Almost all students had left the premises and the college playground along with the corridors looked abandoned in the dusty heat of the May afternoon. It was the last working day of the semester which ushered in the summer holidays. The AKC memorial college of Arts in Alipurduar was a government institution and had a few good teachers which attracted students from townships close by and often a handful from Kolkata… ones who were really passionate about their choices and the love for their art was strong enough to overlook the daunting distance that separated this humble institution from their city abode. Everyone had left except for Shyam.

Shyam was a teacher with AKC. He taught post graduate English and was himself pursuing his Phd after college hours. Looking at him it was difficult to gauge his affluent family background as well as his rebellious nature in matters pertaining to the heart. Being the only son of the Railway Divisional Manager of Howrah, he had seen prestige and power teamed up with the handsome salary and perks that a railway high official enjoyed, in his growing up years. Shyam travelled with his family and set up temporary homes for few years at a stretch in different parts of India, while he saw his dad serving and growing with the Indian railways to his current prestigious rank. As an efficient Railway officer it was only natural for his dad to want Shyam to also crack any of the government service exams and settle himself on the secure pedestal of a high ranking government officer that commanded respect and an attractive salary to go with. Shyam did fulfill his father’s dreams as far as a government job was concerned but he did so in his own area of interest. The Arts. He believed the sole basis of his coming to this world was to learn, appreciate, practice and perform in this field. There were no options of a second way of life. He had a secret wish too. One day he wanted to create Art. A creation which would make him immortal in the hearts and minds of his fellow human beings. Something he would be remembered for when his days in this planet would have come to an end.
In spite of the differences he had with his father, there was this one thing Shyam had inherited from him in generous proportions. His love for trains. In this matter they were as alike as two peas in a pod. Shyam remembered how thrilled he felt at the prospect of a journey by train as it meant listening to amusing stories tied to the various wayside stations with equally obtrusive names. These were all told with élan by his dad and what an amazing storyteller he was. Shyam remembered listening in rapt attention to these stories which formed an intrinsic part of his childhood memories. These gave form and character to the beautiful yet obscure stations that lay along the width of these railway tracks, making for interesting interludes during a train journey.
As he grew up to be a young man, his love for the railways kept growing in leaps and bounds. Railway stations! Trains! Platforms! So full of stories they were. Teamed up with small, insignificant wayside stations in the fringes of the forests often manned by a man or two. A pallid, lanky linesman bent over with age raising the signal with his trembling hands. A shrill whistle cutting through the air and the soft drone of the wheels that lulled him to sleep soon after the train took off, roaring through the forest defying the darkness and silence around. Waking up very early to mist covered train windows which eventually got cleared off by the west winds banging across … giving the weary traveler the splendid and uplifting panorama of a township straddling the side of the mountains. This and the regular scuffle of daily passengers over seats in popular stations. The bits and pieces of sundry conversation that ensued soon after they boarded. These were flashes which came alive before Shyam’s eyes whenever he thought of trains and the strange mysticism associated with such journeys.

