The Shortcut

I was alone in my car, the air-con at full blast to counter the mid-day heat, returning home from a social function. While we were clustered round empty dessert bowls, one of my bank colleagues at the wedding reception had mentioned a shortcut that would knock fifteen minutes of my travel time. The road, he said, was off the beaten track and because of that, there would be hardly any traffic to worry about. The thought of getting home early appealed to me, and I took the designated turn-off. It appeared that the friend’s assessment had been quite accurate: as I cruised at about 70, I saw there was not a single vehicle moving in either direction.

The road plunged between two rolling hills, and I felt my world turn green. My mobile phone was on the adjacent seat, and reaching, I picked it up. A quick glance confirmed my suspicion that there would be no signal, no doubt because of these surrounding hills. In my line of work, I hate being out of touch, even for a short while.

Five minutes on and I was still in the valley. I grabbed my cell to see if the signal was back and from the corner of my eye registered movement where none should have been there.

A farmer and his buffalo on the road, and they were crossing the damn road. By the looks of things, they clearly hadn’t been expecting any vehicle on the road, and certainly not me, exploding round the shoulder of the hill like a bat out of hell.

I hit my brakes like they had never been hit before and felt the whole machine shudder in protest, actually slewing sideways, the locked wheels making a terrible sound as they tried to grip the asphalt of the road surface.

The car had not yet stopped when I saw the beast react. Head tossing, eyes flared in panic, it jerked towards the farmer. The man could not get out of the way quickly enough and I winced as I sensed the force of the impact. The man was flung off the road and off the edge.

Suddenly I was still. The rush of blood in my ears drowned out even the harsh rush of air from the air-con. I killed the engine and stepped out, aware my legs were shaking. I looked about. The animal had disappeared. Behind, I could see the dark skid marks and shook my head in wonder that the car had not overturned.

I walked to the overhanging and peered down. The farmer had rolled a distance of maybe ten feet, and he was clutching his ankle. I shut my eyes tight with a silent curse and shook my head again as if that would dispel it all and project me back to my normal, sane world.

Looking at him, I considered my options. My cell was still out of range and there was no traffic, not even a ghost of a vehicle. The man was in no position to move on his own, which left me with only one choice: to take him in my car to the nearest medical facility.

Studying the terrain, I detected a path. I was by his side in minutes. His ankle looked swollen and I shuddered as I thought of what might have happened to the bone beneath the skin.

In Hindi, I explained I wanted to shift him to a doctor in my car but he shook his head. He could not go anywhere, he said. His wife was alone at home and he had to get there. Could I help him?

I’m no saint: my spirits lifted at his words. I had experienced a vision of myself, seated at the hospital, being grilled by a tough cop perhaps, while he was being fixed up. But if the farmer simply wanted to be reached to his home then I was a happy soul.

I found him a stout stick. He stood with my aid, and propped himself against the stick. I took his free elbow and together we moved away from the road and into the woods.

Overhead, the sun winged its sedate way across the sky, beating down fiercely on us mortals. Our passage was piteously slow and I felt my silk shirt become drenched with sweat. Glancing at my watch I saw we had been walking for over twelve minutes. I tried to memorize the turns we took, aware that I would be returning on my own.

We must have walked over a full kilometer to get to where he stayed, struggling against the elements, cowering under the raging sun and pushing through thick vegetation. When he broke through a bush and broke into a clearing I was weary and ready to drop.

There were a few animals wandering about a yard carpeted with dried dung. The house was a hut capped with coconut fronds. And then a woman stepped out of the hut.

She could not have been more than twenty years old and I realized then why the farmer had chosen not to leave her out here alone: she was pregnant and it looked like she was in an advanced stage.

Her face fell when she saw her husband’s state and she hurried to take his arm. I was ignored completely as they shuffled to a steel cot outside the hut. He lowered his frame onto it and sat. I saw then that he too was a young man. Maybe even my age, I thought, discomfited. She went to fetch hot water to bathe his ankle.

His eyes fell on me. Startled, I went forward. I thought he was going to rebuke me, to yell at me about the accident, but instead he gestured to the cot. He was telling me to rest myself. He uttered some words and his wife brought me a steel mug. The water was cold and I gulped it down gratefully.

The walk across the countryside had drained me. I had noticed a brook as we came in. Was that where the water was from? As far as I could see, the hut had no feeder lines, power or phone. There was a lantern on the ground, near some metal cooking utensils.

I’m no saint, but as I sat there watching the wife bathe his ankle, I felt a right wretch. How could I just walk away from here leaving this couple to fend for themselves in their condition? The nearest chemist or doctor was miles away, surely. I knew I had to offer my services to them.

But again, the farmer shook his head. He told me he would be fine soon. He had fallen many times, twisting ankles and worse, and he had survived it all. Perhaps he was a fast healer. Maybe it was wife’s skills and her knowledge of local remedies. He said I should not worry. I asked about the beast and he chuckled and told me to go to the back of the hut. I did, and felt a prickle of relief when I saw a bull. I presume it was the same dumb animal that had caused all this trouble. I was glad it had found its way home.

All the same I felt I had to do something to assuage the guilt I was feeling. I took out my wallet and left some cash on the cot and walked away. I heard the man protest but made no move to stop. His voice faded as I went deeper into the bush.

