PROMOTION

Gagan-babu is the station-master of Sitarampur Railway Station. After serving the railway many years as assistant station-master, Gagan-babu was promoted to the post of station-master at the fag end of his life and posted at Sitarampur station two years ago. Those who joined the Indian Railways with Gagan-babu as assistant station masters are all now superior to Gagan-babu in positions. He remained in the same position from the date of entry to the railways for forty years. If anyone becomes inquisitive enough to enquire about his efficiency it is open for him to find that inefficiency was nowhere recorded in his service book. His colleagues felt pity for him and many of them also felt it their ordained prerogative to advise him to bring the matter of the injustice to the cognizance of proper authorities. But Gagan-babu could not be able to make an application. He carried in him a sense of humiliated self and so deep was this sense of humiliation that he always avoided any discussion about his career. He generally shied away from his colleagues as his very presence amidst them would trigger a sense of pity and compassion in the mind of his friends.

He had no grievance against his authorities. To him reminding the authority of denying him a promotion would be an act of digging out some hidden inefficiency about his performance hitherto unknown to all. So what was the use of making open a point of his inefficiency for a wider public?

It had been very difficult to get an employment when Gagan-babu got an assignment and that too in as big an organization as Indian Railways. Gagan-babu in his childhood had been very fond of reading travelogues and about the places of tourists’ interest. But he could never dream of travelling to far off places like Delhi, Shimla, Kanyakumari etc. They were for the well-off persons to travel in such places. It had not been easy for him to go to Calcutta for attending the interview for the railway service. The up and down train-fares from his village to Calcutta was too much for his father to afford. So after getting the service when he found that he was entitled to get two free passes a year to travel by railways he felt indebted to the railways for being so generous to its employees and with this also, for the first time in his life, Gagan-babu had become relieved to be under the care of such a giant and and generous master.

So it never occurred to him that he needed, by means of an extra effort, to remind the authority that he should get more.

It was after many years Gagan-babu began to find unevenness in the system in respect of treating the employees. He was not considered at par with his colleagues. He found himself as left out at every sorting every year and a day came when he discovered that he had been discarded for something more. He began to feel ashamed of himself and always faced a sense of guilt at any incidence of facing his higher authorities. It was, he thought, a great wrong on his part by failing to please his authority by getting a higher responsibility. He was growing very keen to hide his ‘inefficient’ self from the eyes of all. Fortunately for Gagan-babu he did not have to work with many persons in a small station as assistant station master.

So one day when he received the office order promoting him to the post of station- master he kept an emphatic low profile with his promotion and did not inform any of his colleagues who had been working in other far off divisions of the railways. Losing was not so bad but to receive a crown only for the last two years rubbed salt into the wounded and hidden sense of inferiority.

Gagan-babu’s tenure as station-master in Sitarampur station has now come to an end. He will have to retire today. A young man of his early thirties has arrived yesterday and took charge of the station from Gagan-babu. Gagan-babu had been living here in the railway quarters with his family. He sent them along with all his belongings to his village home a week ago.

Gagan-babu is free today- the last day of his stay at Sitarampur. The young station-master is very smart and has already brought everything of the station under his command in a single day. It has been at his insistence the assistant station master arranged a get-together at his quarters and the three have had a great lunch, the cost of which has been borne by the new station master. There has been no other way of giving a farewell to the outgoing station master.

In the evening all the three-Gagan-babu, the new station master and his assistant are waiting for the last train 2115 UP. Gagan-babu will never return here. The train appears in the far. Suddenly Gagan-babu feels the powerful authority of the railways is coming in the train to bid him good-bye. A sense of repentance darts through his mind.

Gagan-babu has left to join another phase of his life. Does any authority exist there to whom Gagan-babu will have to prove his efficiency anymore, and if yes, what for?

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2115 UP on hidden rails

In one summer afternoon I went to Sitarampur Railway Station at quarter to 6 and sat on the bench on the platform waiting for the last train which was scheduled to arrive at 7.30 pm. So I would have to wait. It was not comfortable and rather bothersome to wait for a long time especially as I was a little restless then in my mind for my uncle whom I wanted to meet as soon as possible. I had received a letter yesterday from my uncle requesting me to meet him as soon as possible for an urgent matter. He had not, in his letter, mentioned the nature of his urgency. He was a bachelor and lived alone with his servant cum manager, Bhutnath, who was very trustworthy and had been living with him for a long time. So I was worried with the word ‘urgent’ in his letter although he had advised me not to be worried and read too much about his request. But it is futile to claim a calm poise of mind if one is summoned to visit someone for an urgent but unknown need. My uncle should have studied a little about human psychology!
Naturally the time passed in a slow pace and played tossing with my worries to every conceivable direction. When I took out the last cigarette, moved to the waste-bin and threw the empty pack into it- the small but convincing light appeared in the far end of the rails. Suddenly I felt indebted to the train.

