That Day on Platform No. 15

Diwali hadn’t come around as yet.. But the air was already heavy with smoke from the fields of Punjab. The farmers had set fire to the dry paddy where it stood, and the smoke drifted towards Delhi and the neighbouring states, wrapping the city in acrid fog and soot.

Ramu stood on the foot overbridge between Platforms 14 and 15, scanning the crowd below. The smoke burned his eyes and nose. He pulled his handkerchief over his face. Better this way, he thought. She wouldn’t recognize him now.

He knew why he had been sent to look for her. The order was clear, and the punishment had to be carried out. He had done this before, many times, but this one felt different.

He gripped the railing and looked down at the sea of people below. The smog hadn’t deterred the travellers. Coolies pushed through the crowd with their headloads balanced high, shouting for their passengers to follow. At the tea stalls, steam rose as the sellers poured hot, sweet tea into paper cups. Travellers clustered around the familiar A.H. Wheeler stall, flipping through newspapers and Filmfare as they waited for the loudspeaker to announce their train.

The scene reminded him of a riot, chaotic but somehow contained, all of it moving to the rhythm of the station master’s hand.

A loudspeaker crackled to life above the noise, the voice breaking and unclear: “Train №4745, Delhi–Mumbai Fast Passenger, will depart at nine fifty-five from Platform Number Fifteen.”

Where would he find her in all this? He hoped she wouldn’t recognize him. Or maybe he hoped she would. They had crossed paths once since the incident. She’d looked through him then, though he knew she’d recognized him. Or had she simply chosen not to?

But so what if she did?

Men like him were meant to carry out instructions, no more, no less. In this city, questions were never asked. “It’s too late now” he murmured “but things didn’t have to be this way”.

But what if he didn’t find her? That wasn’t a possibility. The powers that be wouldn’t take to it kindly. There would be hell to pay. He shuddered, pushing that thought away.

He quickly glanced at his watch. It was 9:47 am. Just eight minutes to find her before the train pushed out of the station. He rushed down the steps of the overbridge pushing a surprised elderly woman and her coolie out of the way.

Stopping for a moment and wondering where to start, he decided he would start at the engine and work his way down to the last bogey.

He pushed roughly and urgently past the last-minute boarders and climbed in, his eyes darting from face to face. Women and children slumped on the lower berths. Men wedged into the upper ones. This was the “General Compartment”. Travellers packed every inch of space, pressed together like sardines in a can, clutching at rails and hooks to keep from falling when the train lurched forward.

The air stank of sweat and dirt. He had been there once, he remembered. A long time ago, before he’d risen from the ranks to where he was now.

For a moment, the thought crossed his mind: one shot in the air would clear the path before him, sweep aside the wall of human flesh. But not today. Today was not the day to draw attention.

Not finding her there, he quickly moved to the next compartment. Then another. And another. No sign of her anywhere. It was getting hot. Ramu removed the handkerchief from his face and pushed it into his pocket.

For a moment, he thought he saw her. In the “Two Tier Sleeper” compartment. He rushed forward, caught her by the arm and spun her around. The loose end of her saree slipped down to the back of her neck. A newly married woman. He hadn’t noticed the red bangles, the kind newlywed brides wear. The look of fright on her face, the shock on her husband’s, told him enough. The way they both shrank back, unsure who he was or what he wanted.

He didn’t wait to explain. With a quick grunt, he turned and walked away, leaving behind a startled young couple, as if a gust of wind had struck them and moved on.

He was getting angry and anxious now. What if he couldn’t find her? He shuddered at the thought of reporting back to the powers that be. He would not take no for an answer. Not on a job this important. Not in this case.

This was his daughter, he had said. The punishment had to be given. Just like anyone else. No special allowances. If Ramu failed today, the man above would lose face, and there would be hell to pay.

He was losing hope. He started making up excuses to himself. She was still in Delhi. She had not left. If the information was right, she would have been on the train, would she not?

Maybe that stupid government employee had left her behind. Wouldn’t that be nice, after what she’d put him through? He found he liked the thought.

Or maybe the report was wrong. Maybe she had taken a bus. Then it would not be his problem.

He argued with himself, defending his choices.
Talking to himself; to no one in particular.

He needed more time. He would find her. She would be punished. No question.

“My job. My problem,” he muttered at a traveller, gritting his teeth. The man opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again and looked away. Frightened. He did not want to pursue the discussion further.

He pushed the thoughts aside. Excuses and arguments could wait. For now, he just needed to find her.

He stopped in front of the bogey that held the First-Class Air-Conditioned cabins. That’s rich, he thought. Would she be able to afford this? Surely not. Not after the fiasco with her father, the higher up. Not while she was on the run.

And then he saw her. His heart thwanged. In that moment Ramu’s world raced back…in that moment time stopped.

They were by the pond again, her hair brushing his face as she looked up at him.

They were at the village fair, rising and falling on the ferris wheel, laughing, their hands clasped tight.

She was there at the tea stall near Sharmila Talkies, their little hideaway, her favourite chai in hand — extra-sweet, extra-milky, extra-masala — its steam curling into the air as she laughed at his jokes.

And she was in the darkness of the cinema, her head resting on his arm, the faint scent of roses from the flowers she had tucked in her hair.

She was at the steps of her house, the same house he had come to so many nights to collect his payouts and bonuses for jobs well done. She was there when he had confessed to her what he did for a living.

He was there when her father shouted at her for falling in love with someone unknown, after hearing of her “cheating” through his network.

He was there when she stood before him, face lowered but eyes defiant, refusing to name her lover.

He was there when she wailed beside the temple wall, at him, at her fate, at the cruelty of falling in love with a boy from a world she had learnt to despise.

And he was there when the car took her away, her face resolved and defiant, to her aunt’s house in another town.

This was the first time in two years he had laid eyes on her. Each step forward now only tightened the knot in his chest. He had told himself he was only doing his duty, but now that belief began to waver. The master had been clear about what would happen if he failed, yet the thought of succeeding frightened him more.

Looking at her now brought him back to the night before, when her father had stormed out of the house, shouting that she had run away. Later, in a cold, measured voice, he had given Ramu his assignment. She must be punished. No special allowances, he had said, looking straight at him as he spoke.

But what was this? Why was she in bridal wear? Why that Mangalsutra, that symbol of marriage, and that diamond ring? Was she married now? When did that happen?

She hadn’t seen him. She was busy settling into her lower bunk, propping up a pillow by the window. She turned briefly to look at the Ticket Collector as he entered the cabin to check tickets, and he followed close behind him.

That’s when she saw him. She froze as recognition spread across her face, slow at first, then suddenly. Her mouth opened in a gasp, but no sound came. The memories rushed back — the night she had defied her father, the morning she was sent away, banished for her indiscretions. She knew what he had come for, what he had been sent for.

The man sitting with his back to them turned, startled by her movement. He faced the Ticket Collector.

And the muzzle of the weapon.

The Ticket Collector hadn’t seen the gun. He looked up from the tablet in his hand, waiting for the passenger to show his ticket.

Then, in an instant, his expression changed as he saw the man. His face opened into a smile, and his posture softened.

“I’m sorry, sir, for disturbing you. And congratulations on your promotion to the Judge of the District Court at Hazratganj,” he said, lowering his head and half-bowing in respect.