THE BROKEN ROAD! (Arshi)

CHAPTER 7

"Certainly, travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living." – Mary Ritter Beard.

"Excuse me, you're not the only one who wants to use the toilet. Come and cry outside," Says a man. "You ought to be ashamed; rendering your Nani to misery then coming here to weep and on top of that leaving the door open. What for? sympathy?"

He spits.

Mopping the tears with my vest, I race out without paying a hind to the man. And I stumble.

"Beta." A soft robotic voice rings in my ears.

I attempt to open my eyes, but my eyeball hurts.

I open them slowly, and quickly shut them up again due to the brightness. A moment later, I feel the person's breath impregnated by coffee on my face.

"Open your eyes again," the person says. "The light is not that bright."

I squint. The brown skin around his eyes is wrinkled, and his head is hidden under a turban. He pulls me up. My body aches. It is as if a cricket match played on it and Nanda Devi mountain has replaced my head. He takes space on the tiles across from a mattress where I am sitting. Both of us are wearing a kurta.

"Hello, my name is Gurdas," he says, "You are at home. I found you on the road unconscious drenched in sweat and tears mark all over your face. Beta, while unconscious, you begged your Nani to believe the fact that you love your Di."

A wave of fear and anguish sweeps in. here comes another insult. The room whirl around bringing his shadow closer and closer. I feel my head been laid down. 

"Take a deep breath, Beta," I hear him say. "In and out."

I follow the instructions.

"That's it. You are doing a good job."

I feel a prick on the side of my arm.

"I hope these injections won't become addictive." I hear his voice at the distance.

"Morning," he says the moment I open my eyes. "You look refreshed." He peels the duvet from me. "Have this. It's chapati noodles." The meal is presented on a leaf of a banana plant. He chuffs some in my mouth and with great effort I swallow. It's warm and bland. He is still occupying the same spot. In fact everything is still the same.

"My forefathers shared this wisdom from generation to generation: Life is not a smooth road, never was, never will be. There are potholes on every corner of the roadway, and most of the time, we find ourselves stuck in one; whether knowingly or unknowingly, in both cases, it is up to you to save yourself. Not fate, not destiny. JUST YOU ALONE.

"Son," he says, holding my arm —snort from my nose comes dribbling down— "when we depart ways today, I want you to go home and think deeply of what you want in this life. Once you have chosen your path, put on a belt of courage and determination. Never loosen it. In no circumstances should you run in the streets lamenting again. When faced with anguish, take a deep breath and move forward."

He peeks at the naked-closed Windows: "Come, the sun has woken up. I need to board a train. I'm off to my home town Ludhiana, Punjab."

I haul myself up and wear my sandals. Uncle Gurdas spreads the duvet on the mattress, then folds it into a cylinder shape. He circles a rope over it to keep it together. He then attaches it to the side of his bag—the one I used as a pillow. He swings the wheeled backpack on his shoulders, then collects the leaves of banana plants. He takes hold of my hand while he peruses around the empty room. A long sigh leaves his mouth.