Most of his Puja special writings had already been sent. A couple of editors were sending proofs on WhatsApp, which he needed to check. In the study next door, his two grandchildren, Oscar and Emi, were probably playing. Their noise, laughter, and quarrels drifted into his room. His only son, Samar, had not yet returned from the office. Having retired from the railways, Bikash now spent his time writing.
On such an untimely rainy day, he felt no urge to read or write. He was lying quietly in his easy chair when suddenly his grandchildren burst into the room noisily. Bikash sat upright.
“What’s the matter, my dear ones? Why are you here at this time? Don’t you have studies?”
“We’ve come to study in your room,” said Emi, as she and Oscar sat on one side of his bed.
“Do you know, Grandpa, today our Bengali teacher said that tomorrow everyone has to say something about robbers. What is a robber, Grandpa? Mother said they have huge moustaches, long messy hair, turbans on their heads, red marks on their foreheads, and sticks in their hands. Those are robbers!”
“Your mother is right. In earlier days, robbers did look like that. They would attack travelers and businessmen with sticks and take away everything they had. They would even break doors with crowbars, enter homes at night, and loot. If anyone resisted, they would even kill.”
The siblings’ eyes widened. Almost together, they asked, “Grandpa, have you ever seen a robber?”
“Of course I have. But today’s robbers are not like those from the past. Earlier they had sticks and machetes. Now they carry guns and pistols.”
Little Oscar got down from the bed and stood beside his grandfather, asking in amazement, “Have you really seen a dacoit, Grandpa?”
“Not just seen them, I’ve faced them. I even fought them and handed them over to the police.”
“Wow! You’re so brave,” said Emi. “Tell us that story, Grandpa!”
Bikash realized he had no escape today. He would have to tell the story. Leaving his easy chair, he sat on the sofa and said, “I’ll tell you the story, but first one of you go to the kitchen and tell your grandmother to make me a strong cup of tea.”
Emi, being the elder, ran off to convey the message. Returning quickly, she and Oscar sat close beside their grandfather on the sofa. Bikash began—
“Listen. The robbers I’m going to talk about are not like the ones I described earlier. These were train robbers. They would board moving trains and rob passengers of money, women of their jewelry, and traders of their cash. At that time, I had just joined the railways. My first posting was at Lakshmikantapur station on the Sealdah South line, which was then the last station. Now the line extends to Namkhana. Beyond that lies the Hataniya-Doania River, and further on is the tourist spot Bakkhali.
In those days, on the Sealdah South line, especially on the Canning, Diamond Harbour, and Lakshmikantapur routes, train robberies at night were frequent. Goods trains standing at remote stations were also looted. South 24 Parganas was an underdeveloped district, with low literacy and a large poor population. Farming was seasonal, and many depended on fishing. But with wetlands shrinking and rivers silting up, people struggled to survive. Many were forced into robbery.
Each gang had about 10–12 members under a leader. Their weapons included crude guns, pipe guns, homemade bombs, sticks, and large machetes. Smaller groups, lacking resources, resorted to train robberies and were called ‘rail dacoits.’
Local trains had almost no police security, which these dacoits exploited. I was an Assistant Station Master, so I often discussed security with GRP officers. From them I learned about notorious dacoits like Lalu, Surya, and Bhola who dominated that line. They had been caught several times but returned to crime after being released on bail.
One Saturday evening, after finishing my duty, I boarded a train to return home. The compartment wasn’t very crowded, about 20–22 passengers scattered around, including a few women wearing jewelry, perhaps heading to a function.
As the train left Gocharan station, suddenly a group of six or seven men boarded. They had red headbands, vests, lungis, and their faces were covered with cloth. One of them held a pipe gun, others had knives and iron rods. The man with the gun shouted, “No one move! Hand over everything you have, or I’ll shoot!”
Then two of them started collecting money and jewelry. Chaos erupted. Women screamed and cried, refusing to give their ornaments. The leader approached an elderly businessman sitting in a corner. The man clutched his bag tightly to his chest. I realized the dacoit had prior information—there was money in that bag.
The leader shouted, “Hand it over, or I’ll kill you!”
I was young then, physically strong, and working for the railways. How could I let this happen in front of me? In my bag, I had a heavy brass torch. I made a quick decision. Jumping up, I struck the leader hard on the neck from behind. As he fell, I shouted, “Everyone, attack them!”
When another dacoit advanced, I hit him on the head with the torch. Seeing this, the other able-bodied passengers joined in and overpowered the rest. The leader was unconscious, and the others, stunned, couldn’t react in time. Two managed to escape by jumping off the moving train, but the rest were captured.
By then, the train reached the next station, Dhobdobi. Hearing the commotion, passengers from other compartments rushed in. The Station Master, guard, and driver arrived. The captured dacoits were tied up. When the leader regained consciousness, he too was bound.
The Station Master, an experienced man, handed me the pipe gun and said, “This is Surya, a notorious dacoit. You must hand them over to the GRP at Baruipur Junction and file a case. Make sure the injured passengers are treated and recorded as witnesses. Give my name as well. Let them receive proper punishment this time. And I must commend your bravery.”
The train resumed its journey. The passengers gradually felt relieved, though the elderly businessman was still trembling. The captured dacoits lay on the floor, glaring angrily.
Oscar asked anxiously, “What happened next, Grandpa?”
“What else? At Baruipur station, the police took them into custody, untied them, and locked them up. I filed the case and went home. Later, they were sentenced to prison.”
Emi said, “You’re so brave, Grandpa! What if they had hurt you?”
“They could have. But I was young then, full of energy. And if the other passengers hadn’t helped, I might have been in trouble.”
Oscar stood up, clapped his hands, and said, “My grandpa is a hero! Long live my grandpa!”
Emi added, “Grandpa, I’ll tell this very story in class tomorrow.”
