When I was at college I used to spend my summer vacations in Dehra, at my grandmother’s place. I would leave the plains early in May and return late in July. Deoli was a small station about thirty miles from Dehra; it marked the beginning of the heavy jungles of the Indian Terai.
Jab main college mein tha, toh har garmi ki chhuttiyan Dehra mein apni dadi ke yahan guzarta tha. Main May ke shuru mein maidani ilake se nikalta aur July ke aakhir mein wapas aata. Deoli ek chhoti si station thi, jo Dehra se lagbhag tees (30) mile door thi. Yeh station Bharat ke Terai ke ghane jangalon ki shuruaat ka nishan tha.
The train would reach Deoli at about five in the morning, when the station would be dimly lit with electric bulbs and oil-lamps, and the jungle across the railway tracks would just be visible in the faint light of dawn. Deoli had only lone platform, an office for the stationmaster and a waiting room. The platform boasted a tea stall, a fruit vendor, and a few stray dogs; not much else, because the train stopped there for only ten minutes before rushing on into the forests.
Gaadi subah paanch baje Deoli pahunchti thi. Us waqt station ki roshni bas halki-halki hoti thi – kuch bijli ke bulb aur tel ke diye jal rahe hote the. Railway patri ke us paar ka jangal bhi sirf dhuandhli roshni mein nazar aata tha. Deoli ek akeli platform wali chhoti si station thi – sirf ek stationmaster ka daftar, ek intezaar karne ka kamra, aur ek chhoti si chai ki dukaan. Platform par ek fal bechne wala aur kuch awara kutte dikhte the, bas. Gaadi sirf das (10) minute ke liye rukti thi, phir jangalon ki taraf tez raftaar se nikal jaati thi.
Why it stopped at Deoli. I don’t know. Nothing ever happened there. Nobody got off the train and nobody got in. There were never any coolies on the platform. But the train would halt there a full ten minutes, and then a bell would sound, the guard would blow his whistle, and presently Deoli would be left behind and forgotten.
Yeh train Deoli par kyun rukti thi, yeh mujhe kabhi samajh nahi aaya. Wahan kabhi kuch khaas nahi hota tha. Na koi train se utarta, na koi chadhta. Wahan coolie bhi nahi dikhte the. Bas das minute ka ek ajnabee sa thehraav hota, phir ghanti bajti, guard seeti bajata, aur train aage badh jaati.
I used to wonder what happened in Deoli, behind the station walls. I always felt sorry for that lonely little platform, and for the place that nobody wanted to visit. I decided that one day I would get off the train at Deoli, and spend the day there, just to please the town.
Mujhe aksar sochne ki aadat thi – station ki deewaron ke piche kya hota hoga? Mujhe hamesha us sunsaan platform ke liye afsos hota, us jagah ke liye jo kisi ki manzil nahi thi. Maine socha ek din main zaroor yahan utrunga, sirf Deoli ka dil rakhne ke liye.
I was eighteen, visiting my grandmother, and the night train stopped at Deoli. A girl came down the platform, selling baskets.
Main jab atharah (18) saal ka tha, ek baar apni dadi se milne Dehra ja raha tha. Raat ki train Deoli par ruki. Us din ek ladki platform par dikhai di, jo tokriyan bech rahi thi.
It was a cold morning and the girl had a shawl thrown across her shoulders. Her feet were bare and her clothes were old, but she was a young girl, walking gracefully and with dignity.
Subah ka waqt tha, thandi bhi thi. Ladki ne apne kandhon par ek purani shawl le rakhi thi. Uske pair nange the, kapde bhi purane the, lekin uski chaal mein ek ajeeb si shaan thi.
When she came to my window, she stopped. She saw that I was looking at her intently, but at first she pretended not to notice. She had a pale skin, set off by shiny black hair, and dark, troubled eyes. And then those eyes, searching and eloquent, met mine.
Jab woh meri khidki ke paas aayi, toh ek pal ke liye ruki. Maine dekha ki woh mujhe gaur se dekh rahi hai, lekin pehle usne jaise andekha kar diya. Uska chehra halka sa peela tha, lekin uske kale, chamakdar baal aur gehre, udaas aankhon ne mujhe kheench liya. Fir ek pal aaya jab uski aankhein meri aankhon se mili, jaise kuch keh rahi ho.
She stood by my window for some time and neither of us said anything. But when she moved on, I found myself leaving my seat and going to the carriage door, and stood waiting on the platform, looking the other way. I walked across to the tea stall. A kettle was boiling over on a small fire, but the owner of the stall was busy serving tea somewhere on the train. The girl followed me behind the stall.
