Story 7 - EP 2 of 2 :The Train to Trichy - The conclusion

Hello dosto, welcome back to Kahani Suno with Kabir and Sara. I'm Kabir. If you're here, you've been waiting since episode 1 to find out what Vicky is hiding. And if you haven't listened to episode 1 yet, pause right now. Go back, listen to that first. You need the full story. For those of you who are back, thank you for waiting. Let's not waste another second. Quick recap. Vicky, a village teacher in Dhanpur, has been running from goons for three years because of a mysterious pouch handed to him on a Mumbai local train. He told Saloni most of the story. The train, the man, the goons, the running. She believed him. They made their peace. But we We know something, Saloni doesn't. Vicky is hiring something, a big something. And today, dosto, we find out what it is. A few weeks pass, the tension eases. Vicky and Saloni fall back into their routine. Teaching, planning the wedding, helping villagers. It's almost like the whole incident never happened. and then, one morning, Vicky makes an announcement. Saloni, I have decided. The wedding will be in October. That gives us two months to prepare. Saloni excited. October? That's perfect. The weather will be nice, not too hard. We can have the ceremony outdoors. And I am going to get my provident fund for real this time. What? Vicky quickly says, I know, I know what you're thinking. But this time it's real. I have sorted out all the paperwork. I called the office. Everything is ready. I just need to go in person to collect it. Saloni, mm-hmm, skeptically says, I'm serious. I'll be back in three days with 25,000 rupees. We can use it for the wedding expenses. I'm leaving tomorrow morning. Need to pack. I love you. And Vicky literally runs away before Saloni can interrogate him further. Saloni just stands there shaking her head. That man is definitely lying. And she's right. Because Vicky's ticket, it's not to Udaipur. It's to Trichy Tirchirapalli in Tamil Nadu. Why would a man supposedly going to Udaipur in Rajasthan have a ticket to Trichy in Tamil Nadu? Well, that's where our story gets really interesting. Let me take you back to that night on train, three years ago. Vicky panicked, being chased by goons, had shut that pouch into the seat cover, seat number 47. But Vicky, even in his panic, had noticed something. Something important. On the side of the train compartment, there was writing. The kind of technical writing railway workers use. Coach number 18207. The first two digits, 18, indicating the year 2018. The last three, 207, indicating the type of coach. But there was more. Next to the coach number there was maintenance information. S0918 which meant scheduled for shop maintenance on September 18th. And besides that three letters. TPJ Now, most people wouldn't know what TPJ means. But Vicky, in his various jobs, had once worked briefly for a logistic company that dealt with railways. He knew TPJ stands for Tiruchirupalli Junction, Trichy. So, here's what Vicky had figured out. that train coach would be taken to Trichy Maintenance Shed in September for its scheduled maintenance. And if he could get there, if he could find that specific coach, seat 47 might still have that pouch hidden in it. It's a long shot, a very long shot. The coach might have been cleaned, the pouch might have been found, The maintenance schedule might have changed. A thousand things could go wrong. But Vicky has to try because he needs to know what was in that pouch. What were those goons so desperate to find? What was worth killing for? And so, Vicky boards a train to Trichy, a 24-hour journey from his village. It's September. Hot. Humid. Vicky has never been to Trichy, doesn't know the city, doesn't speak Tamil. He has a small bag with some clothes, some cash, and a piece of paper where he's written down the details. Coach 18207 S0918 TPJ Seat 47 The train really feels endless. Vicky can't sleep. His mind is racing. What if This whole trip is for nothing. What if the pouch is gone? What if? It was never important in the first place. Vicky arrives in Trichy in the early afternoon. The heat hits him like a wall. The sounds, the language, everything is unfamiliar. He stands on the platform, holding his bag, feeling completely lost. But Vicky has a plan. Well, the beginning of the plan, he needs to get to the railway maintenance depot. But he can't just walk in. It's a restricted area. He needs a reason, an excuse, or better it, a local contact. Vicky walks around the railway area, observing. He sees track maintenance workers, station staff, vendors. He looks for an opportunity and then he sees him. A railway worker checking the tracks. The man is moving slowly, methodically, inspecting each link, each board. He's dedicated. Vicky takes out his wallet, removes about 2000 rupees and puts it in a black wallet he bought specifically for this purpose. He walks along the tracks, making sure the worker sees him and then he drops the wallet. It falls near the tracks in plain sight. Vicky walks a bit further and then turns around and starts walking back, looking around frantically. Oh no! Oh no! The panicked acting by Vicky. Oh no! The worker