He stood there waiting…lost in thoughts. And not just in thoughts. He thought briefly about the meaninglessness of it all. Life. Death. Relationships. People. Friends. Family. Money. Work. And so on. His thoughts shuttled from one to another until he was left thinking without knowing what he was thinking of. He was standing at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to come and take him back home after a long day at work. It was late and the buses had become less frequent. He had been waiting for almost fifteen minutes. If the correct bus did come by it was either too full or else he was too lost to get into it in time, stepping outside his reverie only when the bus had gone, leaving him in a cloud of dust. There were hardly a few people waiting with him at the bus stop. For all he knew, they were equally lost.
He broke out of his thoughts. He was getting impatient. He ought to reach back home quickly. His wife would be waiting, the food would be getting cold. He glanced at his watch. The children would already be in bed. Damn my thoughts, he muttered silently. Never the correct time to think of things. He peered out on the street and saw a bus coming, still far away to read the number of the bus. He waited, hoping the bus would take him home. The bus came nearer and he saw that it did not have a bus number. The plate had been turned over so that it was merely a plaque painted in white. The bus was surprisingly empty. He only saw the conductor and quickly asked him if the bus would go the way he wanted to go. The conductor did not say anything but nodded for him to get on board. The moment he did that the bus started moving away.
He had the change ready in his hand. He quickly handed it over to the conductor and then looked around. He had not noticed before but there were three more people on board, save him, the driver, and the conductor. There was an elderly lady sitting somewhere ahead. He could not see her face. There was a drape on her head, as if she was suffering from cold and wanted to protect herself from the cold night air. Then there was a middle aged man with greying hair sitting near the window. Poor fellow has fallen asleep. Must be really tired. He saw his head jerk and move with the movement of the bus but he did not wake up. Further back there was another man but he could not make out his face. He strained his eyes but the face was a blur. I ought to get my eyes checked, he thought mentally.
He sat down on one the empty seats. He looked outside the window and jerked back in surprise. Where was the bus going? He did not know this street. It was a simple straight road to the bus stop where he had to go down. There were no turns. So where was he right now? In his state of panic he walked to the conductor and repeated the name of the bus stop. The conductor did not say anything; his eyes fixed on the road ahead but nodded his head. He looked at the driver, helplessly but the driver did not look towards him. He turned to go back to his seat and caught a glimpse of the elderly lady and recoiled. Then he steadied himself. For a moment he thought he had seen the face of his grandmother who was long since dead. Sure, this lady had a similar profile but of course she couldn’t be her. He went back and sat down on his seat.
The bus was moving at a very fast speed. All he could make out outside was a darkened street with an occasional street lamp passing by. However, there seemed to be something different about the lamps. Their light, it seemed to him, was blurred and ethereal. I really ought to get my eyes checked. He looked at his watch again and found to his surprise that it had stopped working. The three hands were all stuck in the same place. How odd, he thought. He tapped at the glass and then tapped harder, hoping that it would set it right but nothing happened. He brought the watch near to his hear and to his ever increasing surprise heard the regular ticking as if the watch was working fine. He was getting anxious now. His wife would be waiting. He was feeling hungry and was tired too. He had to come back to work early in the morning! Where was the bus going?
He looked uneasily behind to catch a glimpse of the blurred faced passenger but could not discern anything about him. Faintly he thought that the man was smiling, as if he was caught in a practical joke. He was getting impatient and irritated. He walked to the conductor again and saw that his eyes were closed. He shook him by the shoulder (the audacity!). The conductor slowly opened his eyes and looked at him with hard dark eyes. Where are you taking me? Where is this bus going? He asked, not really intimated by the looks of the conductor. The conductor shook himself free of his grip and closed his eyes again. He turned to the driver, furious. Stop! Stop the bus right now! I need to get out, he shouted but the driver merely looked at him coldly and turned his stare back at the road. He looked out of the closed door and saw that they were moving too fast for him to attempt to jump out. Also the door was closed and he did not know how to get them to open. He doubted that the driver would open it for him.
Angry and disappointed he returned to his seat. On his way back he tried to strike a conversation with the old lady. Hello, he said but she did not even look at him. Do you know where we are going? He asked, trying to be friendly but was met with a stony silence. He returned to his seat. He looked at the other passenger, sleeping and thought he ought to wake him up. He shook him by the shoulder and the guy woke up with a start. Do you know where we are going? He asked. Yes, to the place, the sleeping man told him. What place? He insisted. The same where everyone goes, he said and promptly fell asleep again. He thought he should go and ask the other passenger in the back but then returned to his seat again, looking outside the window in dismay.
He saw that they were passing through a graveyard. He strained his neck backward and saw that it stretched on forever. The same, forward. He was scared now. His home was very far from the graveyard. And he had never seen a graveyard so long. He could make out the different tombs as the bus rolled on. Then it seemed to him that the bus was slowing down. He strained his eyes and began to discern the markings on the tombs that were nearer to his window. As he continued to look on, his eyes began to grow heavy. He was tired. He eased a little in his seat, uneasily content in the knowledge that he had no idea where he was, why he was wherever he was, and that he could not do anything about it at this point of time. He began to feel drowsy and then dozed off.
