothing to do. It was dark now. The temperature began to drop. It was hard enough to sleep there but with the wounds, the cold seemed to creep into their bones.

Joseph: I‘ll try to sleep.

Vikram kept silent.

Joseph: Would you look out for me if some animal attacks.

Vikam(after a pause): Lets hope they don’t hunt in pairs.


Day 3


It had been two days. They were ready to eat anything that moved. Occasionally they felt someone was moving towards them, but it always turned out to be a mirage. Hope was fast diminishing now. In the high noon, they sat facing each other, trying to nibble at a scorpion’s legs.

Joseph(throwing it away): I can’t eat this shit.

Vikram(still chewing): How can you. You are the great western consumer.

Joseph: What?

Vikram: Dude, you live in a world where even dog food has to be branded. A world where people are told what to eat, what to wear and what to say, by the brands. Or lets say we live in such a world. But you guys started it.

Joseph: You want to justify eating this with that argument!!

Vikram: No, all I am saying is that we eating this here is a direct consequence of consumerism.

Joseph: How?

Vikram: Every action today is a consequence of people chasing a lifestyle, wanting to live a certain way, believing certain things.

Joseph: Like what.

Vikram: Everyday my son gets up, he wants to look like some Bollywood star. Everyday my wife gets up, she wants to wear diamonds. Everyday the Prime Minister gets up, he wants to be remembered as the man who changed to course of history. Same goes for every such person in the world. Your president also wants to go in the history books. Looking after their country’s normal issues doesn’t fit them into the image of a historically important man. So they want to win wars and dominate others so that history remembers them. That’s what they consume. An image obsession. An obsession to be counted as important and powerful.

Joseph: And that’s why there are wars, That’s why guys like us have to fight.

Vikram: We are expected to pay the ultimate price for consumerism. To keep the show going. And if we die here, we won’t ever be mentioned because we won’t matter enough. I won’t have died working for my prime minister’s consumerist desires and you wouldn’t have died working for your president’s. We would have just gone missing. People won’t love to hear our stories.

Joseph: Where does that leave the sense of duty towards our motherlands? If we are fighting for what you say we are fighting for, how do UK and India matter. Are we not fighting for them?

Vikram: We would have been fighting for them if we were real dangers to each other, not just perceived dangers. This is paranoia. Nations live in the fear of being attacked and when that fear gets overwhelming, they attack some other country just to let it out. We are led to believe that we are fighting for our country but in essence, we are just fighting against some country, that’s it.

Joseph: And our deaths? What about the death of soldiers?

Vikram: That is the only thing that gives us a sense of duty. Even if we are part of this huge game show, we have to play our parts well. And a brave death is a reward for doing your goddamn job well. That’s the only solace that lies in this.

Joseph: Like I said, that is what we are being robbed of by dying here.

Vikram: Yes. The rain of bullets is the ultimate prize.


They waited and waited and nobody showed up. Hunger was getting to them now.


Joseph: I can’t stay like this for long.

Vikram: Don’t worry. In some time you would die a totally inconsequential death.

Joseph(staring at him, then after sometime): We may not be found. In all probability, they won’t even search for us. For all you said about consumerism, I still wanted to go back have a Big Mac with my kids. Now that a good death seems impossible, that’s the only image I am clinging on to.

Vikram: I understand.

Joseph(with moist eyes): I would never see them, would I. Isn’t it hard to die when you have all the time in the world to think about it. If we are found, wouldn’t it be a shame that we were lying here all the while war was going on. We wouldn’t have played our parts.

Vikram: If my army finds us, you are doomed. If yours finds us, I am doomed. There’s no way both of us are going to be rescued. They won’t even kill. One of us would be a prisoner of war. I should have died in the war.

Joseph: Did you ever think you would crave for death like this. Its funny, the things war does to men, or the absence of it in our case. I have been robbed of my duty, I don’t want to be robbed of dignity.

