The Train to Satna

We woke to the alarm at 4:15 am and happily there was power to get ready by.
When we were set to go Ross woke up Kalendar to help
with the chair and our bags. Shook hands with the chowkidar and Kalendar saying
"Pir mélange." "See you later" and started down the dark mostly
deserted street--Ratan Ganj--to the Mirzapur railway station.
All the shops had their metel fronts closed and locked except for one small
paan and snack shop where the shopkeeper was flapping his rag duster
on the displays. A few dogs or cats eyes reflected back to me in the
light of my headlamp which I had switched on as the power had quit.
The forms of the occasional sleeping dogs by the side of the road
ignored us as we walked by. Two or three rickshaws passed us ringing
their bells, likely on their way to the station as well but
apart from
them and us and the occasional motorbike the street was deserted.
The station temporarily housed the usual covered bundles of sleeping
forms waiting for their trains that are seen at every train station
especially early in the mornings. A tabbycat dashed across the track
and in a moment hopped up onto the platform carrying a rat--easy
pickings on the rails. We've often watched the rats forraging on the tracks.
We carried on down the platform to cross at the ramped area as our
train left from platform 3. The train was on time and a railway
policeman helped us in getting them to open the door to our car.
He banged loudly with his lathi and shouted. A
woman and child was sleeping in the space behind the door. As it was
5:30 all were asleep. Ross found our berths and we settled in
surrounded by snores and the even breathing of the sleeping
passengers.We seem to always find ourselves on the slow trains
that stop at every little station and just put along. There was a faster train but
as we booked our tickets only 3 days ahead there was a long wait list.
"Ross and I are sitting on the side seats--still made up as a bench.
Very comfortable. We are stopped and watching an enormously long train
entirely full of red onions. It goes on and on. Of course there are
millions of Indians and they all eat onions. We are surrounded by
mostly old ladies, some curled up under blankets, some sitting up
eating snacks--pakoras--that a train seller has brought
around. Since we boarded the train there has been a non-stop
parade of sellers, the majority chai sellers in their high pitched nasel
voices. "Chai, chaiye", "Eh, pakori, pakori. Eh, pakori, pakori."
A toughened, dirty foot with cracked skin
around the toes and one toe adorned with a toe ring pokes out from
under the blanket across the aisle from me and the old lady opposite
from her has a big pouty bottom lip as if she has been put out for her
entire life. The smell of pakoras as the seller walks by, plus the
omelette toast mixes occasionally with the smell of shit coming up
from the tracks when we are stopped, and we seem to be stopped almost
as much as we are moving.
We are sitting beside another loaded passenger train and I see a woman
in full niquab--all covered in black with only an eye slit open. Her
hands are decorated with henna mendhi and one wrist is is adorned in a
six inch band of sparkling blue, purple and pink glass bangles and the
sleeves and front of her black dress cover are embroidered in gold leaf
designs. Their train moves away. Our train remains. Crows are hopping
about the track that is strewn with small plastic chai cups, plastic
bags, newspaper, biscuit wrappers and turd piles.

I watch a woman, perhaps 65, applying a scented green oil to her hair.
One small handful is scrubbed vigorously throughout her somewhat
sparse hair, then another handful and another vigorous scrubbing. She
then combs it and puts it into a tiny bun at the back of her
head. It shines. She rubs the remaining oil onto her face and arms.
The pouty lady actually has a nice smile. There are two couples across
from us and the other old lady (The bare foot lady) is massaging her
husband's calves and feet as they sit in the sun coming through the
open barred window. The husband of the pouty lady is lying down
on the other bench with his feet at the window warming them in the sun. The
foot massage gentleman is now cleaning his ears with a safely pin.
Ross is asleep stretched out on the bench in front of me. It's a cosy
scene.

Our lunch that we ordered has arrived. Chana dal, dal fry, rice,
chappatti and pickle. And there goes another train of red
onions, this time 40 cars. And now we move again.
We bought some mumfali-peanuts, from a one-armed seller and they came
with a little folded newspaper packet of what we assumed was salt.
Instead it turned out to be sulphur! Ross tasted it and I smelled it.
Smelled like matches.
And the Satna station appears.