He appeared out of nowhere.

Just when they were about to torch the public bus standing at the crossing, he came forward. His jaws showed a resolve to end this menace, the ever increasing public outcry, the mobbing … the lynching of public property.

‘Stop! you cowards, why don’t you go back to your houses and burn it?’, his voice  thundered.

The janta janardan looked out to him. A nicely built man in his late-thirties, he had neatly combed hair and a penetrating look in his eyes. He kept staring at the bunch of men trying to hold the kerosene-soaked wooden stick with its tip on fire.

And then he walked past the hoard of protestors and grabbed the torch with his powerful hand from the man who held it.

‘Throw it away … and why would you like to burn this vehicle?’

Janta Janardan was aghast with agony … but some inside the crowd spoke up,

‘The rising prices, the violence … the inaction of government …’, they cried.

‘And how do you know that torching this bus will solve all of this?’, the man shot back.

All turned quiet on the front.

While he doused the fire from the torch, this man kept looking at the crowd for an answer.

There was none.

‘Now go back to your home … and think from among yourself. What have you done for this nation to burn her property?’ he shouted.

There were some mumbling noises heard in the crowd. Many from the janta janardan haven’t seen this man ever … not even in this surrounding. They had reservations to leave the place.

‘Go back’, he ordered, ‘and come back only if you have found a reason to burn your mother’s property!’

The crowd dispersed … and this man quietly left this place.