Hewertam **

It was nearly dawn. The rain beat down relentlessly. Baskar took a swig from the flask and looked over the horizon. No sign of the bus. He huddled in the shelter. A cold wind swept up, sending a shudder down his body. The street lamp sent a sickly yellow glow around the shelter. As he stood in the cold, a figure ambled into view. Baskar watched in trepidation as the figure approached. As he came closer, Baskar could make out his face. The man was heavyset. He was bald, but had a hat pulled down over his head. Soon the man was at the shelter.
"रीटर क्या होता है ?"
"No, I dont know Hindi." Baskar was apologetic.
"क्या करना हेह हिंदी मालूम नहीं - यह हिंदुस्तान है । यह मद्रासी क्या बोलता किता ?"
"Sorry , Hindi nahi. Don't know Hindi. Sorry. "
"हेह सुनो। हिंदी मालूम नहीं क्या करना है हिंदुस्तान ? वापस मद्रासी । साला " The man sounded angry.
Baskar was getting irritated. "I said no Hindi. Now leave me alone." He snapped.
The man pulled out a long knife and stabbed Baskar. Then he fell back astounded. Baskar had transformed into a vapour.
"What the hell?" the man exclaimed in English.