Boarding the train at eleven pm means finding your compartment is a little more difficult. The 12313 Sealdah Rajdhani originated in Calcutta. I have a berth in carriage A1, a two tier aircon sleeper, and the porter has positioned me on the platform where the carriage will stop. Gaya is a busy railway station with trains pulling in every fifteen minutes. The station is alive with passengers waiting to alight trains with food sellers and chaiwalas plying their selection to those waiting and as trains stop. I wait, seated with luggage under a stairway, on the steel girder. Knees around chest, it is so low to the ground, hundreds of interested mosquitos buzzing around looking for a purchase. I position myself with the current novel I am reading perched open on the bags.
Platform One receives all the trains running towards Delhi. There are three Rajdhani trains in a row, starting in various locations, passing through Gaya. From here to Delhi these superfast trains only make four stops. Two trains have come and gone, thinning the people waiting for the 12313. The porters know their stuff, I have come to trust that, though the last two trains, carriage A1, passed by and there was a scramble by those waiting. My train pulls into the station slowly coming to a halt and directly in front of the carriage. Only one door of A1 is open and furthest away from my berth, seat seven. This doesn't please the porter either as he struggles with my bag. Every one has retired. The curtains are drawn the night lights on. The aisle becomes even more compressed like this. I noted, as the train pulled up, that I was at the emergency window which makes it easier to locate.
It is impossible not to disturb those behind the drawn curtains as light floods in. Three bodies stir as I try and stuff my bag under the seat. There is little room left, like on an airline if you are last on, overhead is full. It took a little effort but managed. I paid the porter, who wanted to argue the price, but I dismissed him. A fair price was paid and he knew. 'Hello' a voice says from the top bunk. I respond to the face poking out of the white sheet. Some natter between them saying they couldn't sleep and two get up for a toilet stop, allowing me to arrange myself. Making the bed is first priority. Tucking the bottom sheet in ensures that it is still there in the morning and not a snake up against the wall. It is warm inside and the blanket would be overkill. Shoes off, valuables form the under layer of the pillow for the night, belt off, shirt hanging and ready for bed. I wish I could drift off to sleep immediately but expect the ticket inspector. A head pokes in and it is the carriage attendant wanting to know what I wanted for breakfast, veg or non veg. That means bread and veg cutlet or bread and omelette, with tea. I start to read using the night light hoping the light spill is not too disturbing. It seems my compartment companions have drifted off to sleep and after twenty minutes so do I. No sign of the inspector.
The train speeds up as I start to doze off trying to find the best position, when the train lurches, and I slip forward on the seat, decision made. Face forward. The movement and noise of the train is a lullaby, a steady rhythm, somnus.
Talking and foot traffic suggests morning. My compartment companions awake nattering away. I locate my face washer to liven my face, before greeting them. Three women, I learn they are second and third generation Chinese having migrated to Chennai. Sisters plus mother and daughter. There is a language mix in speaking between three languages, English, Hindi and I assume Bengali. Across in the aisle seats are a mother and son from Delhi. All try hard to persuade the attendant to bring chai but he has a time line. It finally arrives with breakfast as a thermos of hot water, a tea bag and a sachet of whitener. The rest of the breakfast is equally sad. The most exciting thing is tomato sauce on white bread. Luckily we are all carrying food. This leads us onto a discussion of tea especially Darjeerling, green and white and opens up conversation. Mother and daughter now live in Toronto and are visiting the family in Calcutta. This journey is at the request of the daughter who is at uni. She wants to see the Taj Mahal, so a cross country train ride for a three day visit in Agra before a return by train.
Many topics are covered in the hours before disembarking in Delhi. The most interesting is about a prisoner transport. At the locked end of the carriage are four uniformed and countless plain clothes officers with one cuffed and chained prisoner. The Canadians were quite concerned explaining this is why they found it hard to sleep last night. When the prisoner was delivered to the train he stared all the passengers down passing through the compartment. There was much to and fro with the officers until curiosity was roused and the daughter and aunt went down to have a closer look at the set up. They returned about half an hour later having been invited to sit and chat with the prisoner by the chief detective. They heard his story.
He was being extradited to Delhi from Bihar where he had been apprehended after escaping from his previous incarceration some time prior. His name was Manoj and apparently he is quite famous. A jewel thief, he posed as domestic help for two years in a family, learning all of the secrets before robbing them. He reportedly managed to get away with fifty three lakh rupees
( Rs 5300000 ) worth of jewellery. He had a young accomplice who had only been employed as domestic help for ten days and still on the run.
Manoj explained that he had two wives and seven children, marrying his second young, beautiful wife, recently. Whilst Moslems can marry up to three times it is not law here for Hindus. He was caught because his wife wore some of the jewellery to a wedding and pictures were taken. In the world of increasingly shrinking digital 'degrees of separation' the photographs were seen by someone who recognised the jewellery and that path lead to the thief. He surrendered and confessed but the Police cannot locate the jewels or the funds except for Rs8 lakh. He boasts of having a fortune from previous robberies. A clever man, no doubt, has divided the wealth amongst the family, with little to seize in his name.
I am told that the Police gave him the keys to the cuffs. They want him to run so they can shoot him. He sits, holding the keys, in the compartment, patient in the knowledge that he will likely get off through the cumbersome legal system and the wealth he has behind him. An unassuming looking man, he knows time is on his side. He will play the game and as he is not a violent offender, with no one physically injured through his escapades. He is confident.
The remainder of the journey is about the North Eastern States and how beautiful they are. I am encouraged visit. The train arrives half an hour late, close to eleven am, at New Delhi Railway Station. This is perfect timing for me to check into my hotel in Paharganj.
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