“Sangle, you should close your shop and go home”, I tell him still looking at the horizon, away from his shop.
Sangle, a skinny lanky 20-year-old tea vendor stands by his stove warming up a batch of tea for the customers who might take the last ride out late into the night. The stove hisses as the scent of the sweet milk tea permeate the atmosphere.
“It’s still an early night Saab. The last movie ends at 12.00.
There will still be people coming over”, he is busy chopping ginger as he throws it into the cauldron on the stove.
He starts to arrange the glasses of tea in his tray for the upcoming customers.
Suddenly he stops and comes over. He senses something is about to happen.
“Go home Sangle. It’s late”.
His mind slowly registers the tone and starts to understand what I am saying. Taking a couple of steps back he turns off the stove in a hurry and puts the glasses back on the shelf. The stove is hot but he picks it up wrapped in a thick cloth, pulls down the tin door of his little shop, and locks it up quickly. It’s a useless activity and the tin shed barely protects anything except shield its inner wares from prying eyes.
But it’s a matter of habit.
He picks up the stove and walks quickly towards the direction of the fields. Even if the shop is broken, the most expensive item in his shop needs to be safe.
I sit there outside the shop on a wooden bench with a red plastic chair next to it.
Picking up the wooden bench I drop it behind the shop. It’s not a selfless move trying to protect the poor man’s furniture. I just don’t want it to be used against me.
As I barely sit back in the chair, I already see them in the distance. I can only see the shapes as they turn the corner from the college building.
1000 feet.
There is an entire football ground between us. As they cross the lamppost, I see them much clearer. They are almost ten of them, walking quickly. They know exactly where they are headed.
800 feet.
There is a sudden excited uttering of voices as they recognize their quarry across the field.
There is a burst of adrenaline as the heart starts to pump faster than normal preparing the other organs for the upcoming assault. There is a slight tremor in the legs and the hands are cold, even though it’s a warm night. I can feel the vein beating in the back of my head. The knot in the stomach feels — very tight.
500 feet
A sudden rush of fear as I scan the crowd for a tall, giant-like figure between them. I don’t see him. The wily Kashmiri decided to sit this one out. There will be no Shera stopping them after a while. They would go on and on. The brain floods with fear as I suddenly want to bail.
This is not how things should have turned out. I look around and see a flat open space. The cane fields are probably a mile away. It’s just too late.
300 feet
I can see their eyes in the dark. The brass knuckles on at least two of them. There is a chain that’s dragging behind the one on the left. Things slow down to a crawl. The last clarity of thought flashes by –
I hope I will be able to walk again.
200 feet
There is nothing more to do. I actually stand up from the chair, bend my knees slightly, hips outwards and tuck my chin inwards to the chest. Protect the face — They teach you, but it’s never so clean and easy. The damage doesn’t hurt until the fight is over, it just disorients you.
I can hear someone out there calling my name.
Time to hunker down.
It’s going to be a long night.
