A BROKEN HEART- My first short story

Murugan was a specialist cook. Not that he owned a classy restaurant at Juhu nor did he own a chat shop at Andheri; his was a makeshift shop at the Chattrapathi Shivaji Terminus- in short called as the CST. The shop was a dingy corner of the station; the place where the strong stench of urine caused those travelling by AC coaches and the likes ruffle their noses and curse the government endlessly for its apathy and hurl a few abuses at the people who were responsible for the stench. The shop was propped up with two bamboo poles and plastic gunny bags to give it a ‘hut’ish look. A bucket with clean water was placed on the left side where the customers could wash hands and another bucket of clean water with a steel tumbler chained to it made up for the drinking water. A broken down creaking wooden table made for displaying his daily wares which usually were Idlis softer than rose petals and lush green chutney righty salted which made him a favorite among his customers. Sometimes, he also prepared vada which usually sold like hot cakes; weekend specials included different types of dosas for which he used to prepare three different kinds of chutneys- red, white and green.
Murugan’s customers were usually porters, second class travelers and a few late night revelers who looked to stomach some good food at low prices. His daily routine included getting up at 4 in the morning, pour the gluttonous white batter onto rounded pans and immerse in steaming water to cook them into delicious idlis. A boy usually helped him with the chutney; scraping the coconuts and grinding them to a slightly watery paste. On days when business was really high, the water level used to increase considerably in the chutney. He would then wrap the idlis with banana leaves and put them into a stainless steel container securing the lid tightly to ensure that they remained soft and fluffy. He had carved quite a niche for himself and was a happy and content man for a migrant into Mumbai.
On the fateful day, Murugan as usual got up at 4 am, but felt very sick; he didn’t feel like going to work but remembered that it was the month end and that he had to send in money to his family at Chennai. He also had to settle his sister in with a nice groom and that required a lot of money too. He had big plans for his sister- a handsome groom with a government job with a decent place of his own…….. He reluctantly went about his routine, all the time mulling over his childhood and how his parents would pamper him at home whenever he fell ill. He went down to his usual corner in the ever awake station. He salaamed the guard at the corner who mockingly came over for a free meal of idlis and chutney. Murugan hated these people as they had a free will over him. But what could he do? Powerless as a refusal could land him out of the station and cost him his dear place at the corner which came free of cost (of course! Nothing’s ever free; his idlis and chutney to the guards took care of that part!) and all those food inspectors and so called ‘moral’ people who had all the interest in the world for the health of the people had to be taken care of too. Only that they took money and refused his idlis; a bit expensive by Murugan’s standard, but he was helpless.
The morning whiled away uneventful with the usual flow of customers, the hustle and bustle of the station with the world rushing away in some unknown frenzy. As the afternoon wore on, the commotion suddenly increased with a certain panic added to the frenzy. Murugan first heard some faint sound. Was that a gun that went off? At first Murugan thought that it was some mad pickpocket who had tried to outrun the police who had fired in the air to scare the hell out of him. But as the firing continued with the sounds getting louder and louder with people scurrying helter-skelter with manic, harried and pained expressions, as if their whole life depended upon how fast they could run and how loud they could scream, Murugan’s fear rose and so did his adrenalin. He did not know what to do; the guared had dropped his plate and rushed in the direction of the gun shots. Murugan quickly left his dear post and ran for cover. He jumped into the small space between the staircase and the passageway. He was unseen by the people on the platform running madly for dear life but he could see the goings-on through the small hole that some kid had dug out while playing hide and seek waiting for a cancelled train.
He saw the guard fall crying with agony; the guard whom he had despised, the one who used to relish his wares first thing in the morning, the one who had two five year olds and a wife who was suffering from anemia. He was unarmed, but yet he had moved in to save the old lady at the counter when a stray shot hit him square of his chest. Blood splattered everywhere. Murugan’s eyes welled up. Tears started rolling uncontrollably onto the dirty floor and his stifled sobbing continued endlessly. He saw the marauders; with backpacks and guns in hand, firing away indiscriminately at anything and everything. Many a life was wiped out; unaware that a father, a brother, a sister, a mother, a child, an uncle, an aunt, a friend…… a HUMAN cried their heart out for the life that was extinguished: not knowing why, not knowing where, and not knowing how. Murugan sensed them inching closer to his cocooned hideout. He prayed to all the 33crore Hindu gods and even chanted the names of Allah and Jesus; he did not fear his end, but the thought of deserting his longing sister and ailing parents made his spine chill.
