That day, just by chance, Atam happened to spot out Kassi in the surging crowd during the evening rush hour. Plodding their way through the crowd along the Howrah Bridge, they were going in the same direction. A stream of vehicles sped past them in the middle of the bridge.

Atam had recognized Kassi from the back--a straight and firm youthful back over which her hair fell in rich profusion. It could be none other than Kassi.

'Kassi!'

Kassi gave a start on hearing her name. The voice had a familiar ring though she was hearing it after many years. She turned round to look and there was sudden glint of recognition in her eyes.

'Arre, Atam, are you still living in Calcutta?'

'Yes, I'm here for the last five years. And you?'

'Why ask? Where else do you think I could go?'

This silenced Atam and he wordlessly gaped at Kassi's face. She had no sindoor in the parting of her hair and her face was innocent of any make-up--not even a hint of lipstick. And yet how red her lips were.

Kassi provided the answer to her own question. 'I've stuck on to Calcutta,' she said. 'I was born here, I grew up here and now I've landed a job here.'

'In which office?'

'Let me pass, brother!' Before Kassi could reply, a passer-by wedged himself between them and rushed away.

'I'm working at the Kidderpore docks,' Kassi said, catching up with Atam. 'As a steno in the Calcutta Port Trust. And you?'

An eddying mass of people momentarily threw them apart. 'I look after the air-conditioning plant of the main block of the Calcutta Stock Exchange building,' Atam replied. 'Remember, when you visited our house for the first time I was doing my apprenticeship at IIT.'

'Yes, I do remember, Atam. Your father and mine had fallen out over some property matter. Please, not so fast. I get left behind.'

'And then we had stopped meeting. They had kicked up a big row over nothing.'

'Atam, I can't hear you in this crowd. Do you mind catching my hand? What did you say just now?'

'That it was really not necessary to quarrel over such a small matter. A pity, that they did not make up again. When my father died, never mind visiting us, your father didn't even care to write us a letter of condolence.'

'Atam, I'm really sorry for it. But you know I was very young at that time.'

'Don't take me amiss, Kassi. I'm not blaming anybody. I was only casually mentioning it to you.'

'Oh, how these people come swarming from behind! I just couldn't catch your words in this deafening noise.'

'Look, we have almost reached the station. Let's sit down somewhere and chat peacefully over a cup of tea.'

'I would love it.'

Firmly grasping Kassi's hand, Atam tore through the crowd, Kassi in tow, till they reached a point of safety. Raising her hands to her head Kassi fixed up her hair into a bun while Atam looked on fascinated. She had blossomed into a fine woman, indeed. Bap re bap, how beautiful she looked! Finding him looking at her, Kassi felt embarrassed and her face turned red. They stood silent for a while, looking around for a quiet place. But all the restaurants were full and a little farther down even the coffee stall was crowded where people were talking noisily while drinking their coffee in quick gulps. Then they saw the local train coming in. Putting down their cups and money on the counter they hurried away to get into the train. Atam, who was standing there surveying the scene, saw the dining car at the end of the train. There was enough time before the train started. They got into the dining car. Sitting across from each other they had a good look at each other. The bearer brought them cups of tea.

'You were telling me something!' Kassi said.

'When?' Atam said as if coming out of a dream.

'When you grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the crowd.'

'I'm sorry, I can't recall it now. Let it be. Tell me, who's living with you? I mean, besides your father and mother?'

'There's no one else. Both my elder brothers are married. One of them is living in Bombay and the other in Madras. Shayma didi lives with her in-laws. Sometimes she comes to stay with us. For a week or a fortnight."

'What about you? You've not been to your in-laws?' Atam suddenly felt that it would pain him to hear her reply. Then he saw a smile flickering around her lips.

'Is it necessary to go to one's in-laws?' she said. 'Must every girl visit her in-laws?'

Though very sentimental, Atam was slow on the uptake. He sat there as if tongue-tied. But Kassi had sensed what was passing in his mind and gave him a bemused look. 'How's your mother?' she asked.

'She's just the same. Only her eyesight has worsened. She had to change her glasses several times. And how's your mother now? Imagine, as a child I used to play in her lap and now I've even forgotten her face.'

Kassi laughed. 'One can't forget one's childhood so easily,' she said. 'Those were glorious days. We still seemed to be clinging to our childhood when we met seven years ago. Wasn't it seven years ago? You were in the IIT and I was preparing for my school finals. Do you remember one day you had taken me to Shantiniketan on your bike?'

'Yes, I do remember. And you had liked the place so much that you said you would come back one day to study for your degree.'

'But I couldn't go, as you know. Father was hard up at that time. He had to sell his share of the ancestral property to provide for his sons' education and Shyama's marriage."

'Kassi, I'm sorry. I was not aware of these things. I had unknowingly said some hard things about your father.'

'Did you, really? But I didn't ever hear you say anything against him.'

'How good-natured you are! You never take offence.'

'I marvel at how quickly you have learnt about my nature. But at home they think I'm the cantankerous type,' Kassi started laughing.

Suddenly the train started moving. They rushed towards the door, but it was too late. The train had gathered speed. They could not get down.

'Where will the train stop next?' Kassi asked, alarmed.

'Kharagpur,' a bearer told her. 'It's more than an hour's run.'

