Quo Vadis

It was hot and sultry with not a trace of breeze. I had just finished my lunch under the shade of a tea shop. Since early morning I have been witnessing the steady stream of migrant workers fleeing from the hosiery city in the wake of lock down and the closure of factories with possible loss of income. They were walking in clusters on the highway towards their native villages in the North. Most of them were young and able bodied with a small percentage of middle aged, women and children carrying bags and assorted bundles. Tired and thirsty they ambled along in the hot sun with much difficulty. With no trains or buses operating, they decided, come what may, to walk the entire distance to reach their safe havens and live among their own people in their familiar village.

I saw a young man sitting on the culvert with his face turned towards the city from where he walked. He had obviously separated from the group that continued its walk towards their distant destination.

“What is your name? Why are you sitting here alone when your people have continued to walk? Is it not good to walk in company than alone?”

“Sibu is my name, Saab. I know but I do not wish to go,” he mumbled

“Why is it then you  walked 30 miles from the city with them? Are you having second thoughts?”

“It was foolish and dishonourable on my part to have joined them in the first place. I have reconsidered and wish to return before the night,” he said as he wiped his sweaty face and limbs with a dirty towel.

“Were you working there? Have you lost the job or what?”

He kept silent but looked into his water bottle that was empty. He looked famished and thirsty.

“Here is a bun and a bottle of water. Help yourself first, “I said.

His eyes widened in surprise and quickly gulped two mouthfuls of water before eating the bun.

“I am sorry I did not answer your question as I am afraid of you in police uniform. You may put me in jail,” he said in a penitent tone.

“Do not be afraid. You have not done any harm to anyone. Tell me why do you want to return when so many have decided to leave?” I asked in soft and comforting manner.

It was then he broke into uncontrollable crying. I patted him and told, “You are a grown up man and it is not becoming of you to cry. Tell me quickly what the problem is? Are you in love with someone there? Be frank.”

“Nothing of that sort. The wretch that I am, I have left behind my aged parents to fend for themselves. My mother suffers from arthritis and she cannot walk without pain and my dad has poor vision and weak with frequent chest pain. I did not want to leave them but there was pressure from others for me to leave and walk along with them. My parents are not in a position to walk.

My father said, “We are old and we cannot walk. I insist that you must go with others as it is safe to walk in company. God willing when train services are restored we would join you or if things become normal you can return here. We can manage for short period and people here are helpful.” Sibu said

“Has the factory stopped working?”

“It is not a big unit but the stock of finished goods is heavy and the goods have not been dispatched as there is no transportation. The machines work very sparsely. The employer is a good person and has provided accommodation. All of us are worried what would happen if this pandemic continues for long. We cannot expect the owner to pay us for long when the factory is not running,” he explained.

“Do you think things are different in your villages? They also face the same threat, lock downs and people are falling sick.” I asked

“Yes I agree things will be equally bad. But, we have the comfort of living among our own people in our own hut. It is not a happy situation but better of the two options,” he spoke sensibly.

“So what is your plan?”

“I wish to return to my parents this night itself and assure them that I am with them through thick and thin. I can get the free food, rations and money the government has promised to give. I am healthy and can move around to do odd jobs to earn. My employer will certainly not turn us out of the accommodation. He may provide us some food too. Even if all of us die, there is the comfort that I have not ditched them,” he said in a determined tone.

“It is a little more than 30 miles and you cannot reach before the night even if you run,” I said with a smile.

“I am too tired for running but will start walking now anyway,” he replied

“No, you cannot leave this place without my permission,” I said in a peremptory tone of a police man.

The young man was appalled and started crying banging his head with his hands.

“Stop this drama, go inside the tea shop and sit down quietly on the bench,” I told him stiffly and added as an afterthought, “Have this packet of biscuits. One bun was not adequate for you.”

It was 5.30pm and the sun was going down. There was a gentle breeze. My duty hours had ended. I kicked my heavy bike and it roared to life as I sat on the seat. Sibu looked at me with horror and disbelief as the bike leapt forward leaving him alone in the desolate place. 

Dazed Sibu started trudging his way towards the hosiery city cursing the quixotic ways of the policeman, first in giving water and food and then leaving him in lurch after making him waste his time on the bench. It was then he heard the sound of motorbike returning and stopping by his side. Sibu’s face brightened with a glimmer of hope.

 I smiled at him and said, “I made you sit deliberately here for some time as a punishment for deserting your parents. I will now take you on my bike to your place as a reward for your decision to turn back. Do not worry, Things will return to normal soon thanks to the steps taken by government. I will take care of you and your parents in the meanwhile, if necessary. Come on, hop on to the pillion.”