"Dada, who'll go? Please, tell me, who'll go toward St. Vincent's?"

Somewhere around the intersection of the 80s and the 90s, I was at the Auto Stand in front of the small, insignificant railway station in a not-so-significant town of Bengal. I was frantically addressing the auto-rickshaw drivers as brothers in the local term, pathetically imploring them to take me home near the well-known convent school. The time, by my watch, was 11 p.m. quite late for a girl, just crossed her teens, to travel and that too all alone. My parents were completely in the dark about my arrival due to the last-minute change in my plan to visit home rather than my earlier plan to visit one of my friends. To make the situation precarious, the train by which I had been traveling got unforgivingly delayed as its engine broke down midway, making me pitiably unattended at the railway station at such a late hour. I was alarmed because, in those days, the internet and mobile phones were foreign concepts, and text messaging, WhatsApping, and online bookings were subjects of science fiction and were not even near the periphery of ordinary people's wildest dreams. So, my panic which might seem an exaggerated reaction, actually wasn't by any means. Anyways, with so many unthinkable old-world hindrances, I, a sophomore at our dear old University in the Capital, was returning home from the hostel on 'Krishnadwadoshi' to celebrate Diwali. The night was unusually darker and still than it should be. The late October chill was in its nascent stage to knell approximately two more fortnights for the winter to settle in full swing as per the standard weather pattern of the place.

"Dada, please, say if anyone's going to??" I was desperately peeping inside every passing auto rickshaw on shared services andchecking if anyone could accommodate me. I was pleading haplessly with almost everyone around, but in vain. There seemed to be no passengers left to head towards the age-old boy's school, a reminiscence of our colonial past and a widely known location, a stone-throwing distance away from my home. So, no shared auto was willing to take me in that direction.

Utterly nervous and worried, I kept praying to the Divinity to work out some miracle to send me the much-needed assistance from any quarter possible. The population in the vicinity of the railway station was gradually thinning with the decrease in the number of arrivals of trains at this hour. It was 'Krishnadwadoshi', three nights before the much-awaited No-Moon night, when the entire country celebrates Diwali and Bengalis worship 'Maa Kali,' the goddess of power to destroy all evils with her dark fiery, scary looks. The night is particularly frightening because of the age-old belief of its being the ideal time for black magic and supernatural happenings. Our sensibilities had already shaped as we heard stories of unnatural incidents taking place around this time from our grandmas and other elderly ladies of the household, since childhood.

Panic was gradually gripping me. With my bag in hand, I started to walk, hoping against hope to get one of the stray autos that sometimes were available a few yards outside the Station, charging a few bucks more than the actual fare. The place was out of reach for the high lights of the railway station. All the roadside shops were closed, the vendors were all gone, and only patches of dim light of lanterns from some of the shacks fell crisscross on the road. I stood alone on the deserted road and could feel the palpitating heart within. Some light from the streetlamp a distance away managed to reach the road down, escaping the cover of the foliage of the giant banyan tree. The latter stood close to the lamp post like a sepoy, which I had been seeing every time I came to the railway station since I was a child. I presumed standing beneath the street light would make me visible to the stray rickshaw wallas, and they might come forward to help me out. But no, there was no sign of any conveyance even after waiting under the street light for a considerable duration.

I was extremely restless. My instinct was goading me to walk toward G.T. Road, considered the lifeline due to its proximity to the main bus depot, taxi stand, and the important facilities of the town. But the place beyond the half-lit area under the tree where I had been standing was unusually pitch-dark. It seemed as if someone had splashed tar over that area. I wondered why not a single street lamp was working in the entire stretch ahead and cursed the inefficiency of the municipality. I literally couldn't make out anything that stood there. Besides, it seemed weird that neither a single soul was passing the road whom I could ask for help nor a vehicle running down to spread some light for me to see what lay ahead. The ambiance was uncannily silent and still. Due to some strange reason, the leaves of the almost invisible bushes and trees around turned static, and the crickets turned mute. The thin slice of the 'Krishnadwadoshi' moon in the sky failed miserably in sending luminance through the thick column of darkness. In such a creepy situation, the thought itself of crossing the dark stretch ahead sent chills down my spine. My sensory organs seemed to be numb.Petrified to the core, I stepped into the zone of darkness with shaking legs and Goddess Kali's name on my lips. I stumbled twice upon some scattered boulders on the road but somehow managed to save myself from falling. Somewhere in the darkness in a nearby building, the clock struck twelve, and a train whistled out of the station, startling my entire being. To stir up the fear within further, a dog started howling somewhere, multiplying my trepidation. Amidst darkness, the rows of bushes in-between the lines of trees on both sides of the road appeared silhouetted figures relishing my ordeal. Hurriedly, I kept stepping ahead as if blindfolded, following only my instincts to stay on the tarred road. I was frantic to reach the main road, but the zone of hair-raising darkness seemed endless. Carrying the bag for a long time made my shoulders and hands ache. From time-to-time I was shifting it from one hand to the other, trying to give relief to the aching one while walking. Even in the October chill I felt sweat dripping down my forehead. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps on dry leaves started accompanying me. I looked back, but found none. It was as if some invisible entity was stalking me. I started to walk faster. Anyhow, anyhow, I must reach the G.T Road as fast as possible. A deep breath fell over my shoulders from my back and it turned me mad. I tried to run but something strange made my legs heavy and stick to the ground, making my blood curdle. O Lord, what to do now? I was about to faint.