Woh meri khidki ke paas kuch der tak khadi rahi, hum dono ne kuch nahi kaha. Phir jab woh aage badhne lagi, toh mujhe laga jaise kuch chhut raha ho. Main apni jagah se utha, aur platform par aa gaya. Chai ki dukaan ki taraf chal diya. Wahan ek chhoti si aag par ketli ubal rahi thi, lekin chai bechne wala train mein kahin vyast tha. Itne mein woh ladki mere paas aa gayi.
‘Do you want to buy a basket?’ she asked. ‘They are very strong, made of the finest cane …’
“Tokri loge?” usne pucha. “Badi mazboot hain, behtareen baans ki bani hain…”
‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t want a basket.’
“Nahi,” maine kaha, “Mujhe tokri nahi chahiye.”
We stood looking at each other for what seemed a very long time, and she said, ‘Are you sure you don’t want a basket?’
Hum dono ek dusre ko chup-chap dekhne lage. Fir usne phir se pucha, “Kya tum pakka nahi loge?”
‘All right, give me one,’ I said, and I took the one on top and gave her a rupee, hardly daring to touch her fingers.
“Accha, de do ek,” maine kaha. Maine ek tokri utha li aur ek rupaya diya. Uske ungliyon ko choone ki bhi himmat nahi thi.
As she was about to speak, the guard blew his whistle; she said something, but it was lost in the clanging of the bell and the hissing of the engine. I had to run back to my compartment. The carriage shuddered and jolted forward.
Woh kuch kehne wali thi, magar usi waqt guard ne seeti bajayi; ausne kuch kaha, lekin ghanti ki zor se awaz aayi, aur engine se dhuaan nikalne laga. Mujhe tez bhaag kar apni compartment mein chadhna pada. Train aage badhne lagi.
I watched her as the platform slipped away. She was alone on the platform and she did not move, but she was looking at me and smiling. I watched her until the signal-box came in the way, and then the jungle hid the station, but I could still see her standing there alone …
Jab train chalne lagi, maine us ladki ko dekha – woh wahi platform par akeli khadi thi, muskurate hue. Main usko tab tak dekhta jab tak signal-box raste mai nahi aa gaya, aur jungle se station chup gaya, lekin phir v main ause woha akela khare hue dekh sakta tha.
I sat up awake for the rest of the journey. I could not rid my mind of the picture of the girl’s face and her dark, smouldering eyes.
Poore safar bhar main jaagta raha. Uske chehre aur gehri aankhon ka tasavvur/tasvir mere dil se nahi nikla.
But when I reached Dehra the incident became blurred and distant, for there were other things to occupy my mind. It was only when I was making the return journey, two months later, that I remembered the girl.
Magar jab main Dehra pahunch gaya, toh aur cheezein dimaag mein aa gayi, aur yeh waqia dheere-dheere dhundhla ho gaya. Do mahine baad jab main wapas ja raha tha, toh phir se woh yaad aayi.
I was looking out for her as the train drew into the station, and I felt an unexpected thrill when I saw her walking up the platform. I sprang off the foot-board and waved to her.
Jab train Deoli par aayi, toh maine use dhundhna shuru kiya. Jab mujhe woh platform par chalte hue dikhi, toh ek ajeeb si khushi mehsoos hui. Main turant utar gaya, aur uski taraf haath hila diya.
When she saw me, she smiled. She was pleased that I remembered her. I was pleased that, she remembered me. We were both pleased, and it was almost like a meeting of old friends.
Usne mujhe dekha aur muskurai. Uski muskurahat se laga jaise woh bhi mujhe yaad karti rahi ho. Hum dono ek doosre se milkar khush the, jaise purane dost mil rahe ho.
She did not go down the length of the train selling baskets, but came straight to the tea stall; her dark eyes were suddenly filled with light. We said nothing for some time but we couldn’t have been more eloquent.
Usne is baar koi tokri nahi bechi, bas seedha chai ki dukaan ki taraf aayi. Uski aankhon mein ek chamak thi, lekin hum dono ne phir bhi kuch nahi kaha.
I felt the impulse to put her on the train there and then, and take her away with me; I could not bear the thought of having to watch her recede into the distance of Deoli station. I took the baskets from her hand and put them down on the ground. She put out her hand for one of them, but I caught her hand and held it.
