The Night Train

“Yes, you are hurt, man.” I told myself at dark.
Who had imagined, that the journey would remind me all those things again...


. . .


The night train was about an hour late, and I had to wait at the platform with my suitcase. And then it came, as the slowest turtle of the earth and managed myself to my reserved seat lastly.
There was some time for the train to leave, and vendors shouted much at the platform to my disgust.

But once it left the station, there was silence, and, and yes, darkness. I felt good. Both of them gave me comfort, for years. What was better, I was alone, in the coupe, as in my life.
Dark was outside. Distances away forest began, a dense one. It was one of the forests of eastern Madhyapradesh – through which the lines of the rail passed.

People try to sleep in darkness, when they are alone, but I do not. Rather I try to hear strange sounds, if any are there. I try to smell those things which are abstract, like the pages of old book, the wooden benches, the railings of windows. Have you ever tried to find the smell of night? It’s a soft, gentle, charming one – like those of chhatim flowers... What is the specialty that lies in chhatim flowers; I thought. We can’t see them generally. Do we? But the smell, to me which meant going back to unhappy past, - is a great one. Chhatim flowers, was one of my favourites, like silence and other things.

Now someone entered into the coupe. A middle heighted man, and to my disgust, switched on the light.

He was a middle aged man, placing his bag under the seat.

“Put out the light.” I said.

There was no answer. Rather, he turned to me and our eyes met. His was yellow, and had a painful look.

“Put out the light.” I said again.

He sat down the bench slowly, but nevertheless taking apart his eyes from mine, and smiled a little.

“Yes I will.” He said.

“Do it now.”

“Don’t you like it?”

I was about to answer something, but stopped. Months, years I’ve passed in darkness, but didn’t I like the light? Didn’t I want to join my friends coming out of my loneliness? Yes I did. But I feared to do, because I feared to remind...

And then he told something which shivered me.

“You are hurt, by some ways.”

I dumbed.

“May be any old liking, love – or something like that, have hurt you a lot.”

“...what?” I said anyway.

“Here... I put out the light.”

And the light was switched off.

The man lied down the bench, but I sat still. In the same darkness, the train ran at its highest speed.

I fear to remind, and he helped to do it again.

“Yes, you are hurt man.” I told myself at dark.

Who had imagined, that the journey would remind me all those things again...

. . .


Reminding past is never easy. The words of the man, chhatim flowers, dark night... took me to my twenty years age... the day... a sharp, lightened afternoon saw me hesitant before a girl, and for the first time, I was lost in the world of colours, seasons and happiness. For the first time, I discovered love and liking in this world, and afterwards, an irresistible force called me again and again to the place she lived. Love – I found in the first hours of sunrise, in the red clouds of sunset, in the night dark sky standing alone on the roof. Flowers... songs... happy surroundings... if you have ever been in love, you will know – if there is something called God..., it is love.


And I think it was a Friday she committed suicide. Not much news I got, but some family problems..., with which she could not cope up with, killed herself.

Since then, I am alone, inside darkness and silence... companionless..., perhaps waiting for her.


. . .


As the first lights of morning reflected into the coupe, I didn’t find the man on the seat.

-Written on July, '07

"The darkest hour of the night came just before the dawn."