Vikram: In that case, all the possibilities are unacceptable to us.

Joseph: This is the worst that can happen to a soldier and destiny picked the two of us.

Vikram(nodding): At least I like the last thing I would have done before I die.

Joseph: What?

Vikram: Make a good friend.

Joseph smiled and gradually they drifted off to sleep.


Day 4:


The end was near. As much as they could have hated it, they were helpless. The men who decide the fates of nations were not in control of their own fate anymore. Their faces had gone pale and death seemed imminent.

Joseph: If you die first, I would shoot myself. I don’t want to die lonely in this desert.

Vikram(thought for a while): Lets do that.

Joseph: Do what?

Vikram’s face had a new vigor. He seemed to have found something.

Vikram(getting up): We don’t have a lot of time at our disposal. There’s only one way we can make some sense out of this hopeless situation.

Joseph: I don’t get you.

Vikram: What were we supposed to do?

Joseph: What?

Vikram: Shoot each other. Lets do that.

Joseph: Are you kidding?

Vikram: We won’t shoot to kill. Shoot at the arm or at the leg. Towards your back lies India’s territory and to my back lies UK’s. We get shots at each other alternately. Keep moving towards my zone between shots and ill keep moving towards yours.

Joseph: Are you out of your mind. This is crazy.

Vikram(shouting): Yes it is. What else can you do? You’ll be dead before this day ends. At least die doing what you were supposed to do. Die doing your duty. This is not a time for reason. This is our only choice at redemption. This is the only way we can liberate ourselves.

Joseph(shouting): Goddamnit. I can’t shoot at you now. You know that.

Vikram: Then rot here to death. Do you have a better idea? Lets hear it, because we don’t have much time, you know.


They sat staring at the ground without a word. An hour passed by. Another hour passed by. Joseph realized there was no other way to avoid an embarrassing death


Joseph: OK lets do it.

Vikram nodded. They picked up their guns and moved back and faced each other. Desperate times need desperate measures. This was a desperate time.

Joseph: Who takes the first shot?

Vikram: You.

Joseph: No

Vikram shot at Joseph’s arm.

Vikram: Now shoot.

Joseph grimaced in pain while both of them crawled back towards their respective finishing lines.

Joseph turned and shot at Vikram’s foot.

Vikram turned over from the impact of the shot. They looked at each other with bloodshot eyes then picked up the guns and prepared to go again. Suddenly there was noise, a thudding noise which seemed to come closer. Figures appeared on the horizon. In a minute or two, they saw their troops running towards them. The troops reached the location and stood pointing their guns at each other with Vikram and Joseph in between them. The troops asked each other to let their beleaguered soldiers go so that there would be no bloodshed. Vikram rested on his knees facing the UK troops and Joseph facing the Indian troops.

They had come to the rescue. Now they can go back. Go back to the world where……A wave passed over Joseph and Vikram. They felt a sudden chill. How could they go back now? Things would never be the same again. Both of them knew it. Fate had been biased against them. Now they had their turn. As they half stood there, both of them realized one thing. Going back was not an option. But there was another option. God had granted them their wish. This was their shot at glory. Then they spoke.

Vikram: Lets play our parts.

Jospeh let out a feeble yes under his breath as both of them positioned their guns straight ahead and fired. They fired in a frenzy that felt so liberating. A smile crossed their face because they knew what was to follow.


And finally, it rained bullets.

21

The man walked into the room. They held their breath, waiting for him to speak.

He walked in, dark, and stout, wearing a green kurta. The shadows of the room cast themselves on him, making him look a lot more huge than he actually was. They looked nervously at each other, as he glared at them.

“So how did it go?”

“Success, bhaijaan. The three of them went off as planned.”

He looked at him, his face not moving, as if it was set in stone.

“How many people?”

“21, bhaijaan,” he said.

“How many?”, he asked, his face convulsing into an ugly frown.

The two of them remained quiet.

