Dragon in the Tunnel
The
first time I saw a train, I was standing on a wooded slope
outside a tunnel in the foothills near Simla in India. Suddenly,
with a shrill whistle and a great burst of steam, a green
and black engine came snorting out of the darkness.
I turned and ran to my father. “A dragon!” I shouted. “There’s a dragon coming out of its cave!”
Since then, steam engines and dragons have always inspired the same feelings in me—wonder, awe, and delight. I would like to see a real dragon one day—green and gold—and, because I have always preferred the reluctant sort, rather shy and gentle. But until that day comes, I shall be content with steam engines.
India has one of the most extensive railway systems in the world, and the steam engine is still in use on some lines. Some of the trains that crisscross the subcontinent, panting over desert and plain, through hill and forest, are pulled by these snorting monsters that belch smoke by day and scatter red stars at night.
Even now when I see a train coming round the bend of a hill, crossing a bridge, or cutting across a wide plain, I experience the same sort of innocent wonder that I felt as a boy. Where are all these people going and where have they come from? What are they really like?
When children wave to me from carriage windows, I wave back. It is a habit I never lost. And sometimes I am in a train, waving, and the village children wave back—not to me exactly. It is the train they are waving to.
Small wayside stations have always fascinated me. Manned sometimes by just one or two railway employees and often situated in the middle of a damp subtropical forest or clinging to a mountainside, these little stations are outposts of romance—lonely symbols of the pioneering spirit that led people to lay tracks into the remote corners of the earth.
I remember such a stop on a line that went through the Terai forest near the foothills of the Himalayas. At about ten at night, the khalasi, or station watchman, lit his kerosene lamp and started walking up the tracks into the jungle.
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| Ruskin Bond, at age nine, in the foothills of northern India. |
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To see if the tunnel is clear,” he said. “The Overland Mail comes in twenty minutes.”
I accompanied him along the track through a deep cutting that led to the tunnel. Every night the khalasi walked through the dark tunnel and then stood outside to wave his lamp to the oncoming train as a signal that the track was clear. If the engine driver did not see the lamp, he stopped the train. The train always slowed down near the cutting.
Having inspected the tunnel, we stood outside, waiting for the train. It seemed like a long time. There was no moon, and the dense forest seemed to be trying to crowd us into the narrow cutting. The sounds of the forest came to us—the belling of a sambar deer and the cry of a jackal told us that perhaps a tiger or leopard was on the prowl. There were the strange nocturnal voices of birds, and then silence.
The khalasi stood outside the tunnel, listening to the faint sounds of the jungle—sounds that only he could identify and understand. Something made him stand very still for a few moments. Peering into the darkness, I felt that something was wrong.
“There is an animal in the tunnel,” he said.
I could hear nothing at first, but then there came a regular sawing sound, just like the sound made by someone sawing through a branch of a tree.
“Bagh,” whispered the khalasi. He had said enough for me to recognize the sound-the sawing of a leopard trying to find its mate. “The train will be coming soon. We must drive the animal out or it will be run over!”
He must have sensed my surprise because he said, “Do not be afraid. I know this leopard well. We have seen each other many times. He has a weakness for stray dogs and goats, but he will not harm us.”
He gave me his small hand ax to hold, and, raising his lamp high, he started walking into the tunnel, shouting at the top of his voice to try to scare the leopard away. I followed close behind.
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| An old forest rest house in the Simla hills—leopard country! |
We had gone about twenty yards into the tunnel when the light from the lamp fell on the leopard that was crouching between the tracks, only about twenty feet away from us. It bared its teeth in a snarl and went down on its belly, tail twitching. I thought it was going to spring.
The khalasi and I both shouted—together. Our voices rang and echoed through the tunnel. The leopard, uncertain as to how many humans were in the tunnel with him, turned swiftly and disappeared in the darkness.
The khalasi and I walked to the end of the tunnel without seeing the leopard. As we returned to the entrance the rails began to hum, and we knew the train was coming. The khalasi began waving his lamp.
I put my hand to one of the rails and felt its tremor. And then the engine came round the bend, hissing at us and scattering sparks into the darkness, defying the jungle as it roared through the steep sides of the cutting. It charged straight at the tunnel and into it, thundering past us like the beautiful dragon of my dreams.
And when it had gone, the silence returned and the forest breathed again. Only the rails still trembled with the passing of the train.
