After a day of misfortune, forensic scientist, Yogi, finds himself on a crammed night train to Delhi. As he stands lamenting his bad lack, Yogi hears a strange sound. He calls to pull the emergency chain. What happens next changes his entire outlook on life ...
That overnight train journey was very black for me. As the hours passed, I continued changing the pressure on my legs, one by one, to ease the pain of standing. The entire time, I lamented the unfortunate things that had happened to me that day.
Suddenly, at about 3 am, a strange sound startled me. “Dhamm!”
I scanned the coach. Everyone was sleeping. Hadn’t anyone else heard it?
Beside the carriage gate, I noticed an empty space. That space wasn’t there before. I’d know it. For the entire journey, I’d stood just four meters from that gate. If there had been a space, I would have taken it. My mind raced. Fifteen seconds passed like an hour. I shouted, “Pull the chain.” I was nowhere near the chain. I cried again, “Pull the chain.”
A group of people on the floor awoke in a daze.
“What’s going on?” They quizzed.
“I think someone fell from the train. This space was not empty before.”
No one trusted me. One man suggested the passenger went to the toilet. I wouldn’t accept any justification. I shouted more urgently, “Just pull the chain!”
A group of men sitting near the chain stared wide-eyed, motionless. No one wanted to face a hefty fine or imprisonment. But on my insistence, a brave Punjabi boy stood and reached for the chain.
A Day of Bad Luck
I usually buy a reserve class ticket. That’s a necessity, especially when making a 200km journey from Moradabad to Delhi. The next day, I was to join my office as their forensic guy. I was running late. My sweat glands were working very well. After waiting in the ticket line for 20 minutes, I was informed there was no reserved seating available. I was forced to buy a general ticket.
I rushed to the platform.
Up ahead, my train started moving forward. I couldn’t miss my appointment. So, I ran my hardest to catch the train. Panting and still breathless, the coach doors slammed behind me. People were settling into sleeper booths. I’d entered the wrong coach!
Near the coach gate, the ticket checker prepared for his inspection. “Just my luck, he’s inspecting this coach now,” I mumbled. I showed him my ticket and explained I’d unintentionally entered the wrong coach.
“Alright. Change your coach at the next station.” The inspector brushed me aside and continued down the aisle. Since I wasn’t authorized to sit, I stood beside the toilet out of the way. Ten minutes later, the ticket inspector charged down the carriage.
“Ticket,” he demanded. I reminded him of my story and our agreement.
“No. No. That’s not right.” His brow furrowed and deepened. It was as if we’d never spoken. He ordered me to pay a fine. After pleading for leniency, without success, I paid the “unofficial” fine (the fine ending up in his back pocket).
I switched to general class at the next station.
Packed worse than a Delhi traffic jam, the coach smelled of sweat and hard work. Sighs from hundreds of tired bodies troubled me, raising questions about the state of humanity. I stepped over people sitting on the floor, asking them to make a little space for me to stand. No one moved. Finally, I got angry and shouted at two poor people to make a standing place for me.
I’d already been standing for almost two hours when I heard the sound. The young Punjabi boy yanked the emergency chain. The train came to a halt.
I stepped down from the coach and into pitch darkness. Within seconds, there were heavy footsteps, and a policeman rushed forward, fierce like a lion, “Who pulled the chain?”
I stayed quiet, hidden in the dark.
“Who pulled the chain?” The policeman roared.
I stepped forward. “I think someone has fallen.”
“Why would you think that?”
I explained the strange sound and empty space left by the coach gate.
“Come with me!” he boomed. The policeman, myself and a few other passengers headed back down the track. As we walked, the policeman waved his torch to and fro. He asked questions while doubting my answers.
About 100 meters down the track, we spotted a shadow swaying near the back of the train. We rushed forward. Bent over and moaning, was a young man, injured. As I eyed his torn, blood-stained clothes, I thanked God that I took part in stopping the train. If we didn’t discover him, how would he have survived the dark night in a forest area.
The injured boy slowly said, “I fell down due to sleep.” He belonged to the Bihar, the State of Good Brains, often referred to as a paradise for the intellect. He needed instant care and support.
The policeman apologized for doubting me and commended me for my work. He took the injured boy into another coach for treatment and directed other passengers to provide me with a seat. I found a corner to sit in.
Soon the train gathered momentum, and we were on our way.
Is There a Reason Behind My Misfortune?
No more lamenting. Good hormones flowed inside me. I thought about life and humanity. All that “bad luck” led me to stand in that very spot, at that very time, wide awake, to hear a strange sound that helped save a young man’s life.
I realized I needed to change my thinking. From that day forward, I accept the bad incidents that happen to me in a positive way, and I try to find the reason behind such misfortunes.
Meet the Author - Yogi Thakur
Yogi Thakur is a forensic scientist from India and the author of the book “The Winning Weapons”.
Presently, he's doing his research on investigation with the help of insects. He is also learning human psychology and feels humanity should be our priority to make this world like a family. He sees the need to work on science under the shadow of nature.
He is writing his second book on psychology with digital crime. He believes every situation is an opportunity to feel, learn, and move for good.
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