A Man Who Sinned

(A short story)

 ~Tapas Sarkar

  

All of a sudden, Pritam heard a feeble voice from a few meters of distance behind “Ai babu…ai babu....” The voice was too soft to recognize in the crowd, but he felt it could be him the man is calling to, so, he turned his head and noticed a flimsy old man indicating towards him with his shaking right palm “Ai babu suno sunoooo, iss tadaf…iss tadaf dekho.”

Two or three travelers crossed their way and it was difficult to recognize the old man for Pritam, he somehow managed and stopped amid the platform with his heavy luggage. Within that time, the crowd was passing and crossing his way drastically form front and back, but he had stayed standing till the old man came near to him and exclaimed with a thoughtful voice “Beta you’re wrong, but you’ll get it as soon as you finish your midnight sleep.” Pritam astonished and remained speechless for a moment.

The statement puzzled him roughly. He asked the old man in reply “Uncle, aap kya keh rhe ho, mai samajh nhi pa rha.” The old man again told him “Samaj jaoge beta…bs kuch din baki hai.”

Now, Pritam became more stone like. He wished to catch the old man and ask him abundant questions. But, in a quick, between them both, pressing the crowd, a coolie entered with a huge luggage on his back. He could not move forward because the crowd was too hazard, and Pritam too took up his trolly-bag’s handle in his hand so that it would remain with him. After sometime, when, the coolie took aside, Pritam looked on the back side where the old man was standing. But, shockingly, he found nothing. The old man was gone. Among the many unknown faces of the crowd Pritam searched time and again for the old man to the different directions. He could not find him anymore. He was really gone. Soon, Pritam felt that he was extremely sweating inside and he was very much tired, it might be because of his high blood pressure. So, he decided to sit somewhere on any slab of the station platform. Taking his trolly-bag, now he headed towards a slab. Unfortunately, there was no empty seat. So, he took his trolly-bag to another one. There he found an empty seat and sit on that in hurry. He was feeling relaxed under a big ceiling fan though the fan was producing hardly any amount of cold air. But, the important thing was that he was satisfied. He opened the neck button of his shirt and leaned his head on the back side of the stone slab. He, soon, started feeling drowsy and sleepy. Though, he opened his eyes twice or thrice and remembered for a moment of the old man’s mysterious appearance and disappearance, he was too tired to keep his eyes opened. Reason to stay awake was less important to his physical system as he already started feeling acute weakness. He focused on thinking in brain slowly and found that the old man kept hunting him, in the mind, in his dream.

Amid the noisy station, in his dream Pritam was now real and present. A well-dressed dude man. After collecting his ticket from the counter, he ran towards the train which had whistled its last whistle. He managed hardly to get inside the general coach as his ticket was for the second class only. An empty seat he discovered where an old man was sitting earlier to its next. He sit on the empty seat keeping his bags aside. He sighed a long breath. From his forehead few drops of sweat was falling to the chin. Quickly, he wiped his face off with a perfumed hanky. It smeled costly. The other nearby passengers looked at him and Pritam took an opportunity to show him off. He took out his most costly iPhone from his pocket, and in glossy and fluent English, he started speaking on phone-

 “Hey babe, I’m done….”

“Yeah yeah, I kept her there…yes, everything, they will take care…why not we paid them for that.”

“No, she was crying, yes…yes I said, see ma you have to stay here for now, I cannot take you to home.”

“No, I did not give her the phone…ok, I’ll bring that, okay, bye…LV U….”

All most, all the passengers, in the coach, were busy with their own activities. Some dude middle aged men were sunk in their half folded newspapers as if they heard nothing. Some home coming village laborers kept staring at Pritam speechless listening to his sophisticated different language. A group of young men and women were busy taking their selfies totally being indifferent. Few of them secretly got inspired by that dude man’s English accent. Only the old man who was sitting next of him, was hearing Pritam from the beginning to the end. Pritam noticed that and he thought that the old man was illiterate, so, he ignored. But, the old man started reciting some lines-

“Kitne Khauf hota hai raat ke andheron mein,

Jake puchho un parindo se jinke ghar nahi hote.”

“Kitni ajeeb hai nekiyon ki justuju Ghalib,

Namaz bhi jaldi mein parhte hain phir se gunah karne ke liye.”

A vendor entered the coach and started shaking his ‘muri’ mixture making utensils with husky luring noises “Chena Chena, Chena chaiye, fresh chena…Chena Chena, fresh chena….” Pritam was shocked already. He was disturbed by both the old man and the vendor. He felt that he was supposed to hear the last lines of the old man, but he could not hear the last two lines as the vendor’s cry became louder and louder “Chena Chena, Chena chaiye, fresh chena…Chena Chena, fresh chena….”

Pritam started scolding the vendor and finally forced him to leave his personal space as he thought it was his right right to speak against his inconveniences as he had done to his mother for his own desire, pleasure, and thrust to enjoy life. His flat had no empty room to live with his mother. He turned to the old man to ask a question what was actually he had meant by the last lines he recited. But, he was vanished from that place right there. The old man was gone. Pritam searched here and there inside the coach, he could not find the old man anymore. He looked outside the window. Suddenly, at an unknown station the train stopped. He looked outside the window again, he, spontaneously, reminisced that it was the same railway station he had visited previously, but, hardly could remember when. It was the same old man he had encountered somewhere earlier at the same station. He noticed that the same rag clothed weak old man was walking slowly on the platform with his muttering lips voicing some vague lines. Pritam did not understand what was going on, he cried loudly “Ai…ai…ai….” But, nobody heard him. He tried to go out to the platform to meet that old man and ask him what had happened to him. He could not move fast. He wanted to come out of the coach, but, he was too weak to walk to the coach gate. He became unstable and fell down on the floor. On the other hand, in blur vision, he saw the train had already started running and then it was running fast and fast. He rapidly failed to recognize the fast passing by world outside.

In the station, again, a train whistled its last whistle. Pritam discovered he was dreaming. He hurried to take off, now his dream was gone. Yet, hardly, he was able to lift his head which was leaned on the slab. Again, he tried, but no, his head was too heavy. He tried to open his destitute poor closing eyes. He tried and failed again and again. With his half open eyes, he saw some blur movements. Those were the travelers Pritam identified. He realized that he could not hear any sound anymore. He tried to take out his most expensive iPhone for a call to his wife, but, soon he knew that his entire body was paralyzed. He cried “Help, help, help….” Nobody came, nobody helped. Pritam lost his eyesight completely now. No sense he felt from his five senses once he was boisterous of. Only, a bit of memory, he contained now that he left his mama somewhere. Pritam heard his mama calling him from the ‘briddhyashram’ (old age home). He confessed to his mother. He tried to open his dull eyes for the last time, but outside it was already sun down and filled with darkness. He cried in loud silent “Ma…ma…ma….” Nobody heard. As opposed to his cry the other passengers on the platform were noisier in waiting for their scheduled trains to reach to their own destinations, and then, soon, the night came.