Mujhe ek jazba mehsoos hua – bas us ladki ka haath pakad loon aur train mein bitha loon. Main nahi chahata tha ki phir se usse door jaana pade. Maine uski tokriyan neeche rakh di. Jab usne ek tokri lene ke liye haath badhaya, toh maine uska haath pakad liya.
‘I have to go to Delhi,’ I said.
“Mujhe Delhi jaana hai,” maine kaha.
She nodded. ‘I do not have to go anywhere.’
Usne sirf sir hila diya. “Mujhe kahin nahi jaana,” usne kaha.
The guard blew his whistle for the train to leave and how I hated the guard for doing that.
Tabhi guard ne train chalne ki seeti bajai. Mera dil chahta tha ki woh seeti kabhi na baje.
‘I will come again,’ I said. ‘Will you be here?’
“Main wapas aaunga,” maine kaha. “Kya tum yahan milogi?”
She nodded again, and, as she nodded, the bell clanged and the train slid forward. I had to wrench my hand away from the girl and run for the moving train.
Usne sir hila diya. Aur phir train chal padi. Mujhe zor se apna haath chhudana pada aur tez bhaag ke train pakadni padi.
This time I did not forget her. She was with me for the remainder of the journey, and for long after. All that year she was a bright, living thing. And when the college term finished I packed in haste and left for Dehra earlier than usual. My grandmother would be pleased at my eagerness to see her.
Is baar main use bhool nahi paya. Poore safar bhar, aur uske baad bhi kayi din tak, woh mere saath rahi. Pura saal woh ek roshni ki tarah thi, ek zinda ehsaas. Jaise hi college ka session khatam hua, main bina deri kiye jaldi-jaldi samaan bandh kar Dehra ke liye nikal pada. Meri dadi yeh dekh kar zaroor khush hoti ki main is baar unse milne ke liye kitna utsahit tha.
I was nervous and anxious as the train drew into Deoli, because I was wondering what I should say to the girl and what I should do. I was determined that I wouldn’t stand helplessly before her, hardly able to speak or do anything about my feelings.
Jab train Deoli ke kareeb pahunchi, toh mera dil tez dhadak raha tha. Main ghabraya hua tha, bechain tha. Main baar-baar soch raha tha ki us ladki se milne par kya kahunga, kaise react karunga. Maine tay kar liya tha ki is baar main uske saamne bebus nahi khada rahunga, bina kuch kahe, bina apni feelings zahir kiye.
The train came to Deoli, and I looked up and down the platform, but I could not see the girl anywhere.
Train Deoli par ruki. Maine poore platform par nazar daali, idhar-udhar dekha, par woh ladki kahin nazar nahi aayi.
I opened the door and stepped off the footboard. I was deeply disappointed, and overcome by a sense of foreboding. I felt I had to do something, and so I ran up to the station-master and said, ‘Do you know the girl who used to sell baskets here?’
Maine dheere se train ka darwaza khola aur footboard se neeche utar gaya. Ek ajeeb si udaasi aur bechaini mehsoos hone lagi. Mujhe kuch karna tha, isliye main seedha station master ke paas gaya aur poocha, “Jo ladki yahan tokriyan bechti thi, kya aap uske baare mein jaante hain?”
‘No, I don’t,’ said the station-master. ‘And you’d better get on the train if you don’t want to be left behind.’
“Nahi, mujhe uske baare mein kuch nahi pata,” station master ne beparwahi se kaha. “Aur agar tumhe train nahi chhodni hai, toh jaldi chadh jao.”
But I paced up and down the platform, and stared over the railings at the station yard; all I saw was a mango tree and a dusty road leading into the jungle. Where did the road go? The train was moving out of the station, and I had to run up the platform and jump for the door of my compartment. Then, as the train gathered speed and rushed through the forests, I sat brooding in front of the window.
Par main wahan se hil nahi raha tha. Main platform par idhar-udhar chalta raha, station ke baahar bhi jhaank kar dekha. Wahan sirf ek aam ka ped tha aur ek dhool bhari sadak, jo jungle ki taraf ja rahi thi. Woh sadak kahaan jaati thi? Kya woh ladki usi raste se guzarti thi? Tabhi train chalne lagi. Main tez bhaag kar wapas apni compartment tak gaya aur darwaza pakad kar chadh gaya. Train jangalon se guzarne lagi, par main khidki ke paas chup-chaap baitha raha, sochta raha.
What could I do about finding a girl I had seen only twice, who had hardly spoken to me, and about whom I knew nothing — absolutely nothing — but for whom I felt a tenderness and responsibility that I had never felt before?
