The story of martyrdom ‘Aakhri Station’ shows the ugliness of religion, caste and communal hatred spread in the society. The character of the story, a young man, on one hand, is making people aware of politics in the country, while on the other hand, he sacrifices his love because of caste. The story goes through elections, riots and love, leaving behind many questions. Here is the story ‘last station,
When he opened his eyes due to the loud noise of panting, running and rattling of household items, the room was pitch dark. Lying on the bed, he pressed the switch of the bulb on the wall above his head, and suddenly his eyes were dazzled by the bright light. He rubbed his eyes with both hands. He blinked several times and then looked at the wrist watch kept near him. It was three past five in the morning.
There was noise outside and his eyes were full of sleep. He lay back. Then the thought of missing the train and being left alone started running in his mind. The series of troubles that started after getting separated from his friends started floating in front of his eyes.
While lying down, he turned from side to side a couple of times and then opened his eyes fully and surveyed the room. His bed, on which he was lying, was in the middle of the room. There was a small door on the wall in front of it. A cupboard was placed on the wall next to the door. Some clothes and religious texts were kept in it. The texts mainly included volumes of Vedas, Puranas and Ramcharitmanas. Two chairs were placed against the left wall and a window was above them.
Hindi poem: It is better to take the scale of life – Mamta Godiyal
Suddenly there was a loud explosion as if some heavy object had fallen off. The sound of that explosion kept reverberating with its echo for a long time in the silence of the night. During this inspection of the room, he had forgotten the noise outside. He started hearing the same sound again. He got up from the bed and stood near the window… he peeped out… to see… what was going on there?
There was looting outside. The houses of people who had fled from their homes during the riots were being looted by their own neighbours. They were looting… refrigerator, washing machine, sewing machine, iron, bed, cot, bed, sofa, chair, table, cupboard, clothes, utensils, toys, radio, TV, CDs, quilts, mattresses and boxes… they were looting all that… which is the basic need of living… they were looting… a world… which someone had once decorated and settled with great love.
The moon setting in the west was illuminating his face as it peered through the window. His sleepiness vanished. He smiled at the unexpected loot in front of him in the white light of the moon. Although he did not know why he was smiling… but his lips spread… against his reluctance to smile… they were blooming in the form of a smile.
He made that uninvited smile disappear with the lazy stretch of his remaining sleep. He turned and walked out of the door. As he walked, he gave words to his thoughts and said to himself, “Come on, let us also rob. What if we find something? Something of our use.”
The room in which he was spending the night was just ten-fifteen minutes away from the village situated near the railway station. He did not know which village it was and what was the name of this station. Yesterday when he missed his train to Delhi, which proved to be the last train even though it was not the last, one of his unknown companions with whom he had been living for the last three months had given him this room in the village near the station to spend the night. So that he could wake up in the morning and catch the first train to Delhi without any hurry. From where he had to go to his home state.
He was a Marathi youth. He studied political science in college. He was also a member of an ultra-nationalist political party. Therefore, when the date of the national elections started coming closer, the party started focusing on increasing its activities in the Hindi states which have the maximum number of seats in the Parliament. To strengthen its organization and workers there, it needed dedicated and passionate campaigners. Those who not only know the ins and outs of politics, but also know how to speak. They should have the ability to connect people and can breathe life into the inactive organization and workers. He had all these qualities. Apart from Marathi, he also had good knowledge of English and Hindi. Being a student of political science, he also understood politics. He was also adept at speaking. Keeping these qualities in mind, when the state president of the party selected the teams to be sent for campaigning in the Hindi states, he was also included in one of those teams.
The team in which he was a part came to Uttar Pradesh. As soon as it arrived, it started working. It started visiting villages, towns and small cities and meeting party workers. It organized small workshops. It united the party workers in them. It explained the election strategy to them. It asked them to take the failures of the current government and the agenda of their party to the common people. It explained to them how they can take the party’s announcements to the people and motivate them to vote for the party. It took them three months to organize such programs in the entire state. In these three months, it had reactivated the inactive party organization and had filled the disappointed party workers with enthusiasm again.
After the work was over, they started returning. But before they could return, riots broke out. And that too in such a way that once it started, it did not stop for more than a week. Although no one knew what the riots were about. But in no time, the entire area was engulfed in riots. People fled from villages overnight. Settled homes were destroyed. Happy families were separated. Empty houses started burning and murders started taking place in broad daylight. No one among those fleeing knew where to go? Which way to go? They just had to go. If they wanted to stay alive, they had to go. Whoever survived would thank God and then would search for his other relatives in relief camps.
