Image source (Nat Geo Traveller)
Authors Note:
One of my short
stories was recently published in a National Geographic feature on “Travellers'
Tales Of Ghosts, Ghouls And Things That Go Bump In The Night “. The full feature can be seen here. I am
reproducing my contribution for the convenience of my readers.
But wait. Why should
you read this spooky account yet again - assuming you are one of my numerous friends and readers who have already sent me kudos message for my first byline in a major
publication?
Because I am going to
share the insider scoop. The story behind the screens. The things that did not
make it into the 250 words that got published.
I must pause here to
reiterate to the readers that (almost) all this is indeed a true incident.
Railway Station,
Bilaspur, Madhya Pradesh
Sarnath Express
was my third home. Shuttling between my engineering college in Varanasi and my
hometown Bilaspur, I had spent a staggering amount of time in that particular train.
This fact could be
attributed to the temperament of the train more than to the frequency of my
travel. The train, when at its best cheerful self, would merrily sprint
between the two stations in little over twelve hours. But Sarnath express was
not a cheerful train. It was mostly somberly depressed, revolting and lazy.
Almost suicidal.
The train would
pull up at the Bilaspur station, shy, reluctant and quite behind schedule. It
would than start a leisurely stroll towards Varanasi, its destination. Occasionally
breaking into a jog it would abruptly start walking to catch its breath before coming to a
complete stop to let another train run by. The
fourteen hours journey usually spread out to eighteen and sometime even twenty
hours.
Today the train
screeched into the station ten minutes before schedule. I was happily alarmed
by the fact because this had happened first time the last three and half years
I had been traveling on the train. I hopped into my compartment, and right as the
clock stuck eight, the scheduled departure time of the train, the train jerked
forward, accelerated rapidly and zoomed out of the station.
The eternally
depressed Sarnath express was on Prosaic today!
(The
following piece was published in the Nat Geo feature)
En route Varanasi, Uttar
Pradesh
I
was travelling to Benares. It was close to ten o’clock on a warm night and I
was shuffling restlessly on the upper berth in a three-tier compartment of the
Sarnath Express, which was due to reach the holy city the next morning. Sweaty
and uncomfortable, I decided to get some fresh air.
Walking
to the entrance of the compartment, I unlatched and swung the main door open.
The train slowed down a bit. We were going through a dense forest; the smoky
smell of sal trees poured into the compartment.
“Alakh
Niranjan!” Startled by the salutation, I hurriedly looked back. A young ascetic
stood behind me. He had long hair and intense, friendly eyes. Unlike the usual
sadhus I've seen, he was clean-shaven and had long, neatly combed hair that
fell on the shawl around his shoulders.
“Go
and sleep,” he said, unblinking, “You want to see Ganga Maiya tomorrow,
don’t you?”
I
am not sure what overcame me, but I silently obeyed. Closing the door, I went
back up my berth. In less than a minute, there was a loud screech, and amid
screams of “Accident! Accident!” the train’s lights went off. Our compartment,
already tilted at a very acute angle, rolled over on its side as it toppled
down the track.
We
were eventually rescued. The side of the compartment where I was standing just
before the accident, was totally crushed. I searched for the sadhu but could
not locate him among the alive or the dead.
–Prithvi
Raj Banerjee
(Continuing
with the behind the screen scoop)
On the railway tracks,
somewhere near Shahdol, Madhya Pradesh
As our compartment toppled down the embankment
of the elevated railway tracks, I was thinking about … well frankly nothing...
because, I admit, I was shit scared to even think.
Though I did have a confirmation of my theory
about the ‘depressed train’. Today the train had finaly snapped. Sarnath Express had attempted suicide.
I screamed along with the other passengers as finally the coach stopped tumbling, lying on its side, tilted up at a steep
angle. Miraculously no one was seriously hurt and eventually (which seemed like
an eternity in that chaos), I was able to scale up the aisle and carefully pop
out of the main door above me. The space under the door had been packed with
the luggage of the passengers who had exited before, providing a secure
foothold.
