Uncannily, the bike stopped in the middle of nowhere.
9pm… a distant corner… nobody around.
Cursing, she dragged it uphill somehow reaching the highway.
“Fuel empty, child?” someone asked, kindly.
Stopping, he whipped out a bottle from his bike’s boot and emptied it in her tank.
She barely said ‘thanks!’ before he drove away.
Even 9pm in my little Goan town means almost midnight, especially in the corner where my bike decided to leave me stranded. My fault actually, I had not checked the fuel levels before I left the house, and now I was getting punished. I was already having a rough day and I didn’t have the strength to drag the bike up the steep slope to reach the main road but I did it anyway.
I had just managed to push it up the slope and around the bend when a motorcyclist in a dark helmet stopped right in front of me.
“What happened child?’ he asked in the kindest voice. “Fuel empty?”
“Yes.” I said.
“Just another kilometre… I’ve called my father, he’s on his way.”
“I have petrol with me, enough to get you home. Open your tank.” He said, calm yet with an authority that I couldn’t refuse.
“Ok!” I muttered.
He then produced a bottle from the boot of his bike and poured half its contents into my tank as I watched, slightly mesmerised.
“Go now! You’ll reach home” he said.
I barely had the sense to open my mouth and say ‘thanks’ before he waved and drove off.
I was left wondering the whole way back about the kindness of that stranger, the perfect, almost too perfect timing… and wondering if I would do that for him if the roles were reversed. And in all that, I did not even see his face.
But at the end of the tiring, blah day… he had given me a reason to smile, to believe in simple magic of a helping hand! Thank you, whoever you are, for caring, for helping!