Kassi gave Atam a helpless look.

'I'm with you,' Atam consoled her. 'We'll immediately catch the down train from Kharagpur. Why worry? Haven't you ever reached home late?'

'I'm home by eight-thirty, the latest. That is if the local runs late. Otherwise, I'm home by seven.'

'It's all right. I'll come with you to your house and explain everything. Such things happen almost every day. There's nothing to worry. What about another cup of tea? And something to eat? I'm feeling hungry. What'll you have?'

'Whatever you eat.'

'And I'll eat whatever you eat.'

‘Arre baba, you're making things difficult for me. All right, it's mutton chop for me. Are you game?' Kassi was her usual self again--vivacious and sprightly. 'Atam, you used to be very stubborn as a child,' she sighed. 'You've not changed a bit.'

'No, it's not that. Life has taught me a lot. I had to make many compromises with life, but not at the cost of my principles.'

'You were interested in plays.'

'I'm interested even now. We have a drama club. Only last month we stage The Tired God.'

'The Tired God! A nice title, that.'

'I know you had your interests too. You had a great liking for history and sociology--your pet subjects, if I may say so.'

'For there to here I've cultivated many more interests. Music and sitar and all that. And now it's a job at the speed of two hundred words per minute.'

They started laughing.

And before they knew it, time passed and the train was entering Kharagpur yard. Altam suddenly sat up. They were traveling without tickets. He told Kassi, ‘Oh baba, we're in trouble. They will impose a heavy penalty on us and I don't have more than twenty rupees on me. Maybe even less.' She looked at him in alarm.

Kassi spilled the contents of her purse on the table. Atam also added the contents of his wallet to the lot on the table.

'Just enough to pay for the food and the tickets,' Atam declared after making some quick calculations. 'We won't have any money left for the return journey.'

'Then how shall we get back?'

Atam smiled as he gazed at Kassi's troubled face. 'That's no problem,' he said. 'I've a sister living at Kharagpur. We shall go to her house, have our dinner there, and get some money from her.'

'No, baba, I won't go to your sister's house. What will she think?'

'Then you may wait outside her house while I go in and ask her for the money. Then we can get back to the station in time for the train to Calcutta.'

'That's not a bad idea.'

Like giggling children they put their heads together, getting into the fun of it, quite proud that they had hit upon an ingenious way of getting out of their predicament.

They took a taxi to Atam's sister house. Kassi stayed back in the taxi. Atam returned after a few minutes and waved five ten-rupee notes before Kassi's face. Overjoyed, Kassi pressed his hand. They returned to the station, laughing and chatting. It was a rare experience, like suddenly discovering a treasure by the wayside.

At the station they learnt that the train to Calcutta was running late by three hours. Kassi's face fell. She had lost her appetite for the excellent food Atam had specially ordered for her at the railway restaurant they had seated themselves in. She wouldn't even touch the food. Atam helplessly watched the tears lurking in her eyes.

The train came at last and they got in silently. They wouldn't reach Calcutta before five the next morning.

'Kassi, it's my fault,' Atam said apologetically. 'I dragged you here and then everything kept going wrong like a bad adventure.'

Kassi was sitting with her head resting between her knees. 'Atam, I don't blame you, ' she said in a tearful voice. 'Even I forgot myself on meeting you. I kept remembering the happy days we spent together as children. Now when I reach home what explanation will I give for shuttling between Kharagpur and Calcutta? And Atam, I told you a lie. I had said that my father and mother would be waiting for me at home. They died a long time back. It's my husband who will lie awake all night, waiting for me.'

Atam heard her in stunned silence. Then he lowered his head and mumbled, 'Kassi, I had also told you a small lie. It was unbecoming of me to tell you that my mother is alive. It's my wife and our small son who would be waiting for my return. She must be having a harrowing time and not a wink of sleep. She must be perking up her ears at the slightest hint of sound. Anyway, now we must make the best of it. We can trot out some excuse. For instance, that we were caught in a traffic jam. It's an everyday occurrence.'

'But no such thing has happened on the rail service between my office and home. There won't be any mention of it in the newspapers.'

'Kassi, newspapers don't carry all the news. They skip a lot of things. Traffic jams have become so commonplace that they have lost their news value.

They were silent for a long time. It would soon be morning. Their faces had wilted and their clothes had become dirty and crumpled. Whenever Atam closed his eyes he felt he was hearing the city noises somewhere inside him--as if a whole city was lodged within his head.

Suddenly the train ground to a halt. A big crowd had gathered near the engine and had blocked the rail track. Atam climbed down from the train to investigate. He learnt that a local was late and the commuters were expressing their anger over it by stopping other trains.

Atam ran back to Kassi. 'They are the very commuters with whom we rub shoulders every day,' he said excitedly. "Last evening we were anxious to get away from them. But today our liberation lies in joining hands with them. Then if we are missing from home for a couple of days nobody is going to suspect us. I think the police will be here any moment.'

A smile played across Atam's face. Suddenly Kassi's face lost its grimness. She tightly wound the pallau of her sari around her waist and plunged into the demonstrating crowd. Then following the example of others she picked up some rocks from the track and hurled them at a carriage.

Ram Lall has published 12 collections of short stories and two novels in Urdu. Rai Jatan is a well-known translator of Urdu and Hindi fiction.