The incident happened with Mr Pankhawala, the accountant, many years ago when he was in his early thirties. He was travelling from Patna to Calcutta in a modest carriage of a modest train. Mr Pankhawala, who always chose the side chair/berth on his journeys, being the quiet adventurer that he was, had acquired one that day too. He had slipped into sleep while he sat, elbow perched on the window-pane, palm supporting his slightly egg-shaped, clean shaven, long eared face that rocked with the hum-drum of the train, looking into the darkness outside, watching the endless stream of dark trees and dark fields and sometimes an occasional hut or canal pass by. Somewhere later that night he had woken up, unconsciously aware that the train had stopped, as one often does during railway trips and looked out of the window. The platform was of a tiny halt named Chholapur . 'Curse you, modest trains!', he had said in his head, still half-asleep. Looking at the stati...
