Tunnel 23

TUNNEL 23

Sandwiches always reminded him of those numerous summer vacations where, along with his sister he was packed off to the grandparents at sangle. Mother would pack little finger sandwiches for dinner along with a flask full of lemonade. They would take the overnight train and amuse themselves with games that brothers and sisters usually play. His favorite pastime however, was sticking his face out of the window, while his sister buried her nose in malory towers. He would count the number of tunnels the train went through. He could always tell when they were nearing sangle . It was the 23 tunnel. But often, it was not the number as much as it was the presence of the toothless brown skinned wiry crazed - grey haired aging man with leathery wrinkled skin who stood at the end of the tunnel and waved out to him with all the energy his  tiny frame could gather. Religiously, summer after summer he would stand there with not a cloth on his back and beads of sweat trickling down his  and a wide grin that showed more emptiness than anything.

The boy would jump up in glee at this sight because he knew the station to get off at, was near. Grandfather would be waiting. He’d have a fresh jar of lemonade and would be standing beside the grand white ambassador and an army rifle that he held so proudly. The boy would run, along with the  baggages, faster than his sister so that he could sit close to his grandfather up at the front. If he had done well in his examinations, grandfather would even let him try his hand at the steering. Grandfather had a wonderful musky smell around him, and a long beard that tickled the boy every time he was scooped up into those big arms for a hug.

The holidays were a riot. They were spent in the big house with the cousins. There was plenty of garden fresh fruit and gulab - jamoons to go around and the children were extremely happy. When the adults took their afternoon siesta, the children would run amok wild around the house. The boy would run along with them too. With not a care in the world, the children would finally feel the wind in their hair.

One day the older children proposed a game of hide and seek. Even though the boy had just arrived a day before and didn’t really know the new forest paths around the house, he didn’t want to seem like a coward. And so, the masqueraded bravado reflected in an over excited hide and seek player who wandered a little too far into the woods beyond the house. It was getting dark. He didn’t know the way back home. Every left turn he took seemed to get him farther away. Unable to see clearly, he decided to give the rules of the game a miss and called out for help. But only his echo responded to him.

Somehow, he didn’t know what else to do. He sat on a stone and cried bitterly. He should have listened to his grandmother and not strayed away from the house. Grandfather would be angry if he was late for dinner. He probably won’t get the fish that was cooked that morning. Worse, his father might hear about this. His knuckles would get bruises soon. The boy shuddered at the thought.

A figure approached him. The boy’s fear heightened. He had heard stories of thieves and bad men who did obnoxious things to little children. He didn’t know what to do. It was too dark to run away and even if he did run, where would he run to? He was sure he could hear the snakes preparing for dinner.

But the boy’s heart found rest. What was initially a figure shrouded in the dark, caught the light of the fading sun dispersed through the foliage.  It was the same toothless brown skinned wiry crazed - grey haired aging man with leathery wrinkled skin. In the darkness, the wrinkles looked like craters. The old man didn’t speak a word. He just held the boy’s hand. And began to lead the boy through the woods. It was a path that the boy knew.  And yet, he had forgotten it. The boy felt safe and thankful that somehow, this old man knew the way back to his grandfather’s house.

It was nightfall by the time this odd pair found their way to the big bungalow. The oil lamps were being lit. From a distance the boy could see a crowd had gathered right outside the house. Some had sticks and others had torches. A collective rumble of angry conversation floated around. Grandmother was the first to notice the boy walk towards the house.

Her voice was a particular level of shrill.

“ golu! Where were you? How many times have I told you not to run away?  Anything could have happened. Do you not know what happens to little boys if they run away into the woods without an adult??……”

Grandmother’s voice was drowned out by the servants and everyone rushing out. The boy was engulfed by the crowd. Unconsciously he began to search for the old man’s hand. But the crowd’s momentum pushed him into the house. Grandmother shut the door behind him. The children were all huddled up in a corner. They tried to peep through the crevice of the door. But in the darkness, they couldn’t see anything. Overnight, the boy had also become a hero. He was the boy who had travelled to the woods and beyond. But in his heart he knew that he owed gratitude to the old man.

The never knew what ensued between his grandparents, the crowd, his Aunt’s and Uncle’s and the toothless old man. All he knew was, when he returned to Sangle next summer, there was nobody waving at tunnel number 23.