"Come quickly! Some tribal folk are standing on the railway line in danger of being run down by the 9:40 AM Saraswati Express!" a voice screeched, panic-stricken, as soon as I stepped out of my flat and locked the front door. It was Clifton, the strange English and Hindi-speaking sparrow, who sometimes camped in the branches of a mango tree just outside my flat in Bhagini, a town near Shahdol, Madhya Pradesh.
"When asked about trains, their fool of a leader, Bhujbal, told them there's no such thing as science or engineering - and quite audaciously, no such thing as a railway train either! To prove his point, he's ordered them to stand on the tracks when the Saraswati Express passes through Shanta Nagar station and see for themselves what happens." Clifton continued, "He's told them trains are mere illusions created by magicians (those people the educated town folk call engineers!) He's taught them a chant to make any train vanish: something like, 'Shoor-hama, shoor-ita, hala-hur train bhasma.' He told them if they chanted it boldly in the face of an approaching train, it would simply vanish, thus debunking the enormous lie about trains created by the engineers (magicians). Of course, each man would also have to wear a sacred, elephant-hair-embedded steel bangle while performing the chant.
I was dressed for work, my office 8 kilometers away, and Clifton's interruption seriously annoyed me. "Go away, you stupid bird," I snapped. "This sounds like some cooked-up fairy tale. I don't have time for stories, now - I'm heading to the office, can't you see?"
"No, no, no, Pradeep sir! I'm telling the truth!" Clifton protested. "It's already 9:30, and if we don't hurry, we'll be too late - 14 lives are at stake. Please believe me!"
I cursed quietly, got into my car, and rolled the left window down. Clifton flew in and perched on the dashboard. "Let's go," he said.
To reach Shanta Nagar station, I had to take the main SCB road toward the Mica factory. At the second traffic light, I turned right. Then I drove a few blocks before entering a road going left marked by a signboard reading "Shanta Nagar Railway Station." After 350 meters, we arrived at the station's parking lot - a journey of less than 2 kilometers that took about 5 minutes. As I exited the car, Clifton flew to my shoulder and perched there.
"Quick!" he said. "Once we're inside, we'll split up. You warn the men, while I'll attack them. Pecking and flying at them would be a good warning sign, and that may make them get off the tracks. Meanwhile, you alert the Station Manager to call the railway police and the signaling team."
It was 9:35 AM when we entered the platform. Sure enough, 14 bare-chested men could be seen, standing on the railway line near one end. Clifton flew off my shoulder to carry out his mission. I cupped my hands and shouted thrice to the men, "Danger! Get off the tracks! A train is coming in less than 5 minutes from behind you!" I left the rest of the job to Clifton and sprinted into the Station Manager's office.
The manager looked up, irritated by my intrusion, and was about to say something. I thrust the open palm of my raised right hand in his face to stop him. "E-emergency, sir!" I said, panting a little. "Some tribal men, given to believe trains are illusions, are standing on the tracks... in the path of the incoming Saraswati Express, to test out whether it's really true. Their leader, an uneducated tribal man, has taught them they can make the illusion vanish using some magic words he taught them."
"Are you sure?" the Station Manager asked, rising suddenly from his chair, shocked. His face turned pale as he darted past me onto the platform. He looked in both directions to convince himself what I said was true. Just then, a bell sounded over the P.A. system, announcing the Saraswati Express' entry into the Station's outer limit. The station manager ran to his desk like a man possessed. He pushed some lighted buttons on the instrument panel behind his chair and waited till they were acknowledged. Then he went to the ancient rotary phone on his desk and dialed a number furiously. A few seconds later, he began talking with someone... maybe the railway police. With his free hand, he gestured a few times and then banged the instrument down onto its cradle.
The previously quiet, lazy-aired platform burst into action. Railway police officers dashed toward the men on the tracks. Over the P.A. system, the manager's voice boomed: "You tribal men, danger! Get off the railway line. NOW!"
