A tale between two cities

The night was a moonless one and the taxi was speeding along the dark road. Not a glimmer of light or a sign of life was evident on either side except for the lights of the car in front.

We the passengers inside were silent.  The silence outside and inside were together in tune mounting towards a crescendo.

At intervals, the gleam in the eyes of the driver would be reflected in the rear-view mirror. My heart was beating at a pace which had been hitherto unknown to me. My mother had in the meantime removed all her jewellery - bangles, ring and diamond ear tops that were gifted by her dear mother. She had tied them all in a handkerchief and slowly lowered them down her 'strumfhose' down to her heels and redonned her shoes.

It was winter and the open countryside bereft of trees, light and human-beings appeared utterly desolate. It stirred within our hearts emotions bordering on the eerie and the bizarre.

The air was bitterly cold and at times one could hear the weird howl of a jackal that heightened our rising anxiety.

At times, fear prompts the brain to think harder and I remembered my black nylon scarf with golden thread checks. If a nylon stocking could do the job so many times, it could be put to use once again in self-defence. My hands and fingers were numb due to fear and the cold. In order to stimulate them I kept on twining and untwining the scarf around my fingers. It would be used to form a noose round the neck of the man.

All of a sudden, as the car was moving, the driver bent left towards the young man seated next to him and pushed the door open and banged shut it hard.

Our hearts were in our mouth! He could have just pushed Sharma out of the taxi!

Forewarned is forearmed. Every action of this driver pointed towards something sinister and unnatural. He had reacted to Sharma's mild request to drive carefully within the holy city of Varanasi most aggressively and rudely. Under normal circumstances, I with my fiery reactive temper would have just told him to halt and would have got off at once.

Here, however, we were caught between the 'deep sea and the devil'. Trapped within a moving taxi driven by a suspicious chauffeur on an utterly cold and dark night ! 

We were relieved to see some far away twinkling lights in the distance and knew that we were nearing human habitation. Actually we were midway between two of the most holy cities of Varanasi and Prayag. It is amazing how emotions ensnare and release us. Fear that had haunted us for such a long distance now just vanished at the sight of tea-stalls, voices of people talking, hurricane lamp lights and buses full of passengers. 

We felt foolish to have undergone such rigours of mortification. Had our imagination stretched too much and too far!

The driver halted the taxi and went off to the tea stall to have some eats and tea. It was then that my mother spoke to Sharma and warned him to be careful asking him to remove his jazzy neck-tie just in case the fellow tried throttling his neck with it.

This was a petrol - refilling station and the driver was told to check oil, water and air so that the last leg of the journey would be smooth without any more hiccups.

The chauffeur was most sulky and boorish in his attitude.

Once again with the taxi in motion darkness loomed all around enveloping us like a cloak. Only the headlights of the moving vehicle were transforming the tall silent sentinels of trees into grotesque ghostly figures with outstretched beckoning arms.

All of a sudden, very strangely without any warning the taxi driver switched on the light inside the taxi. It was indeed very abnormal as it could unduly stress and sap the energy of the battery.

Next he asked us the time. Our earlier interaction had been very unpleasant and none of us replied to this unexpected query. Our voices were frozen due to the cold and darkness within and without. And then he brought the taxi to a complete halt.

It was menacingly dark. And then we heard the rumbling sound of a heavily over-loaded truck. Its head lights lit up our taxi. 

Our taxi driver had got off and was busily rummaging the dicky. I could not but admire my mother's presence of mind. She got out of the taxi and started signing to the truck to halt. Surely the truck driver would have seen her in the powerful headlights but he just sped away leaving us to our descending doom. 

In the meanwhile, I thought I could try driving off  but the scoundrel had got out with the  vehicle keys. 

He was pretending to open the bonnet, meddling with something and then banging the empty petrol and oil cans. One wondered as to why and for what he was waiting in that dark and desolate place! Then as suddenly as he had stopped, he got into the taxi and started speeding in the direction of Prayagaraj our destination. 

In the distance, the headlights lit up a white, newly-painted mile-stone and we saw the words HANDIA written in bold black contrast. 

My mother involuntarily shuddered and held my hand within hers. This place had been recently very much in the news for criminal activity. Possibly this driver had pre-arranged a rendez-vous with some miscreants but somehow something went amiss. 

His lighting up the inside of the taxi, asking us the time and then stopping the vehicle without any cause or warning had all been ulterior and deliberate. 

The timing had most probably and most certainly misfired. After having waited for sometime without any result there was no other option for him but to continue with the journey. His accomplices had somehow failed him. 

What a relief it was especially for my dear mother, to see the twinkling lights of our sacred city of Prayagaraj! We had reached holy Prayagraj after an unholy and agonising drive. 

The gods had been benevolent on us!

This is a true tale and not a tall tale. 

We had heard and still do hear of people being robbed, kidnapped for ransom or even being done to death. 

Often, when my mother and I used to sit together on a wintry evening in the cosy comfort of our home, the mere mention of Varanasi used to make us relive that adventure . 

My very own dear mother has gone away, the holy city of Prayag is far away on another continent but I still have that black, golden- checked gossamer nylon scarf. And it vividly brings back the memory of that winter's night. 

I still often shudder to think of what could have happened had the gods deemed it otherwise!!!