Big City Life

The child’s face was radiating with happiness. His cheerful eyes were wide open- scanning the world around him, trying to capture every minute detail, soaking in every colour and shape he was surrounded with. It was a rare opportunity for kids like him; kids from the small towns and villages, to come to a metropolitan city in such a young age. He knew that this voyage was not his alone, but of all those kids he had left behind in the village, who would be waiting eagerly with palms joined and ears erect to listen to all the stories and experiences he would bring back with him. They would feast upon his memories and share it with hundreds of people. He would no longer be addressed as “Hey, kid” in his hometown; everyone would know his name, from the village headman to the old temple priest; from the school headmaster to the old man who just sat in his courtyard smoking his tobacco pipe, looking at his mango trees. 

He had started this journey with his maternal uncle two days back as a kid, knowing well that he would return as a man, catching a bus which took him to the nearest railway station seventy-six kilometers away from his village; where they boarded the train and had to accommodate themselves on the floor for another thirty-seven hours. They did not have reserved tickets; neither did they need it to get to their destination. Only a bribe of fifty rupees per person was enough to see them through. He was to start working at the street-side restaurant as a serving-boy where his uncle worked as a cook. All the world’s riches could not have given him the happiness that this employment news had brought. 

His uncle grabbed his hand and started dragging him from the overcrowded platform towards the exit, to the bus stop. There was confusion and chaos all around him and he could not understand where so many people were going, all at the same time. Village life was different from this; people did their work in their own sweet time, leisurely. The city looked like a time bomb was about to go off and everyone was in a hurry to leave the vicinity. Incoming trains kept bringing hordes and hordes of men, women and cargo. When he was leaving his village, all his friends had come to see him off to the bus stop. Here, no one seemed to be interested in him or his uncle. Nobody gave them a second look. The welcome he received was far colder than the one he had anticipated. 

His uncle tucked at his shirt and asked him to stay close and board the bus. The kid took the last-row window-seat and as the bus rolled out of the railway complex, he was astounded to see the first glimpse of the big city-life. The wide, concrete roads; the beautiful, green dividers; the tall, reflective buildings; the shiny, bright cars; the descriptive, colourful hoardings; the pungent, dirty city air. It was all too overwhelming. He just looked at his uncle beside him and smiled a big, toothy smile. The bus wheezed past other vehicles, stopping only for a few seconds at every station and traffic signals. But then the bus screeched to a sudden halt. He could hear a commotion from ahead. Something was blocking the road and its traffic. He saw as the conductor jump out and walk ahead. 

There was a familiar smell in the air, the smell of evening meals and morning prayers. There was stillness all around, stiffness, a calmness which precedes a storm. And then there was thunder. While everyone was busy scouting the roads ahead, trying to clear the traffic. A mob carrying torches and axes, swords and lead pipes approached from behind. They were shouting something together, calling out someone’s name, asking for justice, accusing someone else. It was all so sudden. He could hardly understand what was happening. He saw a few men rush past his window, clearly ignoring the bus and its passengers. Everyone had crowded the left side of the bus, taking a peek from the window, trying to figure out what was happening. And then out of the blue, someone started washing the right side of the bus from outside. A group of people started throwing drums of water on the bus’s exterior. 

And then it was frenzy, the occupants of the bus started kicking and punching their way to the single-door opening. The rickety bus had no emergency exit and the windows were barred. His uncle asked him to grab his backpack and run out of the bus. He couldn’t understand the reason behind the sudden urgency. Then he saw a big man, clad in white from head to toe, throw a burning piece of wood on the bus and the bus enveloped in flames. “The people were not throwing water, uncle, it was kerosene!” he shouted at the top of his voice, the fear in his eyes no more than in his uncle’s. His skinny arms and tiny legs could hardly break the crowd. He could feel the heat on his back, getting hotter with every breath. Instantly, the bus became a furnace and black, thick smoke covered everything inside. Nothing was visible but the smoke. Nothing was audible but the sound of his own cough and the raging heartbeat. He started sobbing, crying, screaming, calling out for his mother, for his uncle and started throwing his arms all around to grab someone. And then the smoke started consuming his lungs, entering with every gasp, but not coming out. He fell unconscious on the floor of the burning bus!