This story, THE NIGHT TRAIN AT DEOLI captures the fleeting beauty of unspoken connections and the poignant charm of transitory relationships. The narrator recounts his encounter with a mysterious young woman selling baskets at deoli station during his journeys. Her simplicity and enigmatic presence stir deep to emotions in him, living a lasting impression. However, when he finally decided to meet her again, she's no longer there. The story poignantly reflects the impermanence of moments and the yearning for unfulfilled desires, making it relatable and deeply moving. With its vivid imaginary and emotional death, the narrative encapsulated the innocence of youthful longing and the bittersweet pain of missed opportunities.
The storyy..
When I was at college, I used to spend my summer vacations in dehra, at my grandmother's place. I would leave the planes early in may and return late in july. Deoli was a small station about thirty miles from dehra; it marked the beginning of the heavy jungles of the Indian Terrai.
The train would reach deoli at about five in the morning, When the station would be deeply lit with electric bulbs and oil lamps, and the jungle across the railway tracks would just be visible in the faint light of dawn. Delhi had only known platform, an office for the station master and a waiting room. The platform boasted a teastol, a fruit vendor and a few stray dogs; not much else because the train stopped there for only ten minutes before rushing on into the forests.
Why it stopped at deoli. I don't know. Nothing ever happened there. Nobody got off the train and nobody got in. There were never any police on the platform. But the chain would halt there a fulfill ten minutes and then a bell would sound, the guard would blow his whistle, and presently deoli would be left behind and forgotten.
I used to wonder what happened in deoli, behind the the station wall. I always felt sorry for that lonely little platform, and for the players that nobody wanted to visit. I decided at one day I would get off the train at deoli, and spend the day, there just to please the town.
I was eighteen, visiting my grandmother, and the night train stopped at deoli. A girl came down the platform, selling baskets.
It was a cold morning and the girl had a shawl thrown across her shoulders. Her feet were bare and her clothes were old, but she was a young girl, walking gracefully and with dignity.
When she came to my window, she stopped. She shot that I was looking at her intently, but at first she pretended not to notice. She had a pale skin, set off by shiny black hair, and dark, troubled eyes. And then those are the eyes searching and eloquent met mine.
She stood by my window for sometimes.And neither of us said anything.But when she moved on, I found myself, leaving my seat and going to the carriage.Door and stood waiting on the platform.Looking the other way I walked across to the tea stall.A kettle was boiling over a small fire.But the owner of the store was busy serving tea somewhere on the train.The girl followed me behind the stall.
Do you want to buy a basket?She asked.They are very strong made of the finest cane.
No, I said, I don't want a basket.
We stood looking at each other for what seemed a very long time.And she said, are you sure you don't want a basket.
Alright.Give me one I said and I'll took the one on top and gave her a rupee hardly during to touch her fingers.
As she was about to speak, the guard blew his whistle.She said something, but it was lost in the clanging of the bell and the hissing of the engine.I had to run back to my compartment.The carriage shuddered and jodled forward.
I watched her as the platform slipped away.She was alone on the platform and she did not move.But she was looking at me and smiling, I watched her until the single box came in the way and then the jungle hit the station.But I could still see her standing there alone.
I set up awake but for the rest of the journey I couldn't read my mind of the pictures of the girl's face and her dark smoulddering eyes.
But when I reached dehra, the incident became blurred and distant for there were other things to occupy my mind.It was only when I was making the return journey two months later.That I remembered the girl.
I was looking out for her as the train drew into the station.And I felt an unexpected shill, when I saw her walking up the platform, I sprang off the football and waved to her.
When she saw me she smiled, she was pleased that I remembered her.I was pleased that she remembered me.We were both pleased and it was almost like a meeting of old friends.
She didn't go down the length of the train selling baskets but came straight to the steel stall.Her dark eyes were suddenly filled with light.We said nothing for sometimes.But we cannot have been more eloquent.
I felt the impulse to put her on the train there.And then and take her away with me.I couldn't bear the thought of having to watch her reside into the distance of deoli station. I want to seek the basket baskets for her hand and put them down on the ground.She put out her hand for one of them.But I caught her hand and held it.
I have to go to delhi.I said
She nodded, I do not have to go anywhere.
The guard blew his whistle for the train to leave and how I hated a guard for doing that.
I will come again.I said will you be there.
She nodded again and she as she nodded the bell clang and the trains laid forward.I had to wrench my hand away from the girl and ran for the moving on moving ahead.
This time, I did not forget her.She was with me for the reminder of the journey, and for long, after all that year, she was a bride, living thing.And when the college turned finished, I packed in haste and left for dehradun early than usual.My grandmother would be pleased at my eagerness to see her.
I was nervous and anxious as the train drew into dauli.Because I was wondering what I should say to the girl and what I should do.I was determined that I would not stand helplessly before her hardly able to speak or do anything about my feelings.
The train came to delhi and I looked up and down for the platform but I could not see the girl anywhere.
I opened the door and stepped off the football.I was deeply disappointed and overcome by a sense of forbidding.I felt I had to do something.And so I ran up to the station master and said, do you know the girl who used to sell baskets here.
No, I didn't set the station master.And you had better get on the train.If you don't want to be left behind.
But I place up and down the platform, and started over the railing at the station.Here all I saw was a mango tree.And a dusty road leading into the jungle, where did the road go?The train was moving out of the station and had to run up the platform and jump jump for the door of my compartment.Then as the train gathered speed and rushed through the forest.I said broadly in front of the window.
What could I do about finding a girl I had seen only twice who had hardly spoken to me and about whom I knew nothing absolutely nothing but for whom I felt a tenderness and responsibility that I had never failed before.
My grandmother was not pleased with my visit after all.Because I didn't stay at her place more than a couple of weeks.I felt restless and ill at ease.So I took the train back to the plains meaning to ask further questions of the station master at deoli
But at deoli, there was a new station master.The previous man had been transferred to another post with the past week.The new man did not know anything about the girl who sold baskets.I found the owner of the teestrole, a small shivered up men wearing greasy clothes and asked him if he knew anything about the girl with the baskets.
Yes, there was such a girl here.I remember quite well.He said, but she has stopped coming now.
Why I asked what happened to her.
How should I know said the man?She was nothing to me.
And once again, I had to run for the train.
As dolly platform receded, I decided that one day I would have to break journey there spend a day in the town make inquiries and find the girl who had stolen my heart with nothing but a look for her dark impatient eyes.
With the thought, I consoled myself throughout my last term.In college, I went to dehradun in the summer and went in the early hours of the morning.The trained night train drew into delhi.Station, I looked up and down the platform for sings of the girls.Knowing I would not find her, but hoping just the same.
Somehow I couldn't bring myself to break journey at dolly and spend a day there.If it was all fiction or a film I reflected, I would have got down.And pleased up my mystery and reached a suitable ending for the whole thing.I think I was afraid to do this.I was afraid of discovering.What really happened.The girl, perhaps she was no longer in delhi.Perhaps she was married.Perhaps she had fallen ill.
In the last few years, I have passed through delhi.Many times and I always look out of the carriage window.Half expecting, expecting to see the same unchanged face smiling up at me.I wanted what happens in delhi.Behind the station was, but I will never break my journey there.It's my spoil my game.I prefer to keep hoping and dreaming and looking out of the window up and down that lonely platform, waiting for the girls with the baskets.
I never break my journey at deoli but I passed through, as often as I can