As I exited the station manager's office, I saw one man bleeding in the chest - Clifton had pecked him hard. The sparrow was attacking another man, who swatted at him helplessly with his bare hands. Meanwhile, the train's siren wailed, but it stopped safely about 250 meters from the commotion, warned by a signal light that had turned red.
My job was done, so I decided to relax and calm myself. I bought myself a cup of coffee from the lone platform snack stall, and while slowly sipping it, observed the aftermath on the track. The police were handcuffing the men, slapping or beating those who resisted. As I left the station, I overheard the chief policeman shouting, "More than two centuries have passed since the invention of trains! Who doesn't know about them today? Your story is unacceptable and absurd. Admit this was a mass suicide attempt, quick! If you don't, I'll make you confess the truth after throwing you into the lockup."
Later, I learned the men explained their actions to the police, holding their leader, Bhujbal Maharaj, responsible. He was like a god to them and they believed him implicitly. Based on their confession, the police arrested Bhujbal Maharaj. They detained him in custody for a week. A court later sentenced him to prison for inciting manslaughter through misinformation. Bhujbal wasn't educated and consequently had no idea whatever about science or engineering. And just because he couldn't understand them, he rubbished them arrogantly!
The following Saturday evening, when I relaxed in my garden, seated in an easy chair, Clifton landed nearby. I was relieved - in fact, happy to see him! Relieved, because I hadn't seen him after the incident, and happy because of the excellent deed he had done.
"Hi, Clifton," I said. "You did a great deed, congrats!"
Clifton was the kind that didn't talk much. Almost philosophical. Although he annoyed me with his brash talk, and at times, his silly behavior, I knew he was a wise bird and respected him.
After a brief silence, Clifton spoke. "Pradeep sir, the truth is the truth, whether we believe it or not; whether we accept it or not. It's above us. It rules, shapes, and changes us but we cannot change it. Ignorance or arrogant rejection of life's truths is dangerous. For example, disbelieving eternal truths God has made known to all: whether you believe them or not, they remain true and anyone who disobeys, pays the price! Like disbelieving the existence of trains, seeing one approaching you on a railway track, ignoring it as an illusion... and getting run over as a result!"
Then he flew away briefly and returned with a nectar-containing sunflower, which he dropped into my lap - his way of showing friendship - and flew away!
"When asked about trains, their fool of a leader, Bhujbal, told them there's no such thing as science or engineering - and quite audaciously, no such thing as a railway train either! To prove his point, he's ordered them to stand on the tracks when the Saraswati Express passes through Shanta Nagar station and see for themselves what happens." Clifton continued, "He's told them trains are mere illusions created by magicians (those people the educated town folk call engineers!) He's taught them a chant to make any train vanish: something like, 'Shoor-hama, shoor-ita, hala-hur train bhasma.' He told them if they chanted it boldly in the face of an approaching train, it would simply vanish, thus debunking the enormous lie about trains created by the engineers (magicians). Of course, each man would also have to wear a sacred, elephant-hair-embedded steel bangle while performing the chant.
I was dressed for work, my office 8 kilometers away, and Clifton's interruption seriously annoyed me. "Go away, you stupid bird," I snapped. "This sounds like some cooked-up fairy tale. I don't have time for stories, now - I'm heading to the office, can't you see?"
"No, no, no, Pradeep sir! I'm telling the truth!" Clifton protested. "It's already 9:30, and if we don't hurry, we'll be too late - 14 lives are at stake. Please believe me!"
I cursed quietly, got into my car, and rolled the left window down. Clifton flew in and perched on the dashboard. "Let's go," he said.
To reach Shanta Nagar station, I had to take the main SCB road toward the Mica factory. At the second traffic light, I turned right. Then I drove a few blocks before entering a road going left marked by a signboard reading "Shanta Nagar Railway Station." After 350 meters, we arrived at the station's parking lot - a journey of less than 2 kilometers that took about 5 minutes. As I exited the car, Clifton flew to my shoulder and perched there.
"Quick!" he said. "Once we're inside, we'll split up. You warn the men, while I'll attack them. Pecking and flying at them would be a good warning sign, and that may make them get off the tracks. Meanwhile, you alert the Station Manager to call the railway police and the signaling team."
