Short Story
The Time Train
artwork by amina
For some days now, Parvez has been aware of a powerful, invisible presence around him. It seemed to come with the sole purpose of keeping an eye on him. It kept to a strict schedule; arrived and left bang on time. Parvez keenly felt its presence whenever it came to this hospital. But there was none he could talk to about the panic it aroused. Trying to cope with this unseen power had left him drained of energy. It kept coming still. Like an ever-punctual train it came like a flash to the hospital, carrying a lone, invisible passenger. No one else might recognize him, but Parvez knew him well: he was called Time. As soon as the imaginary train came to a stop he got off and with long steps paced up and down the corridor. Ever in a hurry, always bound to a strict timetable, that's him, Time. Thank heaven he couldn't be seen. Now, had he suddenly come to a standstill outside Cabin No. 23? On other days Parvez would wait with baited breath for the hour-long 'Visiting Hour' to end. Time's silent train would then leave, and he'd surrender once again to untrammeled uncertainty. That's what he did daily. It amused him to hear it said that 'Time' was ever-present, pervading one's entire life. For lying in the hospital bed these three months he had felt that there was nothing to fear from that all-pervasive 'Time.' The fear was inspired by the 'Time' that didn't occupy one's whole life, 'Time' that came only on a brief visit. The train would suddenly arrive at any moment just before or after the 'Visiting Hour,' carrying aboard it that transitory 'Time.' And when that transitory 'Time' left, Parvez would lose his fear. The limitless has no end, simple as that. Limitless time, limitless sky, limitless ocean, they are there forever. They are forever brandishing the flail of time and scaring people like a Chingiz Khan. That's why there's nothing to fear in them. Still, Parvez has lately been infected by a strange idea. He keeps thinking that as far as the sky, earth and ocean are concerned, their emperor for all time is 'Time.' The same 'Time' who is concerned no end with the infirm body of his now lying in Cabin No. 23. Nowadays it seems to Parvez that 'Time' has to be categorized under Fauna: the fact just awaits discovery by a scientist. He's a heartless monarch, 'Time.' And why shouldn't he be? It's only to be expected in the ruler of a vast kingdom, one who holds sway over unbounded space. Who knows how many souls this heartless emperor, having alighted from his express train, has resolved to sunder from their bodies? Strange, how Parvez seemed to sense the train's arrival at the precise moment. There was a susurrus of suppressed bustle in the air. At times one or two souls would be released from their bodies, no doubt on the cruel emperor's instructions. Then the tear-moistened air would reverberate with muted lamentation. Surely, such a fate awaited him as well. Amazing, how no one else seemed to be aware of Time's might the way he was, as he lay inert in Cabin No. 23. Those who came to see him were in fact utterly unaware of it. Or else they would have felt no little fear. For three months now, all sorts of specialists had failed to do anything about the ups and downs of his physical condition. Maybe they had surrendered him to fate. No doubt they had also secretly prayed to draw 'Time's' attention towards him. But this thing called 'Time' just couldn't make time -- ignored him every time. Perhaps it would ignore him today as well. The visitors troop in, one by one. Strange, how this seems to feature in their daily routine as a source of exquisite entertainment. Parvez can detect in their expression an extraordinary ability to use words to deceive and prevaricate. Fragments of their earnest, excited torrent of conversation: "You look quite well today." "Not the way you were yesterday." Then lighting a match, raising it to the cigarette dangling from a corner of the mouth and exhaling a mouthful of smoke, the visitor would ask a weird question: "Well, you aren't in any discomfort, are you?" And then, "Just straighten your pillow. You know what! Nowadays they can't get the diagnosis right. Or else, you wouldn't have to lie around so long." These people come almost every day. They glance frequently at their watches. Most of them know it's proper to put on a woeful countenance before coming here. They do it well. The patients too find it gratifying. Some visitors have a trick of worriedly narrowing their eyes and blowing a gale of sympathy over the patient. "It's certainly most serious.' "No, no, it's all talk and no do with these people. What's needed is a thorough check-up." The hospital bell rings at some point. Time for the Time Train to depart. Perhaps it'll go to some other place, to another hospital. The visitors too get up, smoothening the embarrassing creases that their clothes have acquired. Some of them caressingly touch his face, draw the sheet up to the chin. Or shake the medicine bottle for no reason at all and put it back in its place. In a word, it appears to Parvez that departing visitors give him to understand that they are ever with him, sharing his joys and sorrows, agony and ecstasy, tears and laughter -- "Just don't worry." There was another patient sharing this cabin, which is meant for two. Two days back he had been granted his release by the Time Train. None had come to replace him, but it couldn't be long before someone did. No doubt it was the departed one and not Parvez that the girl had come to see. Hardly anybody would ever come to see him outside the visiting hour, especially with a blazing sun overhead. The girl stared blankly, took a pink slip of paper out of her handbag and stared at it. A telegram perhaps. So, she had come too late. Her train had lost out to the Time Train. Such speculation was irrelevant now, so Parvez didn't ask to find out. He didn't say anything either. After that there was nothing for the young lady to do. She should leave -- just what she did then. But she was back the following day. She sat down, momentarily lost in thought, then leant forward and asked "Did he say, anything?" "When?" "I mean, did he say anything about me?" Parvez didn't answer. The man had been in a coma for seven days, what could he say to anyone about anything? Still, the girl didn't leave. "How do you feel?' she asked. 