Main ek aisi ladki ko kaise dhoondh sakta tha, jise maine sirf do baar dekha tha? Jisse maine bas kuch shabdon mein baat ki thi? Jiske baare mein mujhe kuch bhi nahi pata tha—lekin jiske liye mere dil mein ek ajnabee si apnapan ki feeling thi?
My grandmother was not pleased with my visit after all, because I didn’t stay at her place more than a couple of weeks. I felt restless and ill-at-ease. So I took the train back to the plains, meaning to ask further questions of the station-master at Deoli.
Meri dadi is baar meri aamad se khush nahi hui, kyunki main sirf do hafte unke yahan ruka. Mera mann kisi ek jagah par tik nahi raha tha. Isliye maine phir se train li aur plains wapas jane ka faisla kiya. Mera iraada tha ki Deoli station ke naye station master se aur zyada jaanne ki koshish karunga.
But at Deoli there was a new station-master. The previous man had been transferred to another post within the past week. The new man didn’t know anything about the girl who sold baskets. I found the owner of the tea stall, a small, shrivelled-up man, wearing greasy clothes, and asked him if he knew anything about the girl with the baskets.
Par jab train Deoli pahunchi, toh wahan ek naya station master tha. Purana station master ek hafte pehle hi transfer ho chuka tha. Naye aadmi ko us ladki ke baare mein kuch bhi nahi pata tha. Fir maine chai wale se pucha—ek chhota, dubla-patla aadmi jo mailay-kuchailay kapde pehne tha.
‘Yes, there was such a girl here, I remember quite well,’ he said. ‘But she has stopped coming now.’
“Haan, ek ladki thi jo yahan tokriyan bechti thi,” usne kaha. “Par ab nahi aati.”
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘What happened to her?’
“Kyun?” maine bechaini se pucha. “Kya hua usko?”
‘How should I know?’ said the man. ‘She was nothing to me.’
“Mujhe kya pata?” usne kandhe ucha diye. “Mere liye toh bas ek tokri bechne wali ladki thi.”
And once again I had to run for the train.
Aur tab mujhe fir se tez daud kar apni train pakadni padi.
As Deoli platform receded, I decided that one day I would have to break journey there, spend a day in the town, make enquiries, and find the girl who had stolen my heart with nothing but a look from her dark, impatient eyes.
Jab train Deoli se door ja rahi thi, tab maine ek faisla kiya—ek din main yahan zaroor rukunga. Pura din yahan bitaunga. Logon se puchunga, ladki ke baare mein pata lagaunga. Jo ladki sirf apni gehri, betaab aankhon ki ek jhalak se mera dil chura gayi thi, use dhoondh ke rahunga.
With this thought I consoled myself throughout my last term in college. I went to Dehra again in the summer and when, in the early hours of the morning, the night train drew into Deoli station, I looked up and down the platform for signs of the girl, knowing, I wouldn’t find her but hoping just the same.
Yehi soch mere college ke last term tak mujhe tasalli deti rahi. Phir ek baar jab garmi ki chhuttiyon mein Dehra gaya, toh subah-subah jab train Deoli station aayi, maine phir platform par us ladki ko dhundhna shuru kiya. Andar se mujhe pata tha ki woh nahi milegi, par phir bhi dil umeed nahi chhor raha tha.
Somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to break journey at Deoli and spend a day there. (If it was all fiction or a film, I reflected, I would have got down and cleaned up the mystery and reached a suitable ending for the whole thing). I think I was afraid to do this. I was afraid of discovering what really happened to the girl. Perhaps she was no longer in Deoli, perhaps she was married, perhaps she had fallen ill …
Par main kabhi Deoli par nahi utara. Main hamesha sochta tha—agar yeh koi kahani ya film hoti, toh main zaroor utarta, sab kuch jaan leta, aur ek behtareen ending tak pahunchta. Lekin shayad main sach jaanne se dar raha tha. Kahin aisa na ho ki woh ladki ab Deoli mein ho hi na. Shayad uski shaadi ho chuki ho, ya woh bimaar pad gayi ho…
In the last few years I have passed through Deoli many times, and I always look out of the carriage window, half expecting to see the same unchanged face smiling up at me. I wonder what happens in Deoli, behind the station walls. But I will never break my journey there. It may spoil my game. I prefer to keep hoping and dreaming, and looking out of the window up and down that lonely platform, waiting for the girl with the baskets.
