Around midnight on Thursday night, the crowd swells at the Chennai Central railway stationmen, women and children, the young and the agedall waiting to catch the first train home. They clutch their belongings close, their kin closer.

They have come from all parts of south India. A huge number from Chennai and from Madurai, scores from Tiruppur and from Bangalore. It's an exodus by people mostly, though not exclusively, from Assam, frightened by incessant rumours about an imminent attack as retaliation for the clash between Bodos and Muslims in Assam last month.

Over the last few years, labourers from the Northeast have been vital cogs in the giant machine that is Chennai's service industry. They work as security personnel, manning ATMs, offices and residential complexes; cook at dozens of restaurants across Chennai and other cities; work in saloons or as labourers in big-ticket projects, including the multi-crore Chennai Metrorail; and do other skilled and semi-skilled work.

But that was yesterday. Now, rumours that warned of an attack on people from the Northeast have triggered panic among them, prompting many to undertake the gruelling journey of over 50 hours to reach their homes.

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Platform No. 11 of Chennai Central is full. Several people had tried boarding trains from the nearby Chennai Egmore station but only a few succeeded. The rest had come over to Chennai Central.

The crowds have taken everybody at the station by surprise. Even experienced hands like Railway Protection Force Inspector S Jothi, who has been working with the railways for about a decade and a half, admits he has never seen anything like this. As the crowd swells, the officials grow nervous.

Barricades and ropes are put in place to prevent the impatient crowd from rushing to the train. RPF personnel, along with those from the state force, soon bring about some order. Women and children and those travelling as family are given priority and taken to the head of the line. After that, the single men are made to fall in a line.

But the wait continues as the train is nowhere in sight. It's a special train from Bangalore which was to reach Chennai Central by 2 a.m. Every now and then, the crowd jumps to its feet in anticipation. For every one person who gets up, at least two or three follow, only to be pushed back by the policemen. Every once in a while, the order threatens to break into a chaos.

Finally at 3 a.m., the Bangalore-Chennai-Guwahati Special pulls into the platform, crammed with people who had boarded from Bangalore. Two additional coaches are tagged on to the train, but that's not enough for the crowd on the platform. Which means, not everyone gets on to the first train. Officials say only about 700 people were allowed to board the train from Chennai.

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Jaya is lucky to have got a seat on the train, but restlessly scans the crowded platform. Her 16-year-old son Biswajit was separated from her and was left behind with his friends at the station. "Do you know anyone in the next train or the one after that so that we can track him down," she asks. She can't reach him on his phone. "We are planning to get down at Guwahati and take a bus to my village. But I am afraid my son might get down with his friends at some other station after which it would be very difficult for him to reach us," she says.

The travails of the journey were clear even before the train left the station. After the women, children and families were taken on board, it was the turn of the young men to file in. The seats were filled first, then the top berth, then the floor, doorways and even the toilets. Some enterprising passengers even fashioned hammocks out of their bedsheets and slept in them.

A few minutes later, the train pulls out, leaving Chennai Central and several desperate faces behind on Platform No 11. The train doesn't halt at too many stations and when it does, only for a few minutes. There are no refreshments and the taps at stations are already running dry.

It's easy for crowds to turn chaotic, but these are unusual times. As they sit close to one another, they share an easy camaraderie. There are no arguments, and no displeasure felt or expressed even though one person's elbow ends where his neighbour's eye begins. Some among the younger ones listen to music and watch songs and films on their mobiles phones. They play games and click pictures. But most of them are too exhausted to keep their eyes open for long.

Babu Gogoi is from Assam's Bongaigaon district. He had been in Chennai for over a year after getting a job in the manufacturing facility of a multinational dental care company near Chennai. This is his first trip home, very unlike what he had imagined his first journey back home would be. "There was no problem in Chennai, but my family insisted that I return. They were worried about my safety. I will return after a month or so. At least that is the plan now," he says.

The passengers speak about the string of rumours about an imminent attack on Assamese people. "It started off in Bangalore over SMSes and rumours that spread fast, but now there are talks about possible attacks in Chennai and other parts of Tamil Nadu around Eid on Monday. We are confident about the situation in the state, but for our family members who live hundreds of kilometres away, any rumour causes great concern," says Mohan Bohra, an Assamese who works as a security guard at an IT company in Chennai.

Nishant Gogoi says that when he heard that a fellow Assamese in Bangalore had been attacked, he decided to pack his bags. "The construction company I work for and all the people I know in Chennai have assured me that I won't face any problem. But honestly, I feel no one can ensure my safety if something untoward were to break out in Chennai. It is better to return after the tensions have completely subsided," he says.

Dharam Singh, an assistant manager at a restaurant in Bangalore, says it's a dangerous situation since anyone who "looks Northeastern" can be targeted. Singh is a Nepali whose father served in the Indian Army and whose brother is now a commando with the Nepal Army. Last week, a Tibetan boy was killed in Mysore in an incident suspected to be related to the recent attacks.

"I have spent half my life in Bangalore and am not worried, but my family is. Every day, they would worry until I reached home from work, which is usually around midnight. So finally, I decided to leave my wife and children back at her home in Darjeeling. I'll bring them back when things stabilise a bit. I will drop them and probably return after a week or so," he says.

Not everyone is sure of when they will return. Jitender says he wants to work on his fields back home and Arup Deore who worked in Puducherry says he wants to stay back home for a while. But many others dream of returning to jobs that earn them anything between Rs 5,000 and Rs 11,000 a month.

As the train approaches various stations, the passengers grow anxious. Stories about Assamese being attacked in Andhra Pradesh do the rounds. Then the train pulls in at Visakhapatnam. There is much noise at the platform as cadres of the Sangh ParivarABVP, BMS, Vanavasi Kalyan Ashram and othersraise slogans in support of the passengers.

While the Parivar cadres were barred from crossing the barricade at Chennai Central, there is no such restriction at Visakhapatnam. Slogans, including Vande Mataram, rent the air while the saffron flag-bearing cadres distribute water and snacks amongst the passengers. Few others are tasked with pasting stickers that read, "We vow to protect our brethren of North East"; "North East brothers and sisters, we are with you in this difficult situation".

The welcome brings a brief cheer to many among the passengers, but the journey is not even half way done though it's been over 20 hours since the train left Bangalore station on Thursday at 8 p.m. The comforts of home and family are still hundreds of unforgiving miles away.

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