looks up, sees this obviously distressed man. Raja, his name, concerned in accented Hindi. Sir, what happened? My wallet. I had my wallet right here. I just checked it. Where is it? Wallet? What does it look like? Black, leather, it has all my money, my cards, everything. Vicky is doing a great acting job, dosto. He is looking around desperately, checking his pockets multiple times, genuinely seeming distressed. Sir, calm down. Let me help you look. They search around for a minute. Vicky makes sure to look everywhere except where the wallet actually is. And then, sir, sir. Is this it? The worker holds up the black wallet. Vicky's face transforms. Pure relief and joy. Oh my god. Vicky emotionally says, yes, yes, that's it. Thank you. Thank you so much. Vicky takes the wallet, opens it. Checks the money. All 2,000 rupees are there. He looks at the worker with genuine gratitude. at least really well acted gratitude. Vicky pulling out money, please take this. You saved my life. Raja, waving his hand says, no, no, sir, it's okay. I'm just happy I could help. Vicky insists, please, I insist. Vicky pulls out two 500 rupee notes and practically forces them into the worker's hand. The worker Raja, we learn his name, is moved by this generosity. Thank you sir, but really it was nothing. What's your name? Raja sir. Raja ji, you are a life saver I am Vicky They shake hands and just like that Vicky has made a friend Someone who works for the railways someone who might be able to help him Vicky casually asks Actually Rajaji since you are here I am a bit lost I have a job interview today at the Railway Maintenance Depot. Do you know where that is? The Depot? Of course. I work for the railways. I can take you there. Really? That would be amazing. As they walk towards the depot, Vicky is subtle, but strategic with his question. So what exactly do you do at the railways? Track maintenance mostly. But I have worked in the depot too. We maintain the coaches, engines, everything. Fascinating. How does coach maintenance work? And Raja, happy to have someone interested in his work, explains everything. How the coaches are brought in on schedule. How they are cleaned, repaired, inspected. How they are logged when not being worked on. What kind of master keys are used. How the filing system works. By the time they reach the depot, Vicky has a PhD level education in railway coach maintenance procedures. Raja pointing his fingers. There's the main officer. Good luck with your interview. Thank you so much, Rajaji. You have been incredibly helpful. Raja waves and leaves. Vicky watches him go, then turns to face the depot. The maintenance depot is huge. I mean, huge. Dozens of railway tracks, hundreds of coaches parked in neat rows. It's like a massive parking lot. Except, instead of cars, there are train coaches, passenger coaches, freight coaches, engines, all waiting for maintenance or repair. Somewhere in this massive facility is coach number 18207. And somewhere in that coach, maybe, just maybe, is the pouch that's been causing Vicky trouble for three years. Vicky doesn't have official access. Can't just walk in and start searching. So he does what he's been doing for three years. He improvises. He walks confidently, like he belongs there. picks up a clipboard he finds lying around, nods at workers as if he's one of them. He starts systematically walking through the tracks, checking the coach numbers, row after row, track after track. Some coaches have their numbers clearly visible, others are covered in dirt and he has to get close to read them. Day 1. Nothing. Vicky walks until his feet are blistered, Checks hundreds of coaches. No 18207. He sleeps in a cheap lodge near the station. Falls into bed exhausted. Day two. Still nothing. More walking. More searching. His legs hurt. His eyes hurt. From squinting at coach numbers in the bright sun. Some railway workers gave him odd looks. But nobody stops him. He looks official enough with his clipboard. Day 3. Vicky is starting to lose home. Maybe the coach isn't here. Maybe it was sent to a different depot. Maybe he's on a fool's errand. He's running low on money. He'll have to go back soon. Faye Saloni admit he lied again. And then in the afternoon as he's walking along track number 12. He sees something, a coach being moved, being shunted from one track to another by a small engine. And on the side of that coach, he sees it. 18207. Vicky shouts in pleasure. That's it. That's the one. The coach is moving slowly. Without thinking, Vicky runs. His tired legs suddenly find energy. He runs alongside the moving coach, grabs the metal bars, pulls himself up onto the steps. For a moment, he's done it. He's on the coach. His heart is pounding. This is it. After three years, he's going to find out what was in that pouch. But then, Hey, hey, what are you doing? One of the railway workers has spotted him. The coach starts slowing down. Vicky curses internally. The coach stops. The worker comes running over, angry and confused. Are you crazy? You could have been killed. What's wrong with you? Who are you? I'm so sorry. I know this looks crazy, but please, you have to understand. I left something in this coach years ago. I know exactly which seat. Please, I need to check. Left something in this specific coach? How do you even know it's this one? C. Coach 18207. Scheduled for maintenance. S0918 TPJ. I wrote it down. I have important papers in there. Certificates, Documents for a Job. Please. The worker looks at the paper, then at Vicky, then at the coach. He is suspicious, but Vicky's desperation seems genuine. I can't just open the coach. It's against regulations. These coaches are logged for a reason. Vicky pulling out his wallet. 