I sat there, awe-struck, cramped between two strangers on the quaint seat near the counter, eagerly anticipating the arrival of my brother from his sojourn in Sylhet, Bangladesh. Naturally, the train-station at this odd hour would portray the picture of a serene environment with a mere handful of people going about their mundane business , so, it was a huge shock for me to see the bustle of people in the station. The sudden news of ‘Hartal’(a political uproar or, strike) gave rise to this unusual occurrence. People feared being caught up in the tumult that was scheduled to occur the next day with the opposition party setting out on their protest-march against the Government. Thus, everyone was compelled to accomplish their tasks well in advance of the Hartal . The train-station at 2AM has an uncanny intrigue about it. For instance, one will observe a  diversity of antics carried out by strangers, and hear, and experience many things in the overall vicinity of the station. But this night had something really significant in store for me which changed my perspective about people forever. We humans  are considered superior beings for our ability to contemplate our actions, and perceive humanity in our own light. But what if we are incapable of differentiating between right and wrong ?

       And so I sat there,  patiently in the potent grip of somnolence, a mug of hot coffee nestled between my fingers. I painstakingly allowed my pupils to serve up an array of spectacles to behold.

       A helpless woman in her mid-thirties with a child in her arms, stood gasping for breath among the crowd near one of the terminals. The gigantic masses of luggage that she was guarding compelled her to stand   still. She was clearly awaiting the return of her husband who seemed to be lost among the crowd. A quivering, emaciated old man with eyes almost popping out of their sockets and  cheek-bones protruding through his skin sat on the pavement against a platform, brooding over his cursed fate. His tattered white ‘panjabi’ (a flowing robe-like attire) was drenched in perspiration. The forlorn and impoverished old man’s pallid and creased skin depicted the inevitable and harrowing treatment of age as he sat there with an outstretched arm—a pathetic plea for alms. A small boy, roughly twelve, sat leaning and resting his head on the old man’s shoulder. A thin shroud of dust over the boy’s curly disheveled hair produced the illusion of an aging man’s silver hair. The boy looked sickly famished, and his ribcage was visible over his sweaty dark skin. Such a scene would arouse sympathy in any sensible person but the pedestrians seemed indifferent to his misery and simply passed by.

      There was a large rush of people in the cafeteria. My olfactory senses received a perennial boost from the intoxicating aroma of coffee-beans which pervaded the atmosphere along with the sweet scents of delectable delicacies which filled the stomachs of the thousands of ravenous insomniacs.  

       I got up to stretch my legs and get some blood running through the muscles. Mid-way through a tired yawn as my gaze wandered towards the cafeteria, I noticed the small boy sneaking his way towards the pile of freshly baked breads. His lingering steps led him through the serpentine trail as he fidgeted and pushed through the crowd. He almost stumbled when he reached there. My heart leapt. His eyes were focused on the treat before him. And then with one outstretched stick-like arm reached for one of the breads, silently pocketing  one right  under the shopkeeper’s nose. This act of pilfering appeared so dilettante to my naked eyes that if the shopkeeper hadn’t been busy with the customers , the poor child would surely have been caught. At that moment, I was gripped by a feeling of sympathy and apprehension for the boy. It seemed I was the only spectator to this pale-faced child’s misery. The boy returned to his ailing grandfather to share the bread. I observed the boy simultaneously shoving the small piece in his mouth and ravenously consuming it within seconds. I returned to my seat as the night rolled on.    

       For a moment my attention shifted towards a derelict corner of the station where the rollicking antics of a litter of kittens served to amuse the pedestrians. The little rascals climbed on top of each other forming an adorable clutter of soft fur. They sprang to and fro playfully, some of them even daring to establish their dominance as they sped towards the pedestrians. In another corner, a raving leper sat cringing and howling at the passers-by. From time to time, the station lit up from the luminous and blinding headlights of the incoming trains. In contrast, the fading silhouettes of trees against the grey sky cast a tenebrous gloom over the station. The trees stood sentinel on the other side of the tracks arousing somber feelings from within. Meanwhile, sleep-deprived and frustrated individuals dragged themselves on with their luggage hindering their movements. It was reminiscent of a scene from  the classic 60’s Zombie movie -“Night of the Living Dead.”

