The Unknown Saviour

A few days after our marriage in December 1991 at Dehradun, my cousin invited us for dinner. He was serving in the Army and resided in Clement town, an army cantonment on the outskirts of Dehradun. It was about 15 km from our residence.

Clement town is named after an Italian priest, Father R. C. Clement, who settled here in the 1930s. It is located in the southern part of the Doon valley and borders the northern slopes of the Siwaliks. During World War II, Italian prisoners of war were interned here. And, in January 1949, the Joint Services Wing (later National Defence Academy) took wings in the barracks that housed the Italian POWs. It was shifted to Khadakvasla in 1955.

Since it was the initial phase of our marriage, my wife preferred a saree and heels for the occasion and we both glided to the cousin’s house on our LML Vespa. BHABHI JI is a fine cook and had prepared many delicious dishes. I don’t remember whether BHAISAHAB (the cousin) had offered hard drinks, but BHABHI JI kept on imploring to eat until we could not take any more. And then it was time to return after the servings of the dessert.

It was about 11PM that we bade goodbye and after navigating the tree laden lanes of Clement town, approached Saharanpur Road 10 minutes later. The road was almost empty. We had hardly travelled 3-4 km that the scooter engine abruptly stopped working. I instinctively checked for the fuel knob; it was on reserve mark and could guess that the fuel was over. I was almost shocked to find the fuel tank empty in the unearthly hours at a remote place amidst the cold weather of December. I sheepishly explained the issue to the wife. She must have felt uncertain about her future with a man who could not even take care of the fuel in the vehicle, but didn’t show any annoyance and kept mum.

We had the option to return to the cousin’s house but decided to walk ahead and look for a petrol pump on the way. Since the wife was wearing saree and heels, she found it difficult to walk yet, somehow, kept the pace without any murmur. Her calm demeanour exhibited that honeymoon phase exists. Pulling the scooter after a heavy meal appeared a Herculean task, but being a husband, tried to keep a brave face. However, the guilt of not checking the fuel before moving was troubling me and it further got amplified as I had put my wife also in a grim situation. I was in the process of pondering all this when unexpectedly a young man on a scooter came close-by and asked about the problem. I apprised him about the hitch. He advised us not to worry and asked to wait just for five minutes and then left. We hardly had any choice and waited with bated breath. Every second appeared like hours.

Our joy knew no bounds as we saw the youth before us with a bottle of petrol within the specified time. He himself poured the fuel into the tank and kick-started the scooter. I tried to pay for the petrol, but he politely refused it and wished us a happy journey.

After having met us, the youth had gone to his house nearby, drained fuel from his scooter with the help of a pipe and then brought it to us. My salute and heartfelt thanks to that unknown saviour.