THE QUEST

THE QUEST

Mrs. Suchitra sinha was well past her prime. Slightly, corpulent in light blue cotton sari sitting there in the reception of the large factory complex waiting with abundance patience, Mrs. sinha looked perfectly in peace with herself. Her broad plump face with a healthy blemish free skin stretched over, level eyes which though revealed nothing yet had a compassion of having seen and understood life in its various hues.

The appearance was not deceptive. Mrs. Sinha had three daughters and a son. Hailing from a small town in U.P., when she married Mr. Sinha at the tender age of sixteen, she had very few ambitions in life. Apart from making a home as per her husbands dictates. The children came in quick succession; the son was last to come when Mr. Sinha called a halt to the family. Staying in their sprawling railway quarters where Mr. Sinha was an engineer life seemed to be spread in a smooth canvas. Sending the children to the near by railway school, housekeeping, seeing off Mr. Sinha in his numerous tours offered enough variety and action in life.

However this bliss was not to continue forever.
Mr. Sinha who went for a four-day trip to Jaipur did not return forever. Numerous search parties and enquires did not give any clue to the event.

As the months rolled to an yr the sympathy of the friends and well-wishers seemed to ebb ever so gradually.

Mrs. Sinha woke up to the rude reality of looking after her brood of four small children. It was sheer will power and indomitable inner strength that saw her through life for the last 24 yrs. What started as a tiny food joint catering to the floating railway staff had now under the able stewardship of Mrs. Sinha had become a Restaurant employing two dozen employees. All her children were married and settled. Two of her sons were with her running the restaurant.

It is then out of out of blue the family got a report that Mrs. Sinha is alive that he is working in a huge mill heading the spinning section. It was hard to believe it. The source one of Mrs. Sinhas friend’s son was emphatic. “Aunty, you can verify it yourself. I had seen uncle when I was young; I have seen his photo also at your place a number times. I wont bring this news to you with out verifying facts. “ The sincerity in the boys talk made Mrs. Sinha believes him. She quietly booked in the train going to Udaipur along with Pradeep, who was working in the same mill. And here she was sitting in the reception along with few more early morning callers where all employees will pass through before entering the working area. Pradeep was near the punch card machine ready to give sign when Mr. Sinha would arrive. Mrs. Sinha was quietly scrutinizing the employees as they were nearing the punching machine to mark their arrival.

Suddenly her heart skipped a beat. The old man coming with a prominent pull and tug of his left leg his shoulders slightly hunched had all the familiarity of Mr. Sinha. Though he had grown old with white streaks in his hair nothing much seemed to have changed. There was stab of deep pain. A big spasm of sob welled in her throat. She felt like fleeing out of the premises. If he was alive as she can see in front of her eyes, why in earth did he desert his young wife and helpless children. She did not want any answers. Explanation if any is not going to erase the struggle, loneliness injustice of these long yrs. She then noticed Mr. Sinha looking at her, their eyes met for a full minute. She could see he recognized. But there was no happiness of reunion, what was it? A surprise or was or was it fear that leapt in to his eyes. He slowly averted his gaze and walked towards the punching machine, punched his card and vanished in to the work area.

Pradeep came running to her “Aunty didn’t you recognize uncle, It was him, shall I call him? Tears were rolling down her cheeks. She restrained him made a futile attempt to hide them. No Pradeep, let’s go”.