“Twenty One? You bastards! You stayed here for weeks, went to all the places, the locations were the same, and all you could manage was twenty one?”

“There weren’t as many people as we expected at the time, bhaijaan. We did our work whole-heartedly.”

The man said nothing. He moved his right hand, put it in his back pocket, removed a gun and pointed it at his forehead.

“If the whole of your heart could amount to that, a very small heart you have, indeed.” He pulled the trigger.

There was a ‘pfut’ noise, as the body crumbled to the floor as a lump of flesh. In a few seconds, nothing in the room moved, as a small pool of blood began to form near the body.

The other man was scared. He could smell blood, and sweat, and couldn’t bear to look at the man. He kept his eyes down, at the floor.

“You worthless sister-fuckers,” the man hissed, “do you know how much money was spent on you morons? And what am I supposed to tell the others when they ask me about it?”

He had to think fast. It was a matter of life and death. His mind raced, as the words struggled to come out of his mouth.

“We created quite an impact, bhaijaan. Over a hundred are injured. There is chaos, and the telephone lines have gotten jammed. Also, the rains will wash out the evidence from the sites.”

His reasoning had no effect on the huge man. “And what are you concerned about the evidence for? Do you have a fear of getting caught?”

The man froze. “No, bhaijaan. It’s not like that. I have given my life to Allah and death does not scare me.”

The huge man said nothing for a while. There was silence in the room, except for a few flies that were buzzing around the dead body lying on the floor.

“Did the government react?”

“Yes, bhaijaan. Within two hours of the attack, the MHA responded with a statement.”

“What?”

“That it was a terror attack.”

“Is this a fucking joke?” He was getting agitated again, and he needed to be calmed, otherwise he would raise his gun again.

“There is chaos on the streets, bhaijaan. The people on the streets are angry with the government. One of them even mouthed dialogues from ‘A Wednesday’ in front of the cameras and has become a celebrity of sorts.”

“What about the media?”

“The media is asking questions, bhaijaan. There is anger in the people. The media channels have trampled all over the evidence sites, interfering with the forensic investigation process. Like the last time, the channels are showing pictures of dead and wounded bodies, striking fear in the hearts of the people. It was a victory for us, bhaijaan.”

“And what does dhoti have to say about it?”

“The usual, bhaijaan. That all efforts will be made to nab the culprits, and that they have deployed all the forces to work on the case.”

“What about the bazaar? How many people over there?”

“About thirteen, bhaijaan.”

The man flew into a rage. “Motherfucker! Thirteen?? Months of training and you bastards manage 21 people?”

“But we have shown how easy it is, bhaijaan. And all the materials were bought off the market. It was done with minimum expenses and effort, bhaijaan.”

The man just glared at him. After a while, he said, “You know, there are 150 deaths a day simply on the train tracks. Everyday.”

He could sense things were getting out of hand. He wanted to say something. He wanted to tell him of the pain-staking efforts that had gone into the exercise, of the love and steadfastness that he had in his heart towards the cause. He wanted to speak, but felt his throat drying. The smell of blood filled his nose, and made him giddy.

“The bastards will never learn. Tomorrow, all of them will go to work, and they will boast about the ‘Spirit of Mumbai’. Media channels will move on to other issues in a few days, and the politicians will start fighting amongst themselves. And in a few days, there will be a cricket series, and the entire country will forget about it.”

He knew he had to speak. He knew he had to say something. Anything.

The man continued. “Have you seen what our brothers across the border are doing? Everyday, every week, every month. The work of God goes on uninterrupted. And you bastards, manage just 21 and have the guts to talk to me about steadfastness?”

His mouth was spewing spit, and his eyes had grown large in anger.

Inspite of the giddiness and the blurred vision, the man felt a strange calm. His vision blurred as he saw the huge man reach for his back pocket.

He held his breath, waiting.

The last thing he heard was the ‘pfut’ sound, and the sight of beautiful virgins waiting for him, swam in his head.