JLF started with 500 books, today the figure has crossed 1 lakh – Sanjay K. Roy
Riots continued for a week. Curfew was imposed in the cities. The entire transport system came to a standstill. Buses, trains, all stopped. In those circumstances, he stayed in the empty house of a party worker. After a week, when the situation came under control and the wheels of transport started moving, he heaved a sigh of relief. That worker soon found out when the train to Delhi would leave. It was going to leave at 10 in the night. He had made all the arrangements for them to reach the station. But due to some reason, he could not reach the station with other team members. The train left for Delhi with his colleagues without waiting for him. He was left behind alone.
The man who later came to drop him at the station said, “It doesn’t matter… you can leave tomorrow… take rest till then… we will send you off by the first train tomorrow.”
After this he did not take her back to the city. He brought her to the next station from the city. He did not know how far that station was from the city. But he had been riding behind her on the motorcycle for twenty minutes. When he stopped the motorcycle and switched off its lights, they were in a deserted forest. He asked her to follow him and then opening the door of this one-room house he said, “You spend the night here. The station is a little distance from here… I will come in the morning… before the train arrives… I will also bring your ticket… now you rest.”
After she left, he sat on the bed. Strange thoughts started running in his mind. Then he heard the sound of a motorcycle starting. First it was loud and then it became slow, which stopped completely after a while. After the sound of the motorcycle stopped, he lay back unconsciously and fell asleep. After that, his eyes were open. He was passing through empty and deserted streets. Looking at burnt houses, broken doors and walls and empty corridors. There was no sound there. Except his walking and breathing. He crossed half the village and reached the place where the looting was going on.
People were looting gas stoves and pillows. One man was carrying away a cot, another a TV. The third a gas cylinder and the fourth a wall clock. Someone was carrying away a box full of clothes. Two men were carrying away a wardrobe, someone was carrying away a motorcycle and a bicycle. Some were carrying away cows, buffaloes, goats and chickens, someone was carrying away ceiling fans. In other words, everyone was looting something or the other. And if someone was not getting anything to loot, he started uprooting the doors of those destroyed houses.
He came out of the lane and turned towards the houses which were being looted. While walking, he suddenly felt his slippers sticking to the ground. He looked down and saw blood, broken slippers, women’s dupattas and severed fingers, toes and in some places entire legs lying in the lane, which were emitting a foul smell. He wrinkled his nose and eyebrows at the smell and then moved forward.
The scene of looting was still going on. He saw a man passing by him. He was picking up children’s toys and some books. He moved a little further and narrowly escaped from stumbling and falling. When he regained his balance, he saw the corpse of a very beautiful young girl. Due to the deep wounds, the blood that had come out of the corpse had not spread far and had collected around it. As if he was proving his loyalty towards that corpse. He was saying that even if a person is not loyal to another person, I am loyal to you. However, as soon as I found a way, I had the right to spread anywhere by flowing.
Looking at the bangles on her hands, anklets on her feet and her make-up, it seemed that she was a married woman from a good family. When he looked at the corpse carefully, he saw a locket shining on her chest in the moonlight of the setting moon. A shiny locket. Its chain was made of silver and in its middle something in the shape of a white gem was shining. He picked up the locket from the corpse and started looking at it carefully. It is possible that he has seen this locket somewhere. But he could not remember where he had seen it?
He tried to remember by racking his brains and remembered the girl in college whom he first saw at the admission window. Then at the canteen and then at the class gate. Then he would see her everywhere she went. He would follow her around like a mad woman. Everywhere, all through the college days. Although he never said anything to her. He would just look at her. She was not fair. She was dark in complexion. Small and expressive black eyes. Long hair. And that shiny locket hanging around her neck. Exactly the same as the one he was holding in his hand at the moment. Many times he wanted to talk to her. Tell her what was in his heart. But he did not say anything. Then he saw some forms in the hands of a professor. At the top of those forms was the form with the girl’s photo. He read her name, her father’s name. He saw her religion and then her caste. As soon as he saw her caste, he stepped back…! He muttered to himself, “She is SC? That means Dalit.”
After this, she never saw him again. Although she would move around in front of him. But he turned away. He was a Brahmin boy… despite being in love, he did not want to create any unwanted controversy by loving her.
The looters were still looting. When there was nothing left to loot, they gathered around a man standing alone in solitude, who was standing near a dead body and was looking at something in his hands very carefully. He too took his eyes off the locket, raised his face and looked at those people once and then got lost in the locket. The number of people kept increasing around him and he kept staring at the locket like a statue.
Then suddenly there was a noise. Before the people and the man standing surrounded by them could understand anything, a flock of white hats came floating in the air and all their heads fell off their bodies.
The locket was still shining. But now it was not on the body of the girl who had become cold and stiff… but on the torso of the boy who was jumping with fresh and hot blood.
Book: Curfew Ki Raat (Story Collection)
Author: Shahadat
Publisher: Lokbharati Publications
Price: Rs 250
Tags: Hindi Literature, Hindi Writer
FIRST PUBLISHED : June 16, 2024, 17:53 IST