Grass. Lush green. Black. Shining black shoes in a little boy’s feet gently trotting on the grass. He remembered flowers and a little boy’s finger on the soft petals as they unfolded in the morning hours, the dew lingering on it. He remembered a fragrance which he had forgotten. He remembered sitting in the sun with his books. He remembered the forgotten lines of a poem he had loved as a small boy. He remembered his mother. He remembered her kissing him goodnight. He was back in the garden and the sun was shining brightly. He was enjoying the winter sun. Suddenly, the sky darkened. He looked up to see dark clouds. He turned around to go inside the home but found that the doors were barred. He banged on the doors with his little hands but no one answered. He called out for his mother but there was no reply. There was a large crack of lightening and he shouted in fear.
He jerked out of his sleep, disoriented. He was in the bus. He looked outside the window and saw the tombstones. He called out to the bus driver and the conductor to stop. Please let me go home. Please. But no one heard him. Even the old lady did not turn around to look at him. He sat there brooding about the dream he had. He had forgotten about the days of his childhood. He had thought that these images had been lost along with the many things that he had forgotten but now suddenly they had crept up. He recalled those lost moments, the innocent child that he once was. He remembered his mother. He had not called her in years. He thought about his grandmother and suddenly felt guilty about not having come to attend her funeral. He had been too busy at the office. He looked around the bus and his eyes fell on the sleeping man. He looked vaguely familiar.
Suddenly the sleeping man opened his eyes and looked straight at him. You remember me now? He asked, smiling a little. He shook his head. Oh! You don’t? I am the one whose job you took after you pointed out that error in the accounts. Don’t you remember? He remembered then. It had been years ago. He had found an error in the accounts and instead of pointing it out to the accountant he had taken it to the management who had promptly fired the accountant and had promoted him. Do you know why I had made that error, the sleeping man asked. I had a daughter who was very sick and I urgently needed money. I had thought of slowly slipping the money back in but of course…the entire scheme failed. You could have pointed it out to me. I would have begged you for a couple of months. No, no! I am not blaming you. Don’t worry about that. It really is alright. She did not suffer much. I met her. She died that very night. I had a rough patch from then. Didn’t really have money. Could not find another job. Was heartbroken. I died some years later under the old bridge near the office where they found my body after two days. I don’t blame you. Don’t look so pale! It really is alright.
Then the old lady turned around and looked at him. It really was his grandmother! Oh come on boy! You were always so pale. Doesn’t your wife feed you? She asked in the same way she used to, warm, friendly, yet slightly disapproving. I was angry with you. Very angry for a long time. But then that man (she pointed to the man sitting at the back) helped me through it. I had been waiting all these years for you to take the bus ride with me. I was almost convinced that you would never come. You could have at least come to the funeral. But then it’s alright. All is forgiven. When you were a child you used to come running to me whenever you could. I guess you have grown up now. You have changed.
He was terrified and hurt. His heart felt heavy. The entire thing was weighing on him. The guilt. The fear. The graveyard outside the window. Everything. He started to cry. Please! Oh please! Just let me go. My wife. My children. They are all waiting for me. They would be worried. I am sorry. I never meant any harm. I promise…I will become a better person…please! His grandmother came near him. It’s alright son. We know. She put a comforting hand on his shoulders. Then the conductor got up from his sleep and called out. The Place. The man in the back seat got up and came near to the small group. He could still not make out his face but he had a pleasant voice. Reassuring. Warm. Come now. All is done. Come and finish it now. He placed a hand on his shoulders and guided him down the bus. The sleeping man and his grandmother followed. The conductor and the driver stayed at their place.
They were still in the graveyard. The man guided him to a section where the graves looked fresh. He looked at the graves and recoiled. The first one had his name but indicated his age as 12. The next one was the grave of a girl of ten, followed by the grave of the sleeping man. Next was the grave of his grandmother. Further on he could see the grave of his mother. We are sorry child. She died today when you were at the office. Your wife tried calling you but you did not have the time to take her call. Remember? You told her off. She couldn’t take the bus journey, of course. She was too tired. Further on he could see one more grave but could not read the name.
The man who had been sitting in the back seat now gave him a bunch of flowers. Put one on each of the grave and all shall be forgiven. Be at peace with them all now. He took the flowers with shaking hands and with tears running down his face, placed one on each of the grave. He reached the last one. It was his own grave with today’s date inscribed on it.
*
The early morning newspaper carried (in a side column) the news of the death of man at the bus stop. It seemed that the man had died naturally with a calm smile on his face.
- Parekh, Pravesh
January 06, 2014; 11:45 PM
The idea came to me originally as I stood at the bus stop a few months ago waiting for a bus, lost in thoughts. I would have stood waiting for quite a while before realizing that I had to take a bus. I ended up on an almost empty bus with a few people on board. That is when I thought…how would it be if it were a bus that would take us to death perhaps? A bus ride that was perhaps carrying the dead? At that precise moment I was reminded of a short story that I had read (and forgotten all about it) years ago. “The Omnibus” by “E.M.Forster”. After a month or so I read a short story by “Gabrial Garcia Marquez”:”I only came to use the phone” which had a similar theme of someone landing up where they are not really supposed to be and then the resignation to fate. I realize that perhaps many writers have thought on similar lines and would have written far better stories. When I started writing this one I barely had a recollection of being on that bus and wondering what if it suddenly ends up on an infinite road and never stops. I had no idea where I would be taking the story. Now that I have written it, I realize that I have not done any justice to either the experience or the concept. Hence is this half-baked, half-cooked, perhaps unsavoury story here.
