Lil  Bahadur Chhetri                                                                           bottom   

Through Those Ten Stations

[I'd better begin to recount this episode with 'Long, long ago…' as grandmother's tale; it's quite an old thing that's why. The East-West Highway was not yet constructed. One had to go from one part of the country to the other by way of the Indian land. One had to go by Tribhuban Rajpath and through Birgunj and Raxaul if he wanted to go to Kakarbhitta from Kathmandu.]

I am floating about at the railway platform of Raxaul station. The passenger train to Samastipur has already left. If only they hadn't delayed me at Birgunj custom's office, I'd be able to catch it. I'm fretting myself. A choiceless, tedious wait for the whole night and many hours tomorrow lie ahead of me. No friend by, all alone. But I speak to myself, 'Why complain about this journey from Kathmandu to Guwahati when one doesn't find a friend good enough in the journey of all one's life? Tagore's two oft-quoted lines strike me-
'If nobody accompanies you,
Walk alone, walk alone, walk alone.'
The heart is consoled a little. The shrill scream of the coolies at the platform irritates me. I scan about. Not a soul appears trustworthy.

Two policemen come closer and ask me to lay open my suitcase. Grudgingly, I open and show it to them, I don't want to fall into argument and interrogation. There are some dresses, notebooks and loose sheets of paper in it.

'What paper are these?' the police officer inquires.
'I have a habit of writing. They are my scribbles.'
'I see! So you are a poet?' as if to be a poet is a serious offence, he scoffs at me. I close my suitcase; I don't make a reply.
'Babu, are you a Nepalese?' a voice catches my attention.
I turn to the direction of the voice. A figure clad in Nepalese cap, a shirt and an untidy suruwal presents himself.
'Yes, I am.' My short reply.
'Oh! How far are you going, Babu?' he must be interested in me.
'Quite far, really, but for now I'm going as far as Samastipur only. I've just missed the train.' 'Oh, the train to Samastipur is due to arrive only tomorrow afternoon. You'd better take one to Darbhanga tonight, rather than pass a long dull night here. You can easily catch one of them to Samastipur from there.

'Is it so? I don't know a thing. I've never made a journey taking this route before'.
'That is better, Babu. Yes. I'm going up to Sitamadhi. We can be together for ten stations. Rather give me the fare so that I can buy you a ticket.'
I'm on my guard now. One is liable to come across types of tricksters on a journey. 'Who knows if this too is one of them? How can one trust a stranger here?'
It seems he senses my doubts, 'One must stand in queue for tickets.' He speaks, 'I'll do it. You'll mind your belongings. When it's my turn in the queue, you can hand me the money.'
He doesn't wait for my response. Instead he rushes to the ticket-house. 'Pooh! What a distrust! He is an honest man!' I reproach myself.

'But who knows?' My thoughts tilt to other side. 'How can one put trust in a stranger so headlong?' Bewildered, I squat there. Some kind of uneasiness surges in me. Now I sit carelessly on my hold-all. Several minutes pass. I feel like glancing at the ticket-house, but daren't leave my belongings unattended there. Dwelling upon multiple thoughts I direct my steps slowly towards the first-class waiting room, my suitcase in one hand and bedding in the other. I enter the room, put my belongings in a corner and then for some time stretch myself out on an armchair.

'Perhaps it's his turn by now to buy the ticket,' the sudden realization makes me stand up. I get out of the room and drag my feet towards the ticket-house. I lose hope; the queue is pretty long. My eyes look for the familiar face in the row. I hear a call from near the counter- 'Babu, please give me the money, it's about my turn!'

Sure enough, he's behind just two others. I produce a ten-rupee note out of my pocket and hurriedly give him. Soon, he puts a ticket and a few one-rupee notes into my hand. He says, 'I bought you the ticket for all the way to Samastipur. You don't have to take trouble buying another one at Darbhanga.'

We are at the platform waiting for the train. It pulls in shortly afterwards. It's not so much crowded; it's a passenger train. He gets on the carriage holding my bedding and suitcase. I follow him. He puts my belongings up above and wipes the seat below with his hands and almost orders me to sit there. He too sits beside me. Soon scores of Terai people swarm into the compartment, but my companion keeps them off. We sit pretty comfortably. The locomotive picks up its speed slowly.

