Sandhya Pal tells her tale at Sealdah station. Picture by Sanjoy Chattopadhyaya

The stories pour forth, incoherent and anguished. Loss and history are the only clear milestones. For over 20 years, Sandhya Pal has been homeless. For over 15 years, she has lived at Sealdah station.

When East Pakistan was born, she married Ratneshwar Pal, at age 12. Around the time Indira Gandhi was killed, she was chased out of home by her sons and in-laws. This was after her husband went mad and soon after, died.

Spotless white sari, hair neatly tied back, sandalwood tilak on her forehead, Sandhya, around 70 years old, is an out-of-place presence at the head of platform no. 8. But lying on a blue plastic sheet, huddling under a worn white cover, she is clearly at home, trying to rest under the glare of bright white light, amidst the bustle of feet hurrying by.

Sandhya grew up at Barrackpore, where her father had a chanachur factory. They were well off then, but when her parents died, her brothers sold the property without her consent. Those were still days of plenty ? her husband was the ?casting department in-charge at Bengal Pottery?.

Those days were soon over. ?Around the time Indira died?, the mother of five recalls, he ?developed brain disease?. He was committed and her elder son ? goaded by his ?jealous mother-in-law?, Sandhya still defends ? asked her to leave.

For a while, the sons gave their mother enough money to rent a room, but her husband died and that stopped too, leaving her no choice but to take to the streets. One day, work took the widow to Bandel station. ?I was sitting in the waiting room, when I put my head back and, suddenly, the tears wouldn?t stop. I then decided to go as far as destiny would take me.?

It took Sandhya to Varanasi, where she joined an ashram. ?I couldn?t pay the rent, so I washed dishes.? For six years, the arrangement suited everyone. But when her hands became badly inflamed, she asked for a few days? leave to recover. Her landlady refused, and she was without a home once more.

That was the last time anyone would throw Sandhya out. Back in Calcutta, platform became home. Two of her children kept in touch ? the daughters, whom she visits frequently, and a son who lives in Mumbai.

She started selling incense sticks on trains. Soon, she realised more money was to be made moving from house to house, armed with dhoop of different scents (a mosquito-repelling one, too). But this, too, is a challenge. Four of her bags have been stolen at the station in the past year.

Sandhya still has hope of regaining some of the maternal property that is rightfully hers. She contacted a lawyer who has, apparently, filed a case in a Kalyani court. But she hasn?t been able to follow it up, and it is unlikely she will be able to do so on her own.

Only work keeps her going, and spares her the unthinkable: becoming a beggar. ?If I go into a home, will they let me continue my work?? she wonders. ?When you are old, it is better to keep busy.?

There is little choice in the matter. She keeps moving around the station to avoid harassment. On the job around town, she finds new ponds, with clean water to bathe and wash clothes. She sometimes catches a train away from the city. Mumbai, Nasik, Hardwar, Panchavati, Tapoban and Brindavan are where she has gone so far. She hopes to go to Hrishikesh soon, and Mumbai, to find her son who, she fears, could be dead.

The wounds run deep and peace remains elusive. ?I can?t be still for too long. I get restless. I have suffered a lot in my lifetime??