The Postal Runner

(A FOLK-TALE OF SAURASHTRA¹)

(Lecturer, Karnatak College, Dharwar)

It was an evening the dark half of the month. The glow of the setting Sun was slowly disappearing and the dusk was coming in. There was not a speck of cloud in the sky. A star here and a star there was just peeping forth.

The villagers are awaiting the evening worship of the deity. The half-naked, playful village children are pouring into the small temple. Some are fighting for the gong, others for possession of the stick for beating the drum. The "kiddies" are dancing with joy at the prospect of getting, after the worship should be over, a pinch of sugar, a piece or two of cocoanut and a sip of holy water. But the worshipper, Bavaji, is still having his bath at the well and the inner temple is not yet opened. The elders, with their babies, anxious to have darshan are waiting outside in the verandah. There is perfect silence outside; it is getting darker.

"Today, the evening is very dull," one amongst the elderly crowd broke the silence with a heavy voice.

"Ah! the Sun has become dim as it were," added a second.

"Kali, Kaliyuga!" joined a third.

". . . And now-a-days, do you see how dull the idol looks? . . . Ten years ago, there was a halo about it. It was full of lustre," complained yet another.

Thus the talk was slowly jagging on when a man, with a woman behind, was seen coming along the village bazaar towards the crowd. He had a sword tied to his waist and a stick in his hand. The woman carried on her head a packet. It was difficult to say from the outward appearance who the male was, but anyone could identify the female as a Rajput lady from her dress and gait.

He took no notice of the crowd in the temple and passed on. But the villagers, prompted by their natural generosity of heart, stopped him and greeted. The traveller silently accepted the greetings and quickly passed on. The lady followed him. The village elders among the crowd, out of increased curiosity and a sense of hospitality, accosted the unknown traveller once again and inquired, "How far?"

"Long distance," was the only reply.

"Then why not rest here to-night?"

"Why do you press me to stay?" cried out the angry Rajput with growing suspicion.

"Nothing else. It is too late and you have a woman with you. Why risk in the dark? We are all brethren. Please stop here to-night and sup with us," pressed the kindly and hospitable villagers. But the insolence of the traveller was more than a match for all this kindness and hospitality. "I travel knowing full well the strength of my hands. And late? It is nothing to the brave. I have not met my equal as yet," was the reply.

"Let him die, that piece of the brave," someone from the crowd slowly remarked. The Rajput with his fair companion wended his way.

II

Both the travellers passed out of the village. There was wilderness all round. And the silence of that dark night increased the desolation. Amidst such darkness and desolation, the haughty Rajput was hewing his way and the lady was dragging behind. Tge gongs of evening-worship were heard from a distance. The dim lamps from the huts of the villagers were seen flickering. The village dogs were barking as if they saw a demon in the darkness.

Of a sudden, these lonely travellers he8trd the tinkling sound of trinkets. The haughty Rajput did not care to look behind but the lady could not help turning her face in the direction of the sound, when, to her infinite joy and surprise, she saw the postal runner of the village Sanosara–her native place–with a bag on his head, a spike ornamented with trinkets in his hand and a sword in a torn sheath hanging from his shoulder. Jato (this was how he was called) was very regular in his duties, not because he shared the eagerness of the villagers to receive a letter from their dear ones. It was only a cut in the salary if the mails arrived late, that compelled him to do his work with clock-like regularity. Jato overtook the Rajput lady in no time. They exchanged greetings and the lady began to inquire after her parents. Even a stranger from her parents’ place is like a brother to a woman. So they continued their journey talking all the while.

The Rajput who had gone a little farther by now turned round on sudden suspicion, only to find his wife lagging behind. And, what! she was talking to a stranger! He burst on her with sudden fury and thrashed her for what he considered her impudence, pouring all the while a volley of abuse.

"But. .h's my brother–the postal runner from my parents’ place, Sano . . ." stammered the lady.

"Hold your tongue. I know it," interrupted the Rajput and turning towards Jato, "And you, Brahmin, know with whom you are dealing," the Rajput threatened the postal runner.

"As you please," replied the innocent Jato and decreased his speed. So he was left behind and the Rajput pair went on.

III

The daring Rajput with his fair companion reached a point where the road lay through a narrow passage lined on both sides with thick thorny bush, difficult to penetrate. And the darkness of The night lent its support to the weirdness of the place. Undaunted, the Rajput pushed on, when, half-way in the bush, a dozen dacoits suddenly appeared and waylaid the travellers, and with one voice commanded the Rajput, "Put down your sword." He was all anger and let loose a few words of abuse but could do nothing more. The bandits snatched away his sword, bound him and dragged him to a distance,

"You, lady! take out all your ornaments," they bade the helpless woman. She began toremove her ornaments one by one. Parts of her beautiful body were exposed to the gaze of the bandits. Even at such a time of the night they could see her beauty inflamed by youth. Their minds grew restive and began to lose all control. Their tongues became loquacious. But the lady stood silent. The dacoits went a step further and tried to hold her. The lady resisted and stood forth boldly.

"Throw down that piece of sattee," bawled out the dacoits. The lady was helpless; in a moment of despair she looked up with an appealing eye at the starry heavens when, to her boundless joy, she heard the sound of Jato's trinkets.

"Oh! Jato, brother, help, help me," shrieked out the lady catching at the proverbial straw.

"Who is there?" replied Jato, rushing on the scene with drawn sword. The dacoits were frustrated in their attempts. They charged Jato with their sticks. But the brave runner withstood the attack with the skilful play of his sword. Nevertheless, he was working against odds. He was one against many. He sent some of them to death; lathis were still pouring over his head, but Jato seemed insensible to them. The lady on her part raised a big howl. So the rest of the gang took to their heels out of fear for their life. Jato was exhausted; he no longer could bear the pains; he fell down with a. whirl and soon breathed his last.

The lady released her husband. "Let us proceed further," said the husband on being released.

"Where to go? You coward, are you not ashamed? That Brahmin died for me because of a minute's acquaintance. And you, companion of my life, . . . you cared only for your life. Rajput, go your way. Can there be love between a crow and a swan? I will die with my saviour." It was not she but her heart, which was moved to its depths, that spoke out these words.

"I'll marry another more beautiful than you," the unfeeling Rajput said bluntly and left her behind in the darkness.

The brave lady passed the whole night all alone in the wilderness, with the corpse of Jato on her lap. At morn she prepared a funeral pyre and placed herself on it with the body of Jato. By evening nothing was left of them but ashes and a few glimmering live coals.

* * * * *

Even today, there stand, at the place where Jato lost his life for the honour and safety of a woman, and the woman in gratitude offered her life to her saviour, a stone monument in memory of Jato, the postal runner, and a woman's hand carved in stone in memory of the Rajput lady.

1 Modern Kathiswad.