Shivali CA2 Draft1
Heartstrings of Purity
Through this narrative essay, I wish to share a story pertaining to the quirky but loving side
of nearly all auto-pullers that is often considered to be deceptive or aggravating. In order to
get the readers completely engulfed in the narrative, I have employed the use of dialogues,
vivid descriptions, characters, and an overarching use of auditory imagery to appeal to the
sense of hearing and effectively create a contrast between silence and uproar. My essay
adopts an informal, anticipatory, and tense tone to spark curiosity in the reader’s mind. The
use of third person narrative offers the reader with an omniscient viewpoint on the events
that are to unfold ahead, as well as a deeper insight into the thoughts of the protagonist. An
overall mood of suspense crafts my story to be suitable for a universal audience.
The discordant melody of jarring sounds was the siren that made any passer-by, deaf to his
ears, but to Devi it was the sound of home. Vroom! Vroom! Vroom! Or was it the clattering
of pebbles in the chuckhole? Devi sternly remained rooted to her spot; her mind was
entirely lost in the thoughts about the unalloyed beauty of a city. The city where branches of
the cold picturesque tree, danced like a lubber in a net. But the skyscrapers contrasting with
the dirty slums- “Wait”, Devi shrieked. Her eyes flickered as she abruptly woke from her
spring of thoughts to the pitter-patter of rain that pounded heavily against her. “Gosh! These
Mumbai rains…what’s even happening? where am I?” she muttered fretfully.
The warm orange tint of the sky was beginning to bolt away. But everything else remained
silent.
Faint whispers of rustling leaves had dissipated far away from the deserted lane. No
fruiterer’s were heard, no aunties were seen. It were as if the street had composed a
deafening music of it’s own.
Devi’s watch ticked half past 7. In a fraction of 10 minutes, she would be past her curfew.
She hastily searched for her phone, but it was completely drenched in water. “Help!” Devi
whined. Pellets of water kept falling down her shirt like perspiration beneath her knitted
brows. The hefty, repressive, almost eerie darkness of blanket squeezed her intensely. At this
dreadful sight, Devi’s heart palpitated so wildly that she nearly stumbled against the metal
pole.
Then a car passed by, and another, and another. None of them waited; all snaked through
the pathway like a serpent through the blistering sand.
Devi stared up into the now ebony-black sky, but then she heard a sudden noise. Her head
now towards the road, she widened her eyes: it was a three-wheeled automobile with a
funny green-yellow colour drawing near. The man who was driving the old clunker, sprightly
hauled it right in front of Devi and said, “Mam where you go? Autorickshaw I take”.
Her mouth opened in a silent scream. Devi recollected the moment when her aunt was once
deceived by a similar auto-puller. She wondered if this man in khaki was capable of doing
the same. “Mam..?” he exclaimed abruptly. Devi sluggishly pulled back her thoughts and
Shivali CA2 Draft1
inquired whether she could find a car. “Car? No mam very dark now. Car hard find…”, he
replied meekly. Devi observed that he appeared to be disbelieving. However, looking at her
own present circumstance, she felt that it was only right to sit in the filthy vehicle.
The driver didn’t waste a single minute in silence. “Mumbai weather nice no. But why you
stand alone on street? Where you from? My name Raju. Your name?” blabbered the man as
he drove the rickshaw. His constant chatter irked Devi, but she maintained her focus on
keeping an eye on him.
The rain had soon become a torrential downpour; meanwhile, when Devi dozed off to
subdue the man’s bickering, he stopped the auto to a sudden halt. “Mam there problem”, he
exclaimed.
It wasn't until now that the driver remembered the shutdown of the street for the night.
Devi’s stomach was already in knots and twists and turns as she realised what had
happened.
“Why did you take the wrong route? I will call the police…”, Devi said with severity. The man
looked startled as he responded, “No mam. Road close. I not know”. Hearing this, Devi lost
all the hope she had.
Her fingers trembled frantically, and her blood ran cold. “Mam come my home stay”, said
the man. Devi’s hand flew to her mouth. “What?” she exclaimed. “Till morning road not
open and my home close. My wife daughter also very welcoming”, he added. Devi was too
tired to argue with this poor man, and with a doubtful she solemnly acknowledged his offer.
Preventing her branded pant from getting muddy, Devi ambled arduously through the
narrow lane where housing units packaged together firmly, and water drained through the
sewage pipeline. Baffled at the 100-square-foot hut that belonged to the auto-puller, Devi
swung open the metallic door with such intensity that scraps of wood and plastic crashed on
her head. With a latrine on one side of the room and a stove on the other, Devi felt
uncomfortable.
The following hour was Devi’s most unfamiliar yet an intriguing one.
As she sat down with the family on the stained floor to eat warm food, she was reminded of
her hometown. “Please take more food…take more bread?”, the man’s wife questioned.
Devi nodded with a yes and before she even realised, the room was already filled with
giggles and snorts.
Devi smiled to herself and wondered: maybe every person has their own struggle and
deserves a tad bit of love.