My Journey by Namkhana Local

 Silent Cry

It was a hot summer afternoon and the sun was smiling with utmost pleasure. My colleague and I were deputed to go to our Council’s main office at Wellington. Like always, we decided to travel by local train. As we were getting late, we hastily bought tickets for ourselves and jumped on to the first train that arrived on the platform. Considering the crowd, I guessed, it was Namkhana Local. In spite of all its squalor, we customarily rode on to the ladies compartment, made our way through the crowd and luckily managed two seats for ourselves.

While I was squeezing in, I noticed a lady in her 20s, wearing a cheap but flashy sari, sitting in front of me. She was carrying one child on her lap. Another was sitting beside her while the third  one was hanging on the window beam. From their conversation it was clear that these were her children. Though they were not triplets, they could not be graded above the age-range of toddlers. When I was making myself comfortable  I felt  a bag  beneath my seat. This was common in local trains. So I didn’t pay much heed . The children were creating such ruckus that my entire attention got diverted towards them. And I must not forget to  mention: everyone was feeling irritated!   

As the train whistled in to Jadavpur, the lady wiggled up. She started pulling out bags and baggage not only from the bunkers, but also from the hollows under the seats. Even I was asked to raise my legs. And guess what came out???? Three live roosters  , all tied up together and shoved inside a nylon bag!!!! At that point of time I exactly felt what most of you are feeling now....exasperated!!!

This lady, along with her children and her baggage and three roosters had to get down at Ballygunge, which was two stations following Jadavpore.  The sight was unnerving! The girl that was sitting on her lap refused to get down. She was desperately clinging on to her mother, while the second daughter was hopping about ready to get down at any station. Whereas,  the eldest one, also a girl, was simply perplexed. This mayhem was enough to antagonize all her co-passengers.  After all, nobody wanted to look like war victims even before they reached their destinations.

 In exchange of  the scorn that she was receiving, all that she could reciprocate  was a prayer to tolerate her for two more stoppage. When few ladies exclaimed and cursed her for travelling alone with unmanageable children,  she promptly confirmed with a smile of conviction that  her husband would come to receive her at the Ballygunge station.

Saying that, she resumed her business. I could see that she desperately  needed help. And after a point of time I couldn’t help myself from lending my hand. My friend along with some other passengers discouraged me, fearing her to be a pickpocket of some sort, but I chose to follow my heart.  She seemed to me a meek victim of her situation and not the victimizer.  I asked my colleague to hold my bag as I got up .

At first the lady was reluctant to take my help. Then her better judgment accepted it. I carried two of her travelling bags along with that nylon one occupied by roosters. Surprisingly, those were not making me feel disgusted anymore. We nudged and pushed and maneuvered our way through the crowd, to the door and found a vantage point for ourselves. She would get down from the train with her daughters while I would hand-over the luggage to her husband.

The train reached platform. She got down with her children. Then she stretched her hands towards me asking for the luggage. I was looking for her husband and his absence startled me . I inquired, “ Where is your husband?” Her response was a smile. This time a plaintive one, as if she knew that her husband would not be coming. Before I could question any further , the train whistled out of the station.

I stood at the gate and saw her struggle with those luggage and children. Gradually she faded away from my sight. I hope she has found someone to help her. She needed it.

With a sigh I budged my way through the passengers and reclined to my seat... wondering what difference can a “ Girl Child’s day”, a “ Woman’s Day” or a “ Mother’s Day” make where the basic scenario is like this ?