It happened some decades back. Having completed his education, my uncle, late K.K. Varma, tried for a job with the Indian Railways for which he had developed a fancy. Things were not as difficult those days as they are today. He got through the preliminaries and finally got the job of his choice — a train guard. He was quite happy on getting a prestigious position. His first posting was with what was then known as Oudh and Tirhut Railway (OTR) having meter-gauge tracks.

The rail network in India was not as massive as it is today. Going by present-day standards, it was rather in a primitive state. Pace of life was slow, so was the speed of trains. They would take a day or even more to travel a distance that we can now cover in one third of that time.

Most often, the ordinary passengers would carry sufficient home-cooked food that would last through the long and arduous journey.

As for the slow speed, trains on the OTR were no exception. Their virtual crawling earned derisive comments and jokes. Many nicknamed OTR as “Old and Tired Railway”.

Young Varma had been dreaming of running passenger trains. But after joining, his initial enthusiasm started waning on discovering that under the Railways rules, he would have to run goods trains first. Unlike the increasing emphasis being laid on goods trains today, these were treated as poor cousins of the passenger trains in those times.

These were frequently stopped at minor stations, in the midst of forests and odd places, to give the right of way to passenger trains. More depressing was the fact that Varma had to spend most of the time in the upturned carton-shaped guard’s cabin in complete isolation.

And freight trains are always very long. The guard’s cabin, being the last one in the long train, was some time a kilometre away from the engine, making it difficult to contact the driver in an emergency. Nobody would hear his shouts. Then, he had to trek a long distance to reach and occupy the guard’s cabin meant for him. That made life dull and dreary for him.

The young man had never anticipated this, but he had no option. He grudgingly carried out his duties and one night, he had a fierce encounter on the running train that proved to be the turning point in his life. Varma had taken a freight train from Pilibhit towards Lucknow. It was passing through the thick forests of Mala at its usual slow speed. It was about 1am. Since the forest was infested with wildlife — including big cats, bears and wild boars — he had pulled down the window shades. The young guard was taking a cat-nap when he suddenly heard the sound of footsteps on both sides of the cabin. Coming out of the slumber, he wondered whether it was some wild beast or humans. It was pitch dark outside. With some difficulty, Varma noticed a few hefty men trying to break open the door and the windows on either side.

“Robbers” he told himself as he thought of how to thwart their attempt to barge in. Having failed to open the door, the men tried to enter through the small windows.

Seemingly, they had planned to rob the guard of some government money that they thought he might be carrying. Or, maybe, they wanted to break open some wagons and loot the contents. Young Varma realised he did not even have a tiny stick to drive away the bandits. He was at his wit’s end. Suddenly, he looked at the brass lantern, run on kerosene oil, in which red or green glass was turned to serve as the signal for the engine driver at night.

By 1am, the lantern had become too hot to serve ideally as a weapon. Even then, Varma picked up the hot lantern and rubbed it against the bandits trying to sneak in. The singed men stepped back. But much to his chagrin, he found that while the robbers on one side withdrew, those on the other side tried to force their way in. Varma successfully used the hot lantern to ward off the bandits by turn. For a considerable time, the young guard kept thwarting the bandits with the help of what was later called the “magic lantern”.

Soon, the train started slowing down to stop at a station. Conceding defeat at the hands of a single, frail young man, the gang left while Varma was still gasping for fresh air.

The next day, he went to his office to bid adieu to the job he had cherished for so long, but soon after he was moved to passenger trains, and he relented.

Varma frequently thanked the brass lamp for saving his life. Such lamps were later replaced by battery-run torches.

Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.