Still a Long Way to Go
The place was desolate and eerie. A chilling wind whistled through the air. The leaves of the towering trees lining both sides of the road rustled—some with fear, some with frenzy, and some with despair. There was no trace of electricity or artificial light for miles. It had rained a while ago. Even a wild animal, if it dared to cross the road, would do so with the risk of its life, filled with fear. No one trusted anyone. After all, it was a dense forest.
The road was rugged, broken, and stretched for several kilometers. The only source of light was the dim glow from the headlamp of a moped, which sputtered noisily rather than running smoothly. The two young men riding it looked too heavy for the frail vehicle, yet they rode on. Their clothes fluttered wildly in the wind, making it impossible to hear each other.
The breath of the man seated behind reeked, polluting the air around them, while the sharp fragrance of the Rajnigandha in the mouth of the rider in the front provided some relief. It was unclear where they were headed. They simply continued moving forward. There were no villages, no settlements, and not a soul in sight along the way. What kind of place was this? The night, the darkness, and the silence were all at their peak. Even humans seemed intoxicated with excitement. The vehicle must have been rushing toward some thrilling destination—otherwise, neither of them would have felt any fatigue.
The man sitting behind appeared more assured. Perhaps he knew where they were going. He had likely been there before. The rider, however, had no clue. It was his first time on this route. His only job was to take the man seated behind to his desired destination. Despite this, they seemed like friends. The one riding the moped was not as bulky as the other; he was well-built, fair-skinned, and appeared healthy. The man sitting behind was slightly darker.
The rider couldn't help but wonder why, if the destination was so far away, they hadn’t taken a jeep or some other vehicle. Why this long journey on a moped? It was bitterly cold. The road was desolate and broken. If anything went wrong with the vehicle, there wasn’t even a place to take shelter, let alone a drop of water to drink. What had prompted them to come here?
But the man behind was indifferent to such worries. His focus was elsewhere. To protect himself from the cold, he took a handkerchief from his kurta pocket and tied it around his head. His eyes gleamed with excitement, and as they neared their destination, he looked even more elated.
Finally, their destination became visible. From a distance, at a turn, the man behind pointed out a winding path leading to a tower. "That’s where we need to go," he said. The rider felt relieved.
The building with the tower had a faint glow emanating from it. It seemed that even if the entire structure wasn’t occupied, a few rooms were certainly in use.
It was 2 AM when they arrived. There was some activity near the building. A few people were moving around. In the large open space in front, several trucks and tractors were parked.
The moped rider, utterly exhausted, parked the vehicle and climbed onto a tractor trolley nearby. He stripped down to his undershorts, using his arm as a pillow, and lay down, utterly drained.
The other young man, however, was brimming with energy.
As soon as he stepped inside, three or four people surrounded him. More people started emerging from different corners. He shook hands with some, touched the feet of others, and embraced a few as he made his way toward a large hall covered with mats.
The veranda was cluttered with wooden crates, cloth bundles, and cardboard cartons. Their contents were unknown. From a small adjoining room came the clattering of utensils. Near a heap of disposable plates, a few stray dogs were still playfully scuffling despite the late hour.
As the young man took his seat, people gathered around him in groups. Conversations buzzed everywhere. They swarmed around him like bees around honey.
A perpetual smile graced his face.
He conversed with one person, then another. Occasionally, he would get up with a few people and step into the veranda, whispering, laughing loudly, or signaling in various ways.
Words flew like bursting firecrackers:
"Make sure stones are hurled during the parade on the 26th. The DSP already knows—no one will interfere."
"Sweets will be sent to the college. Get that week-old rotten stock from Ghasi Ram’s shop. That’ll teach those fools a lesson! The village head will be there too—he’ll get his share of beatings!"
"Hey, did you unload the crates? Keep them in the truck. They drink bootleg liquor all year round; let’s see them handle this batch!"
"Listen carefully—one whole truckload of roses is needed. Make sure it's ready. If you try to play smart like last time, I’ll send you somewhere you won’t return from—not even for fifty thousand!"
"That school teacher got too full of himself after the last good results. This time, make sure he learns his lesson!"
These statements shattered the stillness like lightning bolts, filling the night air.
No one would have imagined that this young man, who had ridden a moped through the dark jungle at midnight, would suddenly become so dominant, so animated upon arrival. The exhaustion from the journey? Completely gone. The intoxication of the evening’s food and drink? Not even a trace left.
The night continued. There was much work to be done. He remained alert and engaged. The "women’s wing" still needed to be contacted.
An elderly gentleman approached him and said, "We haven’t seen Maa Sahab!"
"Mother is in Delhi. She won’t return without a ticket."
Outside, four or five tractors roared to life simultaneously. The dogs moved away—not because they feared the noise, but because the plates were now empty.
The lights, one by one, turned in different directions. Darkness enveloped the place once again.
Dawn was still far away.
Who knew whether the sun would rise at all?
(End)
— Prabodh Kumar Govil