Aakhri kuch saalon mein maine kai baar Deoli se guzarna kiya. Har baar jab train wahan rukti, main khidki se bahar jhaankta, yeh sochte hue ki shayad woh ab bhi waisa hi muskura rahi ho. Main hamesha yeh sochta hoon ki Deoli ki station ki deewaron ke piche kya hota hoga? Par main kabhi wahan utar kar dekhna nahi chahta. Kyunki agar maine sach jaan liya, toh shayad meri umeed, meri tasalli chali jayegi. Isliye main sirf sapna dekhna pasand karta hoon—sirf ek umeed le kar Deoli se guzarna, us akeli platform ko dekhta rehna, aur ek baar phir us tokri bechne wali ladki ki jhalak paane ki chhoti si aas rakhna.
I never break my journey at Deoli, but I pass through as often as I can.
Main kabhi Deoli par nahi utarta, par jitni baar ho sake, wahan se guzarta zaroor hoon.
Vocabulary in Urdu/Hindi/Bengali
| English Word | Urdu (اُردُو) | Hindi (हिन्दी) | Bengali (বাংলা) | Meaning/Explanation |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Nervous | گھبرایا ہوا (Ghabraya Hua) | घबराया हुआ (Ghabraya Hua) | নার্ভাস / উদ্বিগ্ন (Nervous / Udbigna) | Feeling uneasy or anxious about something. |
| Anxious | بے چین (Bechain) | बेचैन (Bechain) | উদ্বিগ্ন (Udbigna) | Feeling worried or nervous about something that may happen. |
| Journey | سفر (Safar) | यात्रा (Yatra) | যাত্রা (Jatra) | Traveling from one place to another. |
| Platform | پلیٹ فارم (Platform) | प्लेटफ़ॉर्म (Platform) | প্ল্যাটফর্ম (Platform) | A place at a railway station where people board or leave the train. |
| Disappointed | مایوس (Mayous) | निराश (Niraash) | হতাশ (Hotash) | Feeling sad when expectations are not met. |
| Foreboding | انجان خوف (Anjaan Khauf) | अनहोनी की आशंका (Anhoni Ki Aashanka) | অজানা আশঙ্কা (Ajana Ashanka) | A feeling that something bad may happen. |
| Helpless | بے بس (Bebas) | असहाय (Asahay) | অসহায় (Asahai) | Not able to do anything in a situation. |
| Tenderness | نرمی / محبت (Narmi / Mohabbat) | कोमलता / स्नेह (Komalta / Sneh) | কোমলতা / মমতা (Komolta / Momota) | A feeling of gentleness and care. |
| Responsibility | ذمّہ داری (Zimmedari) | ज़िम्मेदारी (Zimmedari) | দায়িত্ব (Dayitto) | Duty or something a person is expected to take care of. |
| Stranger | اجنبی (Ajnabi) | अजनबी (Ajnabi) | অপরিচিত (Aporichito) | A person you do not know. |
| Lonely | تنہا (Tanha) | अकेला (Akela) | একা (Eka) | Feeling alone, without company. |
| Expectation | توقع (Tawaqqu) | उम्मीद (Umeed) | প্রত্যাশা (Protyasha) | A belief that something will happen. |
| Regret | پچھتاوا (Pachtaawa) | पछतावा (Pachtaawa) | অনুশোচনা (Onushochona) | Feeling sorry for something done or not done. |
| Glimpse | جھلک (Jhalak) | झलक (Jhalak) | ঝলক (Jhalak) | A quick or brief look at something. |
| Hope | امید (Umeed) | आशा (Asha) | আশা (Asha) | A feeling that something good will happen. |
| Dream | خواب (Khawab) | सपना (Sapna) | স্বপ্ন (Swopno) | Thoughts or images that appear in sleep or aspirations for the future. |
| Memories | یادیں (Yaadein) | यादें (Yaadein) | স্মৃতি (Smriti) | Events or experiences remembered from the past. |
| Fate/Destiny | تقدیر (Taqdeer) | तक़दीर (Taqdeer) | ভাগ্য (Bhaggo) | A power that is believed to control future events. |
| Mystery | راز (Raaz) | रहस्य (Rahasya) | রহস্য (Rohossho) | Something unknown or difficult to explain. |
| Search | تلاش (Talash) | खोज (Khoj) | অনুসন্ধান (Onushondhan) | Looking for something. |
| Whistle | سیٹی (Seeti) | सीटी (Seeti) | শিস (Shis) | A sharp sound made by blowing air or using an instrument. |
| Signal | اشارہ (Ishara) | संकेत (Sanket) | সংকেত (Sanket) | A sign or symbol to communicate something. |
