Fight-Flight-Freeze

A random thursday (2.43 am) I wake up to the sound of a child wailing her guts out. I am travelling east for the first time, on a train I have never travelled in before. 

"The child has been crying for a while", someone said. I haven't gotten up from my berth yet, half asleep, I listen. An elderly man is talking to the child now, the TT I conclude. I remember his voice. Last night, he had kindly offered us to continue finishing our dinner as he checked through the validity of our reservations. 

"Aapka naam kya hai?" (What is your name?), he asked. 

"Preeti"* I hear the faint, and feeble voice of the child. 

"Aapki mumma kahaan hai?" (Where is your mother?)

"Pata nahi" (I don't know)

The child continues to wail and sob in loud voices. Nobody moves, including me!

The TT continues to speak, in a stern yet soothing tone, "Acha chalo, abhi aap yahaan so jao," pointing to an empty berth, "kal subah aapko hum biscuit aur juice denge aur mummy ko dhoondenge, theek hai?" (You sleep right here for now, we'll get you breakfast in the morning and find your mom okay?)

At this point, I am assuming the little kid nodded and went off to sleep. I don't hear her cry anymore.

Thoughts start rushing through my head, faster than the train I was travelling in. This is a special train, I think, I am sitting in one of the more secure coaches (I was travelling in 2nd A/c for the first time in my life). What mother leaves her child alone! Did someone willingly abandon the child in this coach? What will happen to her now? Everything I have ever studied and ever encountered as a young social worker runs through my mind, a million thoughts per second, it's almost like a movie in reverse. 

Flashback

I am six years old. Walking through a busy street as the sun slowly begins to set. It's Wednesday, I am out with my mother, prancing through the weekly fruit and vegetable market, enamoured by the colours and light. One moment I am holding my mother's hand, the next, I am not. I don't freeze, I don't stop, I continue to walk around. Somewhat unaware that I am now lost, as lost as this child is right this very moment, my thoughts race back to the present. 

What do I do? I hear someone call 139 (the railway helpline number)

"Hello"

"Namaskar, railway helpline number"

"Ji, mai train 1***0 par hu, yahaan ek 6 saal ki bachi kho gayi hai" (Hi, I am on train 1***0, a six year old girl is lost here)

I can hear the calmness on the other end of the phone.

"Kya aap apna coach number, seat number aur PNR bata sakte hai?" (Could you please tell me your coach-seat and PNR details?)

The man proceeds to give the details. The railway helpline operative assures that help is on the way.

RPF (Railway Police Force) I remember, I had to seek their help once! As a woman travelling alone, I have much to often been subject to oggling eyes and uncomfortable interactions. 

My thoughts come back to the child. I am still frozen on my berth. Fully awake now!

What kind of a social worker are you!?

I am still frozen.

What do I do?

I am six years old again. An aunty I have only seen twice in my life so far, sees me standing there alone, she comes to me and asks, "What are you doing here alone?" 

"Um..."

"Come, let me take you home."

She takes me home. My mother is hysterical. She wraps me in her arms, thanks the aunty. She was a close family friend, six year old me had no clue.

I am back in the present, I am sitting up, screaming in my head, this kid could have been you! You could have been lost, missing forever. All the stories I have heard of what happens when kids go missing are pacing in my head now. 

Do something!

I type on the dialpad, 1098 - Childline number. If there is anywhere this child will be safe, it's with them, I think. I vaguely remember how this works, even if RPF comes, they will take the kid to child services. I can do my part to fasten the process. 

The man next to my berth, the one who called the railway helpline is listening in rapt attention, as I speak to the man on the other side of the call. I can hear the panic in the latter's voice. He asks me almost the same details, more so about the child and their present condition. I give them all the information that I can. 

Then suddenly, a light switches on in one of the adjacent berths, a scrawny little lady is now wide awake, not yet in complete shock, asking meekly if anyone saw a little baby girl somewhere.

"I can't find my daughter", she says.

"Here she is", we say. Atleast four of us are wide awake now. Three middle aged men, and me. Everyone else? Oblivious, unaware, fast-asleep or pretending to be? I really don't know. Is this what bystander effect feels like?, I think.

It is 3.30 am. I am deboarding in half an hour. A sense of calm washes through my body. I watch the half sleepy child walk safely into her mother's arms. 

The man who called the railway helpline has already tweeted about this. "Wait till the TT comes back!. All he had to do was cross check if there was a Seema* on the train" Apparently, the child had given her parents' name, maybe I was still half asleep then.

A short discussion: Why did the mother not realize her child was gone? Maybe she was tired and fast asleep! Maybe she didn't feel her child creep her way out of the berth and walk away. All is safe now, and that's what matters. 

It's 4 am as I finish typing this, my train is late by a small margin. Not too much to worry! As I had slept last night, my only concern was being awake on time to deboard the train. Atleast, now I didn't need to worry about that.

^A child gets lost every eight minutes on the Indian Railway Platforms. Call 1098 in case of any child-related emergencies. 

*Names changed for privacy