BALI 100 KM (Book 1) ✔

Chapter 1

Although the cold mist had blanketed the trees, the dark road glistened in the faint moonlight that had managed to wriggle through it. The lone cyclist on the road had covered himself with a blanket, but more than to keep the chill away, it was to keep his existence wrapped.

His peddling squeaks synced with the silent night, spoke of a not-so-urgent pace to reach his destination. In a while, he stopped beside a small structure and parked his wheels. Having lighted the lantern, he hung it on the rod protruding from the shack and then proceeded to uncover it as he usually does. It was a small wooden shack with a table, bench, stool, four cookie jars, and utensils. The kerosene stove and supplies he always carried with him may be in fear of scavengers and animals stealing them away.

Not wasting any time, he began to set up his stove to prepare the tea. At 4 am, the traffic was scarce, but as it was the highway leading to the city of Bali at 100 km, even the few buses that passed were filled with passengers as early as that time, going to work. It was good business for him to set up a tea stall. Soon a bus halted near his stall. Only some passengers alighted, as most of them were asleep. They headed towards the shack, including the driver.

"You are late," Bandu, the owner, commented as he passed on the hot beverage to the khaki-clad driver.

"Yes, got stuck up at the police barricades at various places," he replied, sipping the tea.

"Blockade! For what?" surprised, his hand paused for a second before passing on the tea to another passenger.

"They are trying to trace an escaped prison inmate, it seems, and were handing out wanted posters too."

"What did he do?"

"Not sure, but rumors doing rounds is that he murdered someone while trying to steal from the government office."

"Oh, really nasty to kill, but what did he steal?"

"No idea."

"What was there so valuable in a government office, I wonder?"

"I don't know either," the driver said, handing back the empty glass.

Just then, the horn sounded. Both men look towards the bus to see Das waving his hand out of the window. Young Das was a conductor but was an alcoholic. Even Bandu tried to put some sense into him to give up the bad habit, but it fell to deaf ears.

"What a waste of youthful life." Bandu, who had no such vices, said.

"He is on the mend now. Fell gravely sick for some days sometime back and the doctors gave him an ultimatum that if he didn't stop drinking he could lose his life. that got him thinking, Maman said and handed Bandu the money for the brew.

"Thanks, Maman. When will you be back? I needed a few supplies."

"I will be back tomorrow or the day after. Anyways, keep the list ready."

"Wait, I have already prepared one." Bandu handed over a piece of paper and money to Maman.

The horn rang once again.

"I am already behind schedule because of the blockade, so I have to hurry," Maman said and hastened towards the bus after taking the paper and money from Bandu.

He struck up a friendship with Maman last year when he was assigned to drive through this route. He brought Bandu supplies he needed for the shop and saved Bandu time and energy to travel to the city. Though friends, he was unaware of Maman's family background. Their conversations never took to that direction.

Bandu washed the empty glasses and stacked them on the table. 

Just then, a vehicle pulled over near the stall. Bandu looked out to find a police jeep parked in front of the shop. When beckoned by the driver, he hurried towards the jeep. Two police constables occupied the front seats.

"A criminal has escaped from prison. He is a dangerous man. Be careful. If you happen to spot anyone suspicious, let us know. We will be passing here every 2 hours. Do not help him in any way. Do you understand?" the constables inform him, "Get us some tea now," Bandu hastened back inside and returned with their order.

They had their tea and paid and repeated their warning before driving away. Bandu stood there looking at the vehicle until it was out of sight. He returned to wash the glasses and stack them on the table. The sky had begun to light up, slowly trickling in more traffic on the road.

It was usual business till 12.30 pm, and then after his lunch and nap at home, Bandu returned by 3 pm to his shop. The patrolling party had returned by then for their afternoon tea. Bandu served customers until 6 pm. Only solitary motorists stopped at his stall. His small shack did not attract many travelers with family as he did not have a variety of snacks and other soft drinks which they preferred. He was still happy with whatever business he did as he had only himself to look after.

The sun had set by the time he finished his cleaning. Having lit the lantern, he kept it on the table and sat down to savor the last glass of tea before closing down.

"Can I have a glass of tea?" came a voice from the darkness to startle Bandu. He had not heard any vehicle stop nearby. Putting the glass down, he peered into the blackness before him for the source of the voice. Loneliness and darkness did not frighten him, but it was his past that haunted him. The shadowed figure stood in the dark.

"I have this one last glass of tea. You can have this if you want," Bandu's voice was steady, and his eyes fixed on the dark figure.

"Thank you. I would like to have that tea," the voice replied.

Bandu got up and pushed the glass in front. The figure that emerged was tall, well-built, tanned, with a mustache and beard covering half of the face. His cap shadowed his eyes. He was dressed casually in a t-shirt, with a leather jacket over it and dark-colored trousers. Bandu eyed him warily, but under that circumstance, anyone would, plus the warning of the constable also suddenly rang in his mind.

"Were you passing through or holidaying here, sir?" Bandu asked cautiously, without rousing any doubts.

The stranger raised his eyes at him over the glass but did not answer him. He finished his tea and paid for it.

"Just passing by," he retorted and walked away into the darkness.

Bandu could be wrong about the stranger, but he was not waiting to find out, so he packed up left for home. Twice, the constables had come to his shop, and strangely he didn't think about asking them for the handbill, nor did they on their part give him one. He mentally made a note to ask the constable the next day to clear the doubt.