As the train jerked to a halt along the platform in Bhadrakh, Keshab rested his chin against the rusty bars on the emergency

window alongside which he sat on. Summer was at its peak and last of the sun’s heat stayed with the lingering piece of orange

in the sky. He prayed that the ‘ticket babu’ wouldn’t come and ask him for the ticket. Pride mingled with prayer as scenes of

how he managed to avoid the babu from Chennai to Cuttack played inside his head. Luck was what he prayed for, with a bribe of

one ruppee. That and that the lie that he would be telling his mother should be believable.

Puspa lit the oil lamp as darkness turned the Hooghly black. The small houses arranged in a row seemed like a train without

lights. Power had failed again. Lines of worry creased her forehead as she looked in vain at the end of the alley for  Keshu.

All her neighbours and friends of Keshu had failed to answer why he didn’t turn up home the previous night. It was like the

same night three months ago when Gobind had deserted her with Keshu sleeping on her lap.

Keshab was happy playing with his friends near the small railway housing colony behind the Howrah station. A train passing by

was an everyday affair and he had lost interest by the time he was twelve unlike other kids in the Government boys’ school

where he studied. He dreamt of Puspa’s tasty Maachher Jhol (fish curry) as the train rumbled on. As the train changed tracks,

the hawkers started with the shouts of ‘Tea, coffee and Jhalmuri’. Rosogollas too. Rage filled him as he willed himself

against pushing the mud cups out of the hawker’s hand.

As Keshu slept on her lap, Puspa woke her husband and gave him a ruppe from the end of her pallu. Carefully she lifted Keshu’s head and saw Gobind disappear into the darkness at the end of the street. The gusty wind shook her out of the reverie, as she closed the door. That day when Gobind had left he had a ruppee in hand and had promised to bring back happiness. Today she waited for all three, Gobind, Keshu and happiness.

As the train jerked to a halt along the platform in Bhadrakh, Keshab rested his chin against the rusty bars on the emergency window alongside which he sat on. Summer was at its peak and last of the sun’s heat stayed with the lingering piece of orange in the sky. He prayed that the ticket babu wouldn’t come and ask him for the ticket. Pride mingled with prayer as scenes of how he managed to avoid the babu from Chennai to Cuttack played inside his head. Luck was what he prayed for, with a bribe of one ruppee. That and that the lie that he would be telling his mother should be believable.

Puspa lit the oil lamp as darkness turned the Hooghly black. The small houses arranged in a row seemed like a train without lights. Power had failed again. Lines of worry creased her forehead as she looked in vain at the end of the alley for  Keshu. All her neighbours and friends of Keshu had failed to answer why he didn’t turn up home the previous night. It was like the same night three months ago when Gobind had deserted her with Keshu sleeping on her lap.

Keshab’s thought of  happy times playing with his friends near the small railway housing colony behind the Howrah station. A train passing by was an everyday affair and he had lost interest in them by the time he was twelve unlike other kids in the Government boys’ school. He dreamt of Puspa’s tasty Maachher Jhol as the train rumbled on. As the train changed tracks,  the hawkers started with the shouts of ‘Tea, coffee and Jhalmuri‘. Rosogollas too.  He couldn’t resist one. Then he thought of his mother who found her husband gone one day.  Rage filled him, even as he willed himself against pushing the mud cups filled with sugar syrup and the white evil as he had christened it, out of the hawker’s hand.

As Keshu slept on her lap, Puspa woke her husband and gave him a ruppee from the end of her pallu. Carefully she lifted Keshu’s head placing him carefully on the mat and saw Gobind disappear into the darkness at the end of the street. The gusty wind shook her out of the reverie, as she closed the door. That day when Gobind had left he had a ruppee in hand and had promised to bring back happiness. Today she waited for all three, Gobind, Keshu and happiness.

Part II : http://isparku.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/a-cup-of-happiness-ii-answers-on-a-ticket/

P.S: An attempt at my first short story. Note it is an attempt!