There train was almost empty as it was a Sunday. I sat beside a window and became relaxed. The body had been feeling uncomfortable for bearing for a long time an unusually heavier mind which it was not accustomed to. It was always pleasant to sit beside a window of a train. Though little could be seen through the darkness outside, I enjoyed the cool air blowing gently over my face and hair. Darkness has also a face. Only she prefers to be enigmatic and likes to reveal much while consciously hiding herself. Night, perhaps, showed much-I thought. I went on discovering that we could see the world through eyes which were dependant of light and we could never be independent of those slaves of light in daytime. We were shown only what were there to be shown in this limited world. But in the night we could find in our own way. And we were the limit.

The dots of lights outside ran past my window. I wanted to see more but-they went past before I could grab them. After some time the world vanished as the night grew. Slowly there appeared a sky above and it expressed with its innumerable stars the hidden hearts of all those now gone hidden in sleep.

Suddenly I found brazen light outside. There were so many people running here and there and coolies with luggage on their heads moving in a single direction as men of sorrows with the burden of life move towards a single destination-death. It was a scene of commotion everywhere. There were none inside my compartment. What station was it? I looked at my watch. It was 11.30 pm. I got down from the train and came to know that the train reached its last station. I had fallen into sleep and had been unaware when I went past Giridi –where my uncle lived. I became frightened at this unimaginable situation. I ran to a railway official in uniform and enquired about the next train to reach Giridi. He informed me that there was no train at that hour of time. I would have to wait in the platform to catch the first 2115 DN tomorrow.

I had never faced such a situation earlier in my life as I had never missed any train for not coming to station in time.

This time perhaps the 2115 UP had run through the hidden rails.

Kusum goes to her husband's house

Lachhmi could not remember exactly when she had come here in sitarampur. Long, long ago she had to leave her parents’ home to live with her husband and in-laws. It had taken many days for Lachhmi to accept the place and the family of her husband. She had wept in the night and felt strongly to return to her parents and her little brother. Kusumpur-her native village, had not been very far from Sitarampur. She had frequently thought of fleeing to the fold of her old cozy life. She had been eight then.
She was now forty eight. During these forty years there had been a metamorphosis in her life. It was now her family, her own. She was happy and satisfied and never wanted to go anywhere outside her husband’s village and her family. Lachhmi could hardly find time to think over her childhood, her parents, brother and her village. They had receded to another world-which Lachhmi would never need to look for.

Her in-laws were long dead. Lachhmi had become the mistress of the family. All her three sons were married by now. Raghu, her husband was a meek and humble man. But Lachhmi had a daughter, Kusum-who was only ten years old. Kusum had become dear to all perhaps because of coming as a girl child-after the family had become much relieved with consecutive three male children.

Raghu was a wealthy farmer. So he did not face any trouble to find a suitable young man for Kusum. He was the only son of a wealthy grocer.

The marriage was settled and Lachhmi and Raghu began to be ready to celebrate the last marriage occasion of their family. Everybody was waiting happily for the day. But Lachhmi was a little depressed. At the time of discussions and exchanges of information with regard to the marriage, Lachhmi had asked her husband, “Is it in a village or town?”

“It’s a town, a very populous place,” Raghu had gone on telling “It takes almost one and half a day to reach there.”

“Oh, then it’s not possible to go on foot or by a cart”, Lachhmi had said depressingly.

“No, no-it’s the train that takes thirty four hours!” Raghu replied with a self respect and looking towards the railway station continued “It’s no problem. Kusum will board the train 2115 UP from our station and reach at the door-steps of her in-law without a break journey. You can not reach there without train.”

Lachhmi had suddenly remembered the day when she had come here by a bullock-cart. It would not be possible for Kusum to come to her frequently. It was too far a place.

The marriage was over. The whole family with the bridegroom with his bride gathered at the platform of the station. Lachhmi came to the station for the first time. The whole world appeared to be an alien world. Kusum was weeping hiding her face into the breast of her mother. Raghu suddenly told in a loud voice “The train is coming.”

Lachhmi looked to the engine. It seemed to be cruel and angry-profusely pouring hot steam. It was fretting and fuming at the childish behaviour of the restless people. The train had only three minutes’ stop here. So Lachhmi did not get into the train for a last hug. The bell tolled and the train moved on.

For a moment Lachhmi felt that the whole world fell wrong with development. It had separated people and deported them to far unknown places from where it was very difficult to return.

