On July 3, 2023, I crossed into Uttar Pradesh after the grueling stretch through Bihar. While it was not a complete escape from hardship there was some relief. The rain had not stopped for hours and my boots and legs were completely drenched, causing my leg to swell uncomfortably. When I finally found a place to stay in Gorakhpur, I was overcharged and greeted by frogs and tadpoles in a room that was anything but clean. But none of this bothered me much. I had made it out of Bihar, and that felt like a small victory.
The next morning, I was up early ready to head towards Delhi. Had plans to explore, but first I needed to conquer the 820 km ride ahead. Physically I was already drained but mentally, I was determined to push through. By 1:30 pm, I had reached the Agra-Lucknow Expressway, a long, uninterrupted stretch that I knew would test me. After refueling at the first station I saw, I cruised steadily at a speed of 100 km/h. Around 3:40 pm, I took a brief break in Fatehabad, clicked a few pictures of my bike under the orange sky and continued on.
Despite the fatigue and the rain, the ride felt manageable even enjoyable. My boots were soaked through, my body was tired but my mind was still excited. With music in my ears, I picked up the pace, cruising at 120 km/h, aiming to reach Delhi before the notorious evening traffic. The smooth expressway stretched ahead of me, and everything felt like it was going fine Until 4:15 pm.
I was in the leftmost lane, keeping a safe distance from the faster vehicles. Without warning, the road took a sharp 70-degree turn to the right. It was a small bridge, with an underground road below it. I saw the concrete guardrail on the side of the bridge approaching fast. If I hit it straight, I knew I would be thrown over from the bridge.
In those critical seconds, my mind registered the danger but my body refused to respond. I desperately wanted to turn the bike, but my hands wouldn not cooperate. It was as if my mind was screaming instructions my body couldn not hear. Somehow, I managed to turn the bike slightly but instead of regaining control, it began scraping the guardrail. The knuckle guards were the first to make contact, then the entire bike leaned against the concrete dragging along with it.
For a brief moment, I thought it would stop there, that the bike would scrape along and then I would regain control. But I was wrong.
The next thing I knew, I was thrown off the bike, skidding across the road. The bike had fallen too and together we were dragged for what felt like 100 meters. I tried to stay close to the bike, hoping to regain some control, but the force of the crash was too strong. My body hit the ground hard the momentum carrying me forward.
When the dust settled, I found myself lying in the middle of the road, the bike on top of me. My first thought wasn not about the pain or the crash, it was the terrifying realization that I could be run over by any vehicle speeding down the expressway. My vision blurred. Consciousness flickered in and out as I lay there, struggling to stay awake.
Then through the haze, I saw a car pull up beside me. There was an old man sitting in the back seat, with tubes attached to his nose. He looked frail unable to get out of the car. His wife sat beside him. The old man didn’t speak, but his eyes asked if I was okay. I raised my hand slightly, signaling that I was alive. Without a word the car pulled over to the side.
The driver of the car rushed over, lifted the bike off of me and moved it to the side of the road. He helped me up, gathered my scattered belongings and asked if I was okay. I was too stunned to say much but I nodded and he returned to the car. As they drove off, I saw a hand wave from the window- just a simple, silent gesture.
I wanted to thank them but they didn’t wait for any gratitude. They came, they helped and they left, just like that. Though I am a non believer but in that moment, it felt like something divine had intervened. The old man, his silent compassion, the way they appeared just when I needed help it felt otherworldly, like a godly figure had come to save me and left without a word.
It’s a feeling I can not quite explain, a deep, overwhelming sense of something beyond. The old man sitting silently in the back seat, communicated everything with just his eyes. There was no rush in him, no panic, just a calm presence, as if he understood exactly what needed to be done without a single word. I couldn’t help but wonder about his story. Who was he? What had brought him to that expressway at that exact moment?
Maybe it was pure coincidence or maybe there was something more to it. He never got out of the car and I never spoke to him but the connection in that brief moment was undeniable. When I saw his hand raise from the window as they left, it felt like a quiet reassurance, as if saying, "You’re going to be okay".
Even now, I think back to that silent encounter and feel something that goes beyond explanation, like I had been saved not just physically, but in some deeper way.
To be continued...
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