He travelled from Alipurduar to Kolkata to be with his family when the college closed down for the summer and winter months and came back a week before the classes resumed. More often than not, it was the overnight journey that he looked forward to rather than the vacation and family time that followed. The Alipurduar station was a beautiful sight to behold and Shyam often came here few hours before the train would arrive just to seep in the beauty all around. The fresh greenery was a treat to the eyes and the trembling of the rails while the steam engine huffed and puffed its way to the beautiful station was a majestic sight that Shyam never wanted to miss in last minute haste.
This summer he did not leave for Kolkata like the others and while he scoured through the empty college corridors he mulled over the series of events on one such journey back from Kolkata which made a prominent mark in his otherwise uneventful life. Something that occupied a special part of Shyam’s memory and often came alive unannounced during his waking hours.
It was a cold morning in early December and Shyam was returning from Kolkata. The train timings were unfavorable this time and he could not manage an overnight schedule. He had to be aboard for most of the day as the train would reach Alipurduar only very late in the night. Though he loved train journeys but the prospect of spending so many waking hours during the day troubled him slightly as it meant wasting a day’s time travelling. Nevertheless Shyam had chalked out his plans of spending the day in reading and correcting exam papers which he carried with himself in his portable backpack. It would be a slightly tedious day but nevertheless he had made his plans to keep himself busy. The train had just left the New Jalpaiguri junction station and was roaring down the tracks at full speed by now. The sceneries outside were relatively banal at the moment and it would not be worthwhile to rest his eyes beyond the window up until Gulma station, after which the landscape took a picturesque turn with more greenery. Shyam drew the blanket up till his chest, put on his reading glasses and bent over a bookmarked page of the bestseller he recently purchased from the A.H. wheeler at the Howrah station.
“Do you mind if I sit by this window for a while?” Shyam was so absorbed in his reading that he looked up with a startle. A lady in her twenties signaled towards the empty window seat opposite to Shyam’s berth which did not have any passenger yet. Shyam nodded in assent and she occupied a commodious spot right across Shyam and immediately shifted her focus outside the window. She looked at the changing landscape with great intent and amusement as if she was completely fascinated and lost track of anything else around herself. She had a pale skin, set off by shiny black hair, and deep dark eyes adorned by black rimmed glasses which went well with her square face. There was a cotton stole thrown gently across her shoulders and the soft sea blue fabric of her salwar kameez showed off from beneath the shawl. She had a medium built yet her constitution exuded an air of confidence and resolve.
Shyam was the first one to speak. “Where are you travelling to? The young woman did not seem to hear him at first. Shyam cleared his throat and introduced himself. “I am Shyam Banerjee, Department of English, AKC memorial college Alipurduar… She turned her eyes to look at him. She had beautiful big lashes Shyam noticed, that weighed down giving her large eyes a somewhat doleful yet dreamy appearance. As if she had just got up from her sleep.
“I also teach English, she smiled. Nalini is my name.” She said something else, however it was lost in the clanging of the bell and the hissing of the engine as the train gained speed crossing the Oodlabari station.
The sky looked overcast even though it was midday and the forest outside appeared lonelier than ever. The train reached Chalsa. Shyam asked Nalini if she knew the stories behind the weird names of these stations. Chapramari, Gorumara, Mangalabari were popular names associated with this place that lay in the foothills of the eastern Himalayas and each one boasted of an amusing story behind such curious names. By evening Nalini was all ears and Shyam was happily sharing his knowledge of the history of these wayside stations that he had gathered over the years.
Soon it was dark and the forest outside got gradually wrapped up in inky shrouds of silence. The train marched along with brief halts at Dalgaon, Mujnal and Madarihaat. Exhausted from all the talking Shyam was not aware when he had dozed off. As the carriage shuddered and jostled forward after crossing a certain obscure station at midnight, Shyam woke up with a start. The girl was no more in sight. She had probably got down at her destination and the last memory Shyam had was offering his book for her to look at the cover, hardly daring to touch her fingers.
Shyam strained his eyes outside the window as the platform slipped by. There was no one in sight. Shyam kept looking till the signal box came in the way and then the jungle hid the station. Shyam wished he could catch a last glimpse of her to get an idea of where she belonged. He looked at the vacant seat where she was seated a while back. She was perhaps passing her time sketching in a piece of paper while her tired co-passenger had given in to slumber. It was a rough sketch which featured a dense forest and few men of royal origin seated in the midst of it enjoying a day out in the open. Their horses were tied to the nearby trees and a table was laid with multiple food items and assorted drinks. It looked like a picnic and the kinsmen seemed to have a nice time. Shyam was delighted to see the fine quality and detailed sketch and marveled at her talent. He carried the paper with him to this day, however he never saw her anymore in any of his journeys he partook of after that memorable meeting.
This evening while Shyam mulled over the memory, he had laid out the paper in front of himself at his writing desk in the college staff room. Bipul, the boy who served tea was doing his last rounds to check if anyone was around and noticed Shyam pondering over the piece of paper. He came close and looked in. “Dada, where did you find this? It is a very old painting of the “Raja Bhat Khawa” station which is etched in the campus wall of the only college located in the interior most part of the small town. Shyam’s face lit up with new found wisdom. He took the last train from Alipurduar and reached Raja Bhat Khawa in the next half an hour. He paid extra to the only bullock cart that stood near the station gate and asked the owner to take him to Raja Bhat Khawa college.

Nalini too did not travel to her hometown this summer. She was waiting in all earnest for Shyam to seek her out.