A piece of paper

Nisarg was in no hurry, as he waited for the next bus to arrive. He had been waiting at the bus stop since 7.30 pm and it had been almost an hour long wait. He had to let one bus go by as it was full up to the hilt and he did not want to cover the one hour distance to his destination standing on one foot. He preferred to wait for the next vehicle to arrive. He was obviously in no hurry as he lived alone. He thought of his better days, just a few weeks ago. He had a stable job and also a stable girlfriend. But now both were lost – one because of the other!

Nisarg looked around and noted that the place was less crowded and he could only see about four to five people walking by. On the Bus Stop, except for an old lady, he was alone – may be because eight o’clock in the evening was considered ‘late’ for this tier II city – and more so for the industrial locality where he stood. Most of the smaller industrial units had closed for the day and a friend had told him that more than ninety percent of the staff and workers in this industrial area were back home by 7.30pm. ‘The privileges of a small city!’ his friend had explained.

Nisarg’s eyes searched for signs of a bus but it had failed in this attempt yet again. However this time while he looked ahead for the bus, he saw an old man walking towards the bus stop. By the looks of the person, the old man did not look the type who would travel by the local bus – rather he looked like an owner of one of the factories. His steps were slow and he seemed a little fatigued. The old man took support of a walking stick which too appeared elegant. Nisarg could sense that now it was nearing 8.30pm and the area was almost vacated, with no other soul in sight.

To Nisarg’s surprise the old man slowed to a halt and stood beside him at the bus stop. ‘Well, even people wearing such expensive suit and watch travelled by bus?’ he wondered. The passengers stood in silence for a few moments after which the old man was the first one to speak “Do you think we shall get a bus at this hour?”

Nisarg startled, but then settling himself replied “Yes I think the 8.30 bus should be here anytime. It seems to be late today. The earlier bus too came almost twenty minutes late, so I could not get in”

Nisarg himself wondered why he was replying so much in detail, when a simple yes or no would have sufficed. Maybe he stood there long enough to want to talk to someone. The old man nodded and after sometime again enquired “Do you work here?”

“No Sir. I am unemployed at present and had come for an interview here at ‘Nice Fabricators’; How about you, Sir?”

The old man smiled and replied “I own three factories here” then after a pause he continued “I usually go back home by the 4 o’clock bus, when it is almost empty. But today somehow I got late. You see I started my career in this locality and have since not stopped travelling by bus”

“Oh that’s really different thinking, Sir” replied a surprised Nisarg.

“Yes it is. And for that matter, people do say many times that I am quite different from the world. Tell me something about yourself”

Nisarg cleared his throat and answered “My name is Nisarg Patel. I have done masters in commerce and was working as an accountant with KF industries till last month. But as you may have heard, they had to close down due to the ongoing recession.”

“Hmm I see” The old man unlike his earlier replies, did not lengthen it.

Nisarg could notice that since the time the old man came to bus stop, he was frequently rubbing the upper part of his stomach. May be the old man had some oily or spicy food, thought Nisarg. And to think of it, he had not had one full meal since the previous day! However, Nisarg could now observe that the old man was sweating a little and he could sense that he was not comfortable.

“Are you feeling fine Sir?”

“What? Oh yes, I …I am fine”

The answer failed to convince Nisarg. His mind recollected the symptoms of the old man. Nisarg’s father too had similar symptoms – just before he had the fatal heart attack! Oh no, thought Nisarg, I hope this old man was not having an attack. He searched his hand bag for a bottle of water but could not find one.

“Sir would you like to sit down?”

“well….. I … think …. yes” said the old man who was now definitely not feeling comfortable.

Nisarg helped the old man sit on a large stone near the bus stop. “Sir let me fetch some water for you. And let me see if I can get a taxi …” Just then a taxi passed him by , without stopping. Nisarg looked around for signs of some other vehicle, but none was in sight.

He looked back to the old man and said’ Sir please wait here, I will get a bottle of water for you’ He gently pressed the old man’s hand suggestive of an assurance. The old man was breathing heavier than usual. Nisarg ran in the direction from where the bus usually arrives. On his way to this locality, he remembered to have seen a small grocery shop. With some difficulty , he managed to find it just as it was about to shut shop for the day.

“Hey bhaiyaji! Wait ! I want a bottle of water!” he yelled as he reached the shop.

