Strangers on a Chain.

My late father used to tell us this episode, which I want to share:

“In 1947 our family moved from the erstwhile West Punjab (now Pakistan) to Amritsar in East Punjab (India). We had to travel by train. We were warned that we should carry a permit for our household goods to avoid their being confiscated at a border post near Atari.

Our permit was to expire at midnight of a particular day, but we had problems with train tickets and finally got them for a trip just prior to the expiry date.

Our heavily loaded passenger train left an hour late and though it raced against the time, we still reached the border 15 minutes past midnight. The customs man on duty would not let us pass and no amount of pleading would move him.

We were forced to unload our goods on marshy land. None of us slept that night. Early next morning passengers who arrived by another train saw our plight and suggested that we approach the customs official through someone very close to him. His family doctor, we were told, would do nicely enough.

But how could we approach the doctor when we were new to the place? As we brooded over the matter, we learnt that doctor could be influenced by his driver. Now, a hunt began to locate the driver. When we finally found him he was reluctant to undertake the job. Then a passenger who had travelled with us suggested that the driver was friendly with a popular barber of that area. If only he could be persuaded!

All of us menfolk ran to the shop. The barber was willing, but, as he put it, he could only help his customers. “All of us will have our hair cut,” we offered. “That makes a difference,” the barber replied.

The sacrifice was worth it. Soon, we were able to travel despite an expired permit, thanks to the barber-driver-doctor-customs man chain.”