A MEMORABLE ENCOUNTER

It was a cold December night. The new year was just round the corner. I was on the last lap of my journey back to Varanasi after a whirl Wind tour of U.P. as part of my election duties. The numerous travels mostly done by road through out U.P. and the cumbersome administrative work had sapped my energy. I was planning to catch up a good nights rest in the first class coupe of the Varanasi bound mail booked well in advance.

Waiting for the train in the broad platform of Lucknow at the especially cold night all I could see was hooded dark figures of men and women covered in blankets, huddled here and there trying to beat the freezing cold in the air. Standing in the dull yellow lights of the platform in my business suit of grey woolen pants and black coat, I suspected I looked a picture of officialdom. I walked up and down the platform waiting impatiently for the train to arrive though my bones were aching with fatigue.

The train arrived quietly and stealthily. The newly incorporated electric engine hardly made a sound. Locating my first class couple was no trouble at all. As soon as the train came to a halt, I climbed in to the first class compartment, which bore a deserted look, located my coupe third in the aisle.

I wrenched open the door, which seemed to have got stuck. As soon as I entered the coupe I could get a distinct smell, an aroma I should say. I could not place it exactly but it smelt familiar, say like the musk of a full healthy female. I looked around; the faint light inside the coupe the visibility was poor. However I felt, the coupe a compact one just for two cannot hide a person, I looked up and down before dumping my luggage below the seat. I dismissed the smell as I left over of the passengers who must have stayed and left. I closed the sliding door secured it with a latch, put the shutters in the window, unrolled my bedding, removed my coat, hung it in the peg above the window, slipped the shoes out and pushed it under the berth and stretched blissfully full length in the berth below.

I had almost in to my sleep when the train left the platform. The rhythmatic jogging of the train soon became a lullaby to me and I drifted to a dreamless slumber.

I have no idea how long I must have slept; I woke with a start to the shrill whistle of the train and a waft of chill wind blowing over my face. I distinctly remembered to have closed the shutters. Perhaps the spring on a rebound pulled it up. The train had halted. It was totally pitch dark outside indicating the night was still alive. I got up wearily to put the shutters down.

It was then I noticed her. Silently huddled in the corner, young women draped in black. The first thing I noticed about her was the wide-eyed innocence. The soft curly hair left loose forming a fine frame over her ivory colored skin. Her smooth cheeks were glistening in the light amber light of the train. She had worn some heavy silver jewelry hanging from her slender ear lobes and neck strangely reminding the picture of the bygone ears. Her looks were averted. She was gazing fixedly at the darkness outside.

I stared at her with an open-mouthed surprise. I had not expected to have any company till at least the train reached the next big halt and least of all a young female company of such striking beauty. Further how and when the lady must have entered the coupe when I had latched the door? She seemed to be oblivious of my movements of me getting up and putting down the shutters or now sitting and gaping at her open mouthed. I raked my head for some time as how to attract her attention.

Should I speak to her in chaste English or the native tongue Hindi? What should I call her madam, lady or memsab? I just couldn’t place the young thing in front of me. I finally cleared my throat and called out to her “Excuse me, do you want the shutters to be open?

She slowly took her eyes from the darkness outside, looked at me in a sort of stirring forlorn way and gave a faint smile. I could see her cheeks were tear stained and her innocent eyes bore an expression of immense grief. Her look and the faint smile stirred some thing in me, a sort of feeling of protective instinct. I felt a strong urge to put a protective hand around her and assure her as not to worry over anything. But won’t it be odd for a perfect stranger to do that. She once again averted her eyes and continued to stare in to the cold night.

I laid back in my cozy bed while the train slowly stirred and started moving, slowly picking up speed. I felt strangely sad and melancholic as though the lady’s mood was catching on to me. I must have laid with my eyes wide open for a long time staring at the frail legs with silver anklets visible out of the black apparel. It must have been my fatigue I knew not when I closed my eyes and went back to the world of sleep responding to the rythmatic jugging of the train.

When I opened my eyes the day had broken well and clear. The soft glow of the moonlight was flitting in to the compartment and the scenery outside was glorious, the fields, trees, the sky, the passing electric poles all bathed in the light of the early morning sun.

My eyes searched for the nubile young companion. The lady was not to be seen anywhere, vanished like the early morning mist. Had she gone to the toilet for the early morning adulations? I got up put the shutters up allowed the pleasant cold wind to sweep inside the coupe.

There was a knock at the door. I opened to find the attendant, ready to take orders for morning breakfast and tea.

Instead of giving orders I fumbled incoherently the lady, memsab, pointing to the seat opposite “Where is she?”

He looked at me quizzingly trying to comprehend what I was trying to tell?

“Your memsab, I don’t know Saab where is she”

“Oh not my biwi, that rathwali memsab who was sitting here.” Suddenly a look of comprehension and excitement seem to jump in to his eyes.

“The fair memsab wearing black clothes?”

“Yes, yes the same one, where has she gone?”

“Oh she was not a real memsab, she was booth”

“Booth” of course an educated man like me did not believe in all these things. He started telling me the story vividly. While I sat rubbing my hands to hear a good story.

She was Rupadevi Raja shamender singhs daughter. It was a sad love story. The raja was a good benevolent ruler. If he had any weakness, it was his daughter Rupadevi. He loved her beyond anything in the world and had dreams of getting the most eligible man around the place for his darling daughter. The tests of valor were a routine affair. He demanded impossible feats to be done by young men like fighting single-handed with a group of his select solders, jumping over burning charcoal, lift heavy weights etc. The enthusiastic young man with dash and valor used to come out these feats belittled and in due course less and less people began volunteering for such feats.

In the mean while Rupadevi a young beautiful lady in the prime of her youth gave her heart to the young lass who used to fill water in the huge bathtubs. Starved of male company the young lass rippling muscles, pleasant manners endured her, she gave her body and soul to him. When matters reached Raja shamendar singh ears, in a fit of rage he promptly beheaded the young man leaving an inconsolable Rupadevi. She jumped in to the well inside the palace grounds and gave her life in a moonless night. Every amavsi she manifested and tried to share her sorrow with any person whom she thinks can understand her. Of late as the village melee has changed beyond recognition, the lady has been frequenting the mail especially on the moonless night when it happens to halt close to the village. As a regular attendant in the train it was the 5th time he was hearing from passengers the tale of the young lady in black.

The story was told breathlessly by the attendant. The sleepy impersonal attendant suddenly seemed to be charged with life as he expanded the story to me with all the enthusiasm.

I looked at him with total disbelief as any educated man will hear and dismiss the babbles of an illiterate country lad.

I ordered him two mugs of hot tea with a plate of toast and omelets. As I sat pondering over the story strangely the young lady’s pathetic face came again and again in front of me while I felt for no reason sad and melancholic. For that matter to this day whenever I look back the whole scene rushes back like a picture and for some inexplicable reason I feel terribly sad.