Mumbling under his breath, the shopkeeper gave him what was demanded. As Nisarg paid him, he asked the shopkeeper “there is an old man in the next street, near the bus stop. I think he is having a heart attack, can you help me get him to the hos….” Before he could complete the statement, the shopkeeper interrupted “No bhaisaab, I am getting late and also in this types of cases, there is police inquiry and all … so please excuse me”

Without wasting any further time, Nisarg ran back to the old man who was now breathing heavily. Nisarg bent down and fetched him some water, half of which actually fell on the old man’s shirt. Nisarg’s tension was increasing now but he gathered his strength and said” Sir, I asked for the shopkeepers help but he won’t oblige. But you don’t worry Sir, I will find a way to get a taxi . Please be …..”

“No” the old man shouted. “beta, do you have a blank paper? Quick, hand me one”

Nisarg was taken aback by this strange request and he fumbled in his hand bag for a piece of paper. He got hold of the small writing pad he carried to note down phone numbers of friends and acquaintances . He took it out and asked “Sir, will this do? It is somewhat small …but…”

“Yes it will do … “said the old man and almost snatched the pad from him. He took out the silver colour ‘louis charron’ pen from his pocket and started scribbling in a blank page in the pad.

It struck Nisarg that the old man was writing down his phone number or address so that his family can be contacted. However observing from where he was standing, he could not understand one word of what the old man was writing. May be his hands were shivering.

The old man finished writing, taking unusually longer time to write an address, thought Nisarg. But when he was the paper he was startled. He could not understand any of the hand writing nor could understand the language! Holy Sh*t, thought Nisarg, how was he to contact the old man’s relatives with this note? He looked at the old man, who was now feeling worse.

Nisarg took out his mobile and dialled the only number which came to his mind – Police control room number ‘100’. He hoped that the police control room would not have a long conversation – his mobile balance was just four rupees!

“Hello , police control room. Sir I am Nisarg and am calling from the Bhagwati Industrial Area, bus stop number four. Actually I have beside me an old man who may be suffering from a heart attack and I did not have the contact number of any hospital, so I am calling you. Please help and arrange for an ambulance fast. I think his condition is getting worse…”

“Ok, you stay there with the old man I am sending a team and also the ambulance. You may be required to give a statement, if anything goes wrong” the telephone clicked off from the other side. Nisarg missed a heart beat himself. Oh no, if this person dies, a police enquiry is sure to take place.

He then turned to the old man and knelt before him “Sir , are you fine ? Can I do something for you?”

“Y..e..s.. please give this …. piece of …paper… to my sons…. bunglow number..3.. Ajanta greens..”

He could not complete his statement. The old man was dead!

Nisarg stood there in horror. He did not know what to do … Should he go away ?… No that would be cruel… and in any case the police control room now had his mobile number… will they think that he had killed the old man… but no, he was only helping ….

As these thoughts galloped recklessly in his mind, he heard the siren of an ambulance. Just as the ambulance arrived, a police vehicle – a Toyota qualis – halted near the bus stop.

Nisarg rushed to the police vehicle and said “Sir I had called “ and then pointing to the old man said  “ This is the man … I think … he is …dead”

The police inspector examined the old man and nodded. Then he signalled the ambulance to take away the body.

The old man, rather his mortal remains, was kept in the ambulance and taken away. After learning that Nisarg was not a relative, the ambulance driver had told him that he should inform the man’s relatives that the ambulance was from City General hospital.

“Did the old man say where he lived?” the inspector asked

“Yes.. he had said Ajanta Greens , bunglow number 3.. And he gave me this piece of paper and said I should give it to his sons at his bungalow” Nisarg replied.

The inspector took the piece of paper and frowned. Even he could not understand what was written.

“Ok.. we will arrange to give it. You must give me your name and contact number . We may call you if there is a need. You may have to give a statement” Nisarg did as he was told and he imagined that the inspector was still looking at him suspiciously.

Without any further event, the police vehicle returned.

Nisarg was jolted from his bed early on Sunday morning as his mobile phone rang. He got up and looked at the time – nine oclock . Not exactly early , even for a Sunday, he thought. He picked up his phone and glanced at the number. No, it was not from any of his friends nor from Mr Kalra , the money lender.

He answered the call anyway “Hello”

“Hello , is this Mr Nisarg Patel?”

