Chapter 14 — Bhaiya
And thus begins Chapter Fourteen.
The Road Home.
Now, children.
There I stood.
Back where the wandering had almost begun.
The train station.
The same station.
The same place where, during the previous wandering, language had betrayed me so spectacularly that I had accidentally entered an entirely different marketplace than intended.
The council remembers.
Children.
This time,
I was prepared.
Ticket already booked.
By Father.
The council nods approvingly.
A competent adult had briefly entered the logistics department.
Not only that,
he had transferred a little extra money.
For food.
The council smiles.
Good man.
Children.
After an entire week of treating my bank balance like an enemy nation,
financial reinforcement had arrived.
For once,
I could purchase food without calculating whether I would need to barter agriculture for dinner.
A glorious feeling.
Now.
I approached the station.
Bag on my shoulders.
Ticket secured.
Money available.
Rishikesh behind me.
Home ahead.
Surely,
nothing remained except the train.
The council immediately becomes suspicious.
Correct.
Because then I saw him.
The council leans forward.
A man.
Familiar.
Disturbingly familiar.
My brain recognized him before I consciously understood why.
Then he spoke.
“Girl chahiye?”
The council goes completely silent.
Children.
No.
No no no no no.
The council erupts.
HIM.
Correct.
The man.
The marketplace man.
The linguistic catastrophe.
The gentleman whose business proposition I had previously mistaken for an offer of weed.
The man whose alleyway adventure had ended with me being digitally robbed.
There he stood.
Again.
The council stares.
And children,
he did not recognize me.
Not even slightly.
To him,
I was simply another traveler.
Another customer.
Another person walking past the station.
But to me?
The council lowers the lights.
War flashbacks.
Alleyways.
QR codes.
Empty wallet.
Threats against my headphones.
The phrase:
“Where’s my weed?”
echoing through history.
Children.
My face must have been magnificent.
Pure disbelief.
The sort of expression normally reserved for seeing a recurring villain appear in Season Two.
The council nods.
A boss fight had respawned.
Now.
I had options.
I could confront him.
I could laugh.
I could explain that we had met before.
Perhaps tell him that his profession had permanently damaged my relationship with Hindi vocabulary.
The council waits.
Children.
I said nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
I simply turned.
And walked away.
Fast.
The council applauds.
SURVIVAL INSTINCTS.
Not walked casually.
Not strolled.
Not wandered.
Children.
I evacuated.
Full speed.
Straight into the station.
No alleyways.
No mysterious offers.
No QR codes.
No side quests.
The Unbegun had finally learned.
The council stands and cheers.
Character development!
Yes.
Briefly.
Now.
I entered the station and decided something.
I was not leaving.
Not until my train arrived.
Children.
There were hours remaining.
I did not care.
I would sit there.
I would wait.
I would become part of the architecture if necessary.
Because hell no.
The council nods solemnly.
Digital robbery would not receive a sequel.
And so,
I waited.
Hours.
People came.
People left.
Announcements happened.
Trains arrived.
Trains departed.
I ate.
Because Father had funded survival.
The council applauds.
I drank coffee.
Because naturally.
I watched the station move around me.
And eventually,
my train arrived.
The council cheers.
Home.
Or at least,
the extremely long metal path toward home.
I boarded.
Found my seat.
And immediately discovered something familiar.
The council sighs.
Shared seating.
Again.
Children.
Apparently the universe had assigned this as my permanent travel class.
Two wanderings.
Same arrangement.
Same negotiations between legs.
Same potential spinal collapse.
But then,
something magnificent happened.
The man assigned to share my seat approached.
Looked at it.
Looked at the conductor.
And made a request.
The council leans forward.
Upgrade.
Children.
This absolute madman wanted a better seat.
A solo seat.
The conductor checked.
Something was available.
And off he went.
The council pauses.
Leaving behind…
Space.
The council erupts.
SOLO SEAT.
Again.
Children.
The train gods had smiled upon me twice during the same wandering.
My spine,
after years of neglect,
had apparently developed religious significance.
I stretched out.
Horizontal.
Glorious.
Civilized.
The council applauds.
Luxury.
Now.
Opposite me sat a family.
A man.
His wife.
And children.
The council begins counting.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Four children.
All under ten.
The youngest perhaps three.
Children.
Actual children.
Not council children.
Physical ones.
Small.
Loud.
Fast.
Possessing unlimited energy and absolutely no respect for personal space.
The council nods.
Natural predators.
At first,
we exchanged the usual polite glances.
A smile.
A nod.
Nothing more.
Then one of the children looked at me.
“Bhaiya.”
The council pauses.
Brother.
Yes.
Older brother.
Children.
I had apparently been assigned a new title.
The Unbegun.
The Archivist.
Kerala.
Mallu Boy.
Big Spender.
And now
Bhaiya.
The council applauds.
The portfolio expands.
One child spoke to me.
Then another.
Then another.
Then suddenly,
all four had apparently reached a unanimous decision.
I belonged to them now.
The council erupts.
ADOPTION.
Children.
Apparently my ancient social strategy still worked.
Exist near humans.
Wait to be adopted.
