Short Story - A Train to Catch

 

Mom was shaking me awake.  “Get up! Get up, Rahul! We have a train to catch. Get ready quickly.” I slowly yawned, opened my eyes and stretched.  I wanted to pull back the comforter and go back to sleep but Mom continued her tirade from the kitchen –“ Leave the comforter aside! GET UP!”  You can never argue or get away with Mom.  She has eyes that can see through walls.

I reluctantly got up, went into the bathroom, and slowly brushed my teeth.  I could hear Mom moving around in the bedroom; she was laying out clothes for me to wear.  She then came into the bathroom, filled up water in the bucket and hustled me towards the shower.  “Come on, have a quick bath.  We need to leave within the next 20 minutes.” The warm water woke me up a little.  I asked her, “What time is the train, Amma?”   She replied, “The Shatabdi Express leaves at 6:30.  We have to be at the Railway station at least by 6:15.  Ok, stop playing with that mug.  Let’s get you towelled and into those clothes.”

Mom helped me get dressed quickly, ran a comb through my hair and handed me a glass of milk.  “Rahul, please drink up the milk quickly.  I will book the taxi.”  While she was fidgeting with her phone, I slowly drank my cup of milk, grimacing when I felt a thread of cream on my tongue.  “Amma, yuck! Why did you put the cream?”  Mom replied, “Sorry, I don’t have time to filter it now.  Leave that bit and drink up the rest.” After making some unpleasant sounds, I gulped it down quickly.    

Mom said, “Ok, the taxi will be here in 5 minutes.  Let us get the bags and wait outside.  Put on your crocs and stand near the gate, Rahul.  I will lock up the house.” As I stood outside and watched Mom lock the front door, I shouted, “Amma, wait.  I have to pick up Teddy.  He is lying on the bed.” Mom said in exasperation, “Rahul, I just finished locking up.  And the taxi has arrived.  Let Teddy be here.”  I immediately stomped my feet and wailed, “Amma NO.  Open the door, we have to take Teddy. We cannot leave him alone for a week.” Not wanting to deal with a tantrum, Mom reluctantly opened the door, muttering under her breath.  She got my beloved Teddy, locked up the house again and bundled me into the waiting taxi. I hugged Teddy close to me as the taxi moved along. Mom kept looking at her watch repeatedly and said, ”Bhaiyya, please drive quickly to the City Station. We have only 25 minutes; our train leaves at 6:30.” 

The taxi driver mumbled something and tried to make his way through the unprecedented early morning traffic.  He said, “Ma’am, why didn’t you book the taxi earlier?  You are cutting it too close.”  He veered suddenly to avoid an auto that barged into his lane.  He was angry and screamed at the auto driver.  He used some words that I had not heard before. 

Mom sat tensed and said, “I hope the train leaves from Platform 1.  We will then have a little time.”  After a few minutes of dangerous driving, we finally spotted the lights of the City Station. I exclaimed loudly, “Amma, look! The Train Station!” The taxi driver parked right outside the entrance and  Mom hurriedly paid him.  She quickly glanced at the information board to check the platform from which our train was leaving and let out a pained scream, “Oh no, the train is leaving from Platform 3.  We need to run.  Rahul, quick, hold my hand. ”  Mom pulled the suitcase with her right hand while she held on to mine with her left hand.  I could hear the announcements being made about the coming and going of various trains.  But we had no time to waste.

We half-ran, half-pushed our way through the throng of people on Platform 1 to reach the sub-way that would take us to Platform 3. We had to climb down a series of steps.  I was panting now and kept saying, “Amma wait. Amma wait.”  Mom, also out of breath, continued, “No Rahul, not now. We cannot stop.  We have only 5 minutes; we need to hurry.”  I held on tightly to Teddy lest he fell off my hand.  Mom pushed her way past the people who were coming right in our path.  I could feel several hands and arms brushing against my shoulders and head.  Thankfully, we saw the arrow that pointed to Platform 3 and rushed up the steps.  I was completely out of breath, but Mom would not stop.  I could hear my heart pounding loudly and it seemed ready to explode.  Finally, we reached the platform and saw our train.  Without waiting to check the compartment number, Mom pushed me up the nearest open doorway of the train, climbed in herself and finally relaxed for the first time that morning. She slumped against the coach wall and tried to catch her breath.  And right then, the train started moving. I exclaimed loudly, “Amma, we made it! We made it.” She hugged me, let out a huge sigh and smiled broadly.  

