A day in life of the beggar

It was 9 in the morning, but the Sun was still behind those unpenetrable layers of fog which marked the winter of 2001. That was a typical winter morning - temperature 5 C , foggy weather , bone-chilling cold winds, barren lanes - yet there was something which was making them uneasy.The headlines of local newspapers were rude,brazen, but true. Four more shelterless, like those porters, lost their struggle against the hardships of their lives, their struggle for mere sustainence, pushing the toll tally that season beyond 50.

With a thunderous sound the first train of the day arrived and all but one ran,anxiously, to find whether anybody was going to get down at that insignificant hamlet station.The one that didn' run, was the one who couldn't run , or for that matter, couldn't stand. He was Sukhiya, or at least thats what people used to call him.

Hardly a dozen passengers alighted at the station and a deafening lull followed the departure of the train. Fog over the rail track settled down, the coolies settled down , the birds chirping over electrical cables settled down, the dogs chasing the train settled down ; it appeared as if the whole universe had drifted into ultimate calm and silence. The one something that was still pounding , pounding hard, was right inside a bony gaunt chest; it was Sukhiya's heart. With each thumping lub dub Shukiya became more and more anxious, fleeting past images passed by his eyes. Soon, he was re-witnessing the most horrifying day of his life.

The earliest of his childhood days that Sukhiya remembered was when he was beaten by the owner of the station tea stall where he worked at that time. The owner had caned & flayed him that day because he had spilled tea over a customer. He was six then. How and from where had he come to the Mosla Railway Station, nobody knew, not even Sukhiya. Some said that his parents had died in a railway accident , while others claimed that his mother had abandoned him at the station. Well, these questions were immaterial to him . What he always struggled to find out was how to make both ends meet. He had worked as a waiter , hawker and sweeper before switching over to Coolie-giri at the age of 20.

His stint as Coolie was the only satisfying period of his life. Like other Coolies , he too wanted to posses many of those fashionable motorcycles that babus rode on. He had hoped that he would be able to save enough money to start his own small general store after working as a Coolie for 10 years. His dreams stretched as far as buying a two room house and marrying a pretty girl. And he prayed to God to give him enough money to take care of his children , so that they need not work at a railway station, like him. Sukhiya was not a day- dreamer. He used to work hard, ferrying loads and baggages when his colleagues slept in peace in foggy mornings and toiling till his physical self refused to go on. But what was soothing for him at the end of a day was his savings. The mere thought of his dreams coming true was enough for him to forget his body pain. But, there was something else written in his destiny. A morning , while carrying too many baggages over his shoulders, he lost balance and fell onto the railway tracks. Before anyone could do anything, both of his legs were amputated away from his body. Overnight, Sukhiya , the coolie became Sukhiya, the beggar.

It was 15 years back that his dream's castle shattered, but the pain was still afresh in his heart. Everytime a train would pass through the station, preturbations in Sukhiya's subconscious mind would make him anxious. Terrifying thoughts would prick him, till he cried. Everyday Sukhiya thought of going to some other place to get rid of the bad memories of the railway station, but where and how , he didnt know. Where else would he earn enough money to feed himself? Who would bother to take him to such a place , even if that existed ? Of late , he had reconciled himself with whatever life had to offer him - pain and misery.

Two hours had passed since he woke up. He was hungry. But he knew he would not get anything to eat before 2 pm, when Magadh Express would come to the station. Many of rich and generous businessmen commuted in Magadh Express. It was 10:30 then , implying that he would have to wait for another one and half hour before someone would throw a piece of bread at him. But he was very hungry. He looked around but the station was as barren as it was earlier. In summers, he had no problem in feeding himself at this time, because kids of railway staff used to play around and they were an easy 'bait' to his pleadings. In winter, even these kids preferred keeping themselves inside their house.

To be contined ....