Goosebumps erupted at the back of his neck, elbows and knees. His hands became numb with fear, his eyes became shrouded with tears of sorrow and his vision blurred. His tongue seared with pain each time he bit it to stifle the sound of his sobs. His entire body screamed with agony, the thought of death is a terrifying one, and Murugan got a taste of it that day. Then suddenly, as if miraculously, the foot steps that had threatened to loom towards him faded away in a distance and so did the shots. He lay there covered with dirt and grime, his own sweat, tears and urine sticking onto him; clinging on for dear life, still uncertain of his fate. He gathered all his will ad energy and took a peek, and a ghastly sight greeted him. Bodies lying everywhere, blood smattered over the floors; babies lying beside their dead mothers, heart wrenching wails and screams filled the air. The smell of blood, anguish, despair and death wafted through the station. There lay amongst the dead, people of all sizes, the young and the old; the theist, the atheist and the agnostic: irrespective of religion, cast, creed, color or sex, they lay in heaps of gore and bloodshed that would make even the strongest hearted person weep his heart out.
Murugan was but weak and helpless; fumbling outside his place of safety, in a state of confusion, guilt and shame. Confusion because he was uncertain whether the worst was over or yet to come; Guilt because he felt that he did not deserve the luck that had eluded the others and Shame because he could not help protect all that he loved in this city which had fed and watered him. He walked amongst the dead, ghostlike. Few of the survivors scored helping the injured who screamed with such pain and agony that made Murugan believe that death was a better option to pain. Ambulances rushed in and teams of doctors and paramedics arrived. The place was suddenly ablaze with harried people rushing through the pell-mell; stretchers carrying the dead and the injured. A doctor helped Murugan on a wheelchair and made him sip hot coffee. Murugan wanted to say that he was fine and he could find his way back home but words wouldn’t come out. He was led to a hospital where he made to lay down, wear clean clothes and served food and water. That night was the worst night in Murugan’s life. He was marred with the visions of what he saw, the sounds of pain and aguish, the hands that pleaded help and the guard who had laid there not moving a muscle. He screamed and wailed, twitched and turned; a wild madness gripped him. He wanted for the first time in his life to hurt the people who had destroyed not just the things he loved but also his character.
Murugan felt something sharp prick the side of his spine and when he woke up the next morning, he was bathed and sent to a doctor who gave him an endless lecture on how lucky he was and how the Almighty had thought he had to to live on and make the souls that had passed away to rest in peace knowing that someone somewhere had lived and led a full life because of their sacrifice. He wanted to scream and scream until the doctor went away but he knew better to shut up. He was later discharged that evening, given a pair of shirts and trousers which did not seem to be new, some money with which he had to start his life afresh. The marauders, he later learned had sneaked into a hotel and it took the police more than 2 days to free the people held helpless in the hotel. The TV screen splashed their faces which reflected his shadow 2 days earlier or was it the same even now? Murugan had not set foot outside his house since the day he had returned. He had not shaved, not bathed nor eaten anything since then.
A week later, an unshaven Murugan prepared the idlis in the usual fashion, but they were not the same. They were not as soft as they used to once be. The chutney did not imbibe the same flavor it once held. A scared and timorous Murugan made his way into the station. The guard that he used to salaam everyday with 2 idlis and a bowlful of chutney was replaced with another harried looking one who was just as afraid as he was. He could not see any of the old faces that he had gotten used to. The station had changed. It was teeming with police. He was told by the police that he could no longer have his shop there. He moved his makeshift setup across the station, away from the crowd. Murugan no longer had the usual charm over his customers. Even the few who came his way went away complaining that his food was terrible as he had to reheat and sell the left-over. His sales started to dip and Murugan started to despise the very profession he once loved.
Murugan’s state of sleeplessness continued. Finally he decided to pack up and leave the place for good. He wanted to go home- to his unmarried sister, his loving parents and the people he knew. At the whistle of the train he took a last glance at the corner that had been his home for years which now stood secluded and morose. Murugan looked at his hand and saw what he saw every time he looked at them- BLOOD stained all over. Shaking his head and boarding the train he realized why his idlis had lost their tenderness……………………………