“Yes, speaking …” Nisarg got excited. Was it in response to one of his interview? But it could not be. It was a Sunday and no company called on a holiday!

“Well Mr Nisarg my name is Arunkumar Jain. I think you are the same person who had helped my father Jugalkishore Jain at the bus stop when he suffered the heart attack. Isn’t it?”

“y..e..s..” Once again Nisarg’s mind raced with dreadful thoughts. Was he being blamed for the death of a fellow passenger whom he did not even know? Did the police build up a case against him? How could they ?

His thoughts were interrupted by Arunkumar’s voice “The police inspector gave me your contact number. We, i mean me and my family, want to meet you. Can you come down today at our bungalow at 10.30am?” the caller waited for a response, which was not forthcoming from the other end, “I hope it is convenient?”

Nisarg composed himself and said “Yes… of course. But look here Mr Arun kumar, I was only just trying to help your father… I do not know how he died..”

“Oh that is quite ok. He was a heart patient form more than ten years now. Please do come at 10.30, we shall wait for you” and he put the receiver down.

Nisarg was perspiring. He envisioned himself being hand cuffed and put in prison and worst of all being beaten by the police… but the better part of him controlled these emotions and rationalised. How is the world could you be held responsible for his death. He was after all a heart patient. Go and meet his family – his mind forced him.

Nisarg was at the indicated bungalow at the indicated time. He was sitting on a cushy sofa set placed inside a large drawing room. Nisarg imagined that the drawing room was in fact bigger than his entire flat twice over.

A servant brought in a tray with two glasses of water. Nisarg picked up one and gulped. His nervousness settled to some extent.

“Saheb will meet you in a couple of minutes. Sir, will you have Tea or Coffee or a cold drink?” enquired the servant.

“Huh.. No . Nothing at all . Thank you” Nisarg noticed he was wiping his forehead.

In a couple of minutes, ArunKumar Jain arrived in the drawing room along with other three people.

“Hello Mr Nisarg. I am ArunKumar , this is my wife Rohini, and my brothers SanjayKumar and Jaykumar.” The four sat down and Arunkumar continued “We are waiting for our lawyer to arrive. He will be here any minute…”

“But Sir I told you on the phone, I have not done anything wrong. In fact I tried to help you father as much as I could. I …” said a nervous Nisarg

ArunKumar laughed “Oh  no, my young man. Don’t be afraid. We are only awaiting our family lawyer who insisted that you come to this house. We are really grateful that in our father’s last few minutes of life , there was someone to take care of him and help him. You have done a good job”

Now Nisarg seemed to feel a bit more relaxed. Just then the family lawyer Mr Brijmohan Marwadi arrived and after the introductions started pulling out some papers from his file. Nisarg was surprised to notice the small piece of paper from his own pad on which the old man had scribbled.

“Well, gentlemen and my dear lady, as I have briefed all of you, Mr Jugalkishore’s attachment to his registered will – this small piece of paper – can surely be considered as valid as he had written it in sound mind without any coercion. And as instructed in this piece of paper, over and above what has been mentioned in his last will dated 17^th of last month, a sum of Rs five lacs is to be given to the young man named Nisarg Patel, who helped Mr Jugalkishore during his last few moments. Moreover; if found suitable and qualified; the young may be offered employment in one of the factories or business interests. And as clearly written in the piece of paper, this instruction shall be binding on all members of the family” then looking around “I assume no family member has any objection to this”

None of the family members had any objection. The lawyer then turned towards the astonished Nisarg Patel and handed him a brown envelop “this contains the cheque of Rs five lacs in your name”

As Nisarg took it in his hands, still staring blankly at the lawyer, Arun Kumar offered “And Mr Patel, you may please come for an interview at Megh Industries tomorrow and if you are found suitable, we shall offer you an employment. Our father’s last wish is sacred for us”

Nisarg could not believe whether this was all a dream or the actual reality. His eyes had numbed, probably for the first time after his father’s death, and he thanked his benefactors with folded hands!

–          X      –

 The Author CA Rajiv D Khatlawala is a Chartered Accountant and Cost Accountant with 23 years plus experience in finance. He is also a Published Author of ‘How to Profit from Technical Analysis’ (Vision Books). He loves writing short stories and has a collection of more than 16 unpublished short stories. The above story is out of this collection.