Kiran and Kanishka - Part II

Please read Part I for a quick recap...

Kanishka woke up with a start. She was sweating badly. She had never dreamt of Kiran in these twenty five years. His family moved away the very next week and that was the last she heard of her best friend. She clasped her damp face with her hands. Kiran. The photograph. All that she had was a photograph of her childhood friend. And the photograph had a story of its own. The photograph was her darkest secret which she had kept to herself all these years. Twenty five years since she lost touch of Kiran. Twenty five years she had kept the photo. Twenty five years she had never breathed a word about it to anyone.

She got down and saw the old woman staring blankly at the receding landscape. Kanishka had an odd feeling she had seen the woman somewhere. She looked hard at her but gave up and instead began looking for her slippers. One was sticking out from underneath a lofty V.I.P suitcase, the other was where she had left it. She heaved the slipper out and snaked her way to the wash-basin. Some local adivaasi women were squatting near the toilet. Kanishka looked at their torn blouses revealing all that they meant to dignify. She sighed and splashed her face with water. The train had slowed down and she stood at the door for a while looking at the lush green rice paddy fields festooning the countryside. Looking at them she recalled a phrase ‘The farther the grass the greener it looks’

As the Gitanjali Express gained speed, Kanishka abandoned her post and got back to her seat. She sat down, removed her slippers and stacked them neatly in one corner. Her attention now inadvertently fell on the person sitting in front. Kanishka thought, “How should I start a conversation” … “Well maybe I’ll make some movements or noise to draw her attention”. She did so but still could not solicit even a disdainful glance. The old woman’s deadpan countenance bore on it a troubled past. Kanishka was getting impatient. She blurted out, “You going to Kolkata?”

The old woman turned and looked at Kanishka. The eyes locked. A sense of déjà vu gripped her senses as she looked straight into the grey eyes. The old woman stared at Kanishka.. the grey eyes unblinking. The old woman’s face bore an expression which beggared description, was it astonishment, was it fear, was it neither? She began to tremble and grasping Kanishka’s hand gave out a hoarse whistle ‘Come with me, please’

Screaming Update: to be continued...