In all of our previous journeys we had yearned for lower berths so we could watch India through the windows and we never got the chance. On this fateful trip, we were given what we wanted with a repulsive twist.
Resigned to my fate I tightly scrunched myself up like a baby in a mother's womb and tried to push the gross feeling away in order to catch a few winks of sleep. Nive on the other hand, who was the first to spot them, sat upright (well, as much as she could with the middle berth looming over her) and started to pray. None of the other passengers seemed to care. How were we to get through this night?
As Nive's prayers turned futile she resorted to another plan: tracking the movements of the mice. She rattled off, "Below the blanket of the lady in the second compartment, across the floor of second compartment to the side berths of third compartment." - Silence. -"Aaaaaah! Below me! Below me! Below me! On your chappals! Your chappals! Chappals!" she shrieked.
Impressed by Nive's observation skills and assured that would not let any harm befall upon me I dozed off. An hour and a half later we switched roles. Now I was on watch while she tried to sleep. Once or twice she opened her eyes to ask if the mice were still around and where exactly they were. I lied. Even when there was one right under her berth and then running around our bags. After all I had to protect my kutti sister and really, how harmful could Ganesha's vehicles be?
Anyway, enough said. Nive and I survived the night. I, by composing this distracting and comforting text (yes, I wrote this that night!) and she, by trusting me to watch out for her. We've learnt a good practical lesson for the future though: in India always travel by middle or upper berth.