It was a big rain-tree. It bore innumerable pink flowers in summer. Sometimes some places get characteristically memorable by virtue of some presence about them. I knew of a place because of an old temple there. The plaster had fallen off from its walls that had long ceased protecting a deity. It stood with a dark hollow, reminding an absence. I heard it had been a Shiva-temple. The place bore an impression of abandonment to me. So was it also with this rain-tree. It gave an inseparable dimension to the railway platform on which it stood. The tree swayed its branches and leaves in nonchalant air to diffuse the hustles of people with the trains.

It stood on the edge of a fencing that separated the station from outside. On a careful examination it would be evident that the tree should have stood on the other side of the demarcating line along the platform. Perhaps the in-charge, an Englishman, under whom the station had been planned and constructed, had fallen in love with the tree. So he had encroached with a little curve, enclosing the tree within the station area. That was fifty years ago.

There was a bench under the tree for the waiting passengers. In summer the place beneath the tree was full of fallen flowers and the evening air carried a fragrance that reminded one of far off places, the destinations of all trains of the world.

I would visit the station of an evening and sit on the bench. It was very refreshing to sit there. The tree was also a habitat of many birds. So in the evening there was loud tweeting and chirping of the birds as they prepared for rest for the approaching night. The night fell on this place from this tree.

One afternoon, in the month of April, the entire sky turned black with clouds. The tree became still - and not a single leaf moved. It was an abnormal stillness. I left the station for home. On the way, suddenly, a violent storm came rushing from somewhere. I began to run. It began to rain also. In minutes the storm and rain made terrible havoc. When I reached home I was completely drenched.

In the morning we found widespread devastation everywhere. I heard that the railway station was greatly damaged. The metal shade on the platform had been blown off. But when I reached the station the first thing that attracted my eyes was a void. The tree was not there. It was uprooted and fell on the other side of the platform leaving a big hollow on the platform.

I went to Ranchi after a few days. I returned after one month and reached the station by 2115 UP in the afternoon. The station wore a new look after a thorough repairing. The curve of the platform had been set right by a straight fencing. There was no trace of encroachment now.

He did not arrive

It was a very cold evening.

I reached the station a little too earlier to receive Dilip. Dilip had written to me that he would come by the last train-2115 UP which was scheduled to arrive at 9 in the evening. Dilip was my friend. But both of us had forgotten each other as we forget many things in life. The streams of our lives had carried us to different shores and we had been separated from each other. We had belonged to two different worlds and never need to cross to the other’s. Perhaps demands of life are more impelling than the needs of friendship. It does not mean that I had been living a friendless life. Some had become my friends in the mean time and I enjoyed their friendship and I loved them also as it was natural to love my wife and children. Life is weaving through relations.

So, when after twenty years I received a letter from Dilip informing me that he had intended to come here to meet me, I was puzzled. I frantically tried to feel what this meant. The very first sense that confronted me was a sense of absurdity. But this vanished instantaneously and I tried to wake myself up in a far off past to find who and how this person had been to me. I started connecting the worn memories into a living feeling. Twenty years was a long time. I started musing on our friendship and in a few days I was able to enter in my past and discovered that I had lost a world-that had been more mine than this one I lived now.

How old was Dilip now? He had been four years older than I. Was he too old to be recognized? He informed me nothing about himself. Even he did not find it necessary to write how he had come to know my whereabouts. And why he was coming? I got tensed. I looked at my watch. There were a few minutes for the train to arrive. I started walking along the platform with some restlessness. Very few persons were there on the platform. I lit a cigarette and as I puffed my tensed smokes before my nose-the green light appeared on the signal post.

The train was coming. He was coming. The train stopped on the platform. Suddenly I became numb. Some persons got down and the persons waiting with me for the train got in. There were two ppeople near me who had just got down from the train. I went near them. No –Dilip was not there. They were all known to me living in my neighborhood. The train was shown the green signal. Suddenly I could gather myself and frantically seeking Dilip in the silent void in the platform. Was it really that Dilip did not come? I got satisfied that I searched to my best. I had nothing to do if Dilip did not come. I lit another cigarette.

The last train began to move and soon vanished in the dark. I stared on the two rear red lamps as long as they could be seen.

Creation

He touches not-as he senses the world as his touch.
He is, because he is all.

But he is alone,
and by his self’s loneliness he surpasses him and all.
He thinks not, but broods his self-
as a single and lonely star
broods to evolve an infinite sky.
He creates millions of cells from within
in a wonderful efflorescence of his imagination
and achieves a wonder, his body,
once hidden in a dream.
In an overriding silence
where everything is in a still within,
he opens his secret eyes,
and makes all open to love.

