The Co-Passenger

The platform was crowded as the summer vacation had started and the fear of the pandemic had died down somewhat. My train was delayed by two hours which dampened my spirits. This was to be my first trip to my hometown, after the passing away of both my parents.

I was the only daughter in the family and despite the orthodox and traditional customs and beliefs of the family I had been born into, my parents had given me the full liberty to pursue whatever career I chose. I was the first girl to leave the village for higher studies and excel in it too. While my parents continued to farm the land bequeathed by our ancestors, I was in the city, getting urbanized and modern in my outlook.

I had completed my post-graduation in Economics and was engaged in research. My mentor and guide kept me busy with all the responsibilities he was entrusted with, which left me little or no time to do my research diligently. I was into nearly three years of my research, when I lost my father. I rushed home to perform the obsequies as there was no one else to do so. My mother had left this world a “suhagan” and it was barely six months since her demise, that I lost my other parent as well.

Once all the rites had been completed, I had to get down to brass tacks transferring the accounts, property etc., in my name. While I was going through the files and documents, I came across a folder marked “Strictly personal and Confidential”. Needless to say, I set aside all other work and went ahead opening that file. The contents left me shell shocked, to say the least! There was a picture of a pretty woman with a girl in her arms and it bore the legend “the two loves in my life”. What upset me was that the photograph was in an envelope which bore my father’s handwriting – “To dear little Tara”.

The folder further contained details of the amounts periodically transferred to the lady’s account from my father’s. That my father had another family was unthinkable and too much for me to bear. Was my mother aware of this angle in her husband’s life or had she accepted it unquestioningly? I pondered within myself, but could not arrive at any answer.

Sumana, for that was her name, was also enjoying the comforts of our ancestral home as was evidenced by the tax receipts made out in her name, which were neatly filed in the folder.

I was enraged and sought to visit our hometown to oust her and her daughter, Tara which was why I had eagerly taken the earliest train home.

The train arrived at last and after the initial jostle and bustle, calm prevailed. I was about to enter the coach with my handbag, when I felt a child nudging me from behind, making all kinds of faces. Not wanting a scene, I let the child and his mother go ahead. They entered the same cabin as mine, and to my chagrin I saw that they were my co-passengers! There was one more elderly person in the cabin, who had already climbed on to the upper berth and made himself comfortable.

The boy was about ten years old and seemed to be mentally challenged. His mother was cool and composed but one could read from her face that she was putting up a brave front to conceal the deep sorrow within. It was a night journey and as soon as the train started, most of the passengers had spread their bed linen and prepared to retire. The only wait was for the Train Examiner and once that routine was over, slowly the lights in all the cabins were switched off with only the night lamps burning. The train was a super-fast one with limited stops. With the occasional mobile ringing and more prominent sound of people snoring, I too tried to sleep. 

It was difficult, because the thought of Sumana and Tara was uppermost in my mind. My father – I held him in such high regard – how could he be disloyal? The child in the opposite berth was pestering his mother and I could not resist coming to her rescue. I took out some chocolates from my bag and enticing him with it, brought him on to my berth and engaged his attention by telling him a story. He had not had his dinner as they were in a hurry to catch the train, and I took the puris she had brought with her and started feeding the boy. Strangely, he had taken a liking for me, which I capitalized and in no time, he had eaten all the puris and downed it with a glass of juice too. Once his tummy was satiated, he remained calm and soon went to sleep.

Since it was quite late in the night, after thanking me, she too prepared to sleep. I could not sleep at all and was planning how to face the people in our ancestral home the next day.

The chaiwallah’s cries of “chaai-chaai” woke up many who were eager to have the first chai of the day. I too got up and took a long walk within the train. When I had returned to my seat, the lady too had got up. I got her a cup of tea and started chatting with her. 

She said that she was visiting her ailing mother in the village and was planning to take her back with her so that she could take care of her as the medical facilities were much to be desired in the village. She also told him that she lost her father when she was only two years old. Her father’s friend had taken them under his wing and got them settled in his ancestral home. He would also remit money regularly to her mother’s account so that they could live comfortably. 

About eleven years back, she had got married and started to live with her husband in the city and would visit her mother whenever she could. Her husband was quite affectionate, but after their son was born and he came to know that he was a child of special needs, he deserted her. She was now a single parent and was working in a small firm to look after herself and her son. 

Her mother had informed her that her father’s friend who was providing for their needs regularly had recently passed away and she was unsure whether the monthly remittances would continue. 

Everything fell into place – “You, you are Tara?” I asked hesitatingly, “and is your mother Sumana?” She stared at me in disbelief. “How do you know?” she asked.

That was enough for me. I felt ashamed of myself for having suspected my father. What a noble soul was he! Once again, he was back on his pedestal, and I was proud of him.

The train was nearing our destination. The boy had started getting up. She was busy tending to him and was not keen to know how I guessed their names correctly.

“Do not worry about whether the monthly credits to your account will continue or not. If I may say so, you may shift to the village with your mother and seek some employment there itself. Your son will be looked after by everyone and you can live peacefully…”

So saying, I quietly picked up my bag and disappeared from the scene leaving her bewildered. I would now go back to the city and my research, satisfied that my father was mine and mine only.