All for Security

I saw him one day sitting on our front door steps wiping the sweat from his forehead. He was the traffic constable deputed to manage the unruly traffic at the crossing near our main gate. Toiling through out the day out in the hot summer morning and afternoon sapped whatever energy the police constable had. But rarely any one of them came to take rest on our staircase. The Policemen had their own strategies and comfort zones to recoup themselves. 

But this constable probably wanted to make friendship with me then a young growing energetic child. 

Bhola, his name, was told to me by him one day when I started our first conversation. He was hesitant at first. He opened up slowly when he started believing me. He came from a farming family but as there were already so many of his family into farming with not much of income and too many mouths to feed, his father was forced to send Bhola to the city to search for an income. However, Bhola 's mother had protested not wanting to send her youngest child her darling being separated from her. But father was strict and had liaisonned with his cousin to take Bhola into the Police force where the cousin was employed. 

Bhola, young as he was physically fit and was smoothly inducted into the force. He was deputed into the traffic department and his duty zeroed him at the crossing near our house. When his time came to take rest he would select our stairs. My mother taking pity on him gave him water to drink and gur to eat. 

'Raja babu,' as he addressed me in affection, ' I will tell you all that happens in our Police department.' 'You are smart and intelligent and I want you to become commissioner in our force and I would work under you', he used to say frequently and put me in a dilemma always. Because I had not yet decided what to do with my life in future. 

Our friendship continued to grow. We both found strength and joy in one another's company. Bhola felt more comfortable with me than with his colleagues. For continuous two years he was posted at the traffic post in front of our house. Bhola did his duty very sincerely and became liked by everyone in our area. 

He was suddenly transferred and we did not know for a long time. I heard of his transfer from the constable who replaced him. I felt empty of not seeing him further. My mother was sad she had no one to give water to drink and gur to eat. 

Some years passed. I grew up and after completing my education I appeared for the exam to enter government jobs. As it would be, Bhola 's soothaying and wish proved right and I was inducted as an officer in the Police force. I remembered Bhola and made it my mission to look for him. But unfortunately, I did not know his real name knowing him by Bhola only. 

I was made a sub inspector and put at Police station as incharge some two hundred kilometres away. 

Finishing my training I took my motorbike and decided to ride my way to my new place of assignment. My calculation was before night fall I would be able to reach the police outpost. I had informed my deputy about my coming. 

I had travelled more than half the distance when all of a sudden the weather turned bad. Clouds formed and started to rain. There was no shelter nearby. I was thinking what should I do when suddenly I found two young men on two motorbikes come suddenly from the dark and stop in front of me. In the

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rain I couldn't read them properly. But soon I saw something metallic shining in their hands and then I realised I was staring at two revolvers. 

'If you fear for your life, then give us what all you have,' one of them blurted out threateningly. 

I could only think myself as a newly recruited law keeper now in the hands of two outlaws at their mercy and thinking I surprised myself. Probably this is baptism with fire. 

Before the feeling of vulnerability could sink in I heard gunshots. Two quick rounds were fired from a certain distance. It was still not yet fully dark but the sun had set quite some time ago. Then I saw blood in the hands of both the men. They quickly wound up and started their bikes and fled away. Then the apparition appeared and from the darkness I could observe a helmetted man on a motorbike. He told me to follow him and he would lead me to safety. Somehow, the voice seemed familiar but I could not place him. The rain had stopped by then. Due to his helmet I couldn't see his face properly and neither could I ask him anything. 

A little later we approached a little hamlet and then I could see the Police Station in the distance. Then before I could thank the intruder he vanished away with his bike. 

At the Police Station my deputy welcomed me. Then I narrated him my strange story. My deputy just listened but could not give any solution. He just said that I should be grateful to this stranger for rescuing him from those bandits. 

At my quarters I settled down quickly. Then taking out time my thoughts suddenly took me many years back to the happy times I spent with Bhola. Where was he now? How happy he would be now seeing me in this Police dress. 

At my office now I started going through the files. In recent times I read that there had been an encounter and due to which two deadly criminals were liquidated. But unfortunately few Police personnel had also paid the price with their lives and all were from this station. The report mentioned those Police personnel vehicle numbers. But strangely one vehicle number seemed to ring a bell in my mind. I had seen this vehicle somewhere very recently. 

Few more days passed and finally one day I told my deputy about my friend Bhola. 

Hearing this name, my deputy reacted with amazement on his face. 

He said, 'Strange but it's a fact one of our brave personnel martyred in the encounter had the name Bhola. His official name was Prabhu but he was better known as Bhola.' Hearing this my feet went cold and I felt the earth shift away from underneath. Could this be my Bhola, my friend but wished to God that he should not be him. Then my deputy brought a photograph and I recognised the familiar face and I felt like crying like a child. How cruel fate could be. Now I recalled the number plate on the motorbike. It was the same as the one owned by the martyred Police personnel. 

Putting two and two together I could now understand that the brave heart who had saved me that day was none other than Bhola. He had saved me even in death. But my heart was broken because I couldn't share with him the good news of my becoming a Police officer. He always wanted to work under me. I took out a photo of his from our records and had it framed and kept it displayed boldly on top of my table. He would be my security always in life and death.