Red and Green

There was no point –they could not be made to understand. Didn’t they see that her thoughts, efforts, and planning were solely to help those needy miserable souls- the cause of the hopeless- could almost be called social service? In fact would the light ever dawn that her actions merited acclaim – an example as it were, to those that did not dare? Then why was she here in this small cube, where the only ray of comfort came from that little square that illuminated her day and clocked time with passage of each starry, sleepless night, suffocating in the intense black of her cube? She, who used to be so free and only sought to free those others?

And, what did they object to- that she always found the colours green and red aesthetically pleasing? The calmness and soothing of the green in violent clash with the passion of red? And did’nt blood make the best red of all? Pulsating, warm blood, especially in spray on the tendrils of a spring field? Why was death the ultimate fear of human race- couldn’t it be life as well? Most people she encountered were most fearful of life, love, laughter – didn’t they then need a friend, who could show them that death was definitely another viable option?

Then there was the other matter- her fascination with trains. Since her earliest memories she had always had a train. Trains seemed indomitable, powerful, assured, and fearless in their pursuit of destination (or destiny?) through jungles of her imagination or through tunnels in rocky sheer cliffs or teasing the shore as they skirted the landline. She always knew that her destiny would forever be tied to those powerful pursuers and so it had turned out.

She had always been a good child, obedient and modest, mediocre in most respects, as was expected of her- in all except for her passion for trains. So when she approached what was considered a correct marriageable age , it was to everyone’s utter surprise, shock really when she calmly declared that she wanted to be a locomotive engine driver. No tears, threats, would make her change her mind. At last they had to give in- what else could they do? Where had they gone wrong? Nothing obvious came to mind- except buying her all those toy train sets. But who could have guessed?

As expected, her chosen path was also eventless – with effort she passed her exams and was lucky enough to even get a job- she had applied when women’s quotas were in favor and it was felt that her recruitment would add positively to the railways sordid, entirely male profile. True, her own line ran through least challenging and frequented landscapes. But oh! The freedom of it- chugging away in that old steam clonker! The familiar sound of his whistle, the grunts when he had to get moving, and sighs at the smallest stops! She smiled bemusedly at the memories of those endless hours of companionship. And thus it had been for a long, long time.

That first time had been startling- probably more in the context of her conservative upbringing. There was that lone figure standing besides the tracks- dusky skin, orange saree and a long plait- all this she saw as the train noisily approached the lonely figure. And oh that sad sad face at the last glimpse- how was she to know? The figure had lurched right into her path. She braked instinctively- the poor clonker screeched his complaints, but she knew it was too late. That was her first look at the red on green. It enlivened her senses- made her breathe faster- it was shockingly, beautifully, crudely, glorious. Another look at the mangled remains- she was touched by the serenity on one who had been so young, and now would never be old again. Her heart wept in happiness at the comfort that she had helped achieve. She could still recall the words that spun through her head- “ sleep dear child, sleep”

It was after those first tedious rounds of formalities, endless questioning, when she had a chance to dwell on the incident that it struck her- she had discovered her true calling- this then was what it was all about. Her life suddenly was no longer lived on a whim, but she had been pre-ordained to be their savior- their final savior- those miserable hopeless souls. Why her old clonker was nothing but her partner in mercy.

That first advert in the papers looked innocent enough “Are you in deep distress? Write to PO Box 875623” How could they be expected to make arrangements for their final earthly moments-why! most of them did not realise that they craved the peace of eternal slumber. But they had her. And she was uncompromising on details, dedicated in her mission- their own guardian angel.

Of course she was always present during their last moments. She had to make sure that the job got completed. The thrill of red on green was a secondary issue –truly.

Oh, what was that? Footsteps? Clanking keys? Freedom? Oh no! was it the warden? Not again-please not again. She could not tolerate those shock therapies-what were they trying to do? Make her mad?

And then the door opened.