Continued from last week:
Her life would be different now. She would have to move on; Fatima had told her as they parted outside her doorstep. But what about her boy? Who will take care of him? What will happen if Bijoy ended up living with Kishore? She looked expectantly at her father as he walked back to the bench and informed her that the train would arrive in an hour.
'Are you hungry?' her father inquired.
'No I am not hungry' Shalini replied.
'It is a long journey. You have to eat something or else you will feel nauseous.'
'I am not hungry father.'
'All right,' her father said and added, "There are some cakes and beverages here if you want any." He handed her a plastic bag filled with eateries.
"Thank you," she murmured incoherently and almost inaudibly. She wanted to talk about Bijoy and what would happen to him if she went back home. She wanted to know what her father intended to do inorder to bring Bijoy back to her.
'Father,' Shalini blurted. She evaded his gaze as he turned around and looked at her with the same odious expression that had forever marked his face.
"You will bring Bijoy back to me, won't you father?" she implored.
Her father was silent for a long time before replying, "Yes, I shall bring him back. But it will take time."
"I don't feel he will be safe with Kishore."
"These things will take time to be honest. But don't worry; you will see the boy again soon."
"You haven't met him father. He is a very smart boy. You would be proud of him," Shalini said and smiled at him.
"Yes I think I would have been proud." Shalini's father replied by not looking at her.
"He has learnt so much in such a short time. He can even spell your name."
"Yes?" Shalini's father looked beyond the railway platform and his gaze halted for a while on the evening crimson sky that was appearing to touch the canopies of coconut trees at a distance.
"He spells his own name that is?," the father said quietly; the muscles across his face loosened and his lips delved into a curt smile.
"Yes," Shalini broke into a smile.
"Well that's wonderful. I am already starting to like him," his smile broadened and a strange coarseness had seeped into his voice.
"Oh Father. I want to say sorry for everything. For the hurt that I have caused you."
"Cut it out!" her father retorted in a loud voice. "I have had enough of your apologies for a day."
Shalini started crying uncontrollably.
"Now stop crying, will you? You will once again live in your own house, have your son back and start a new life. Why the hell are you crying?"
"Since childhood you have always got what you wanted. I tried to take care of you in the best possible manner after your mother died and this is how you repay me?! I have to contend with shame and humiliation from the very community which had once respected me and held me in high stead." Shalini's father stopped to catch a lungful of air. His voice had started to sound hoarse as if he was gasping for air.
Shalini remained silent. The stream of tears on her face cascaded down her cheeks and she no longer wiped them off with the back of her hand.
Neither of them said a word and it felt like ages had gone by before Shalini's father spoke.
"I shall be back in a few minutes. You call me on my phone if the train's arrival is announced okay?". As he left his chest was heaving from all the exertion. Shalini nodded weakly, keeping her head down.
Shalini's father went off to the public restroom area and locked himself in a toilet. He lighted a cigarette but smoked very little. I should not have said those harsh things to Shalini, he thought with remorse.
But he immediately reminded himself that whatever she had done was unpardonable and that she actually had the audacity to name her son after him. 'Why? Why did I even come here?' he wondered silently. 'But as a father I had to come for my daughter and that was my responsibility,' he reasoned and wondered aloud, "But what about the boy? Yes that too is my responsibility as a grandfather. I shall take care of them as that is my responsibility. I am an honorable man and will do my bidding but I must not yell at her again."
All of a sudden the murmurs inside the public toilet quelled and a strange feeling of isolation and emptiness overtook Mr Bijoy Mahajan. These episodes of desolation had become more common for him but they occurred mostly at night when he was alone in his house. He felt as if a brick wall was pressing against his chest and he found it hard to breathe. The cigarette slipped out from his hands and he quickly opened the door of the toilet and ran outside for air.
The 2:30 train to Guwahati, late by four hours was standing on the platform and once again a new crowd of passengers were trying desperately to hurl themselves in through the open doors of the compartments. Mr. Mahajan walked over to the bench where Shalini was sitting but an empty bench greeted him. Only the bag of eateries which he had left for Shalini was lying on the bench. He dialed her cell phone number. The phone rang for some time before an automated voice replied that the customer was unable to take the call. He dialed her again and met with the same response. Finally when he dialed her number for the third time, the automated voice told him that the phone had been switched off.
Mr. Mahajan decided to ask the owner of the foodstall right behind the bench about Shalini's whereabouts. There was a fair chance that he might have seen her leaving. The owner of the food stall curtly replied that only a few moments ago a man had arrived with a little boy and that he had said something to her while falling on his knees. It seemed like the man had begged, pleaded and implored. Soon afterwards, the man had the girl's luggage in his hands. The girl took the boy in her arms and they went away.
'Was she your daughter, Saab?' the stall owner asked by casting a cursory glance at Mr. Mahajan.
Mr. Mahajan did not reply. He only purchased a water bottle from the food stall and asked the stall owner where exactly the D2 compartment of the Guwahati bound train would be. He walked to his right and disappeared into the teeming crowd of passengers.
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