The following is an abridged and a bit modified version of a short story by Ruskin Bond. The original story is written very well but is a bit too long for Blog readers who want to read only if it is short. This post is not quite short, however..!!! Oh...Please forgive any Typos..I am too lazy to proofread something this long... :)
With all due respect to Mr. Ruskin Bond's work, please tell me if I have trespassed on any laws. If so I will promptly delete this post.
The Girl with the Baskets.
When I was at college, I used to spend my summer vacation in Dehra, at my Grandmother's place. I would leave early in May and return late in July. Deoli is a small station about thirty miles from Dehra.
The train would reach Deoli about five in the morning, when the station would be dimly lit with electric bulbs. Deoli had only one platform, an office for the station master and a waiting room. The platform boasted a tea stall, a fruit vendor and a few stray dogs. The train stopped there only for 10 mins before going on.
Why the train stopped at Deoli, I dont know. I have never seen a coolie there. But the train would stop there for a full 10 mins and then the train would move onward forgetting Deoli.
I used to wonder what happened at Deoli, behind the station walls. I always felt sorry for that lonely little platform, and for the place nobody wanted to visit. I decided that one day i would get off the train at Deoli, and spend the day there, just to please the town.
I was 18, visisting my Grandma 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 shoulder. 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 saw that I was looking at her intently, but at first she pretended not to notice. She had pale skin set off by shiny black hair and dark, troubled eyes. And then those eyes, searching and eloquent, met mine.
She stood by my window for some time and neither of us said anything. But when she moved on, I found myself going to the carriage door. She noticed me at the door and stood waiting on the platform looking the other way. I walked across to the Tea stall. A kettle was on the boil but the owner was busy serving somewhere on the train.
"Do you want to buy a basket?" she asked. "They are very strong made of the finest..."
"No", I said. " I dont want one."
We stood looking at each other for what seemed a very long time. Then she said, "Are you sure you dont want a basket?"
"All right give me one." I gave her a rupee hardly daring to touch her fingers.
As she was about to speak, the gaurd blew the whistle. She said something but it was lost in the clanging of the bells. I watched her as the platform slipped away. She did not move but she was looking at me and smiling.
I sat up awake for the rest of the journey as I could not rid my mind of the picture of the girl's face and her dark, smoldering eyes.
But when I reached Dehra the incident became blurred ad distant for there were other things to occupy my mind. It was only when I was on 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 thrill when I saw her walking up the platform. I sprang off the foot board and waved to her.
When she saw me, she smiled. We were both pleased, and it was almost like a meeting of old friends. She did not go down the length of the train selling baskets, but came straight to the tea stall; her dark eyes were suddenly filled with light. We said nothing for some time but we couldn't have been more eloquent. I wanted to take her away with me. She moved to put her baskets down. 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"
"I will come again", I said. "Will you be here?"
She nodded again, and, as she nodded the Guard blew the whistle. I went back to my train.
This time I did not forget her. She was with me for the remainder of the journey. All that year she was a there too. As my college term ended, I rushed to my Grandma.
The train stopped at Deoli and I looked up and down the platform. But I could not see the girl. I was deeply disappointed, and overcome by a sense of foreboding. I ran up to the station master and said, "Do you know a girl who used to sell baskets here?"
"No, I dont. And you better get on the train if you dont want to be left behind."
My Grandma wasn't pleased with me as I hardly stayed a week when I was back on the train for Delhi meaning to ask the Station master a few more Qs. But at Deoli there was a new station master. I found the owner of the tea stall but he said, "Yes. There used to be a girl selling baskets. But I dont know where she is now. I havent seen her for over 5 months now."
As the Deoli platform receded, I decided that one day I would to break my journey there, spend a day, make enquiries and find the one who had stolen my heart with nothing but a look from her dark, impatient eyes.
With this thought I consoled myself throughout my last term in college. I went to Dehra again in the summer and as the train drew into Deoli I looked up and down the platform for the signs of the girl, knowing I wouldnt find her but hoping just the same.
Somehow, I couldnt bring myself to break the journey at Deoli and stay a day there. If I had been Bomkesh Bakshi, I reflected, I would have cleared the up the mystery and found a suitable ending to this story. I think I was afraid to do this. I was afraid of discovering what really happened to the girl. Perhaps she was no longer in Deoli. Perhaps she was married, perhaps she had fallen ill......
In the last few years I have passed Deoli many times and I always look out of the carriage window half expecting to see the same unchanged face smiling up at me. But I will never break my journey at Deoli. I prefer hoping and dreaming, and looking out of the window up and down the lonely platform, waiting for the girl with the baskets.
