November has always been a pleasant period in north India. The moderate temperature gives one a choice of wearing as you please — cotton or light woolies. But due to global warming-induced climatic changes, weather has become unpredictable here as well. It rains when it should not and snows when it need not.

Perhaps as somebody said in jest, one should always carry a raincoat, a woollen jacket and a torch to steer through fog. In short, it means; don't trust the weather.

This November, my wife and I were in a group of about two dozen close relatives who travelled some 350 kms in a hackneyed bus in perilous conditions. We had to perform a pre-marriage ceremony at the bride's place in a distant city. Our group consisted of toddlers, old men and women — and our host's brown-coated mongrel. Going by the day temperature's warmth, most people wore only cottons. Thinking that the traffic would be lean during the night, our host opted for a nocturnal journey. We felt happy at the thought that the weather being pleasant it would be an ‘enjoyable ride' of seven hours (which, however, stretched to 14 hours).

"We will keep munching snacks and confectionery and singing all the way", he announced to the delight of all, especially the young who jumped with joy. Post-dinner, our bus left at around 9 pm to a joyful chorus by the young brigade. The impatient youngsters lost no time in bursting into Bollywood songs. The merriment was in full bloom when the driver switched off the lights inside to conserve the batteries. Undaunted, the youngsters kept the singing session on enthusiastically. However, things took an unexpected turn when after some time, the driver told the revellers to maintain silence as the bus was now entering a dacoit (bandit)-infested area. "They spare goods carriers but not a bus carrying passengers," the driver cautioned. His words had an anaesthetic effect. Silence fell. Darkness compounded the fear that had gripped all. The singing session stopped abruptly like a radio going mute after a power failure.

Strange silence

The fear of the armed criminals was so pronounced that nobody was talking even in whispers. Women indicated they were getting goosebumps. The only noise heard was the whirring of the bus engine and the rattling of the bus on the bumpy road. Reacting to the strange silence, the dog, chained to a rear seat, tried to moan but had to be chastised into silence.

As could be expected, the tense atmosphere caused nervousness to some. They wanted to go out to relieve themselves only to be told by the driver to wait till he stops at the "appropriate place". Every passing minute was becoming crucial and the "appropriate place" was just not coming. Finally, at a petrol-filling station with washroom facility the party got a break, albeit brief but with the much needed relief. But more trouble was in the offing. The weather suddenly turned cold and nasty, catching us all unprepared. Dense fog reduced visibility to a few metres. Road signs were just not visible.

The bus had to slow down. The journey was getting longer and tougher. While some closed their eyes others craned their necks to see what it looked like beyond the windshield. Seeing two dim headlights an anxious lady whispered, "It must be another bus like ours". Seconds later, it turned out to be a truck.

Later, the driver's announcement that the dreaded area had been left behind worked like a sedative. Nobody knew when dawn broke.

The return journey undertaken during the day time was a picture in contrast. Everybody was brave even while passing through the feared area.

 

Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.