It took me fifteen minutes to find my way back to my car and then I realized something that sent shock-waves down my spine. I had lost my car keys.

I tried to think back. I recall locking the door before taking the path down to the fallen farmer, and I had put the keys into my trousers pocket. Could they have fallen? And then I realized what must have happened: when removing my wallet at the hut, I must have inadvertently dropped the keys. I cursed out loud. How could my day get any worse?

Now what? The obvious thing was to go back to the hut and get the keys. But what if they weren’t there? Instead, what if I walked on, to find a phone or a house, to summon a taxi to take me to the nearest lodge? I could return in the morning for the keys and the car. But how far would that be? It was already turning dark and I could feel the chill in the air. Despite that I could see no lights anywhere. There was just one streetlight a good distance away. There wasn’t even any traffic. I couldn’t even try to hitch a lift.

I waited for thirty minutes but not a single vehicle came by. I cursed again, volubly. What kind of backwater had a driven myself into? No traffic, no lights to indicate houses nearby… standing there on the road, I knew I would have to go back into the trees and undergrowth, back to the farmer’s hut and hope the keys were there.

I stared into the inky blackness and shivered. Thankfully I had my mobile phone with its built-in torch. I would use it to light my way and the path ahead.

It was the worst and scariest thing I have ever done. I scratched my face and my exposed elbows countless times. Wet leaves brushed up against my cheeks and slapped at my temples. Once I stepped into something mucky. When I pulled my shoe free it came away with a wet sucking sound and a foul smell assailed my nostrils. It was cold but my shirt was drenched. It was not just exertion but the fear of what I had gotten myself into. When my feet suddenly splashed though cold water, my hopes lifted. I pushed away a branch and rushed toward a light I could see. As I staggered into the clearing, I knew there was no way I was going back through that wilderness tonight.

They did not look surprised to see me and I understood why when I saw my keys gleaming in the light of the lantern. Words failed me. I didn’t want to trudge back through that jungle. Not now, not in this darkness. Strange but I had never thought of myself as weak of spine.

Again, he surprised me by motioning me to sit. The cot had been taken into the hut. His leg was bound with some wide, dark-coloured leaves. I saw that they had been eating their meal. My mouth watered as the smell of dal wafted toward me. I felt like laughing. I had feasted on chicken and fish and mutton at the reception this afternoon, and none of that had ignited my senses like the smell of this simple dish.

I took the steel plate from her without a word and ate the hot rice hungrily. The dal was thin and watery, and the bhaji had a tad too much masala, but it was the best meal I has eaten in a long time.

Later, as she washed the dishes, he led me some way from the hut to a rudimentary bathing area. I would have to carry a pail of hot water. I nodded. I needed a bath desperately. I was glad to see soap, along with toothpaste, in a tin. These people might have been living in a far-flung corner but they still had some of the basics.

When I returned, wearing a borrowed lungi, the wife had retired to the hut. He showed me a straw mat that had been unrolled beside the cot. There was a single bed-sheet in the center.

I nodded to him as he put off the lantern and went to bed. Of course there was no way I was going to sleep. To begin with I needed a mattress at least 6 inches thick. There was also the fact that the floor beneath was made of cow-dung. The smell was faint, but it was still there, a gentle reminder that this wasn’t a hotel. Plus I had noticed cockroaches flitting about. There was no doubt about it: I would stay awake till daybreak.

I must have dozed off because when I awoke shivering with cold, it was 3-something. I covered myself with the sheet and fell asleep instantly.

The sounds of animals in the yard woke me the next morning. My watch told me it was not yet 6. There was no one on the cot. I got to my feet, folded the sheet and rolled the mat up and placed it on the cot. My clothes had been kept inside the whole night. They were cold, but they were dry. I dressed up without further ado and stepped into the yard. The farmer was milking a cow.

I cleaned my teeth with my fingers and washed my face with cold water. Breakfast had been served when I returned. Kanji, with steam still rising from the broth, and a spoon of home-made pickle. I ate with relish, and had the shame to ask for more pickle. It was the first time I saw the wife smile.

We spoke over mugs of tea. He told me that before the rains he would be taking his wife back to her native place. They would take their possessions with them, and return after the monsoons. He was still limping but when his wife stooped to change the dressing I saw that the swelling was gone and the skin no longer inflamed.

I left soon after that. It was pleasant walking in the cool morning air, and I found my way back easily. It took a while to start my car. I reached civilization some fifteen minutes later, and halted at a knot of merchant establishments that were just opening for the day. The first thing I did was to call home and tell them I was alright. Then I did some shopping.

When I reached the hut it was noon. I opened my bags and took out a shirt for the farmer and a sari for the wife. I did not know what else to buy for this simple couple who, living so far away from the rest of the world, seemed to have so little but yet longed for nothing. They had each other, a hard but uncomplicated existence. And there was a baby on the way. What did you give to someone who had everything?

The wife’s eyes lit up when she saw the last thing in my bag. It was a hamper of baby-things: nappies, towels, frocks. She opened a frock and laughed out loud. The farmer was smiling too, and he shook my hand firmly.

She gave me a parting gift: a jar of her mango pickle. I smiled all the way back to the car.