I thought for a while to take the bus and gave up
the idea. You need to walk at least ten minutes to reach the bus stop and
waiting for the bus would definitely take considerable amount of time. Reaching
Rama Krishnan’s from Bhavani bus stand is no easy task either. I have decided
to walk fast so that I can meet him in at least thirty to forty five minutes.
Cauvery River flowed between Bhavani and
komarapalayam. At this place it gained a specific name Bhavani River. Three
massive bridges linked the two little towns at various places. The third one,
which was the closest to the bus stand, was built as recently as three years
ago. Still no four wheelers were allowed to cross this bridge since the
official opening ceremony of the bridge was not yet done. But the two wheelers
ran on. Bhavani People working in textile weaving and processing mills in
komarapalayam took this bridge after their work thereby cutting their travel
expense from Komarapalayam to Bhavani and vice versa. Also buses from Erode,
the capital of the Periyar district, reach Bhavani faster than they reach komarapalayam.
So most of the Komarapalayam people prefer to take buses to Bhavani from Erode
and walk on feet on the new bridge to their home town.
It was nearly six in the evening. The bridge had a
heavenly atmosphere since the street lamps were on while the sunlight was still
out. I walked on the pavement of the bridge, speeding up my pace as I went
along. I felt the silky touch of the cool evening air on my face. The air has a
peculiar nimbleness as it wafted through the surface of the river and I liked
to breathe in the fresh air deeply. I breathed in what seemed to be a ton of
air into my lungs and felt rejuvenated and relaxed. I reduced my pace to have a
look around. I looked into the river. It
was one of those luckiest months when you got to see water in the river. Water
had engulfed a lot of rocks, leaving the tips of a few on its surface. On the
banks, a few women washed their clothes on the rocks and a few men bathed not
faraway from them. I shifted my gaze to check the distance to be covered in
order to cross the bridge. It might take a few more minutes. I saw people returning
home from their work. Women from the nearby market carried large baskets on
their heads and walked with an intense rhythm. Young boys and girls, evidently from
private schools, (as Government schools finished early) pedaled their bicycles
leisurely. Boys talked about cricket and cinema and girls talked about studies
and cinema. When the boys were out of earshot, girls talked about boys and when
the girls came within earshot, boys talked about girls. My lips curled with a
slender smile at the sight of the freshness of youth blossoming in them. The
bridge was full of noise. Two wheelers horned unnecessarily and people talked,
shouted, cursed and spat needlessly. Tamil film songs were played loudly in the
street side hotels to give the people a signal that their business has started.
When I reached the other end of the bridge, two policemen stopped the two
wheelers and checked whether their drivers had proper license. Apparently it
was the end of the month. They required booking a minimum number of cases in a
given month.
The bus station was situated at the end of the
bridge. As soon as I reached the station I was delighted to see a bus waiting
to go to Erode. If I took the bus now, I could save some valuable time in
reaching Rama Krishnan’s which was near Kooduthurai. I jogged to the bus and
climbed on it. It would not take more than ten minutes to reach my destination.
My sprits rose.
When I climbed the bus down at Kooduthurai stop, I
could not see Rama Krishnan at the tea shop, the place we both agreed to be the
rendezvous. I scanned inside the teashop; no sign of him. Standing outside, I
called him over my mobile phone.
It was difficult to make his voice out due to the
noise made by the traffic. He stuck up in a dyeing unit and would meet me in
twenty minutes. I was instructed to wait in front of the teashop until he
arrived. I cursed myself for not checking up with him before I started.
While I was pondering my luck standing in front of
the teashop (as there was not a single vacant seat inside it) I had a visitor.
The man at first must have tried his luck with the teashop owner and its
inhabitants, for his posture insisted that I should take something out of my
pocket to offer him. He stood at least five minutes silently staring at me,
apparently gauging my inherent qualities. His left hand lay stretched with open
palm all the while.
To be contd. . .
