The Fountainhead in 4 days -- III

It was quite a scene.

The wind and rain had abated a little, and about 40 of us from two compartments were out, trying to coax the tree into loosening its grip on the train. Some tried intimidation with little handsaws, while others tried cajoling it with lengths of rope. The tree however shrugged off our indignation, and stuck stubbornly to its "stand". It was like Gulliver and the Lilliputians all over again, except that we were the travelers, and the tree the erstwhile native of the lost town of Khurda Road. It was like we were but paring the nails on that gigantic hand.

We broke for lunch. The train was supposed to reach Calcutta before dinner, so this was technically the last meal we were to have on the train. Whether they had any more provisions, we had no idea. We had definitely run out of water. So we got back to the tree in earnest, as if getting rid of this one obstacle could put us half-way there. Not quite the kind of guy who would climb aboard a train to hack at the limbs of a tree, I was with the rope crew, rather excited to contribute, but not quite realizing the seriousness of our position. We toiled till the darkness fell, and had managed to clear quite a few of the branches off the top of the train. As my neighbors and I returned to our berths, there were still a few workmen, mostly the Railways crew, hacking away outside.

Conversation was subdued. Dinner did come, a few last minute supplies thrown together, and we ate thankfully. There was definitely no more food on the train. But then the door opened and there entered a few ragged-looking people carrying large gunny bags over their shoulders. And they started handing out little packages to the passengers. I took one - it contained a small loaf, and a Parle-G biscuit packet. "We are from a nearby bakery", one of them, a youth no older than me, informed us. "We heard your train was stuck so we brought what we could." They were inundated with questions. How bad was it? What were the chances of getting out? Were there any other trains?

They answered as best as they could. There were apparently no chances of going forward. We would have to travel as far back as Vizianagaram, then take an alternate route out of there. The Falaknuma that was to leave the day after ours had been cancelled. The tree on our train was loosening its grip, and it was possible we might start out of there that very night. Hope washed over us like the smell of a warm kitchen. Mr.Oriya even felt light-hearted enough to translate the good news to the white man, who didn't seem very impressed. I went back to reading my book, unable to fall asleep, waiting eagerly for that little jerk which meant we would be leaving that God-forsaken station. And sure enough, at about 3am in the night, after nearly 20 hours of standing in the same place, the train creaked into motion. I fell asleep almost immediately.

I awoke well into the next day. We were speeding away on our new route, which would skirt around the state of Orissa and enter the state of Bengal from the west. I exulted as I learned this, because it meant it would have to pass through Jamshedpur to get there, and I wouldn't have to change trains. The downside, however, was that the train had been unable to replenish its supplies, and would stop at a station late in the afternoon where we would have to go get our own lunch. And as my finances were running low from having had to pay for extra meals already, this news sapped my excitement.

---to be continued