Sonal Singh On Sonal's Table

 This story was first published on Artoonsinn and was written to the following prompt. It was the most read entry for the event and secured my team the 1st place.  A modern day Robin Hood’s conscience comes to life (literally) and demands him/her to offload karma to the beneficiaries to …

He was the oldest man in the village. Hunched over on rheumatic bones, slightly deaf in an ear and leaning heavily on his wooden stick, he patrolled the village at nights. Most nights the village folk could hear the tap-tap of his cane as he ambled through.

In the early evening, we were still a distance from the Indian border when I felt the train jolt and grind to a halt. Cries of ‘Pakistan Zindabad’ rent the air and our bogie, second from the engine, was beset by a mob of men wielding knives, swords, and sickles. Cringing at the maniacal hatred I saw in their eyes, I looked at Biji. Her face had grown ashen. I saw a silent look pass between her and Bauji. Then she turned to me, kissed my forehead and indicated at the sachet. I consumed it immediately.