The only difference was that this time,
the humans were under ten.
Now.
The parents noticed.
And something astonishing happened.
The council leans forward.
They trusted me.
Far too quickly.
Children.
The father would stand up.
The mother would stand up.
And then one of them would say some variation of:
“Watch them.”
The council pauses.
Excuse me?
Watch?
The children?
All four?
The council erupts.
Sir.
Madam.
I met you approximately seventeen minutes ago.
I can barely supervise myself.
But off they went.
The council watches them disappear.
Where?
No idea.
Bathroom.
Food.
Conversation.
Another compartment.
Perhaps another state.
Children.
They would simply vanish.
Leaving me behind with four tiny humans who now looked toward Bhaiya for leadership.
The council buries its face.
And so,
I attempted parenting.
The council laughs immediately.
Cruel.
But justified.
Now.
Child One wanted something.
Child Two wanted the exact opposite.
Child Three had discovered climbing.
Child Four,
the tiny one,
had discovered crying.
The council nods.
Full encounter.
I talked to them.
Played with them.
Made stupid faces.
Showed them things on my phone.
Attempted to keep everyone inside the general geographic region of our seats.
Children.
It was exhausting.
How do parents do this?
Every day?
Without scheduled recovery periods?
The council gasps.
Respect.
Actual respect.
At one point,
the youngest began crying.
The parents were gone.
Of course.
So I picked him up.
The council leans forward.
Children.
I have held dogs.
Many dogs.
Dogs are simple.
Support body.
Scratch head.
Say:
Who’s a good boy?
Humans require considerably more advanced handling.
I held him awkwardly.
Adjusted.
Bounced slightly.
Talked nonsense.
He continued crying.
The council grows concerned.
Then,
somehow,
he stopped.
The council gasps.
I stared at him.
He stared at me.
Children.
Victory.
I had successfully prevented one small human from continuing to scream.
A parenting achievement of historic significance.
The council applauds.
Naturally,
approximately forty seconds later,
another child required intervention.
The council collapses.
There is no winning.
Now.
This arrangement continued throughout the day.
The parents would return.
Collect the children.
Talk to me.
Then disappear again later,
apparently having decided:
Yes.
The strange long haired traveler opposite us is acceptable childcare.
Children.
Their standards were alarming.
But they were good people.
Genuinely.
Kind.
Warm.
The sort of people who treat strangers like they have already known them longer than they have.
They shared food.
The council perks up.
Lots of food.
Actual food.
Home food.
Snacks.
Whatever they had,
apparently Bhaiya received a portion.
And coffee.
The council becomes reverent.
Children.
Coffee.
The sacred currency.
In exchange,
I provided childcare.
The council nods.
A fair trade.
Perhaps not economically.
But spiritually.
They fed me.
I prevented their offspring from escaping the train.
Diplomacy.
Now.
The hours passed.
And something strange occurred.
I enjoyed it.
The council smiles.
Not the crying.
Let history be accurate.
But the family.
The familiarity.
Children crawling into my space without hesitation.
Calling me Bhaiya.
The parents trusting me enough to leave them there.
Sharing food.
Talking.
Laughing.
For one day,
on a train carrying me away from another wandering,
I had somehow become an honorary member of a family I would probably never see again.
The council grows quiet.
Temporary family.
Again.
Different form.
Kasol had given me campfire brothers.
Rishikesh had given me shopkeepers,
strangers,
swamis,
a Tibetan woman,
dogs,
a Child.
And now,
the road home had given me four little siblings.
Children.
Perhaps wanderings do this.
They keep reminding you that family is not always a permanent structure.
Sometimes it is just whoever shares the road for a while.
Who hands you food.
Who trusts you with something precious.
Who calls you brother before they even know enough about you to justify it.
The council listens.
Night arrived.
The children slowly exhausted themselves.
A miracle.
One slept.
Then another.
Then another.
The youngest eventually surrendered.
The council applauds.
Peace restored.
I lay back on my glorious accidentally solo seat.
Spine comfortable.
Stomach full.
Coffee acquired.
The first day of the journey home ending far more gently than expected.
Children.
For once,
nothing had gone wrong.
The council freezes.
Do not say that.
Too late.
Because the first day of the train ride?
Wholesome.
Warm.
Almost suspiciously lovely.
The council becomes concerned.
The final day?
The council leans forward.
Less so.
Much less so.
And thus concludes Chapter Fourteen.
The Returning Villain.
The Escape From Digital Robbery.
The Blessed Solo Seat.
And The Day The Unbegun Became Bhaiya.
Children.
I had begun this wandering because my own house had stopped feeling light.
And now,
on the road back to it,
a family of strangers had briefly made a train compartment feel like one.
The council grows quiet.
Food.
Coffee.
Four chaotic children.
Two kind parents.
And one cryptid discovering that perhaps he was slightly better with tiny humans than expected.
A gentle final chapter would have been nice.
A peaceful train ride home.
A quiet conclusion.
The universe,
however,
had apparently noticed the story becoming wholesome.
And children,
it took that personally.
Morning was coming.
And with it,
the final day of the second wandering.