'Do you have fever?" "Yes." She reached forward and took his hand, the way a nurse does, out of a profound sense of duty. "You don't seem to have a fever today. I've heard the doctor say you're having an operation tomorrow.' Had the doctors decided without even consulting him? Did they want to poke and probe one last time? It meant they were conspiring to lay him out on a cold bed, in a cold room, in front of a dozen pair of cold eyes. The illness that had so far eluded classification would be dealt with once and for all. Has the girl turned up today out of pure compassion? Overcoming her grief for the one she had come to see, she flashed a brilliant smile as she sat down. He should ask her who she was. But it was more important that she shouldn't keep sitting there. From where he lay Parvez could see the girl from different angles, note the folds and curves in her well-nourished body. Had she dismissed any possibility of arousing his decrepit body? He felt angry. He'd like to tell her, "Here's a venomous snake that's been defanged and can't even raise its, hood, so you think it's safe." She rearranged herself in the chair. One moment she was self-possessed, at another relaxed and languid. It wasn't visiting hour yet. But rules were relaxed in the case of patients in private rooms. The young lady knew that; hence her untimely visit. But why wasn't she asking after the person she had actually come to see? Is it that she didn't consider it necessary? She yawned. Instead of sitting in the normal posture she straightened her legs and lightly raising her torso stretched out her body like a rolled-up carpet. Once again, from his bed, Parvez eyed her from different angles. He felt embarrassed, focused his gaze on her body, then turned his face away. Yes, it's true. The girl had missed a death. It was a cause of great sorrow. Maybe that's why she had decided to witness another one. There was the anguish of the heartless vengeance-seeker in this. Parvez got up, involuntarily it seemed, touching the wall to steady himself. Standing in front of his anonymous visitor, he reached out with his hands. He didn't know why he did that. The girl's eyes were shut, overwhelmed by weariness perhaps. Maybe she lived in another town. What a waste of time! Parvez stared at her for a moment. Surprising - the girl's vengefulness. Before his inert body was laid out on the operating table tomorrow, should he, one last time, test his strength on her? A chain glittered around her neck. The creases on her throat were fine lines filled with talcum powder. There would be no one around at this time. Parvez's hands had encircled her throat. By channelling all his remaining strength into his wrists he could still bring about a catastrophe. It wouldn't make much difference either. On the one hand an antiseptic death on that table covered in white, and on the other the neck thrust into a sturdy noose on a judge's orders. But the slight touch startled the girl into consciousness. She stood up abruptly. Parvez lost control over his tottering body and leaned on the girl like a lifeless load. The girl said nothing. She just let his tremulous body lean against her for a few moments. Then she guided him back to the bed. And recomposed herself, re-arranging her sari edge, brushing away the strands of hair on her face, wiping her forehead with her sari edge. The Time Train seemed to come in just then. There came too the swift and light footfalls of the usual visitors, entering one room after another. The girl could easily sit around undisturbed for much longer. Why was she making for the door instead? Having fallen victim to his own irrationality, Parvez found himself in a quandary. Lying on his stomach with face buried in the pillow, he asked, "Are you leaving?" "Yes." Then she added with a cold smile, "I've missed the person I came to see. Still, I've seen you." Parvez wanted to say, "Why don't you come tomorrow. Wouldn't you like to see if I'm still there under the white sheet after being probed with scalpel and scissors?" Could the girl read his thoughts? "If it were possible I'd stay till the operation,' she said. "I don't have the time." There was no anger, no hurt feelings, no resentment. Still, the lady had caught the doleful look in his eyes. Half opening the door to step out, she turned her head around and said again, "I'd stay if it were possible. Just don't have any time." Parvez didn't believe her. It seemed to him that the express train that transported Time from one hospital to another also carried this girl as a passenger. Full of allure, she spread enchantment, went around gifting a brilliant smile to people. A terrible truth -- like death, like the torment of death -- flashed through Parvez's consciousness. Startled, he tried to sit up on the bed. He gazed at the door. Had the girl come today because she knew there wouldn't be another opportunity to see him? Or did she come in the past as well and go from one hospital room to another on the pretext of comforting those headed for eternity? Maybe those who were here before him had also seen this girl. A girl called 'Time' - or 'Time' with a girl's name.
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