The Good One

“I have a penchant for writing stories – short stories – but I have never got published.” Travelling to Kolkata by Rajdhani Express, I had struck up a conversation with my fellow passenger, an elderly gentleman with kind eyes, who kept nodding his head sympathetically to whatever I said.

We were in AC First Class. There were two other passengers in the compartment, a mother and a daughter, who kept gawking at me.

It was a long journey of seventeen and a half hours. So finding a sensible company was a bonus.

“I like spooky stuff. Mushy romances are not for me.” I continued. He understood. I could make out from the look in his eyes. Though he did not say anything.

In fact, at home nobody paid any attention to my ramblings. I too ignored them in turn. But getting a good listener is a blessing, especially,  one who paid single minded attention to your prattles.  I loved the way he fixed his gaze on me and took in every word I said.

“I believe there are various types of ghosts. Like us. Bad and good humans.”

He looked thoughtful. I pressed on, “Just think, if there are bad ‘uns can’t there be good ghosts too?”

I happily chatted on without waiting for his reply.

At this point somebody coughed.

I did not pay attention.

***

Right after dinner I excused myself to the washroom. There was a long queue and I got back late to find the mother and daughter arranging their beddings.

Mine was neatly spread out. The train attendant must have done it. There were certain advantages of being a senior citizen.

The elderly gentleman was not there. I assumed he must have also headed to the washroom and got stuck in the queue like me.

***

As I was going to retire for the night a snatch of conversation floated to my ear – mother telling the daughter, “They should not allow such people to travel alone. You never know what happens en route. Have you not seen your granny mumbling under her breath throughout the night?”

***

The next morning I woke up to find the entire compartment to myself. I had seen  the mother and daughter leave at Kanpur.

But the elderly gentleman was also not there. Must have deboarded at Mughal Sarai. The train reaches the Junction late into the night.

I felt a pang of remorse. In my chatty mood I had completely forgotten to ask his name. Now I didn’t know anything about him. From where he came and to where he was going and what for – all the little details from which you come to know about a person.

But I had told him everything about myself. The life of a retired teacher was not very exciting. Yet the way he listened  it seemed as though it were the most happening.

“I shall visit my aunt in the suburbs. She is in her nineties. I  also propose to look around a bit. You know it’s in the interiors. Rather remote with sprawling ancestral properties now mostly in disuse. It is said you get some very extraordinary experiences in such premises which challenge the bounds of logic. Metro cities are so boring! Concrete maze!!”

To this he had nodded vigorously totally in agreement.

A thorough gentleman that he was!

***

Returning back home I was surprised to find an envelope delivered in my name from one of the renowned Publishing Houses. They wanted to publish my short stories – of course the spooky ones in an anthology titled “Best Ghostly Stories Of The World”! I couldn’t for the life of me figure out from where they had learnt about me and my writes. A fat cheque was also enclosed with the offer letter!

But then thinking over and over I got hold of an explanation. Didn’t I tell you there were good ghosts and bad ghosts? When I was telling my sob story of not getting an opportunity to get published to the elderly fellow traveler one of the good ones must have been lurking around. Heard me and thought of helping me out.

What ? You don’t believe me ? No ?

Come on now!!!

***

I had written this story in Bangla a few years back in a different tone with a slightly different ending. The link to the same is given.

https://vanderloost.blogspot.com/2023/01/blog-post.html?m=1