| Departure | روانگی (Rawangi) | प्रस्थान (Prasthan) | প্রস্থান (Prosthan) | The act of leaving a place. |
| Arrival | آمد (Aamad) | आगमन (Aagaman) | আগমন (Agomon) | The act of reaching a place. |
| Curiosity | تجسس (Tajassus) | जिज्ञासा (Jigyasa) | কৌতূহল (Koutuhol) | A strong desire to learn or know something. |
| Longing | ترس (Taras) | तड़प (Tadap) | আকুলতা (Akulta) | A deep feeling of wanting something badly. |
| Struggle | جدوجہد (Jid-o-Jehad) | संघर्ष (Sangharsh) | সংগ্রাম (Sangram) | Hard effort to achieve something. |
| Mysterious | پراسرار (Purasrar) | रहस्यमय (Rahasymay) | রহস্যময় (Rohossomoy) | Something strange or difficult to explain. |
| Vanished | غائب (Ghaib) | गायब (Gayab) | উধাও (Udhaw) | Suddenly disappearing from sight. |
| Waiting | انتظار (Intizar) | इंतजार (Intezaar) | অপেক্ষা (Opekkha) | The act of staying in one place for something to happen. |
| Shadow | سایہ (Saya) | छाया (Chhaya) | ছায়া (Chhaya) | A dark shape created when light is blocked. |
| Train Compartment | ڈبہ (Dabba) | डिब्बा (Dibba) | কামরা (Kamra) | A section of a train where passengers sit. |
| Happiness | خوشی (Khushi) | खुशी (Khushi) | সুখ (Sukh) | A feeling of joy and contentment. |
| Sadness | اداسی (Udaasi) | उदासी (Udaasi) | দুঃখ (Dukkho) | Feeling unhappy or sorrowful. |
| Love | محبت (Mohabbat) | प्यार (Pyar) | ভালোবাসা (Bhalobasha) | A deep and strong feeling of affection. |
| Fear | خوف (Khauf) | डर (Dar) | ভয় (Bhoy) | A feeling of being scared of something. |
| Lost | کھویا ہوا (Khoya Hua) | खोया हुआ (Khoya Hua) | হারিয়ে যাওয়া (Hariye Jawa) | Unable to find one's way or missing something. |
| Silence | خاموشی (Khamoshi) | चुप्पी (Chuppi) | নীরবতা (Nirobota) | The absence of sound or noise. |
| Loneliness | تنہائی (Tanhai) | अकेलापन (Akelapan) | একাকীত্ব (Ekaakitto) | A feeling of being alone. |
| Regret | افسوس (Afsos) | पछतावा (Pachatawa) | অনুশোচনা (Onushocona) | Feeling sorry about something that happened. |
| Tears | آنسو (Aansu) | आँसू (Aansu) | অশ্রু (Oshru) | Drops of water that come from the eyes when crying. |
| Unexpected | غیر متوقع (Ghair Mutawaqqa) | अप्रत्याशित (Apratyashit) | অপ্রত্যাশিত (Oprotyashito) | Something happening suddenly without expectation. |
| Unknown | انجان (Anjaan) | अज्ञात (Agyat) | অজানা (Ajana) | Something not known or unfamiliar. |
| Memories | یادیں (Yaadein) | यादें (Yaadein) | স্মৃতি (Smriti) | Events or experiences from the past that one remembers. |
| Destiny/Fate | نصیب (Naseeb) | भाग्य (Bhagya) | ভাগ্য (Bhaggo) | A power that decides the future events of life. |
| Pain | درد (Dard) | दर्द (Dard) | ব্যথা (Byatha) | A feeling of suffering or discomfort. |
| Realization | ادراک (Idraak) | एहसास (Ehsaas) | উপলব্ধি (Upolobdhi) | Understanding or becoming aware of something. |
Textual Question Answer
Q. Choose the correct answer from the alternatives given :
1. Where does the narrator meet the young girl in the story?
a) On a crowded bus stop
b) In a bustling marketplace
c) On the railway platform at Deoli
d) In a quiet park
2. What is the narrator captivated by in the young girl?
a) Her bright and cheerful personality
b) Her loud and assertive voice
c) Her quiet dignity and dark, troubled eyes
d) Her expensive and colorful clothes
3. What does the narrator’s repeated visits to Deoli station suggest?
a) He needs to catch a train there frequently.
b) He enjoys the scenery of the place.
c) He hopes to meet the young girl again.
d) He has business dealings in the town.
