Wanted
The cold evening wind stung Bhulu’s hardened face like a thousand needles. His taut skin stretched and felt crater-like. He straightened his muffler and scanned the station.
People were hurriedly leaving in the last few carriages and the little stall that had “Babu’s chai” scrawled on it was shuttered and locked.
It was 12.00 AM. Bhulu walked up briskly to the last waiting carriage.
“Dada, will this go to Babaighat?”
The carriage driver looked perplexed. “At this time?” he replied. “Nobody will cross the bridge at this time dada.”
“Why?” Bhulu asked.
“That bridge is haunted dada. Just last week, my neighbor’s son was crossing the bridge at midnight. He was found dead in the morning . Many people have lost their lives crossing it at night. The village usually avoids that area at this time. You should too dada.”
“What rubbish!,” Bhulu exclaimed. “If this is about the fare, take me there. I will pay you extra.”
“Na dada, na. I cannot. I can take you anywhere else.”
Bhulu was surprised at the driver’s hesitance. Such a village idiot, he thought.
Bhulu had to reach Babaighat for an early morning inspection and had to get there by 4.00 AM and get his papers ready. Village life started early.
“How far is it from here?,” Bhulu inquired. “About 17 kms by the Rajang route,” the driver said.
“No short cut?”
“5 kms by the bridge.”
“Take me there by the bridge. I will pay you double the fare,” Bhulu insisted.
“Sorry dada, I cannot. I also have to go home, which is in the opposite direction. I know a good hotel nearby. Why don’t you lodge there tonight and get to Babaighat in the morning?”
Bhulu was new to the area. He didn’t know the way.
“Why don’t you drop me off near the bridge? You said it’s just 5 kms by the bridge?”
The driver looked alarmed.
“Na dada na! Don’t go there at this time.The bridge is near the forest and there are tigers too.”
The driver looked awfully afraid. Bhulu had to do something.
Bhulu hopped in quickly and closed the door. He just needed to get there as soon as he could.
There was a weird poster on the back of the door.
“Arey! Dada! I am not going to take you there please!,” the driver said from his seat.
“Just drop me off a kilometer away from the bridge. I’ll pay you double. Now let’s get going,” Bhulu insisted.
The driver mumbled under his breath and giddied up the horse. Slowly, they started towards Babaighat bridge.
On the way, Bhulu kept thinking of what the driver said. Was there really a ghost that haunted the bridge? He was never a believer but the driver’s fear made him uncomfortable.
“We’ll see what happens,” Bhulu assured himself.
The carriage halted.
“O dada, you will have to get off here,” Bhulu heard the driver say.
He opened the door to get down. It was cold and poorly lit. It also went awfully quiet all of a sudden. “Dada!” Bhulu called out.
Nothing.
Bhulu walked to the front of the carriage. No driver. No horse.
Somebody whispered, “O dada,” from behind and in a second, slit his throat.
Bhulu lay there slowly bleeding to death while the driver watched with a maniacal smile. He licked off the blood from the blade.
…
The poster on the back of the carriage door said:
“WANTED! Bhishu Sen for murder”
