Beyond the Debt (558 words)

Every evening, after closing his small business in town, Ramu walked the two kms back to his village. The bus route was longer, and after eight p.m the buses stopped running altogether.

This stretch he used was short, lonely and dreaded. On one side lay an old burial ground where funeral pyres often smouldered into the night. There were no streetlights, only the pale glow of the moon on fortunate evenings. Though not a timid man, Ramu would quicken his steps as he passed the place, his lips moving in silent prayer.

Often, he had the uncanny feeling that someone was walking close behind him. As a boy, he had been warned never to turn around or answer strange voices on lonely roads at night. So, he would walk faster, his heart pounding, clutching the little book of God’s thousand names that he carried in his pocket like a shield.

At times, he glimpsed shadowy forms near the burial ground—figures draped in white, standing motionless or gliding silently through the darkness. They never approached him, but they were enough to make him wish he had started for home much earlier.

One evening, heavy rain lashed the countryside. By the time Ramu left town, the sky was black and a fine drizzle still hung in the air. The path was slippery, and he moved cautiously, praying more fervently than ever.

Then he saw him. Standing a little ahead was Govind.

Ramu stopped in his tracks.

Govind had died in a terrible road accident a few months earlier.

The two men had been friends since childhood. They had walked this road together countless times, laughing, talking and comforting each other through its eerie darkness. 

A few days before his death, Govind had borrowed ₹5,000 from Ramu. After the tragedy, Ramu had never mentioned the loan to Govind’s widow, unlike others who had recovered their money from her.

 Now, impossibly, Govind stood before him. The narrow wooden bridge across the swollen creek lay just ahead. The apparition stood at its entrance, waving his arms urgently, signalling Ramu to go back.

 Though fear gripped him, the familiar face of his friend steadied him.

“Govind,” he called softly, “why are you stopping me? We all miss you. Your wife and children still weep for you.”

The figure did not speak.

For a few moments, it remained perfectly still. Then it once again raised its hands, firmly directing him to turn back.

A strange feeling came over Ramu. Without understanding why, he decided to obey.

He set down the bundle he was carrying on a culvert, stepping away from the bridge.

At that very instant, a deafening crack and lightning split the night.

The wooden bridge gave way and crashed into the raging creek below.

Ramu stood frozen.

Slowly, before his astonished eyes, Govind’s figure faded into the darkness and disappeared.

Had he taken another step, he would have been swept away.

Long after the rain had ceased, Ramu remained there, staring into the night, hoping his friend would appear. He never did.

Taking the longer route home, Ramu finally reached his village and narrated the strange incident to his worried wife.

Then, with tears in his eyes, he said quietly, “What a noble friend Govind was. The money I lent him was a small debt. Tonight, he repaid by saving  my life.”