1,000 rupees. Please. Those papers are for a job. Without them, I won't get the job." Worker Shaking his head. Can't do it. Wiki desperately offers 2,000. The worker sighed and said, Fine, 2,000. But you have 5 minutes. If anyone asks, I never opened this door. Thank you. Thank you so much. The worker pulls out a master key, unlocks the door. It slides open with a metallic screech. Vicky climbs in. The inside of the coach is dusty, dim, rows of seat covered in a layer of grime. It smells of oil and old metal. Vicky's heart is racing. He walks down the aisle, checking seat numbers. 43, 44, 45. 46 47 Seat 47 window seat along the aisle exactly as he remembered. Vicky's hands are shaking. Three years. Three years of running, lying, fighting. All for this moment. He sits down on the seat. Slides his hand into the seat cover. Feels around. Nothing. His heart sings, it's not there. Of course, it's not there. What was he thinking? That it would just stay hidden for three years? Sir, hurry up! Vicky moves his hand deeper to the edges of the seat cover, where it meets the wall of the coach. And there he feels something. Something plastic. Something paper-like. Yes! He pulls it out. A plastic pouch. Sealed. Dusty. But intact. After three years hidden in a train seat, the pouch is still there. Sir, did you find it? We need to go. Yes, I found it. Well, sort of. The main papers are gone, but I found this. Vicky shows the worker the small pouch, trying to look disappointed. The worker barely glances at it. These seats get cleaned sometimes. You're lucky you found anything. Now come on quickly. Vicky climbs out, hands over 2000 rupees. The worker pockets the money, locks the coach and hurries Vicky out of the area. Vicky walks quickly away from the depot, His heart pounding. He doesn't look back. In his pocket, his hand is clutched around the pouch. He walks for 15 minutes, get away from the railway area and finds a small restaurant. It's one of those hole-in-the-wall places with plastic chairs and a single fan that barely works. One thumbs up. Cold. Vicky asks the waiter. The waiter nods, brings him a bottle. Vicky sits in in the corner where nobody can see him properly. His hands are still shaking. He takes a deep breath, opens his hand, looks at the pouch. It's still sealed. Whatever is inside has been protected for three years Slowly carefully Vicky opens the pouch Inside there a piece of paper folded Vicky unfolds it And on that paper there text. Printed text. It reads, Alphanumeric, 34 characters long. And then another twenty characters long, divided by a space in between. That's it. That's all. A string of random numbers. Then a space. Then another string of random letters, numbers and symbols. Vicky stares at it, reads it again and again. What? What is this? It makes no sense. It's gibberish. Complete and utter gibberish. No words, no message, no explanation. Just random characters. Vicky has spent three years running from goons, three years lying to everyone. He just spent three days and several thousand rupees searching through a massive depot. He bribed two railway workers. He risked getting arrested. All for this? Random gibberish? Vicky feeling frustrated. Is this some kind of a sick joke? People in the restaurant turn to look at him. Vicky doesn't care. He's angry. He's frustrated. He wants to tear the paper into pieces. He wants to throw it away. His hand crumples the paper. He's about to rip it. But something stops him, a thought, the man on the train, being beaten, a gun to his head. He had protected this, died for this probably. Those goons have been searching for three years. They tried to kill Vicky for this. It has to be something, even if Vicky doesn't understand it, it has to mean something to someone. Vicky smooths out the paper, folds it back carefully, puts it back in the pouch, puts the pouch in his pocket, covers his face with his hands. All this effort was nothing for gibberish. Vicky sits there for an hour, just staring at the wall, drinking his thumbs up slowly. Finally, he pays, leaves the restaurant, and heads to the railway station. Time to go home. Time to face Saloni. Time to admit. Once again, there's no provident fun. The journey back to Dhanpur is long and depressing. Vicky barely eats, barely sleeps. He keeps taking out the paper, looking at it, trying to make sense of it. But there is nothing. Just random characters that mean nothing. Vicky reaches Dhanpur in the evening. He's dirty, tired, defeated. And there waiting at the bus stop is Saloni. Vicky, you're back! How was Udaipur? Saloni, let's go home. I need to talk to you. They walk to Vicky's small