When I first came across the theme of the BMC Lit Club’s activity for the month, I was a bit taken aback ; I thought that well won’t it be a bit too audacious on our part to all together change the course of a story .....But then the thought of a story read long back lurched in me and it occurred to me that perhaps it could have ended in a different way .
The Postmaster is undoubtedly a masterstroke of the polymath Rabindranath Tagore. Known for its seemingly unique narrative it is a short story which in a few words gives its readers a deeper insight onto the peculiarities of life .
The beauty of the story however lies in its seemingly unfinished ending which compels the readers to muse about an alternate ending ..
When the city bred, Postmaster was transferred to the newly established post office of the sleepy little village of Ulupur, he felt like a fish out of water.
The soporific, dawdling village life of Ulupur was extremely disheartening for the postmaster who very soon after his transfer, began to get infrequent pangs of homesickness
Amidst great despair, the postmaster found solace only in another lonesome soul -Ratan, a 13-year- old orphan girl who used to do household chores for him.
Shunned to seclusion by their destinies, both became each other’s companion in distress. The young, loquacious girl chatted on merrily for long hours sharing bittersweet memories of her past to her ‘Dada’ .. who not only was her sole listener but also her first teacher as he introduced her to the alphabet. The reader at this point can sense a beautiful bond to blossom amidst the protagonists. Days were passing by in a new found merriment until one day in the Monsoons the postmaster fell seriously ill.
In the solitude of his exile, and the gloom of the rain, his ailing body needed a little tender nursing He longed for the feel of the soft tender hands with tinkling of bangles on his forehead, well his wish didn’t go unfulfilled as Ratan ceased to be her carefree self and stepped onto the position of his mother. She worked relentlessly worked all day long and nursed him back to health.
But this episode of ailment made the postmaster absolutely resolute to leave Ulupur. He applied for a transfer to Kolkata which when got rejected, he in haste left his job all together.
Alas the scenic little village of Ulupur couldn’t charm the postmaster into staying, nor could the affection and loving care of Ratan ....
When finally the postmaster broke his week long silence to give the news of his departure to Ratan, She was in a state of incredulity, this unexpected piece of news struck her like a bolt from the blue . She sensed she was about to lose the only family she ever had, but how could she let go of her Dada so easily hence after careful deliberation, an idea came to her and to the utter astonishment of the postmaster she asked: “Can I come along?
To which he replied “What weird supposition? “ .
That night Ratan turned and tossed in her thread bare mattress as she could not still see the absurdity in her proposal.
The sudden petulance of her Dada’s behaviour had stung her deeply.
The next morning, Ratan gave a teary, half-hearted farewell to the postmaster who left his house and took a ferry to Kolkata.
As the boat ebbed int the water, the rain swollen river appeared to be the tears of mother earth and reminded the postmaster of the grief-stricken face of the Ratan. At one point he even felt an urge to bring along that forlorn girl but how could he? How could he?
To assuage his soul, he took shelter in the warmth of philosophy and mused that meetings and partings are a part of one ‘s life .
But no such insight came to Ratan’s mind. She, weeping unstoppably, was only wandering again and again, about the building of the post office. Perhaps there was a tenuous hope in her heart, to do with dadababu coming back—trapped, she found herself unable to go far from where she was roaming....
This was a short summation of the original story ... Didn’t it sound a bit incomplete, a bit haphazard?, Now , imagine if it had continued as in ..
The rain came down, straight and silvery, like a punishment of steel rods. It clattered onto the house and onto the roads sending people like me in the search of shelter .
I am standing at a tea shop waiting for the rains to cease. It is late in the evening and I am on my way back home after giving my umpteenth job interview. Hope this time it works; I really need this job
The thunder has settled into a soft rumble which can be barely heard over the sound of the rain .
They say I brought along the rains from Ulupur. They say many things , especially to a man like me whose future hangs uncertain .
It has been a few months since I left Ulupur. These persistent rains are a pricking reminder of Ulupur and more so of Ratan. My petulance still hurts me. Guilt, remorse and vexation are the cardinal signs of a working man like me, they say .
I am sitting on the veranda of my house, listening to the drumming of the rain onto the roof and watching the children play relentlessly in the water-logged streets. What fun for some monsoons are ....Well For me, rains have always brought a feeling of bereavement. It has been over a year I left Ulupur yet somewhere in the depths of my thoughts the naïve Ratan still exists
As the tide of time swept by and life with its own adversities kept me busy the thought of bringing along that lonesome girl had become a waning memory and also I couldn’t find the opportunity to go back to Ulupur to meet her.
Life is a cruel journey , and very less often does it give its travellers a chance to atone for past mistakes; even for apologising one needs to be fateful .
I was one of the chosen one it seems as few days back, I was asked at my office to go and supervise a newly established factory at the remote village of Ulupur.
“Ulupur? Are you sure “I asked my senior; my scepticism was borne out of the myriad of feelings that the mention of the name of the village after so many long years aroused
“Yes, Yes .. Will you be going or not “He demanded. And I replied in the affirmative.
The next Monday I took the train to Ulupur, it has its own railway station now. A train journey is always a thinkers’ delight.
The scenic beauty , the steady jostle of the vehicle makes one reflect at their life .
This time I pondered about – “Should I search for her?”; “What will I say if I see her?” .... I decided to look for her and apologize for hurting her tender heart and that in spite of all these years I still remember her.
Ulupur hadn’t changed much but perhaps I had. I no longer found it mundane, soporific and the other vile things which I had earlier felt as a young man.
There Is beauty in simplicity which can be appreciated only after a certain age, they say.
After doing my duties I had a day to spare. I finally mustered up enough courage and set about looking for Ratan.
It was an uphill task , door to door I went asking about her whereabouts , but if you ask me why .. I really don’t have an answer.
After a half day’s discerning, I finally found her. There she was seated outside of her house
I couldn’t believe that the grown-up woman wearing a saree draped carefully over her head revealing only the line of vermillion, occasionally swinging a cradle, as she separated the stones from rice, was my Ratan.
Struck in wonderment I stood there for awhile until she realized my presence and looked at me , a flicker of recognition swept her face , her lips curved into a faint smiled and she remarked “ Arrey Dada!”
But I was saddened, even angered because I hadn’t toiled for such a lukewarm reaction from Ratan. Nevertheless, I went nearby and sat where she motioned me to sit.
Few words of merriment were exchanged and a conversation ensued, from which I gathered that after a few months since I had left a kind hearted young school teacher, posted at the government school of Ulupur took notice of the homeless Ratan, took her along with him, enrolled her in the school and after a few years married her.
Now she stays here with her husband and 6 months old child. She had found her haven
After a while as I started taking her leave, I said: Ratan .... “If ever time permits come visit me in Kolkata once. “
Too which, she rolled her eyes, pointed at her baby and said with smile: “Now,?? How come Dada?? “
Life had weighed down upon the free spirited Ratan , its teachings had taught and tamed ratan adequately , It had at last made her delusional heart see the law of reasons .
The brook which I had seen bickering down a valley, now curves round many fields and fallows.
I left Ulupur, without apologizing which I realized is not heeded any more since a lot of water has flown under the bridge, as they say.
~ Chandreyee Mukherjee (II Proff)
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