By Gijomon Kochuparambil John
The Yog Nagari Rishikesh Express
rattled through dry lands,
unveiling dark lives on either side of the tracks.
I felt the fading leaves, the dying plants —
their silent screams for water
echoed from the bottle I held.
At Ratnagiri station, the train paused,
and to shake off the weight
of these haunting sights,
I stepped out, breathing in the heavy air.
I was welcomed by the broad smile of a tired girl,
clutching a bundle of fancy ornaments to sell.
Her shabby dress, unkempt hair, and soiled hands –
they triggered my eyes to shift,
to see her as a pickpocket, a member of mafia gang –
a by-product of false narratives
woven out of prejudice.
Propelled by disgust,
I moved to the nearby bench, unheeding her existence.
My ironic sipping of hot tea
bloomed an amusement in the eyes around — but one,
as she was too weary
to mirror the feeling’s tide.
In a span of a minute,
she was found beside me and requested a purchase.
Her feeble voice and pale face explained everything.
It should have been days
her eyes hosted tears.
She must have snivelled beyond water,
leaving no tears left to express her grief.
Though it wishes to flow —
if there is no water,
what can a river do?
A layer of prejudice — thick and hard —
kept my sympathy sealed away,
unable to break through
and tap the human in me.
She stood there — motionless, hopeful —
clutching her items,
expecting a merciful customer in me.
But the devil in me took its turn
each time the divine spark enkindled.
It blocked my path from sympathy to empathy,
raising barriers formed of prejudice.
When the time ripened,
I returned to the train, shielding my pocket,
fearing a potential theft —
leaving the place,
giving her no aid to fight her battle.
As the train wheeled onward,
pushing the desperate sights behind,
a massive blow of realization struck —
and left me frozen.
My expensive phone,
teeming with memories,
carrying crucial data,
and the very ticket to travel forward —
gone missing.
Ironically, I sweat —
within the air-conditioned coach.
Like fading leaves and dying trees
I saw along the way,
I searched around for water.
Doomed in despair,
I bent my head down.
My heartbeat turned to match
the steady beat of the train.
The looming shadows of loss
swirled within me,
waiting their turn
to haunt my every breath.
A sudden gentle pat upon my shoulder
lifted me from despair’s deep valley.
The girl, who once bore my unheeding,
stood before me,
holding the phone I longed for.
With a broad smile, she handed it to me:
“I saw you entraining,
your phone left upon the bench.”
A flood of thoughts skidded through my mind —
the hands that once shielded the pocket
trembled now in quiet shame.
The once-doubted stood jubilant,
while the doubter shrank within.
Empirical facts
cleansed the prejudicial mind.
Sense of guilt
overpowered the joy
of getting back ‘the lost’.
I kissed her holy palms,
soiled with sweat and dust.
Whispered, “Thank you... and sorry.”
She said nothing —
only a victorious smile,
eyes shining with a quiet fire.
Was it the joy of sweet revenge
twinkled in her eyes?
Her twinkling eyes revealed it,
and the guilt in me gleamed my eyes.
Humanity triumphed,
the miser within me collapsed;
I offered to buy
everything she was selling.
But she refused —
“You don’t need these.
Keep your money safe.”
She detrained at the next stop,
leaving behind an innocent smile,
and a lesson carved deep within me.
Flame that sailed in her eyes
as she smiled
began to haunt me.
Years have passed —
Yet still it lingers.
I have not recovered yet.