Rickshaw Driver

                                                 

By William M. Balsamo
  

                                     

 Connaught Circle in the hours of early dawn can be a deserted place. With homeless sleeping in corners covered with nothing more than a sari, with mongrel dogs searching for food among the garbage in competition with rats also looking for fragments of food to sate their hunger.

    Into this scene Scott arrived. He jumped off the airport bus and onto the pavement of the streets of Delhi. The bus made the stop in Connaught Circle which is a tremendous series of circles expanding from a rotund fountain which has long run dry.

    The light of day remains hidden behind some think clouds. Scott is half-awake and, like the dawn, is caught between darkness and light. He had landed the night before past midnight at the International Airport and had decided to stay in the visitor’s lounge until daylight feeling it was safer to rest at the airport lounge than to wander the city streets at night.

    Now the light of day had come and he was in the center of town but streets were strangely deserted. As he walked following the vague outline of  a guidebook map he was approached by a swarthy man on foot.

     “Oh, be careful, sir! There are many bad people here in the early morning. Where are you going?”

     Scott was the all-too-obvious foreign traveler with blond hair and white, fair skin and an all too-large backpack and digital camera hanging from a strap around his waist.

     “Where are you going?” the man repeated, “I will help you.”

     Scott did not answer and the man was obviously offended by his silence but not deterred.

     Suddenly a Rickshaw drew up alongside both of them, “Sir,” said the driver “where are you going? Tell me honestly and I will take you there.”

     Scott said, “I can find a place by myself? I’m o.k. leave me alone.” Scott clutched the guidebook and tried to study the map but he was not able to locate the exact place where he was standing at the moment. His head was swimming with confusion. The streets were not well marked and all the building looked the same. He had been warned about rickshaw drivers and their many tricks and scams. Within him there was a lack of trust which he found hard to erase.

     A small crowd had gathered around him. They were drawn to the confusion as a moth is drawn to the light.

     “Please,” Scott pleaded, Please leave me alone. I can find my way around by myself.”

     “Sir, you cannot,” shouted the rickshaw driver. “It is very dangerous around herein the early morning. There are thieves lurking in shadows. People disappear and are never seen or heard from again. Get into my rickshaw.” This was no longer an invitation but an order.

     Scott began to feel threatened.

     Another man came up to him. “Don’t trust these drivers. They are all a bunch of liars. Come with me. I will take you to a cheap, clean and safe hotel.”

     “Don’t listen to him,” shouted the driver. “He is a cheat! He always says bad things about rickshaw drivers. But, he is the one who is dishonest!”

     Scott’s head began to swim. He was dizzy with confusion and did not know whom he should believe. The rickshaw driver, a man of around twenty-six with thick black hair and black piercing eyes continued. “Why don’t you trust me? I am an honest man. Please get into my rickshaw.”

     Scott felt threatened and wished they were all gone so that he would be able to find a guesthouse by himself and without interference.

     The driver noticed his discomfort and said sadly and philosophically, “You don’t trust me but in life you must trust people or you cannot live. If you trust no one you will be a lonely man for the rest of your life. Please get into my rickshaw.”

     Scott paid no attention to the driver and continued to walk in the perceived direction of the guesthouse he was looking for. The driver rode his rickshaw beside him Scott felt as though he were being stalked.

    “Please, leave me alone!”

    “No, I will follow you till you are safely out of harm’s way!”

    “Get away from me! Get out of here!”

    “You cannot stop me from driving my rickshaw.”

    Indeed, it was true. There were no policemen in sight and the only men loitering along the streets and at corners would never come to his defense should he need it.

Scot continued to walk and he found himself soaked in his own sweat and drenched with perspiration. The rickshaw driver realized that he could not dissuade Scott from his own determination and gave up. He stopped his rickshaw and shouted something at Scott in his native language which was lost in the air.

 

     Scott checked his map again and after studying it in greater detail he was able to locate his exact position in near Connaught Circle. “Ah, I’m very near. Only a few more minutes to go,” he thought to himself. He continued to walk and soon found himself on a wide deserted street south of the Circle. There was some street sweepers who went about their business not even aware that a backpacker was in the area.   

     Suddenly the soft murmur of an engine was approaching and Scott turned to look back. Another rickshaw driver was approaching. The city seemed to be a nest of drivers festering like an infestation of unwanted insects. They preyed upon the new arrivals to their city and sought to confuse them until they became weary and lost their defenses and succumbed to their wills.

 

     The rickshaw driver came up alongside Scott who now began to show signs of being worn down by stress and bleary-eyed from the lack of a good night’s sleep.

     “Where are you going, sir?” the driver asked politely.

     “Leave me alone.”

     “I am just trying to be helpful.”

     “Leave me alone.”

     “It is too early in the morning to have had a bad day.”

     “I don’t want a ride.”

     “Ah, sir, but welcome to my country. You are my guest.”
     “I am sick and tired of you rickshaw drivers. I just had a bad experience with one and I don’t want to do business with another.”

     “Oh, but we are not all alike.” The driver held out his hand to Scott and spread out his five fingers.

     “Look sir, what do you see?”

     “I see your hand.”

     “No, you don’t. You see five fingers. They are all attached to one hand but no two fingers are alike. Each one is different.” After a pause he continued. “I will take you to your destination for five rupees.”

    Scott stopped and could not repress a smile. “These people are unique,” he said to himself.

    “No, thanks. I am close enough now to walk.”

    “O.k. Then I will take you to your destination free of charge. No money.”

    Scott looked puzzled and felt that he was being set up for a scam. The rickshaw driver looked very honest and spoke very softly and did not have the same spirit of aggression as the other rickshaw driver back at Connaught Circle.  

    Maybe he was indeed too tired and maybe he had judged them wrongly. Maybe he had become too defensive and sent out waves of mistrust. A lone traveler is often dependent on the kind gestures of strangers and here a man, a total stranger, was offering him a free ride.

    “Don’t worry,” said the driver, “I will not sell you any rugs. I just want to welcome you to my country.”

     Scott now laughed. That was exactly what he thought the may was going to do – sell him rugs.”

     O.k,” said Scott getting into the rickshaw, “Take me to the Agra Guesthouse. It’s here just around the road.”

     “Oh, that’s very near to the Hanuman Guesthouse. Why don’t you go there instead? It is very clean and very cheap and besides, my uncle owns the place.”