The Toss of a Coin

 

By Shevlin Sebastian

It happened one summer night. Ramesh and I were quarrelling at a petrol pump. We had gone to fill petrol. It was the night we had finished our ICSE exams, and we were in a happy mood. We were on Anirban’s motorcycle, and Ramesh and I were fighting over who would sit in the middle and who would sit at the back.

“Gautam,” he said, “you always want to sit at the back, but I think it’s my turn now.”

“No,” I said. “I want to sit at the back because I like it, and because I am bigger than you. I am uncomfortable in the middle.”

“Nothing doing,” said Ramesh. “I want to sit at the back.”

We kept arguing till Anirban said, “Come on, let’s solve the problem by tossing a coin.”

“Yeah,” said Ramesh, laughing. “Heads I win, tails you lose.”

“Come on,” Anirban said, “be serious. Gautam, what do you want?”

“Heads,” I said unhesitatingly.

We watched as the coin spun in the air and landed on the grease-stained ground. We peered into the shadows and then Ramesh leapt up and punched the sky with his fist.

“The mark of a champion,” he said. I didn’t want to argue any more. Anirban started the motorcycle, and then I got on and Ramesh sat at the back.

It was twelve-thirty at night, and we were on the outskirts of Calcutta. Now we were going on a long ride on the highway, and we were nervous. Firstly, because Anirban had no licence and secondly, it was a little frightening to be travelling so far away from home. But come on, today we had finished our ICSE exams, and it was time for some fun and excitement.

Anirban released the clutch and turned up the accelerator. We were off.

We were going very fast, and there was a real thrill in it. We gripped the sides of the seat as Anirban went faster. The roar of the engine filled our ears. We had to narrow our eyes because the breeze was very strong. We were all tense and excited. Anirban increased the speed, and now we were going much too fast.

This was dangerous speeding, but we didn’t care. Suddenly, a lorry came out from a side street. We had barely time to notice the headlights before it crashed into us, and we were all flung into the air.

When I next opened my eyes, I was in a hospital room. The sunlight was streaming in through the window. I could see my mother standing beside me, her face full of worry, and she held my hand. She smiled suddenly when she saw that my eyes were open. The nurse was standing close by in her starched white uniform. A doctor with a stethoscope around his neck was also there.

“So, how do you feel, Gautam?” the doctor asked.

“Stiff,” I replied. “Have I broken anything?”

“Yes, you have fractured your right leg and your right hand,” he said and smiled. “But don’t worry, everything will be all right.”

Then the doctor drew my mother aside and whispered something into her ear, and then he left the room. My mother came up to me, and I asked, “Where is Papa?”

“He’s coming, Gautam,” she replied. “He was here till about fifteen minutes ago. There was some urgent work in the office, and so he had to rush back. Gautam, don’t worry, there’s nothing to fear. It is only a broken bone, and it will heal in time.”

I nodded, and began to feel sleepy again. My head was buzzing, and I felt tired. But I managed to whisper, “How are Anirban and Ramesh?”

“They are all recovering, Gautam, don’t worry,” she said. And gratefully, I drifted off to sleep.

The days passed. Finally, I felt better and stronger. I was allowed to leave the hospital. It was great to be back home, with my parents, my books, my table, my chair, the bed, and the tape-recorder. I was glad for the comforts that belonged to me. I was an only son.

After returning home, my recovery was very fast. The buzzing went away from my head, my eyes cleared up, I had a good appetite, and I got up earlier in the mornings. Soon, I was hobbling to the drawing room to watch breakfast television, and my sense of humour came back. I felt fine. Sometimes, when I asked about Ramesh and Anirban, my mother would say, “They are recovering, but they are still in hospital.”

It was only months later, when my bandages were removed and I was able to walk normally, that my mother and father told me the terrible news.

“We pondered over it,” my father said. “And we decided it was best for you not to be told anything while you were recovering. But we can’t hide the truth any more. Gautam, Ramesh and Anirban are dead.”

Suddenly, my head whirled, and I remembered the toss of the coin. In the background, I could hear my father’s voice:

“It was just bad luck. It was Ramesh who was sitting at the back. The lorry hit the end of the bike from the side, and Ramesh was instantaneously crushed. Both you and Anirban were flung off the bike. Anirban hit a lamp post with great force and suffered a severe concussion. He died in the hospital. You were hurt badly because you fell with great force to the ground.”

But I couldn’t hear anything more. Again, I could feel the buzzing in my ears, and I saw the toss of the coin as it flicked through the night air and landed on the ground followed by Ramesh’s exultant cry of triumph.

I had been saved from death by a whisker. If Ramesh had not protested, it would have been I who died and not Ramesh.

I was given a fresh lease of life. I was given the chance to live again. That frightened me.

One friend’s death was another friend’s salvation.

(Published in Target Children’s Magazine, India Today Group, August, 1989)