Another Heaven. Annu Subramanian

“Let’s get out of here.”

      When the clerk gingerly opened the door, anticipating unexpected visitors, there was not a single soul outside. Imran began to walk towards the other side of the depot without even a cursory glance at the clerk. As he had promised, Yusuf was waiting across the avenue in the green van, his childish expression changing to a smile at the sight of his friend.

      The clerk closed the exterior door and walked steadily towards the railway tracks, remembering not to look at the green van even once.

      - 3 -

      Pennoor Junction • November 10, 2009 • 6:25 p.m.

      The train wheezed to a halt by platform # 3 on that weepy evening. Tina looked at the throng of people—porters in red, passengers crisscrossing towards exits, and vendors screaming through their lungs to tout their products. The window looked foggy, sadly glazed in mucky water and grime. She pressed her nose against the milky glass and noticed the small Nilgiris café next to the Deltanet telephone store where her contact from The Express was supposed to wait for her. Then it started to rain again. Tired and annoyed at the end of the three-hour delay, she reached for her small suitcase when the earsplitting announcement threw her off balance.

      “Attention, please. All passengers who are about to leave any train that has just arrived will remain inside the train. All passengers waiting to board one will assemble in the nearest shelter on the platform,” the announcer cleared her throat and continued. “We are facing an emergency. Please remain calm and follow these instructions in an orderly manner.”

      The announcement was repeated in the same monotonous tone in Tamil, Hindi, and English. After a lapse of a few silent minutes, the station was caught in a wave of hustle and bustle as the crowd tried to find an exit. The train began its slow departure in the middle of whistles and noises, and an assortment of anxious men and women quickly got into the moving train, frantically piling on any flat surface.

      “What’s going on?” asked a middle-aged passenger.

      “Those politicians, naturally,” another passenger disgustedly spluttered the name of the ruling party, “they’re trying to stall the opposition’s meeting.”

      The train picked up speed. While a few passengers reached for their cell phones, Tina tried her aunt’s number.

      “Aunt Rita?” Tina desperately hoped to get hold of her relative, but all she heard was a buzz. Next, she tried to send a message via e-mail, but she could not connect to the Internet. Her voice, unfortunately, attracted the attention of the rest of the passengers, and they stared at her curiously.

      Tina tried to retreat into the corner as far as she could, pushing her long, wavy, brown-black hair away from her forehead. She was used to being stared at—her light brown eyes and olive complexion announced to the public that she was not a local. Especially in that closed atmosphere, during an uncertain journey, she wished more than anything to be home.

      Tina swallowed nervously and wondered where the train was going. As she took stock of the newly boarded passengers, she noticed that some of the men were overtly staring at her. While she nervously wiped her sticky palm on her faded jeans, the train slowed down and stopped at a small station. Most passengers rushed to the door to get out, and Tina was glad. That would leave fewer eyes to stare at her. She didn’t mind the company of the men who had occupied the compartment since her departure from Chennai. One, an elderly gentleman, had introduced himself as a Professor of Biology who was ready to retire in a year or two. The other was a psychologist.

      Tina’s anxious eyes went to the milling crowd on the platform. She read the name of the town on the large yellow slab of stone; Seloor. Why did that name sound familiar? When she turned her nervous glance at the newly boarded passengers, the psychologist smiled at her.

      “Excuse me, are you going to get down here or…?” he asked.

      “Do you know where the train is going?” Tina asked him.

      “At this point, all I know is that it is taking a detour,” he replied, curiously looking at her.

      The first whistle blew. A couple of passengers who had just boarded looked absolutely unsavory. Tina made up her mind. She grabbed her suitcase and gingerly stepped down. Then she took out the small address book from her backpack to see if her aunt had written down any other useful information beside the phone numbers.

      Sylvia Joseph

      236 First Cross Street

      Seloor…

      Sylvia Joseph… Aunt Rita’s friend…

      Seloor! No wonder, the name of the town sounded familiar. Tina’s thankful glance went back to the inscription on the large yellow slab of stone. Her aunt’s friend would be glad to help her. Then, she read the note she had scribbled below the address: Sylvia will be out of town from November 8th until December 12th.

      That was the end of Sylvia Joseph. Tina’s disappointed eyes moved rapidly through the next few contact numbers. Hadn’t her aunt written down a list of small hotels? Seloor had some kind of bed-and-breakfast facility annexed to a YWCA building. It shouldn’t be difficult to get accommodation in one of those establishments. Feeling a little relieved, she dropped the address book into her backpack and followed the psychologist out of the platform.

      Tina’s hopeless glance flew to the few taxis and private cars parked in the tiny parking lot, and there was already a long line clamoring for the remaining taxis. She stared inquisitively at the dense throng of people—a woman selling flower garlands in a rickety stall, a young man scurrying about with a stack of regional newspaper in his arms, the mixed aroma of coffee, tea, and grilled savories—a strange harmony in a whirl of chaos. The soothing breeze, laced by the willowing neem branches, licked her tired face. Pushing her dancing hair away from her eyes, she let her uneasy glance settle on the name of the station, fighting for attention in the dust-coated, white piece of stone. Seloor. Kuyil Extension. Kuyil Extension. With a painful gasp, she realized that she was in the district where the horrific October blast had occurred. Once again wondering why she took the train alone, Tina stole a glance at her companion.

      “Hello, yes, it is Shaker here,” said the gentleman, answering his cell phone. “I can hardly hear you. The connection is very fuzzy. I don’t know what happened at Pennoor Junction. I was forced to sit in the train and then got down at Seloor. Can you send a car to the station? Oh, you already sent one? Thanks. I wasn’t sure if you had received my earlier message. I’ll just have to stay somewhere and catch a bus or train to Pennoor tomorrow morning.”

      He switched off the phone and turned towards Tina. Only then she noticed how he effortlessly towered over her slim, five-foot-six-inches frame. An arrant tuft of wavy hair persistently fell on one side of his broad forehead. She tried to guess his age, slyly glancing at his smiling eyes, broad shoulders, and sharp features. He could be anywhere between late-twenties and mid-thirties. Shaker. A psychologist. Of course, she had come across his name in journals.

      “May I give you a lift to…wherever you wish to stay tonight?” he asked, smiling.

      “Stay tonight?” asked Tina, desperately searching for the right words.

      “Most probably, every bus that could take us to Pennoor would be booked to the hilt. There won’t even be standing room. People panic, naturally, and they must be trying to get away after what happened at the junction. I heard the trains are all cancelled, and I don’t think one will leave until tomorrow morning. All taxis here must be taken, but my friend has arranged for a hired car to take us out of here.”

      “Your friend? Does he live here?”

      “No. If he did, I wouldn’t be looking for a place to stay right now. He has some business connections here, and he contacted a friend to get us out of this mess, at least temporarily. A private taxi should arrive soon.”

      “Oh, that’s a relief. Could this driver take us directly to Pennoor instead of a hotel or some other place? It couldn’t be far?”

      “Unfortunately, they can’t