Riding safe is the call, are you listening?

When I died some 20years ago, I didn’t realize would ever be worshipped for something I could have actually tried to avoid. I tried to re-write it, tried to erase the mistake I did; but, it’s not always the way one wishes!

I am Om Singh; they fondly call me Om Bana or more lovingly Bullet Baba. Chotila is the village where I was born and brought up into a Bulleteer. It was 1991, month I don’t remember – for it never mattered to me; it was just another pleasant night in the hot sands of Rajasthan when I died. Time stopped that day, at least for me!

Om Bana's Bullet - Riding towards Sunshine, Riding towards Sanity

Like any other young youth of there times, I too had an ambitious heart raving high on his Bullet through the yet-to-be metalled roads of Rajasthan. I brought up in a family, affluent to most of the resources, if not like rajahs. Chotila was my kingdom, friends my life and Bullet – the mighty machine I ride. Alcohol was another special friend, who dragged me to this tale of fortunes and, yes for certain, misfortunes. You know, it’s a different story riding the bull high on alcohol.

Nothing much was significant about my life; if any, nothing mattered after I lost it. Anyways, I know there is a hint of dark sadness in my story, but this is what I’ve inherited from that fateful night. The night, I died.

After having a grand party with friends and the special friend, I talked about, I was returning back to my home.

“Dead souls are those who say shit is to drink and drive”, I said to myself, smiling the way I was liked by my family, my nieces and the girl, I loved so much, “when you’re high, you’re on the right track to ride high”.

Moon too was high, high on the sky, sky was clear and the air had that thrill of pleasure that once I felt I was hallucinating.

“Huh! Just a few pegs, 2, naah….3 or so, forget it – if you’ve counted it, you haven’t drink it mann! Main kahin kavi na bann jaun…” the wind was so amusing, I was living it! Have you ever tried revving your bullet after revving yourself with pegs and pegs of the rum you love? I tried it so many times, that I lost count. It was just another night in my life, when I was drunk and still on ride. Dark as hell the night was tearing apart by the roar of my bull and the headlight. Stars clipped on the carpet of sky with that bright moon were smiling at me! I gave a look to them, attitude the dudes say it these days, we said it bhaav! I reached my moustache, caressing it before I could dress my hair with a sigh of relief that the riding brought to me! Oh, have I told you, I never wore helmet? Helmet is for kids, Men do it bare-head!

80-90 was the speed, dug-dug-dug was the music, and high was the life, when she came in front of me. I loved her so much! Not a single moment was spent without recalling her, the way she looks at me, in fact peeks at me; the way she dries her long black hair on her roof; the way she shyly caresses my moustaches when allowed to! Wow, such a damn lover I was, and here I got her in front of me on that lonely road. Just she and me, me and her, we – the two, together, “Main kahin kavi na bann jaun…”

Wolves cried somewhere far and similar was the scream of my brakes. I still don’t remember what happened except that intense pain and the warmth of blood. Few minutes spent, I had no pain, but just a question, “if it’s me standing here, who’s that fella laying in pool of blood with a bullet like mine near that tree?”

“Who the hell is he? And, why is nobody here to help him” I talked to myself running towards him, “what the hell, why ain’t I reaching to save his life”, struggling to reach him but unable after all the efforts I could put into. Harassed I started walking towards the village, when I saw a few passers-by running towards the guy from the other side of the road.

“He’s Om Bana!” someone said

“Is he okay?” I asked, though I felt none felt me, they acted as if I wasn’t there. “Just a minute, he said the guy is Om. Then who am I?” I was puzzeled!

As the sun rose in the east, and my family, my sweet nieces and my girl too gathered there, the dew of confusion was melted away, “I am dead” I said to myself.

I left that place, I couldn’t bear seeing my baapu sa, ma sa, laadli and my girl managing with the situation they had. I could never forget that scene, never. I asked the God, “Why me?” a million times and it went unanswered. Stranded by Him, I brought back my bullet next night from the police station and tried to re-write the events. Failed, I attempted it again and again. Even when they chained my bull, I brought it back to the road but failed again to re-write the destiny I have already met. I tried to re-write it, but poor villagers took it as if am a God myself! What a joke on me!

“Don’t worship me, I am just like you, I have sinned and am not God” I cried, but the people established the shrine for me and my Bullet, all I could do was to watch. Left on the earth without a body has a got a purpose which is kept defying by the people who go by legends and not their instinct. They visit, they worship, they blog, they tweet, but only a few try to calm my agony of being worshiped for drinking and driving imprudently, for treating helmet as kiddy stuff! I have been left here by Him, to tell people that it’s not just about your own life but a number of others dependent solely on you, their wishes, their emotions and above all but not the least - their love! If I be given just one chance to atonement, I would tell them all not to offer me any liquor, don't praise me, just keep safety your first priority while riding. You may drink and enjoy riding a number of times, but it would be just one miscalculation that would drag you and your lovable ones into suffering even after you die!

I died and now I’m preaching, but the question is “you are Live but are you hearing? Riding safe is the call, are you listening?”

(This is a highly imaginative story based on known and rumoured facts about the Bullet diety, Bullet baba. In my first attempt to write a story as a first person, I may have gone over-dramatic and have shown the struggle to express my feelings. This is purely a work of imagination and should be treated like that. I visited the famous Bullet Baba's temple near Pali this January only. Confused what to wish from a man who actually died because he was drunk and riding, something knocked me from inside to view the faith (or the belief) that local people had in an ordinary man through his eyes. I would have taken more time to write down this story, thanks to my procrastination-dharma, if the Indiblogger.in wouldn't have invited to write for Mahindra XUV500 Incredible Stories! Thanks! Fellow Indibloggers may show some love here <3)