| By : ( Posted on :20 Sep, 2005 ) | Total Views : 435 | Previous | Next |
She entered the railway station and glanced at the big clock which hung just above the entrance. It was exactly 5:45 PM. Just fifteen minutes to go before the Rajgarh Express arrived. She wiped her glasses with the pallu of her sari and got ready to wait. A gentle breeze began to blow and she pulled the shawl tightly around her shoulders. She looked around the deserted station which had now become so familiar. The old stationmaster greeted her with a namaste and offered her a cup of tea. She politely refused and he continued pouring over his books. The small town of Habban, tucked away in the lap of the Himalayas, had very few visitors, so there was hardly any work to be done.
She looked impatiently at the clock again but it seemed like the minute hand hadn't moved at all. The loud ticking, however, assured her that it was still in working condition. A few locks of her curly hair freed themselves from the tight bun and she hastily pinned them back. The village post-man, who also doubled as a porter, strolled in leisurely. By now he was used to seeing her waiting for the same train every evening and he folded his hands in greeting. She returned the gesture and then turned away. Her gaze strayed to the tall snow covered mountains that rose majestically from the ground and disappeared among the clouds. She stood staring, enthralled by their pristine glory. Even after all these years, she was still awestruck by their unparalleled splendor.
The shrill whistle of the approaching train startled her. She peered through her glasses until she could make out the silhouette of the oncoming train. The old steam engine blew out rings of smoke through its antique funnel. After what seemed like an eternity, it finally pulled into the small station. She rushed frantically from one bogie to another looking for her beloved son, but all she could see were a host of alien faces staring back. She continued her frenzied search until another shrill whistle pierced the air, signaling the departure of the train. At last she gave up and stepped aside.
As the train slowly chugged out of the station, her eyes filled with tears. She stared at the retreating figure, until the echo of its rumblings had died out and it was nothing more than a speck on the horizon. Then she turned to leave, but she would return the next day just as she had every day for the last seven years.
They hadn't named her Asha for nothing.