house in silence. Saloni can see something is wrong. She looks defeated in a way she's never seen before. Inside, Vicky sits down heavily, takes out the pouch, takes out the paper, hands it to Saloni. What is this? With a hollow laugh. That's what I've been running from for three years. That's what those goons want. Guess what? That man died protecting. But what does it mean? I have no idea. It's gibberish, complete gibberish. I spent three years, I travelled to Trichy, I bribed people, I risked everything for this. And then Vicky tells her everything. The real story? How he had the pouch in the train seat? How he remembered the coach number and maintenance schedules, how he went to Trichy, searched for days, found the coach, retrieved the pouch, all of it. I lied to you again, I'm sorry. I just, I needed to know, I needed to understand what this was all about. And it turns out it's nothing. Just gibberish. Maloney is crying, but not angry crying. Sad crying. She's crying for what Vicky has been through, for the burden he's been carrying. Oh Vicky, I know. Quietly Vicky said, I'm an idiot. I should have just forgotten about it. Moved on, focused on us, on our life here. Instead, they both freeze. Another knock. Louder. More aggressive. He opens the door. And there they are, the goons back again. Where have you been, teacher? The goon reader grabbing Vicky's collar, asked. But this time, this time Vicky has had enough. He's tired. He's frustrated. He just travelled across the country for a piece of paper. He's done with these men. Vicky exploding the rage. Enough! Enough of this nonsense! Vicky grabs the goon's hand, twists it, breaks free from the grip and then he unleashes three years of pent-up anger. One punch catches the leader's right on the jaw. Down he goes. Another goon tries to grab Vicky from behind. Vicky elbows him in the ribs, then spins and kicks him. The third goon pulls out a knife. Vicky grabs a wooden chair and smashes a t-t-t-g-un's arm. It's brutal, Dostant. This isn't movie fighting. This is real, raw, desperate fighting. Vicky is fueled by years of running, years of fear, years of frustration. And these goons who have always intimidated him, who have always had the upper hand, they are not prepared for this. Villagers hear the commotion start gathering. Saloni is screaming. Uncle Ramu comes running with his stick. But they don't need to help. Vicky is handling it. The leader gets up, tries again. Vicky punches him so hard the man's sunglasses fly off and chatter against the wall. Another goon tries to run. Vicky trips him and he He falls face first into the dirt. Listen to me very carefully. Breathing hard. Voice cold. I don't have what you're looking for. I never did. I never will. And if you ever come back, if you ever threaten me or this village again, next time I won't stop. I will kill you. Do you understand me? The goons beaten bloody, terrified, they nod. They have finally realized the mild-mannered village teacher is actually dangerous when pushed too far. We won't come back. Defeated, the goon leader says and walks away. You better not. Now get out. They scramble to their motorcycles and leave, this time, for good. They won't be back. Vicky has finally, truly scared them off. The villagers cheers. Uncle Ramu pats Vicky on the back. Aunty Sabitri is praising him loudly, but Vicky barely notices. He's exhausted, physically and emotionally. Saloni takes his hand, leads him back inside. She cleans his bruised knuckles. Neither of them speak for a long time. Finally, it's over now. Saloni says softly. They are gone. We can move on. Vicky nods. Yeah. It's over. And for a while it seems like it is over. The next few days pass quietly. The wedding planning continues. Life in Dhanpur returns to normal. The piece of paper with the gibberish. Vicky puts it in an old bag and tries to forget about it. Days turn into weeks. September ends. October begins. The wedding is set for the end of the month. Everything is being arranged. Saloni is excited. Vicky is relieved. The nightmares seem to finally be behind them. And then one afternoon Vicky Vicky Saloni breathlessly excitedly runs towards Vicky What Vicky startled. What happened? Are you okay? Saloni breathlessly. The paper. Where's the paper? What paper? Vicky asks. The paper from the pouch. The gibberish. Where is it? I don't No, in some bag somewhere. Why? Find it. Now. Quickly. Vicky confused but seeing the urgency in Saloni's eyes starts searching. Through his cupboard, through his bags. Where did he put it? Finally, in an old jhola. He finds it. Takes it out. Hands it to Saloni. Here. But why? Vicky, do you know what this is? Gibberish nonsense? No. No, this is Bitcoin wallet address. A what? Bitcoin, cryptocurrency and this second part, this looks like a password. Vicky is still confused. Saloni, I don't understand. What's a Bitcoin? Our dosto, Saloni explains how she had been thinking about that paper, about why it was so important how yesterday she had been talking to her cousin in Bangalore. He works in tech and she described the format of the text and he immediately said that sounds like a Bitcoin wallet address. Saloni has spent the