The Wheels of Eternity

 

People called me James Pinto or simply...James.

I was an automobile mechanic by profession.

Guys said that there was magic in my hands.

And that was true.

Give me any monster of a car, no matter what condition – it would soon be rolling on the road, as good as new. 

I loved my machines.

So, it was no wonder that I died on the wheels – albeit of a different kind.

 

On that fateful day, I had boarded a train at Nandyal station in Andhra Pradesh.

Actually, I had taken some leave to attend my nephew’s marriage.

Marriages in our family are an elaborate affair. It took around three days for all ceremonies to wind up.

My elder brother had come over to see me off at the station.

As the train was about to move, he reminded me about the promise he had so arduously extracted out of me.

I nodded silently.

I saw his diminutive figure fading away as the train picked up speed, little knowing that I had met him for the last time that evening.

 

It was already getting dark.

Once inside, I parked myself near a window seat and lighted a cigarette.

I recalled the pledge I had made to my brother.

You see, I was a chain smoker.

Good or bad - the butt had become part of my life.

 

I had undergone a bypass heart surgery the previous year. The cardiologist had warned me strictly.

“James, if you don’t give up smoking now – life will be difficult.”

As I heard his voice echo in the recovery room, I knew exactly what he meant.

But old habits die hard and even though I wanted to quit, I could not.

 

An elderly gentleman sat opposite me.

He was a doctor and was travelling to Mumbai.

Our destinations were same and the journey was long. Soon, we fell in to a friendly conversation and even shared our contact details.

Around eleven, I wished the doctor good night and retired to my upper birth for some rest.

 

I soon fell asleep as the train cruised along the iron tracks.

After an hour or so, I got up as I was feeling rather uneasy.

I reached for my hand towel.

I was sweating profusely though the weather was quite pleasant.

Last few days had been pretty hectic and it might be the side effect – so I thought.

I had some water and tried to go back to sleep again.

But something was wrong.

 

As I turned and tossed on my birth, my attention was engaged by two men talking in whispers on the lower birth.

They were not there in the evening.

Must have boarded the train during the last halt.

No light was on in the compartment and it was pitch dark.

The train galloped through the night like a wild horse.

 

Even though the duo spoke surreptitiously, I could still hear what transpired between them.

“The timer is not functioning properly – I will have to fix it.”

“But where?”

“In the toilet.”

“How much time you need?”

“Depends – let me see.”

I strained my ears further as one of them picked up a suitcase, may be a box and left the compartment.

The other man sat where he was.

My mind went into a tizzy.

What were they talking about?

I was aware that naxalism was raising its ugly hood in Andhra.

That its perpetrators used violence as a tool to draw attention to their cause.

And planting bombs in crowded places or public transport was a deadly weapon in their hands.

So many innocent lives had already been lost.

Did the ‘timer’ referred to a time bomb?

What else it could mean?

My heart throbbed ferociously in my chest.

Tense and nervous as I was, I heard someone entering the compartment.

 

“What happened?”

“I have done my best in the time available – that’s all I can say.”

“We must leave now.”

The creaking sound of a box being pushed under a seat, harried footsteps.

They had moved out.

 

I looked down.

The doctor was peacefully asleep.

I decided to go down and wake him up.

But I could not get up.

An excruciating pain first cut through my left arm and then seared through my heart.

 

A very old image of my father playing with me in a garden flashed through my mind.

I was afraid to slide down a long winding tunnel and he was encouraging me.

“Go James, go.”

His words hit my brain like a hammer.

I tried to pull the chain.

But my whole body had stiffened up.

Finally, a dagger cut through my heart, dissolving my consciousness and dropping a thick curtain over my eyes.

 

In the fight between light and darkness, the sun finally emerged victorious.  It was early morning and I could see the train moving through a forest.

But how could I see the moving train from outside?

I was shocked. 

I entered inside the train.

My body had been brought down on a lower birth.        

The doctor examined my pulse with a sullen expression on his face.

“Severe heart attack –he had no chance. He passed away a few hours back.”

“Just Imagine, all this while we were travelling with a corpse!” said another passenger.

“We will have to inform the station master at the next stop. I have his contact details with me,” the doctor said softly.

 

So I was dead!

But how was I able to witness all that was happening around me –my own body, the doctor, the passengers?

Is this what is known as a man’s soul – something which never dies, is never born?

 

The body was taken out at the next station and laid out on a bench.

My family members were immediately informed of my demise.

The railway police registered a case of ‘natural death’ due to cardiac failure.

 

Then, something flashed across my mind.

I ran towards the doctor, tapped him on the shoulder and shouted that a bomb was placed in our very own compartment.

But my voice did not reach him.

I ‘knew’.

The timer was working properly now.

The bomb was set to explode at 6 am.

Time now was 5:40 am.

I shouted at the doctor once again.

But he just wouldn’t listen to me.

 

Would nobody respond to me now – NOBODY?

Just then a dog barked at me.

I instinctively bent down to pick up a stone.

The stone slipped out of my grip.

But my action was sufficient to scare the dog.

He dashed off, stopped at a safe distance and looked back joyfully.

 

So, the dog could SEE me.

He wanted to play.

I took a step back.

The dog moved forward.

I tuned back and sprinted.

He chased me liked a skilled hunter, barking excitedly.

 

I entered into my compartment.

The train was about to depart.

The doctor had moved in.

There he sat, cross-legged, munching potato chips, on a pile of explosives.

 

The dog followed me like a bullet.

And before he could realize, he ‘passed through me’ and landed straight into the doctor’s lap.

The old fellow gave out a loud cry.

His potato chips fanned out in all possible directions.

 

The dog bounced back into the opposite seat and as the doctor lifted his stick to sort him out, he crawled under the seat.

The doctor shoved his stick under the seat but the dog had perched himself atop a box.

In a fit of rage, the doctor tried to pull out the box.

But the dog on the top made the task a bit difficult.

 

Furiously, the doctor made one final attempt –dragging the   box out with both hands.

The dog, sensing the imminent danger, crawled out quickly from the other side.

And the box, all of a sudden leaped out and with a loud thud, crashed on the floor.

 

Its upper lid came out, revealing the chilling contents inside.

‘B-o-o-o-o-m-b’, the doctor howled terribly.

Within seconds, the compartment was deserted.

People ran out into the fields, the complete train was vacated.

But it was quite difficult for the elders and the young ones.

I saw an old woman struggling to move out with her luggage.

But it was too late.

 

A deafening blast put a final stop to all activities.

The middle two bogeys rose in air for about thirty feet.

The whole train shook and overturned except the engine and the last coach.

 

The bogeys caught fire.

Soon after, the fire brigade wagon arrived along with a slew of press vehicles.

A young reporter thrust a mike into doctor’s face.

“Sir, please tell us how you discovered the bomb.”

“It was all because of a dog who slouched under my seat. To force him out, I had to first pull out a box and the bomb was placed inside this box.”

The reporter turned and faced the camera.

“Viewers, as you can see behind us, it could have been worse than this, thanks to the timely alarm raised by this gentleman. Life is a strange mixture of accidents and coincidents. And this turns out to be finally a dog’s day.”

 

The grueling day was drawing to a close.

I passed through a bogey on fire.

A fire man sprayed a thick cannon of water.

But the fire did not burn me neither the water could drench me.

I, James Pinto, was, am and will always be.

***

An Experimental Short Story

A Bad Mother