No train to return

I felt tired not because of any extra pressure in my office. Actually there was not so much work for a long time and I had to find some involvements to get busy only to get rid of a monotony that erased my sense of being. The fire was not so hot as to burn the passion of existence. The same old hall with innumerable fans hanging from the ceiling, the tables with the burdens of heaps of files, and the same faces that can never want to be brightened with anything around them, instantly determined the mood of this office. I, like all of us, had unknowingly been turned as prisoners in the jails of our lives.

If I had the privilege of leave travel concession I would have gone to the hills and forests. It would be something else not known to me as this pain of arthritis. There had been no breakthrough in the last twenty years. Time was mere machinations. I remembered the days of childhood. It appeared to be a fairyland. But one can not go back to the station he left once.

The office was over. But I was not hurried as I knew that I, as the same person, would have to return to the same place the next day. Suddenly I felt desperate after reaching the station. I bought a ticket for Jangalpur. It was 30 km ahead of my home station. A sense of freedom grew in me. I did not have any plan. I wanted simply to reach beyond my known existence. There was 10 minutes more for the train to leave. So I bought a cup of tea. I never took tea in the train. But time was different. It was new. The train, the people, and the tea-stall –all was new. Even I discovered that I saw them for the first time. The train started. I sat by the side of a window and enjoyed the world outside-the very same world I had been seeing for the last twenty years.

Slowly the dusk fell and the world outside appeared to be badly erased. I felt sleepy. I did not know when I passed my home station. My instinct roused me just when the train started leaving my station –where I had got down unmistakably for twenty years without fail.

I reached Jangalpur at 10 pm. It was a silent place and it was very dark everywhere. I found none on the platform. So I went to the office of the station-master. He was almost an old man. I asked him if he could give information of any hotel there. He stared on my face as if he found something queer in me. He told “There is no hotel here and it can not be as this is a small village-near a jungle.” I soon realized that I would not get any shelter here in Jangalpur. Suddenly I felt helpless. I asked the station master about the next down train for returning to my home. He told “The last down train left half an hour ago.”

So I found no train to return.

Stars

In a moonless night when I sat under a tree pining for what I never had and could not get in time's future-they, the stars were seen above the tree, aloof, alone and far.
Aloof-as they were stripped off all the needs-this world could create. Alone as they got lost in their own selves. Far, as to protect themselves from a sense of physical nearness their imperial dignity. As I was in my thought the following questions came to me...

Do they ever speak?
No-they are the notes of a celestial music,
singing an eternity.
Can they be heard?
No-they are playing the silent bosom
of a naked infinity.
Do they ever listen?
Yes-the secret parleys of destiny's steps
with the eyes of a hidden night.
Who are they for me then?
They are the hints of my hidden address.

My journey

I have been lost in age and so I must have a beginning. But where is the point to begin with? There is only whirl of events with gust of senses about me.

Sometimes I am pinched between ghosts of the present and a non-existing blank future. The poignancy of the pain is the only touch of reality. There is no sense of a trace behind and no waiting space ahead in a future.

I have been in time where footprints are not laid in a visible path. It is only dust of moments. I am scattered in innumerable pieces from stars to worms where the infinity is lost. I was not born nor could I die in my plenty's procession and everything is here but nothing makes a presence.

I am constantly praying to that someone at the steer for a stop or for a taking off to a high unknown, which no imagination can conceive of, leaving below all the falsely luring horizons.

The horse rider of the night

Sometimes it takes time to decide on trivial matters because perhaps mere reflex of life becomes too numb to react. Otherwise there was no reason for me to sit on my chair staring at the dark sky even when the clock struck twelve. The world has gone into sleep and dreamt in the subliminal light of the street lamps. It had been drizzling since evening but the gust of strong wind was threatening an eternal night. So I had to get up. The light of my room, it appeared, was audacious within an engulfing night. I closed the doors of my balcony, put off the light and lay on my bed. The darkness of my room shivered as the lightening outside was as aggressive as the strong wind. But I lost all the ways to reach the shore of an unknown land which people call sleep. I was like a ship that lost direction in a stormy sea and was trying only to get afloat.

The wind was growing stronger and its frequent gusts on the window-panes evoked a mythical world never frequented by any living being. The clock struck one and then I heard the sound. It was approaching very fast-the sound of hoofs of a galloping horse. In seconds the horse stopped below my balcony. I could hear her neighing.

I got up and opened the doors of the balcony. I looked down on the street. There was a fierce lightening and in that flash of shocking light I saw the horse-rider. He looked up on my face and said "Hey, I'm here. Sleep, my dear, sleep the night. The dreams of the night are never dead."

"But, who are you?" I asked.

He laughed sitting on his restless horse and uttered in the lightning across the sky "You are my life and I am your time".

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