She then asked a fellow passenger, “Excuse me Sir, which compartment is this? We have to get to A2.”   The seated man said, “This is S1. The previous coach is A3. So the one before that should be A2.” Mom thanked him profusely and we moved towards the end of the compartment.  “Amma, how will we go to our compartment?”  Mom said, “Rahul, all the compartments are connected through a vestibule.  We will just have to walk over the connecting metal board to go the next compartment.”  The train had picked up speed now and we were being pushed side-ways as we slowly made our way.  We approached the end of the coach and I saw the small, slightly dark connecting passage that was rattling and heaving on the rails. I also noticed a gap between the two connecting boards and though the gap, I could see the tracks below.  And as the train turned rightwards, the connecting plates got pushed away from each other.  I screamed, “NO Amma, don’t go over that.  We will fall down!”  Mom tried to reassure me and said, “Rahul, don’t worry.  This is safe, we will not fall down.”  I was still whimpering when she quickly carried me and stepped on to the vestibule.  In the hustle, I somehow dropped Teddy.  I saw him falling towards the opening between the connecting plates.   I thrashed, I kicked and screamed, “Amma, NO, NOooo..my poor Teddy! NO, don’t let him fall…” 

And then I felt my Mom gently shaking me and saying, “Rahul, wake up. Rahul, get up. We have a train to catch!”

Note - Images used have been sourced from the internet.  They are not mine.

Short Story - The Curse of the Old Lady

The train chugged slowly along; we passed paddy fields and soon we crossed the bridge across the River Cauvery near Srirangapatna – the river flowing silently along on its seaward journey.  I had boarded the train 2 ½ hours earlier in Bangalore. I thought about Gayathri, my good friend whom I would be meeting after nearly a span of 10 years.   We were earlier neighbours when my father was posted in Mysore.  

I got off the train at Mysore Railway Station and took an auto to Indiranagar.  We passed through some familiar roads, the Mysore Zoo and a few other streets before I reached Gayathri’s nice little house.  It was a moment of deja-vu as I took in the long driveway, the veranda, the coconut trees and other little details of her house.  Suddenly, the car parked in their portico surged to life and with the loud, whirring sound of a raised engine, the car shot past me, almost knocking me down.  As I regained my composure and walked up the driveway, Gayathri came running out of the front door to welcome me.  We hugged each other, smiling and laughing all the while.

We spoke about common friends and got up-to-date on the happenings in each other’s life.  And then I remembered and asked, “Who was it in the car? He was in one great hurry and shot past me…he almost ran me down!  

Gayathri replied, “Oh, that must have been Sriram, my younger brother.  You remember him, don’t you?”  I said, “Sriram! Of course, I do.  He was the kiddo of the house.  But why was he in such a tearing hurry?”  Gayathri then haltingly said, “I have to tell you something.  After all, you are a psychologist.  You will be able to understand this better.”

Gayathri continued, “You remember that old lady who stayed all alone, down the road, in that small hut?  She used to rave and rant as her children had abandoned her.”

I said, “Yes, yes, she was always yelling at somebody or the other.  She hated all children and would take away our balls and cricket bats. I remember her distinctly.”  Gayathri continued, “Exactly!  After we all grew up, it was Sriram and his set of friends who played on the road.  Invariably, while playing cricket, they would hit the ball towards her hut.  She would confiscate it and never return it, all the time shouting at them.  Sriram and his friends tried to talk to her sensibly but she would not listen.  They in turn got angry and called her all sort of names - You crazy crow, you stupid old dog, you mad cat, you fat rhino..” 

I sat listening wondering what this was leading to.  Gayathri continued, “You know, all harmless stuff that children usually say when they are angry but hardly ever mean it.” 

“Anyway, all this was nearly 7 or 8 years back. Sriram and his friends have all grown up now, they are all in college.  Quite a few of them have moved away too.  In fact, there is only Sriram and his friend Vittal who continue to stay in this road.”

“Well, that old lady died a few months back.  Before dying, she walked up to our house, called out to Sriram and said, - ”Here, take all your stupid balls, and your stupid bats, you miserable boy.  You taunted me all those years back, you called me horrible names.  I will remember every one of those names.  I will come back and haunt you and your friends!”

