Short Story--Kismet

I started from a half-sleep as the train came to a grinding halt at a station. The voices of vendors suddenly filled the air. A ragged little beggar-girl poked my knee and touched her stomach in mute appeal. Her mother was watching from the end of the aisle. I dug out a coin from one of the pockets and gave it to her. She moved on to the next passenger.

“Excuse me…Is this seat taken?”

I looked up. A tall girl with a large bag on her shoulder pointed to the seat in front of me. I stared at her a long moment before shaking my head. “No…”

It must be part of my dreams. Those eyes…they were part of the faces in my mindless dreams.

She dropped her bag there and straightened her dress. Then she looked around, found a vacant spot on one of the upper berths and heaved her bag onto it. She sat back on the seat with a sigh. That face…I was mesmerised by that face. She caught me staring at her. I turned my eyes away—but they wandered a moment and came back to rest on her. I could not look away.

Fate is so whimsical. It snatches precious life away in moments, and then, just as suddenly, drops it in your palms

She was talking to the lady beside her.

“What’s your name?”
“Shika…”
“You are studying here?” She nodded.
“Going home for holidays…”she said, her face lighting up in a smile.
“So, you are staying in a hostel?” She nodded again. The train gave a shill whistle and started moving. As it picked up speed, sleep came to reclaim me from the leaden fatigue…fatigue of a long, long journey.

I jolted awake from a night mare…a nightmare that had been reality for an age—sixteen long, terrible years, each of which had felt like a lifetime. A reality that had left a reminder in my deadened left hand, and the scars on my body, and on my mind…and these unending nightmares. Reality had charms far more alluring than sleep. I stared at the girl again, fascinated. It was as if… as if…

She was looking out the window, a dream in her eyes. She’d smile to herself, and then grow serious, happy and sad memories reflected like a mirror on her innocent face. I could not take my eyes off her…I drifted between sleep and wakefulness, and she haunted both my dreams and reality. Stations came, and they passed, and minutes became hours, and afternoon began to lengthen into evening.

“Where are you getting down?” the man sitting next to her asked her. When had that lady got off the train? I had not noticed.

“Trissur” she said. The next station. I looked at the scenery whizzing past in mixed regret and relief. My journey was ending too.

I took up my dilapidated briefcase and opened it. In it were the treasures of an aeon of lost time… A towel, and stacks and stacks of letters. Letters that had been food, and drink, and the urge to live, when death seemed the only escape; that had dulled the agony of those endless whacks of foreign sticks and hands; that had dimmed the indignity of the endless curses in foreign tongue. Letters, whose sender had never known that they were received at all, yet never stopped writing. How…why? I had never asked. I had just accepted it as a gesture from heaven that I would survive. Having those letters forwarded to me was the one drop of humanity in that ocean of inhuman brutality that had drowned me. Prisoner of war…a POW …something lower in their eyes than even an animal…

I took the towel, went to the wash basin and washed my face. Then, wiping it quickly with the towel, I went back to my seat. The girl had pulled down her bag from the upper berth. She was watching the familiar landmarks pass by with the peculiar fascination of homecoming. Her every action mesmerised me. I drank in the simple grace of her innocence in deep draughts.

The train slowed and came to a halt. I watched her get down from the train. I waited a moment, then took up my briefcase and got off the train. I walked quickly, and spied her getting into an auto. I caught the next one.

“Follow that auto” I told the driver. He stared for a second at my shabby uniform, and the faded soldier’s insignia on my shoulder, and my hand. Then, he started the auto and followed the other one.

The auto stopped in front of a house, with a well-kept garden. I watched the girl get down with the bag and ring the doorbell. A middle-aged lady opened the door, and I could hear their laugh of happiness as they hugged each other. I stared at them, unable to move, till the door closed behind them. Then, I got out the auto and took out my purse to pay the auto driver.

I could never have forgotten those eyes…or that face. They were windows to my past. They had been the source of hope to my every moment. They would be mine. Again. Forever…

I rang the doorbell. The girl opened the door. Her eyes flickered in surprise and recognition. “You…On the train…”she murmured, frowning slightly.

“Who is it?” Her mother called from inside, and came out a moment later. She stared wide-eyed at me for a long moment, and then, with a cry, rushed into my open arms, weeping. I hugged her close. Then, between her sobs, she looked at her astonished daughter and sobbed out,” Your…Papa…darling…”

I was home…