The Sharp Bend

The Sharp Bend

The car swerved around the sharp bend, giving a narrow miss to the on-coming bus. The screech of tires echoed through the misty Himalayan valley as Raj gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. Heart pounding like a dhol at a wedding, he glanced in the rearview mirror. His wife, Meera, clutched their five-year-old son, Aryan, her eyes wide with terror.

"Raj! What was that?" Meera gasped, her voice trembling.

"Just a close call, jaan. These mountain roads are treacherous," Raj replied, forcing a smile. But inside, guilt gnawed at him. He shouldn't have been driving so fast. They were rushing back to Shimla after visiting his ailing mother in the remote village of Sarahan. The old woman had passed that morning, whispering her final blessings for Aryan. Now, with dusk falling and fog thickening, the journey felt cursed.

Aryan whimpered, "Papa, the bus uncle looked angry."

Raj chuckled nervously. "He'll forget it in no time, beta." But as they rounded the next curve, the engine sputtered. The car jerked to a halt on the gravel shoulder, overlooking a sheer 500-foot drop into the churning Sutlej River below.

"No, no, not now!" Raj cursed, popping the hood. Steam hissed out like an angry serpent. Overheating. He rummaged in the trunk for water, but the jerry can was empty—forgotten in the haste of grief.

Meera stepped out, wrapping a shawl around Aryan. "What do we do? No signal here."

Raj scanned the road. Headlights pierced the fog—a truck lumbering up. He waved frantically. The truck slowed, and out stepped a burly Sikh driver, his turban glowing under the headlights.

"Kya hua, bhai sahab?" the man asked, his voice booming like thunder.

"Engine gone mad. Water khatam," Raj explained.

The driver grinned. "Arre, main hu na! Apple crate se paani nikalte hain." He fetched a bucket from his cab and poured water into the radiator. Within minutes, the car purred back to life.

As they prepared to leave, the driver paused. "Waheguru di kripa. Aaj subah hi maine woh bus ko paani diya tha. Narrow miss, eh? Zindagi mein har bend safe ho!"

Raj's eyes widened. The bus driver? It was the same man! Fate's twist in the mountains.

They drove on, slower now, chatting with their savior who followed in his truck. By midnight, they reached Shimla safely. As Raj hugged Meera and Aryan, he whispered, "See? Even sharp bends lead to good endings."

From that day, Raj never sped on mountain roads. And every Diwali, they sent sweets to the kind trucker—a reminder that mercy comes when you least expect it.

The End

By Vijay Sharma Erry