Gayathri paused dramatically.  I could only gape at her.  She continued, “That old lady, she then let out a maniacal laughter and said, “Watch out for me.  I am like Alamelamma;  the Wodeyars could not escape her wrath, neither can you.”

I listened to all this, trying to suppress my laughter.  Seeing the troubled expression on Gayathri’s face, I guffawed and said, “And you believe all that the old lady said?”

Gayathri, in a troubled voice continued - “Wait, there is more to it.  We all thought it was just some rubbish - an upset, old lady trying to make a lot of noise and dropping names from the old folk lore.  But over the last couple of months, after her death, strange incidents have happened.”

I was curious. I said, “Oh, really? Like what?”

Gayathri continued, “Sriram loves the new second-hand Maruti Swift car that Father bought him.  He is always cleaning it and taking care of it.  He used to park it in the portico.  But everyday, a crow would come down, shrieking loudly, and would drop bird-poop all over the car.”

I said, “C’mon Gayathri, that is hardly strange stuff.  It is what birds do.  Aren’t you over reacting?”

Gayathri said, “No wait, that is what we thought as well.  But this kept happening every single day for nearly a week, and exactly at the same time, in the same manner.  Sriram then decided to park the car inside the shed.  The next day what does he see - a cat has entered the shed and has pushed down a can of paint on the car. The bonnet is now splashed with a dark shade of blue.  Sriram completely lost it – his car, the possession that he most cared about, was being attacked.”

I kept nodding my head and said, “Well, this seems more like coincidence.” 

Gayathri retorted, “Well, you can say it is coincidence when it happens once.  But again, after the paint-dropping incident, we found that the same cat – a full-black one - had entered the car through an open window and had clawed its way through the upholstery.  It had not spared an inch – its claw marks are splayed both on the front and back seats!  What do you make of that?”

I was a little thoughtful, trying to figure out a likely explanation. But I quipped, “How do you know it was the same cat?” Gayathri continued, “Sriram heard strange sounds coming from the shed and went in to check.  That is when he saw the cat.  The funny part was when Sriram tried to shoo it away, it stood its ground, glared at him and mewed repeatedly in a strange tone, in almost the same tone that the old lady had used!  Don’t you think that would freak somebody out?”

I was a little perplexed.  Gayathri said, “The story does not end here.  Sriram’s other friend Vittal, well, he too faced similar incidents.  He had left his favourite sports shoe out in the shoe-stand at his place.  He saw a black dog jump across his compound wall, walk towards the stand, pick up the shoe and run.  He chased it.  But the sly dog was much too fast and made escape.  Vittal later found the shoe torn and shredded in front of his house gate.” 

I said, “Gayathri, you guys are reading too much into these incidents. They are just random acts and you have nothing to be worried about.”

Gayathri said, “I knew you would say that. Just like you, we too thought there was nothing to it.  We decided to move the car out of our house.  You know Kumar Mama, right? He lives in Madikeri.  So we drove down to Madikeri  to his house.”

I could not resist saying, “Don’t tell me, the same black cat, the same black crow along with the same black dog followed you from Mysore to Madikeri?”

Gayathri got a little upset.  She said, “Okay , laugh as much as you want.  But this is what happened in Kumar Mama’s house.  A similar black crow -obviously, I can’t say if it was the same one- dropped poop on Sriram’s car, in exactly the same manner and at exactly the same time like it used to do before! What do you make of that?  Isn’t that rather strange?”

I looked at her and laughingly said, “Maybe crows just go about doing their business in the exact same manner, across all geographies.  What else can it be?”

Gayathri was ready to strangle me.  Instead she yelled, “Don’t you get it? Don’t you see the connection? Sriram and his friends had referred to the old lady at various junctures as a crow, a cat, a dog and a rhino.  She is now taking those forms to harass Sriram and Vittal! Her curse seems to be coming true!”   

I then asked, “Okay, but why was Sriram rushing out of the house in such a panic?”

That is when Gayathri threw the bombshell.  She exclaimed, “He heard the flash news on TV just before you arrived. The lone black rhino in the Mysore Zoo has escaped!”

Picture credit - all images used here are sourced from the net.