In December 1964, my wife and I had gone to Madras to attend a family function. The same night we had to go to Trivandrum and we were booked to travel by the sleeper coach in an express train going by the main line. We boarded the train in the night, and being very optimistic we looked forward to a very pleasant journey and to be in Trivandrum the next day.
I recollected my experience in the travel by this main line — although in the opposite direction, that is, towards Madras — in 1943 when I, as a boy of ten, with my parents, brother and sister was stranded at Tirupapuliur (new Cuddalore town) for three-four days because the line was breached. Now after 20 years I was taking the same line, the opposite way.
When we were near Tambaram I remembered that journey from 20 years ago. I told my sister-in-law about our plight then, and she at once cut me short. She gave a reason for suddenly interrupting me — which to date I am forced to wonder about. She said she had noticed a deep, dark line down my tongue ( kali zuban in Hindi), and this makes quite a few things I state even casually to come true.
After about six hours we reached Trichinopoly Junction. It was at this point that we had the first shock. Due to stormy weather and floods the train service was being terminated. It was not known when things would be normal. Now we did note that the train appeared to be floating away.
My sister-in-law was looking at me in a very strange way. Oh, my God, I was in the rail compartment with them. Please don’t hold me responsible for this calamity! All of us got down and went into the waiting room. After two-three hours an announcement was made that a train would ply up to Madurai. We hurriedly boarded this train. We were so happy we were moving towards our destination.
We did reach Madurai by noon. We decided to stay in a small furnished cottage near the station. We had a delicious brunch. Soon news reached us that a bus was to go to Trivandrum within two hours. We ran to board that bus and were safely seated. Let the bus take its own time: Trivandrum, here we come!
By late evening we were at the Trivandrum bus terminus. Since our house was nearby, we started walking. Even known people and relatives were looking at us in a strange way. A host of people were coming out of our house. Soon we knew the reason for the strange looks. Later we were told that rumours had circulated that we were “missing” in the flood waters. That was when we walked in.
The next day we read in the newspaper that in a cyclonic storm had hit and Dhanushkodi town had been washed away: a train had disappeared. Even now, when I am 84, my thoughts swirl around that journey.
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