As I dropped down the tracks, I saw several
compartments lying toppled along the tracks towards the rear end of the train.
Towards the front of the train – or rather where the front was supposed to be –
there was nothing! The tracks stretched out and disappeared around a bend in
the moonlight night.
The passengers had trickled out of their
respective compartments and had started small bonfires along the track, which
made the spooky setting even more eerie. I walked down the tracks and was
relieved that there were no fatalities. The passengers, huddled around the
flickering light of the bonfires, were tending their injured kin.
It was a moonlight night so we were able to see
fairly clearly even in the middle of the night. Two tracks separated by a moat
stretched around a bend. Sal forests started about hundred yards on the right
side of the tracks. On the left were paddy fields, very sparsely dotted with
settlements, which appeared as faint flickering lights close to the horizon.
I
searched for the mysterious sadhu but could not locate him.
The Comic Tragedy
Some adrenaline pumped passengers, mostly those like myself who did not have any injured to tend to, decided to march up the
tracks to find the first half of the train that was apparently missing.
“Sala driver”, puffed a hefty man in his mid-forties as we walked
briskly up the tracks, “ he has
been speeding since we left the first station “
“As if his rear
was on fire”, quipped another “ now look we are screwed...”
I was trying hard not to imagine the driver with
flames coming out of his rear end with his hands on the speed throttle of the
engine, giving out a maniacal laugh even as one of the compartments swung
dangerously around a bend and toppled over, pulling all the ones behind it as a
stack of dominos.
The driver gave another maniacal laugh, just
like the famed demons of Indian mythology, as the coupling link between the
rear section of the train broke from the front section with a loud clang.
He paused to give out a long toot of the engine horn before laughing again and
sending out a big bellow of fire out of his rear as the engine disappeared around the bend.
“I have already beaten up the Guard”, boasted another proudly,
showing a silver flashlight that was apparently confiscated from the poor
railway employee whose compartment had also toppled over along with the rest of
us.
“Can you turn that on please ?” I requested respectfully
pointing to the flashlight. The vigilante reluctantly turned it on no sooner he
did, we saw specks of flashlights up ahead on the tracks.
The rescue party from the front section of the
train arrived shortly. Unfortunately the train driver was part of the rescue
party. I tried my best but could not
rescue the driver.
“What do we do now?” the hefty man asked,
looking at the unconscious train driver, lying beside the tracks.
“ He is the only person who can contact the railway
authorities...” I had screamed trying to save the driver from the mindless
onslaught. My plea fell on deaf ears as a misaimed punch, ironically landed on
my ear.
The Sadhu
I was alone. I tried not to think about the mindless
violence as I jogged in darkness towards the bend, nursing my bruised ear. The
front of the train should not be far away.
Right around the bend I could see lights on the
track ahead of me. It was the front section of the train! My heart skipped a beat
as I started running towards the reassuring lights.
Just then, soft footsteps behind me made a chill
shoot up my spine. Just behind me, with a smile on his face was the mysterious
sadhu I had met just before the accident.
“Alakh Niranjan!” He said effortlessly, his
intense, friendly eyes glowing in the moonlit night. “ You did not get to sleep
after all … did you?” I smiled sheepishly.
“Follow me”, he said as he almost floated down
the tracks with me scampering after him.
Epilogue:
Two of my college friends had planned to
receive me at the Varanasi railway station. Of course none of us knew that we would
face this unplanned sequence of events. They knew that the train had met with
an accident but did not know if I would make it with the surviving portion of
the train or not.
It
was 4 AM in the morning when the 16 hours late train finally reached Varanasi
station. A very delighted accident survivor was greeted by two very brave
friends. Two ladies who had their own share of adventure spending more than ten
hours on the platform trying to track down a friend on board an accidental
train.
This
one is for you Anisha and Ina!