Vadiraja Mysore Srinivasa

Drama Crime

4.8  

Vadiraja Mysore Srinivasa

Drama Crime

Tracking A Smuggler

Tracking A Smuggler

3 mins
701


The train to Delhi was to leave Bangalore station at 18:25 and I was terribly late. I egged on the rickshaw fellow to drive faster. Finally, landing in front of the station I heaved a sigh of relief when I found out I still had a few minutes left for boarding the train.


As I scurried along, a burly policeman virtually halted me on my tracks and in a booming metallic voice thundered: “What is in your bag?” I was taken aback and looked around thinking he was addressing someone else. He made sure that it was me who was being questioned by directly holding my elbow, and repeating what he said. My throat suddenly went dry, and I mumbled something which made him suspicious.


Without bothering to offer any explanation, he led me to the inspector sitting nearby. The ritual was repeated this time in a more authoritative voice! I became more nervous, and said that the bag contained some clothes and books. Abruptly, the inspector pulled away from my shoulder bag and searched it thoroughly. 


Finding only clothes and books – disappointment writ large on his face – he looked closely at me and asked whether I dye my hair. I was stumped! Recovering, I answered that my hair was naturally black and there was no need to dye it. I even volunteered additional information that my mother, who is nearly 75, has still got jet black hair! “Just answer to the question and don’t try to be very smart. Do you dye your hair or not” The brass voice thundered. “No, sir.” I tried to emulate him only to invite a cold stare.


Satisfied that my hair appeared to be naturally black the inspector then asked, “Ok, where are you going?” I was caught once again and in a scarcely audible voice mumbled: “To Delhi Sir”. I was asked to produce some identification and fortunately, my photo credit card became handy. 


The inspector had one more close look at me and waved his hand, “Constable, let him go”. I was in a hurry to catch the train but the curiosity got better of me. “Sir, tell me what is this all about?” I asked. “Oh, nothing. We got information about a courier of contraband who answered to your description. It seems that he has a strand of white hair across his forehead, but you know, he may outsmart us by dyeing his hair. But don’t you worry, we will catch him.”


Relieved that the interrogation was over, I ran to board the train which was about to leave. Sitting down in my compartment I thanked the Almighty for saving me from possible imprisonment. But the unsavory incident had shaken me, and I kept brooding over it. The train started moving and people who were loitering on the platform boarded the train in a hurry and as result, there was commotion inside the compartment.


I looked around and saw a man with a bag hung over his shoulder asking me something. “Sorry, I did not hear you, what were you saying?” I asked. The man repeated once again: “is this couch S7?” “No sir, this is S 6. Seven is further up”. I said and looked at him. He was of medium height and wore golden colored spectacles. As he started moving, I got the shock of my life; he had a neatly trimmed hair, but a strand of white hair ran across his forehead!!!


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