It was 9:35 AM when we entered the platform. Sure enough, 14 bare-chested men could be seen, standing on the railway line near one end. Clifton flew off my shoulder to carry out his mission. I cupped my hands and shouted thrice to the men, "Danger! Get off the tracks! A train is coming in less than 5 minutes from behind you!" I left the rest of the job to Clifton and sprinted into the Station Manager's office.
The manager looked up, irritated by my intrusion, and was about to say something. I thrust the open palm of my raised right hand in his face to stop him. "E-emergency, sir!" I said, panting a little. "Some tribal men, given to believe trains are illusions, are standing on the tracks... in the path of the incoming Saraswati Express, to test out whether it's really true. Their leader, an uneducated tribal man, has taught them they can make the illusion vanish using some magic words he taught them."
"Are you sure?" the Station Manager asked, rising suddenly from his chair, shocked. His face turned pale as he darted past me onto the platform. He looked in both directions to convince himself what I said was true. Just then, a bell sounded over the P.A. system, announcing the Saraswati Express' entry into the Station's outer limit. The station manager ran to his desk like a man possessed. He pushed some lighted buttons on the instrument panel behind his chair and waited till they were acknowledged. Then he went to the ancient rotary phone on his desk and dialed a number furiously. A few seconds later, he began talking with someone... maybe the railway police. With his free hand, he gestured a few times and then banged the instrument down onto its cradle.
The previously quiet, lazy-aired platform burst into action. Railway police officers dashed toward the men on the tracks. Over the P.A. system, the manager's voice boomed: "You tribal men, danger! Get off the railway line. NOW!"
As I exited the station manager's office, I saw one man bleeding in the chest - Clifton had pecked him hard. The sparrow was attacking another man, who swatted at him helplessly with his bare hands. Meanwhile, the train's siren wailed, but it stopped safely about 250 meters from the commotion, warned by a signal light that had turned red.
My job was done, so I decided to relax and calm myself. I bought myself a cup of coffee from the lone platform snack stall, and while slowly sipping it, observed the aftermath on the track. The police were handcuffing the men, slapping or beating those who resisted. As I left the station, I overheard the chief policeman shouting, "More than two centuries have passed since the invention of trains! Who doesn't know about them today? Your story is unacceptable and absurd. Admit this was a mass suicide attempt, quick! If you don't, I'll make you confess the truth after throwing you into the lockup."
Later, I learned the men explained their actions to the police, holding their leader, Bhujbal Maharaj, responsible. He was like a god to them and they believed him implicitly. Based on their confession, the police arrested Bhujbal Maharaj. They detained him in custody for a week. A court later sentenced him to prison for inciting manslaughter through misinformation. Bhujbal wasn't educated and consequently had no idea whatever about science or engineering. And just because he couldn't understand them, he rubbished them arrogantly!
The following Saturday evening, when I relaxed in my garden, seated in an easy chair, Clifton landed nearby. I was relieved - in fact, happy to see him! Relieved, because I hadn't seen him after the incident, and happy because of the excellent deed he had done.
"Hi, Clifton," I said. "You did a great deed, congrats!"
Clifton was the kind that didn't talk much. Almost philosophical. Although he annoyed me with his brash talk, and at times, his silly behavior, I knew he was a wise bird and respected him.
After a brief silence, Clifton spoke. "Pradeep sir, the truth is the truth, whether we believe it or not; whether we accept it or not. It's above us. It rules, shapes, and changes us but we cannot change it. Ignorance or arrogant rejection of life's truths is dangerous. For example, disbelieving eternal truths God has made known to all: whether you believe them or not, they remain true and anyone who disobeys, pays the price! Like disbelieving the existence of trains, seeing one approaching you on a railway track, ignoring it as an illusion... and getting run over as a result!"
Then he flew away briefly and returned with a nectar-containing sunflower, which he dropped into my lap - his way of showing friendship - and flew away!
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