'Where are you going after Samastipur, Babu?' his query.
'I'm heading towards Guwahati, Assam.'
'If so, you'd better first go up to Barauni from Samastipur, Babu. You can catch the Assam Mail from there.' 'Let's see, whatever seems comfortable.'
'Where are you from?'
'Kathmandu.'
'I see. So your home is in Kathmandu, Babu?'
'No. It's in Assam. I'd been to Kathmandu for a visit.'
Silence reigns for quite some time. The Terai people sitting by start dozing off. The carriage is monotonously racing tearing the darkness.
'Where are you going from Sitamadhi?' I bring forth a question breaking the silence.
'I'm going to Janakpur, in the Kingdom of Nepal. I'm a peasant in a small village there, renting a small farmland out at half the crop. Wife, two daughters, a son and myself- we are a family of five. He gives more than what I'd asked for.

Then again another stretch of silence.

'What can be done, Babu? Continuous suffering seems to be my fortune. Before, I'd lived in the northern Assam for many years. I could earn a bit of money by planting sugarcane, too. I don't know why, but it occurred to me that I should take all my property and settle somewhere in the plains of Nepal. I thought of buying a homestead and secure my family. I went into the eastern plains. But I was beguiled into giving every rupee I had to a swindler and got my fingers burnt. One can't know a man.'

'Yes? How come you lost your property?' 'What to talk of the brokers of the plains, Babu? They are downright cheats. What's the use counting those Nepalese as our own cousins? I went there, it was my homeland, so. But there they lie in wait at the passes, spying on a body who passes with a bundle and defraud him of it. A cunning cheat feigned help to buy a piece of land. I pinned my faith to him. I handed all my cash over to him. But why should he buy me a farm? He stripped me and then made good his escape.

' 'How did you happen to place your purse at his disposal just because he promised he'd help you buy a farm? You should have had a look, measured the land and after the registration in your name should you have paid the money.'

'I'm straightforward in dealing. He could double-cross me. Never mind, the wolf in the sheep's clothing robbed me of my chance; he can't rob my stars. I'm somehow able to win two meals for my family here near Janakpur now.'

'Didn't you go back to Assam again?'
'No, I didn't, Babu. It dawned on me, ''If foreigners are coming into our country and earning well, why can't we make ends meet? One does have to sweat blood wherever one goes." There are good people and bad ones everywhere. In the Terai one stripped me thus, and in the same Terai near Janakpur another showed a matchless generosity. He offered me a house, household expenses and a plot of land to till at half the crop rent. What more could one wish for?'

We were about to arrive at Sitamadhi station, perhaps. He said, 'Well, then, Babu, I must get off at the next station. Wish you a safe journey. Mind your belongings. Lifting luggage is quite frequent here.'

While through ten stations he makes an irremovable impression in my heart. Though we are from different places, those two hours bring us quite close. A human heart touches the other. It's this affinity of hearts that we are drawn to attachment as if for years.

The train stops. The hubbub of a station reaches our ears. He says, 'Now, Babu, farewell. You are alone. Go very cautiously. Don't trust the coolies. Be careful about the belongings.' His voice is gradually changing into a snivel. He's now at the platform. He's joining his hands not taking his eyes off me. In the light of the platform I can see- his eyes are brimming with tears. The train picks up motion towards its destination, leaving him there. My eyes too moisten all of a sudden.

Since then the time has covered such a long way, so much water has flown through rivers and springs, the earth has revolved round the sun twenty-eight times, twenty-eight springs and winters have passed by. The face encountered only for a short while such long past is not at the back of my mind now. But each of his affectionate words, warm attachment and the ineffaceable impression of his regard are engraved deep on my heart. The love he produced in me through those ten stations is still fresh within. This will be as fresh to the end of my life, my heart doesn't see an iota of doubt about it.

Translated from Nepali by Dinesh Kumar  Poudel.                            top