The Girl Who Sold A Basket

     

THE GIRL WHO SOLD A BASKET

       Every morning my father made me go to the station at Deoli and sell the baskets which my younger sister and I would make. Deoli is a very small station and only a few trains would pass by. Father had met with an accident a year ago, and ever since he has been unable to work at the wood factory. Selling baskets was the only means left for us to earn money. With what little we earned, we managed to survive.

       I was only fourteen then, and being the chirpy sort, I found it troublesome to sell baskets each day. The Deoli station hardly had any excitement; a tea stall, a fruit vendor, a newspaper seller and the office of the station master. That was all. No one got on the trains that passed, and no one got off.

       Summer was the only time I enjoyed my duty. Deoli itself didn't bring any change, but the trains did. The passengers were more and there would be more noise and more happenings. The trains would stop for the same ten minutes, but looking at all the different kinds of people, and hearing them talk was fun. On these days, even my sister would accompany me. With the extra money we earned in summer, both of us would get kulfi treats. As our financial conditions were improving gradually, these treats which were numbered to two or three each summer had now increased to five or more! (But that was only if you were a good girl!)

       It was one such day when I went to the Deoli station with a few baskets. It was 5 o' clock in the morning and the station was dimly lit with a few electric lights and oil lamps. The tea seller had just begun arranging his stall. I waited at the station for the train to arrive and for the first time, I had the strange feeling that I was being watched.

       The feeling passed away as soon as the train arrived. I went down the platform, peeping through the windows, trying to sell my baskets. It was then that my eyes fell upon a young man sitting at one of the windows. He was so handsome, that I couldn't stop staring at him. He was fair, tall and dignified. He was just like the perfect 'Delhi - boy' image I had in mind. He looked down at me from the window and his searching eyes met mine. I held his gaze for some time but I quickly came back to my senses and ran towards the next compartment. His gaze followed me all the way and  I realized that he was getting down from the train. My heart beat faster and I clumsily stood behind the tea - stall, not knowing what had come over me.

       He was standing right in front of me. I made some silly movements and fidgeted with my baskets.
       "Would you like to buy some baskets, sahib?" I said in a shy voice.
       He didn't seem willing at first but then he agreed. Quickly removing a rupee from his pocket, he put it in my hand. I gave him the best basket I had. My body was quivering and I had this silly urge to jump into the train and live my whole life with him!
       The station master signalled that the train was leaving and the train's whistle rang in my ears. The young man was still gazing at me.

       "The train..." I murmured.
       He realized and quickly hurried back. The train passed by and so did the day, but the memory of that man didn't fade away. Each morning I would go to the station, eagerly waiting for him to make his return journey.

       After a few weeks, I spent my time at the station only till noon, as the feeling of being watched increased. I started feeling insecure and asked my sister to carry on my duty instead.

       Quite a few days went by and I forgot the man to whom I sold my basket. Mother would make me do all the household chores as it was high time I got married. Father, it seemed, had already thought of the ideal prospect.

       It was after two whole months that one morning, at the railway station when the clock struck 6, my eyes fell upon the same man I had fallen in love with. He had seen me and had already come out from the train. I did not go down the platform to sell baskets. He came towards me and held my hands. My face flushed and I was slipping into a dream.

       "You have to come with me to Delhi," he said.

       "I have to stay here," I replied.

       After a moment's hesitation, he said,

       "Will I... Will I see you here again? Will you continue selling your baskets here?"

       I nodded my head, unsure and uncertain. Once more the station master called out to him and he went away.

      Reality had hit me. This time I couldn't forget him. I felt that I could make and sell all my baskets to him everyday! I wanted to see him once more at the station. My feelings for him grew, just like the space between me and the man whose name I didn't even know.

      I wanted to share my feelings with someone, but I wasn't able to. The next week itself, I was to be married. The man with whom my marriage had been arranged had been watching me at the station everyday. He had even seen the man from the city hold my hands. This had angered him and the whole marriage ceremony was performed in haste. I had to leave home and start a new life with my husband and his family. I was restricted to the house, and since then, I  have never crossed over the station walls.

      My hearts leaps each day when I hear the whistle of the early morning train. And each time it whistles, I have the urge to go and see the man who I had sold my basket to. Does he still search for me? Or has he forgotten me? Perhaps he never crossed over Deoli again...

      I still continue to make my baskets now, but I have stopped selling them.

*Inspired from Ruskin Bond's "Night Train At Deoli"

**I wrote this just to improve my writing. Don't forget to correct my mistakes, and maybe, be a little generous with your advice!! :)