whole night researching, reading about Bitcoin, about digital wallets, about cryptocurrency and now she's sure that gibberish is actually a Bitcoin wallet address and password. Saloni breathlessly asked Vicky, we need to check this, we need to see if this wallet exists, if it has anything in it. Vicky confused asked Saloni, explain this like I'm fine, what is Bitcoin? Saloni patiently says, digital money, money that exists only on computers. Computer money? Saloni, are Are you feeling okay? I am serious and Vicky, one Bitcoin is worth 40 lakh rupees. What? 40 lakhs for computer money? This is insane. Shocked, Vicky said. And this paper could have bitcoins in it. That's why those goons were desperate. But it's probably empty, right? Only one way to find out. They open Saloni's laptop. The internet in Dhanpur is painfully slow. They find a blockchain explorer website where you can check any bitcoin wallet. Saloni carefully types the address each character precisely entered. One mistake and they'll get nothing. Her hands are shaking. Vicky is standing behind her, heart pounding. Ready? Saloni said. Vicky nervously. No, but do it anyway. The page loads slowly, agonizingly slow. The circles spin and spin. This is Dhanpur internet. You can make tea while waiting. 30 seconds feel like 30 minutes and then invalid credentials. It didn't work, Vicky said disappointedly. Wait, this letter here, is it uppercase or lowercase? I think uppercase, but the papers won't let me try lowercase. She changes one letter from capital F to small f. Clicks search again. The page loads and then the screen changes. Information appears. 1847.89 BTC. Shaloni. Now barely breathing. Wiki. Wiki is confused. What? Is it empty? It's not empty. 1,847.89 BTC. Is that good? Shaloni opening the calculator. Hands shaking. One bet is 40 lakhs. So 1,847 times 40 lakhs is. She hits calculate. The number appears. 74.23 million dollars. Say that again. 74 million dollars. About 6000 crore rupees. I need to sit down. You are sitting down. Then I need to lie down. And there goes Vicky flat on his back. from goons but from discovering his accidentally sitting on a fortune. Vicky, breathe, Swaloni panickingly asks. Vicky dazed, laughing hysterically. I have been living on 15,000 a month. I haggled over 5 rupees last week. You stitched your own tone shirt. Saloni, also laughing, told him, I walked 2 kilometers to save 10 rupees on auto fare. They are both laughing now. Lying on the floor of that small house, the laptop going beside them with that impossible number still on the screen. Because what else do you do? What else can a person possibly do in a moment like this? And then slowly the laughter dies. The silence returns. And with the silence comes something unexpected. Not celebration, not plans, not joy. Something heavier. They're still on the floor. The laptop screen has dimmed slightly, but the number is still there, glowing in the quiet room. Neither of them is laughing anymore. Vicky, quietly staring at the ceiling, says, Saloni Yes, equally quiet, Saloni says. What do we do with this? I, I don't know. No, I mean really think about it. This is not 25,000 rupees of provident fund. This is not even 25 lakhs. This is 6,000 crores. How does a village teacher in Dhanpur suddenly have 6,000 crore rupees? Where did it come from? How do we explain it? Who does it actually belong to? And Dostoev, in that moment, sitting on the floor of that small house, the full shape of their problem reveals itself. For three years, Vicky's danger was real. But it was something he could see, something he could find, something he could run from. Goons he could punch. cities he could flee to. But 74 million dollars sitting in a digital wallet. This is a completely different kind of problem. Vicky with voice dropping low. You know, what's strange? For three years I thought that pouch was the thing ruining my life. I want to find it and be done with it. Understand it and move on. And now you've found it, you understand it," Saluni said softly. Looking at her, eyes filled with something between wonder and fear, Vicky says, and I don't know if I feel better or worse. When I didn't know what was on that paper, I was scared of something I couldn't see. Now I know exactly what it is. 74 million dollars. Knowing is more frightening than not knowing. They sit together on the floor of that small house. Between them on the table is a worn piece of paper with two strings of characters and on the laptop screen a number that could change everything or destroy everything or both. Oh, hard luck? Oh yes. Vicky had three years of it, but standing at the edge of $74 million with no idea how to take even one safe step forward. This has been The Train to Trichy, a story that asks a question most of us will never have to answer. What do you do when you find something worth everything and reaching for it might cost you everything? I am Kabir. This has been Kahani Sunoh with Kabir and Sarah. If this story stayed with you, share it. Because some stories deserve to travel. And until next time, dosto, keep listening, keep wondering, and maybe, just maybe, think twice before you reach into any old train seat.