HALF HUMANITY

(Half an hour with Sultan)

Waiting for someone is the most boring task for me. Finding no option, I was standing infront of Womens College, Silchar. “Excuse me, where from may I get bus for Lala?” a boy in his early twenty asked me. I looked from head to toe through my eye glasses. He was in a dirty short shirt and a red long pant with dry uncombed hair. “Just take an auto to Rangirkhari and you will get sumo to your destination from there,” I said pointing my index finger towards an auto. He came a bit more close to me as if he wanted to whisper something in my ears. Yeah, I was right. He whispered that he was coming from Mizoram to enjoy his off days at home but unfortunately two co-passengers drugged him and took away his money. I immediately put my hand in the pocket to take out my wallet in the name of humanity. But I am also a human being, doubts intruded in my mind.

“So sad! Don’t worry, I will help you,” I assured him.

“My elder brother is of your age but he is in Saudi Arabia. No one is there at home except my mom and sister. And you know they cannot come to help me,” he continued, “someday you may also get in trouble.”

“I understand, let’s go to bus stand,” I suggested.

“Actually bro, I have kept my bag in a shop near college.”

“Cachar College? No problem at all. We will first go to that shop and then to stand,” I said.

“What’s your name?”

“Sultan Barbhuiya,” he replied. “You are also Muslim, no?”

I looked at eyes and replied “no, I am Hindu.”

“Bro I stay with people of your community there in Mizoram and even share food,” he continued of his own.

I don’t bother about religion unless someone else bothers. “I wanted to know your name, not your religion brother,” I politely said. “Tell me your mom’s number, let me call her to give the news that you are out of troubles now.”

He told me the number, I dialed. It was busy. After a few trials when I heard “hello”  on the other side, I smiled at Sultan. “Is it Lala?” I asked over the phone. “No, it’s not,” I heard in reply. She was speaking Assamese and sultan is Bengali.

“Are you sure that the number is correct?” I asked Sultan.

“Yeah, cent percent,” he repeated the number.

And I dialed. “Don’t you understand Assamese?” I got to hear over the phone.

Now we have reached infront of Devdoot (presently metro bazaar) and were heading towards the Cachar College.

“See, here is bus to Ramnagar and from Ramnagar I’ll get bus for Lala,” he said pointing towards old ASTC stand.

“What about your bag?”

“I have kept that bag in the morning and when I went for the same an hour before, the shop was closed. Tomorrow I will come and take it.” He said.

“No, no, let’s go take it today only,” I insisted and continued to walk.

After a few steps he insisted me to go other way via club road as the shop is not exactly near college. He turned around. I too turned back and when I was exactly infront of metro bazaar, I stopped. He continued to walk ahead of me and he became another stranger like others who were around me. It was 4pm; almost half an hour!

Whether I did right or wrong, it became a big question to me. I looked at the women who was begging on the footpath and put a coin in her bowl. I was not sure whether Sultan was fraud or not but now I feel a few frauds cannot take away humanity from us. And for the last time, I again dialed the number given by Sultan . I just listened, did not dare to speak……