"Wanna go home? Get in."

The voice seemed very familiar. "Is it you Dhullu da?" I almost cried out. It was the sudden outburst of unimaginable relief from the unnervinghelpless fright on realizing a known person at hand. A ray of hope flashed across my head that had already been flummoxed with intense fear as I somehow figured out the shape of an auto in the minimal light granted by the dark, stingy firmament above. From inside it the voice came.

Dhullu da, a master in multitasking, was the Man Friday of my parents. His day started with dropping passengers from our neighborhood in his auto at the station to catch trains at dawn, and it continued till late in the night whenever he was free from other activities. An amiable and kind-hearted soul, he would never say 'no' in rendering help to anyone at any hour of the day. Without thinking twice, I just ran toward the auto, but a dog came rushing from nowhere, barking fiercely, as dogs do seeing strangers. Saving myself from its fearful teeth, I jumped into the auto, and Dhullu da started his vehicle. The dog chased the auto to a certain distance but stopped as it could not keep up with the three-wheeler's pace for long.

"Oh, Dhullu da, you are an angel. How you saved me, you don't know." I said in a voice filled with immense gratitude while settling myself inside the auto, heaving a sigh of relief. "My parents don't know anything about my arrival. I wanted to surprise them, but the train got delayed awfully, and all my plans got spoilt. Thank god you noticed me, otherwise?." Having finally found my confidence back with regaining the hope of reaching home safely, I returned to my usual chatty self, but Dhullu da said nothing.

Even in his short stature, Dhullu da was never straight. Whether it was due to his posture that he had developed a slight hump at his back orthe small hump that had made him bend a little was a subject of hilarious discussions among us when we were children. Wrapped around a shawl, he sat on the driver's seat in his natural bent posture like a bundle. Our auto darted through the boulevard that appeared like a dark tunnel under the canopy of leaves of trees on both sides. I noticed the lights of the auto were not working.

"The lights of your auto are not working, Dhullu da. I wonder how you could manage to drive through the darkness. "

Amidst the splattering of the auto, I could hear with much difficulty that he was saying,

"The lights are gone. Don't worry, I know the road like the palm of my hand." I felt he raised his right hand a little from under the shawl.

"Why are you covering yourself with a shawl, it's not that cold yet?" I was a bit surprised on finding his head too covered with his shawl.

"Just up from fever," said he in a faint voice.

The din of a running auto was too much to bear. I was irritated. I wondered why Dhullu da was driving through all the dark, narrow alleys instead of the wide roads with street lamps. However, I decided to keep quiet and let him drop me home anyway. The help from such an unexpected corner after a spell of stifling panic was so relieving that I dosed off. When the auto stopped, I was startled up from sleep to find the gate of my sweet home in front of me. I leaped out of the auto rickshaw and told Dhullu da to collect his fare the next day to which he nodded his covered head in affirmation without turning toward me and drove sputtering away. I rang the doorbell,and my parents were shocked to see me at such an odd hour.

"But Dhullu da came as an angel, you know? He saved me at the right time. He was probably waiting for someone else but brought me home instead. Tomorrow, he will come to take his fare." I was about to continue with the tale of my ordeal, but Ma asked me to change and have something as it was already very late. However, I preferred to lie down because my eyes were already too heavy with sleep to do anything else.

I didn't know how long I slept, because when I opened my eyes, I found myself surrounded by quite a few anxious, curious eyes and murmuring voices. I sat up, startled.

O God, how I was sitting on the ground in front of the high iron gate of our house! It was early morning, and few morning walkers noticed me lying senseless there. Soon, my parents came rushing and helped me enter home.

On finding me there in that condition, my parents were gob smacked and knew not how to react.

"For god's sake, Bonnie, tell us how, on earth, did you land up here? Are you all right?"

Baba almost shouted in fear and anxiety, frantic to know if everything was okay with her daughter, while Ma brought me close to her and kept running her hand down the back of my head and shoulders with a highly concerned look.

"But I told you last night, Dhullu da brought me home in his auto. Today he'll come to collect his fare. Don't tell me now that you didn't open the door for me yesterday." I was about to grumble even more but stopped seeing the expression on their face.

Their faces turned pale, and their eyes expressed utter disbelief.

"Who?..we? We didn't open thedoor and how the hell could Dhullu drive you home?" aghast, Ma shouted.

Completely taken aback, I retorted, "Why? Isn't he driving an auto these days?"

"But how on earth could Dhullu?.? You must be joking. He passed away exactly a month back, three nights before last month's no-moon night. It was simple fever that took away such a kind soul from us," with a deep sigh Baba said, without concealing his flabbergast.

Utterly shaken, I flumped down on the divan and shook my head in complete disbelief.

Who brought me to the gate of my home then, and who even opened the door of my house either, in the forms of my parents and interacted with me the previous night on 'Krishnadwadoshi'? There was no answer.

Many years have passed since then. But, even now, sometimes in the uncanny night of 'Krishnadwadoshi', when the leaves of the trees turn static, the crickets turn mute, and the road is engulfed with impenetrable darkness, a silhouetted image of an auto rickshaw can still be noticed. It waits at the dark secluded corner of the road near that railway station and from inside a haunting voice approaches helpless, stranded travelers,

"Wanna go home? Get in."