The Blanket

 

 

It was a long tiring day, it had become a norm, since Shubho had joined Adella Abdulla seven months ago. The night star of the city received cheering footfalls, especially during winters. Regardless what day of the week it was, the place always bubbled with carefree groups of fun-loving young people.

Business was swelling and his boss was an angel at heart. If he did well, he made sure that he shared the bounties with his team. 

Shubho had bought his 250-cc electric blue slim FZ Yamaha just three months ago, after the raise he had received.  Being late now didn’t really matter. He loved cutting through the chilly winter winds in the late hours of the night when traffic was close to nil on the highway. With nothing to stop him but the occasional speed breakers, he sped covering the 46Km in about 30 minutes. 

When he entered Garia, he would slow down, as even in the darkest hours though the traffic was thin, the roads were narrow with dim lighting. He played safe. 

He would glide lightly over the bridge connecting the stinking canal carrying a part of the city waste. Tonight, as he was crossing, he found an old man shrivelled on its pavement in the cold with nothing to cover him. He wondered why the man had chosen such a place to sleep.

The momentary thought passed with the momentum of his vehicle and soon he found his mother opening gates to let him in. 

His mother was always awake waiting to have dinner with him. Many boys in the restaurant made the leftovers a part of their dinner, but Shubho needed to have food made by his mother. It was an emotional thing.

‘I am really scared when you drive that fast on the road, just one miss and we will never have you back with us.’

‘Ma! Don’t worry, I have full control and I don’t speed when I enter Garia. I promise.’

‘And why do you keep awake and stay hungry this long. It’s so cold, you know you will fall sick like this?’

‘I can’t be like your father. Wonder how he snores so blissfully when you still not home.’

‘He is getting old Ma. Let him rest. Even if he is awake all he can do is to wait.’

‘The dal is delicious. I will get more fish head from the market. Make some more tomorrow. Didn’t you make chutney?’ 

Helping themselves to chutney both mother and the son cleared up the table after they had finished their modestly sumptuous meal.

He slid into his small room that contained his bed and a small cupboard. The window was shut tight to wade off the cold night air. The illumination from the streetlight crept uninvited through the glass pane and the bright red glow of the mosquito repellent lent a strange serenity to the night that bid him asleep.  

An early riser, mornings were always busy. A routine jog, going to the bazaar and then getting ready for work was how it went on most mornings. 

In the restaurant, he barely found time to sit. Office goers overcrowded in the lunch hours with a gap of two hours, evenings took off in full swing. Constantly on his toes and keeping up with orders, hygiene, discipline and overall maintenance wore him out as the day ended. 

Tonight, was colder than ordinary days. He brought down the glass of his helmet and took off on his motorcycle. His windcheater was not keeping the biting winds away. He felt his hands freezing on the breaks, but knew he had to go on. Soon he would be home. 

Just as he reached the bridge, he slowed down to cross. The old man was on the pavement, shivering in the cold night air. 

‘Why are you sleeping here?’ He spoke as he stopped his motorcycle.

Alighting he went closer to the man. ‘Why are you sleeping here? This place is near to the canal, you will die in the cold. Don’t you have anything to cover you?’

He could hardly see the man's face as he asked so many questions. All he could see was the man shivering like a dry leaf hanging to a branch. 

There was nothing that Shubho could do. For a minute he thought of giving his windcheater but quickly thought against it. It wouldn’t help either of them. This was the only one he had. He couldn’t ride his bike without the windcheater. 

All that he could do, was to tell the old man to choose a different place to rest and return home. His heart felt unusually heavy. 

That day on reaching home he told his mother about the old man and how he would be shivering in the cold night air. 

‘We have an extra blanket, I think. I will search for it tomorrow and you can give it to the old man.’ 

The next day, Shubho was unable to go to the office. Having caught a bad cold, he also had fever.

However, that evening he decided to go to the bridge and give the blanket to the old man.

The man lay at one corner shivering as he always did. Shubho took out the blanket from a bag and spread it on him. 

For the first time he noticed the man’s face. There was a look so strange that he never understood. Was it gratitude? Astonishment or a simple question- why had Shubho cared to bring a blanket when several others pass him by without caring to look?

As Shubho stood the old man stopped shivering but turned his face away as he usually did. 

He stood for a couple more minutes, then left.

The next day while going to the office he missed looking at the old man. He was in a hurry. 'I will check on him in the evening. The old man must have had a good night’s sleep.’

That evening, when Shubho returned he found the blanket neatly folded on the fence, but the old man was gone. There was no one around to tell him what had happened. 

He returned home. The next morning, he was careful to notice whether the old man had returned but there was no one. 

He felt sorry and sad. Maybe the man had died. He thought. 

Weeks passed and there was no trace of the man, the blanket, however, hung on the fence. 

One night as Shubho was returning, his eyes fell on someone wrapped in the blanket and sleeping at one corner of the pavement.

He stopped his bike and was thrilled to find the old man had returned. 

He went closer to the man sleeping and shook him a bit. ‘Where had you gone.’

A face crept out of the blanket and smiled. It was a much younger face than the old man's.

‘He died. And now the blanket belongs to me.’ The yellow teeth jutted out from a thin haggard face. 

‘We all will die… this blanket will keep searching for a new owner.’