She was overwhelmed by the oncoming traffic that just wouldn't stop. It had been a quiet road till sometime back, with very little traffic. Though close to a main junction, it was rarely used. She lived in a slum, right across the hospital on this road. She had joined the hospital a decade ago, when her son was just 2 years old. She had never dreamed of working, but a drunkard of a husband who cared little about feeding his wife and child compelled her to seek ways of keeping her child and herself alive. How long could she depend on kindly neighbours?
But, having been brought up in a village, she was hesitant--ignorant, in fact--of ways of the city. A metro such as this. Luckily, a woman next door worked in the hospital and casually mentioned a job opening. To sweep and mop the floors. She was shocked at the lowly job she would be expected to do, but a steady income was not to be frowned upon. She went with the woman and got the job.
In the 10 years, she had crossed the road every day and it was mostly a breeze. It was a quiet nook in an otherwise bustling city, with woods on either side and no houses.
Ever since the metro rail work on the main road, traffic had been diverted to this road and she dreaded the ever-flowing traffic of large and small vehicles. Once, one bike rider almost rode on her foot. Another time, a car turned fast into the lane just as she was about to cross! But the worst was when the bus knocked her down. It was a gentle nudge, really, but she almost came under the wheel!
Since then, she trembled as she stood waiting to cross. She would catch someone trying to cross from her side to the other and tag along with them to safety.
Today, there was no one in sight. But luckily, a young, chirpy boy came with two flags in hand -- green and red. She had not seen him here before. There were other road marshals assigned to that crossing and they helped her cross safely to the other side every time. But she was nonexistent for them -
Just a face among a million facesJust another woman with no name
Abba's lyrics would have been the right fit for the situation had she but known about it. She would know what they meant. Not just here, even in the hospital, even amongst patients who came often, she was invisible. Just the woman who swept and mopped. They wouldn't know her if she came with a cup of tea, or even a stethoscope, with the right dress on, of course! Not in the janitor uniform! Her uniform was her identity, not her face.
She felt her heart grow heavy when she noticed the new marshal wave the red flag. Even he was a nonentity for the drivers roaring past. They would know the flag, but not him. So when she had crossed, she turned back to look at his face. She was amused to see him bow to the paused vehicles and then wave the green flag with a flourish to let them go. As if thanking them for respecting him.
She couldn't get him out of her mind. She was glad to see him there the next evening - surprised that she remembered him. She wouldn't have recognized any of the other men holding the flags earlier. His cheerful demeanour and the bow before he flagged the waiting vehicles off endeared her to him. She started observing him for a few minutes before going on her way. He looked youthful but was older, she realised.
One day, she was returning from work and had some chocolates in hand. She was taking it for her son when she saw her favourite marshal waving the vehicles to stop with a flourish. She was about to cross but paused mid-stride. She held back. After he had bowed and shown the green flag, she went up to him and extended her hand with the chocolate in it.
"Here, have one," she said. He took one and saluted her with his inimitable smile. "How do you manage to remain smiling all the time?" she asked in Tamil. He blinked but continued to smile. "Don't know Tamil?" she asked slowly, shaking her head. He nodded. "Where from?" "Assam," he replied. She mimed his actions and clapped. "Nice," she said. He nodded and turned his attention to the traffic again.
She started stopping by every time she saw him there. In fact, now she even knew his timings. In their own broken way, they managed to communicate. He had a family back in Assam and farming lands and he worked here to supplement his income. She told him about her son and promised to bring him along one day. She brought him knick-knacks that she got at the hospital and he always made sure she had a safe crossing.
It was a friendship she cherished close to her heart. There was nothing to tell anyone, and yet, from morning till night, she thought of him. Meeting him was her brightest point of the day.
"Who is that man?" her husband growled at her one evening.
"Which man?" she tried to sound casual but her heart fluttered.
"Don't act, you are not good at it. I know you meet that man every day... That Hindi fellow who works at the signal..."
"I don't meet him, I see him. He is there and I cross that signal every day," she patiently corrected him though she knew he was right.
"Useless buggers. They don't have jobs in there own cities and have to come all the way to down South to find work... And then they betray us," he muttered angrily.
She paused for a moment before replying, "They come all the way here to work, and we go all the way to the nearest bar."
He pounced on her, grabbed her hair and flung her across the room. She slid against the wall crying as he stormed out shouting, "Becoming too smart, are we? Is that man putting words into your head?"
When he returned late at night, he was drunk and gloating. "Let me see what ideas he plants in your head now," he slurred.
Fear clutched her stomach. She wondered what he meant and wanted to rush to the signal to find out if the man was ok. But he slept in fits and starts, addressing her with incoherent words. Next morning, she couldn't hold herself any longer. She ran to the signal a little earlier the next morning and couldn't find him there. She asked the man who was manning the signal but he didn't know anything. It wasn't unusual, not finding her friend, but in the light of her husband's comments, she felt something wasn't right. Thoughtfully, she walked to the hospital and picked up her broom and mop.
She saw him lying in the general ward, bruised and bandaged. She ran up to him. "What happened?" she asked in Hindi. He opened his eyes and smiled at her painfully. He shrugged but that effort hurt him too. "One man, suddenly dragged me into the woods and beat me up."
She felt her anger rising but she looked at him calmly and said, "God will take care of him... Anyone with you?"
He shook his head. "I will take care of you," she said. Not only because he needed help, but she was duty-bound now, she owed it to him.
That evening, she lit the lamp in front of the deity and prayed, "Not for me, but for that innocent man, I beseech you... Don't let me down." When her son returned from school, she told him, "I am going to go to the temple festival. I want you to come with me." He made a face, but seeing her stern expression, he agreed. She dressed carefully after making dinner and serving her son and herself. She kept food aside for her husband. She told all her neighbours her plan to go to the temple. One or two ladies wanted to come along too and she welcomed them warmly.
She came back in and waited. Her husband came drunk as usual. He flopped on the floor, the mattress she had spread as usual for him. She and her son stepped out. She told him to wait and went back in. "I have kept your food in that vessel there," she said and gently pushed the lamp close to the mattress. She watched the flickering flame and prayed, "Amba, it is up to you now."
When she returned the next morning, her son pointed out the crowd in front of her house. One woman came running. "Your husband! Oh poor man! God is merciful. He must not have known. We didn't even hear him scream, just saw the smoke. But by then... it was too late."
Her eyes welled over and tears flowed down her cheeks. "God is merciful," she whispered and let out a wail before running inside.
