The bare legs of a Sofa - A short story

'Why not use this holiday for some productive activity that could provide an enriching experience as well?' thought the professor. It was early in the morning. The morning in January is quite cold in the Jagraon. He covered his head with a yellow turban. He tied it in a round shape so that nobody could recognise him. He tied a piece of cloth around his waist to be in a sort of disguise. He picked up all the oranges that he purchased from the wholesale market. While lifting a sack of oranges in the right arm and having a folded mat in the armpit he waited for a train to reach Buggipura bypass near Moga. He could have very well sold the oranges in Jagraon itself but he was ashamed lest someone should watch him doing this petty roadside business. Moga is thirty five kilometers from Jagraon and nobody would recognise him there. Moreover he was now dressed as a humble Sikh.
A baby started crying in the arms of her mother in the running train.The mother wrapped herself gracefully and started breastfeeding the child. The baby calmed down. There was silence in the compartment. Only the ordinary running noise of the train was there. The trees and the green fields seem to be running backwards in the moving train. However the distant trees seemed to run along the train. Perhaps a sort of illusion. When it reached at Nanaksar the young lady with the baby got down. A man wearing a lot of rosaries on his neck started a conversation. He started telling a story which went on somewhat like this :- Once upon a time a lover was desperate to win the love of his dreamgirl. He came across a holy tree that could speak. The speaking tree said to the young man ''In your previous incarnation you yearned to fondle the bosom of a girl of tender age. A person of your age could have had a daughter of her age but you were blinded by lust. Your wish was fulfilled but in a different way. You died in an accident and your soul transmigrated into the womb of the girl whose cleavage you looked at stealthily and lecherously. You got what you desired. You sucked her breast as a baby in the present birth. Now why don't you rise above lust? Why do you wish to restart the cycle of life and death all over again? So silly of you!''. The man in saffron clothes and rosaries around his neck took a pause as the train halted at a station.
Another gentleman with a short moustache and a long beard said.''Are the men to be blamed for all the problem? The women communicate by partially exposing their bosom every now and then. They try to lure men and gain their attention. A major part of their seductive prowess lies in the cleavage of their bosoms. Every minute they transmit signals through them. It is not merely bosom. It is their arsenal as well. That is why in our culture we ask them to remain fully covered with a veil.''
A man dressed in perfectly white clothes added,''If you do not have a control on your eyes nothing can work. Why blame anyone when the control mechanism is weak? In our culture meat and other concentrated food items are not allowed.They are an hinderance in the proper functioning of the control system. If the food eaten is pure even total nudity would not corrupt a person's mind.''
In the end the professor said,''It all depends on the way one is accustomed to. The things would not go utterly bad if our actions are guided by truth.There was a society a few centuries ago. In that society women folk remained covered from head to toe.The men folk were not accustomed to seeing anything bare.They could get seducted even by the bare legs of a Sofa. So they started clothing even the legs of the Sofa''
At Mehna an elderly women in her late seventies came and sat in the apartment. She had a Serenity on her face and piosity in her manners. All the men fell silent as though their wisdom had evaporated all of a sudden.
The train stopped near Buggipura bypass. The professor got down the train to try out his experiment of selling the oranges. The sunshine was soothing. He spread his mat and on the mat spread the oranges.'Two oranges for ten rupees'. He would speakout loudly the rate whenever somebody asked the price.Travellers got down from the long route buses and while waiting for the three wheelers they bought the oranges from him. Across the road there were green fields offering a feast to the eyes. At noon he relished the lunchpack that he had brought from his home. By 2PM he sold all the oranges and came back home.