An Unlucky Day

             We were just about to board the plane when a loud blare of announcement terrified us. “All passengers about to board Flight 129 should immediately rush back to the waiting hail. We have to search for a time bomb. The flight is cancelled.” It went on repeating. We were all shocked and disappointed. We, Anil and I, had no alternative but to take a taxi for home.

             It was 11 o’clock. The airport road was dark and lonely. I was thinking of my mother. She had earlier forewarned, after consulting our family priest, that the day was unlucky for a journey. Suddenly we saw a man in the middle of the road flailing his arms desperately like windmills, and we stopped. He was bleeding from a cut in his cheek. He said, “If you could give a lift…..’ and got into the back and sat by me.

             From the little conversation we had, I could guess he was a total stranger in the city. In his right pocket, near my side, something was bulging out. It looked like a pistol. I became suspicious. I wanted to test him. I referred to the police patrol on the road. His voice pitched higher, he grew tense, he seemed uneasy. That clinched it.

             I suddenly saw a way to handle the whole thing. Earlier on his request we had agreed to put him up for the rest of the night. So we had to inform home. I stopped the car near a telephone booth and went to phone. He also came up and stood close to me. I knew where my father was for a special night inspection on that day. On the phone, I told him’ to make arrangements for a man to stay there. He was surprised, ‘Here of all places!’ I said, “Yes, you will be glad to have him.” I took the seat of the driver on the pretext of giving him some rest. I took a different route and drove directly into the police station.

             Five policemen came running with the stenguns ready. I said hoarsely, “Quick he is armed.” They dragged our passenger out and got his pistol. Then everyone began to relax. My father, the Superintendent of Police of the city, presently appeared and patted my back, Well done, my son!” He showed me an old newspaper. There was the man’s photograph with a note: Rupees 50 thousand rewards to help in catching Jhambir, a dreaded criminal charged with over 10 cases of murder and dacoity.

             I again remembered my mother. Did she say the day was unlucky for a journey?