Saviour

A Story by Tejas

I noticed her for the first time that day when, as I was walking home from the station, I stopped to wait for a break in the traffic to cross the road at a traffic signal. She was brushing with a scruffy jhadu, wrinkles and dust from a threadbare rug that was her home. The diligence with which she had done the cleaning reminded me of my mother who is also a stickler for cleanliness just about bordering on OCD.

She was a regular fixture on the footpath I suppose and though I hadn’t cared to note her existence before, from that day onwards, I made a point of looking at her every day. Inexplicably, she fascinated me. It was obvious that most of the time she was completely delusional and thoroughly insane. She was constantly talking animatedly with people only she could see. Her world existed only in her mind and for all we know, she might have believed she was a mistress of a mansion with a horde of servants and a queue of cars waiting at her beck and call.

People helped her, leaving money, food or clothes on her rug. She never cared about the money and the street kids around her would pick the coins up but she used the things. I don’t remember when I started leaving food for her but every time I left something for her I would make a point to tell her, although she never acknowledged my presence, it felt essential that I speak to her.

“Maushi, vada paav ghya.” I got you vada paav.

I knew she did not hear me, but I hoped she ate.

Usually I would leave my gifts for her on my way to work. I work with a newspaper as junior copy-editor, just a notch above the peon and cleaners and as most newspaper jobs go, I have skewed timings, starting at noon but never really ending. Luckily for me, my immediate boss is a family man and managed the sports beat so it seldom keeps us beyond midnight.

But that night, a major story had broken just before the papers hit the press and our editor wanted to get it into the headlines, so she drove us like the devil and it was past 1:00 when I left the office. I just managed to jump into the last Borivali local from Charni Road to get home to my western suburb of Malad.

It was only after I got into the ladies compartment that I smelt the liquor. I peered through the grill at the next compartment and saw three men peering at me and muttering something which was sure to be vulgar. I considered getting off but that meant spending considerable time at the train station which was a worse option.

Besides, I had traveled late before and after all this was Mumbai, usually safe so I stayed on. Fortunately my decision was vindicated when a constable got into the compartment at the next station I relaxed and stretched my feet on to the opposite seat.

Malad came and I alighted. The station was still humming with activity, Mumbai is like all big cities in the world, an insomniac and Thank God for it. Though I was confident I would be fine as I exited the station and started walking towards home since there were a handful of people on the road, the next instant my confidence faltered as I turned a corner; the street before me was completely deserted.

They say that if you keep your head down, mind your own business and wear a dupatta, nobody is likely to bother you. I had managed fairly well for years but right then a strange sensation was creeping down my spine. I heard a footfall behind me and glanced around. There was a man walking behind me. I couldn’t see his face but call it a sixth sense; I just knew he was one of the men from the train. I reached into my purse and grabbed the can of deodorant I kept for such emergencies, with a hope that would not have to use it.

My building was on the opposite side of the traffic signal a couple of blocks further ahead. I increased my speed and he did the same. I started to run and he pursued me, his feet pounding the tarmac gaining on me. I was cold with fear but I did not slow down, my breathing had accelerated the adrenalin was kicking in and I had to force myself not to look back because I knew that if I did, I would freeze. The smell of liquour returned, I sensed he was just a couple of feet away and I glimpsed his hand reaching out to grab my shoulder when a figure materialised from the street corner.

I was so startled, I staggered to a stop. She reached behind me holding her jhadu and the next second, sent it crashing down on his head. She hit him repeatedly, with such incredible insane force that he faltered, too stunned to move. I suddenly found my senses returning, pulled out the deodorant can and poured all my strength into sending the stream of chemicals straight onto his face.

He screamed as the vapour reached his eyes and a second later turned around and scampered away as fast as he could. I watched his retreating back, all strength draining from my body, still unable to process what had actually happened and it was a few seconds before I realized that I was alone once again.

I cautiously approached her corner and saw her straightening the wrinkles of her rug.

“Maushi.” I said. No reaction came from her. “Maushi, you saved me. Thank you.” I continued but then couldn’t think of anything more to say. I waited, hoping for a response.

She took no notice of me, lay down on her rug and went to sleep.

-------------------

I bought the vada paav, crossed the street and opened the gate to the two-storey building, old and patched but recently painted and neat, almost sanitized, almost like a hospital. The lady at the reception knew me well and let me enter without much inquiry after I signed in my name.

She was in the common room, her usual seat near a corner window which gave a full view of the street and traffic. A few people were watching television, a nurse was wheeling a patient towards the small garden in the back and windows threw in fresh morning sunlight. The place was comfortable, if not especially inviting.

“Maushi, I have got you vada paav.” I put a hand on her shoulder to get her attention.

She turned around, looked at me and for the very first time since I saw her, gave me a small smile.

© 2013 Tejas

Author's Note

Jhadu - short broom
Vada paav - Indian sort of burger
Maushi - Aunty. Commonly used respectful address for an elderly lady.
Borivali local - Commuter trains used to travel within Mumbai.
Charni Road - A locality in downtown Mumbai
Dupatta - Long scraf worn over dresses by Indian women.