       My gaze kept wandering towards that crumbling yet cozy corner of the station where the boy sat nestled under a dusty grey blanket against the warmth of his beloved grandfather. But I suddenly noticed that he was not in his usual place. The hunger had impelled him towards another desperate act of filching. This time he went for one of the donuts from the large assortment. Fresh out of the oven, the smoke emitted from the donuts drew the bread thief towards them. He especially eyed a big donut dunked in sumptuous chocolate and covered in delightful sprinkles. The thief salivated as he stood hovering over the sweet treats. I marveled over the ominous nature of this thievery, and if the boy’s luck would run out. Fortune seemed to favor him this time as well as he snatched that large donut  and quickly shoved it in his mouth. With stuffed cheeks going rosy from the pressure, he began to walk back towards his grandfather. Another  session of snacking had failed to restore any liveliness to the boy’s face as he looked haggard and despondent.

      My misery continued but I was somehow weirdly soothed and grounded to reality by the rhythmic cadence of various noises. Firstly, the  plodding of footsteps beating against the ground continued relentlessly. Then the abrupt arrival of trains was heralded by the sonorous noise of the  sirens. The advent of these archaic modes of transportation drowned out all other sounds with the jarring noise of their powerful oversized engines. It was the moment that the flurry of sounds reached a crescendo with the sharp screeching noise of the wheels against the luster of the immaculate metallic tracks as the trains decelerated to a halt. This momentarily muffled out the cries and laughter of the masses. The clangor mixed with the strident spawned an inexplicable atmosphere of various sounds.

      Despite the flurry of sounds and the plethora of activity all around , my mind kept drifting towards the thought of that very boy whose gaunt and  saddened visage had already been engraved in my heart. His vulnerable demeanor reminded me of the harshness and cruelty of this world which filled me with angst . My eyes once more scanned the surroundings for a glimpse of this poor soul . I found him . He was once again up to something .

       The stranger sitting to my left was nonchalantly smoking away his vigil. His body emitted a pungent smell of sweat, smoke and tobacco. Meanwhile, the other stranger blatantly poked his ear with his index finger . The man exuded the beastly aura of a rank lion, and his putrid body odor which vividly brought to memory the rancid stench of ammonia mixed with rotten offal slowly suffocated me. Unable to withstand this appalling punishment any further, I got up and made my way towards the cafeteria for another cup of coffee.

       I was leaning on the counter with my third coffee of the night in my hand when the incident occurred. The bread thief boy sped towards me with an enraged mob on his tail. He skidded and pushed through the frenetic bustle, and as he came closer gaining speed, he suddenly knocked over the mug of coffee that I was holding. My immaculate white shirt was no more with a huge brown splotch smeared all over it.  Fortunately, the beverage had cooled down when it splashed on my attire. The boy only reached a few more meters before his worn out stick-like legs gave in, and he was overwhelmed by the mob. Cries of ‘Thief! Thief! Get him!’ rang out everywhere while the panic-stricken victim lay cringing on the floor gasping for breath. But before the mob could pounce on the poor child, I interfered.

       It was total instinct and I was a man possessed. Many of the obnoxious hooligans tried to thrash at the boy but I tried my best to fend them off. I noticed some of them brandishing short beating staffs, aching to get their perverted paws on this miserable child of misfortune.  A while ago when not a single individual even bothered to cast a shadow upon this destitute child were now united to bash his skull in for  merely attempting to feed and survive. I realized the boiling point of frustrations these people were under but taking it out on this boy was heinous .

       I stood guard over the boy while different maniacs tried to shout out their arguments, and attempted to pick on him. Just then  a surprising thing occurred. My brother accompanied by five of his friends, and the shopkeeper entered the fray. A soothing sense of relief encompassed my soul at that moment. As I stood vigilant, my brother convinced the shopkeeper to   forgive the boy, and just like that the spot which had moments ago turned into a melting pot of tumult, and public furor, now cooled down as everyone moved on to their own business. We returned the boy to his grandfather with a good supply of refreshments for both of them. The old man embraced the child and broke down into heartbroken agony. Relieved and exhausted, my brother and I left the place with nothing but memories of that outrageous night, and a souvenir  of coffee-stained attire to forever remind me of the unpredictable, inhumane, and animalistic urges, and antics of a so called civil society.

           I had almost reached the exit when I heard the thump of footsteps behind me. I turned around and there was the bread thief in his tattered clothes and weakened disposition. But something was different. A smile lit up his face. I offered him another piece of bread from the package that I was carrying. He took it and then hurried away as I watched on - stick-like legs making their way through the crowd and gradually vanishing, leaving behind crumbs on the floor. I finally left with a burning image to   forever remain as a significant fragment of my memory – the pale and gaunt visage of the bread thief.