Ayamu, The Mail Runner of my hamlet - English - Subramanian A

7/31/2019 Ayamu, The Mail Runner of my hamlet - English - Subramanian A

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M emories of certain persons are as old as our life. The memories of Ayamu also are of this rank.

Ayamu was the mail runner of my hamlet. He was the right representative of all the mail runners of the

world. It was during my boyhood days that I met this character. My father was then Sub Postmasterworking at Panamanna Sub Office, Kothakkurissi.

Daily it was a walk around seven miles up and down with a mail bag upon his shoulders. The destinationwas South Panamanna Branch Office. He had a lame leg. As he walked, he swayed to right and left. Itpresented a memorable picture. A mail bag hung from the back of his shoulders. It was the dream bagof his life. An old umbrella belonging to the nineteenth century held his collar very low. A short, leanman with an unshaven face. Eyes had lost their gleam. Over his head was either the blazing sun or theraining clouds or the drops of the winter mist. Between the uneven pathway and his legs was a worn

and torn leather footwear. That footwear had seen many seasons. By 11 O clock he begins his longwalk. His neck was never proper. He would wink frequently.

It was a miles walk Southward along the road. Then it was a right turn to a Panchayat road atPanamanna U P School. I had my fourth standard at this school. This is a Muslim territory. After a fewfurlongs, the lane opened to paddy fields. Towards the left was a small temple standing in sylvansurroundings Malolmakavu temple. I remember having gone there once during the temple festival.

After this came a public pond on the right. Once again it was a walk along the shady pathways wherebamboo copse flourished. On the left, village houses stood on higher levels. Some of the houses werethatched huts proclaiming the poverty of the surrounding people. Most of them were Muslims. After afew furlongs, the pathway forked. Here was a tea shop and a couple of shops serving the basic needs of the surrounding agrarians and the simple hearted peasantry folk. Here stood a stone henge for thebenefit of people to unload their head load.

Ayamu took a left turn here. Presently he entered a shady lane running among a few houses and theirwooded property. After a few furlongs, he was once again among the paddy fields. Cashew nut treesgrew along the pathway. Crossing four or five grounds, he entered the expansive paddy fields.Towards his left at a distance was a rocky hill Ithimala . Within winking distance stood an L P School. Abanyan tree fell upon his vision. The village temple stood in those sylvan surroundings


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Sankaranarayana swamy temple. This was an ancient temple and an important temple coming underthe rule of Zamorins.

Ayamu walked beyond the temple. It was still about a mile to his destination. The entire stretch ranamong the paddy fields. To his right was Chemkunnu (Red hill). Once upon a time this was without anygreenery but now, times had changed. The shape of the hill was like the broad forehead of anelephant. While traversing the paddy fields, he came to a Tanner Pandal, not far from the temple. Thiswas a sheltering place for the passersby and peasants of the village and that used to supply buttermilkand water for the peasantry folk. The adjoining well always had fresh water on all seasons. Now , in thecourse of decades, this sheltering place and the well lay in dying condition. That landmark is now gone.

Here, one could find a stone henge that was used by head load workers to unload their labor and rest

for a while but Ayamu had no time to take any rest. As the river of Lord Tennyson said Men may comeand men may bit I go on forever, Ayamu still had miles to go.

After about a miles walk from the temple premises, he had now fallen into the orbit of his destination just beyond the compound of Thekkoot house and a lane. He had presently landed on the compound of an L P School Deshabandhu L P School. The local post office functioned in a single room adjoining theschool. It was now about 1Oclock. The school Headmaster Sri Kesavan Master took up the dual role.Besides being the teacher of that school, he also was the Postmaster of that branch post office for a longtime.

Master would be eagerly waiting for the arrival of Ayamu. Local people would be hanging around to seewhether they had any letters or Money orders from their dear and near ones. Postman Panicker wouldbe sitting on a bench outside the room, being engaged in a light conversation with the peasantry folk.He had an oval face. He was tall and lean and his trousers used to hang loosely about his slim body. HisGanghiji type goggles and well cropped face made him very typical and singular from the rest.

As soon as Ayamu landed on the grounds with his bag of dreams, the scene would transport into an airof activity. Panicker would grab the mail bag and fling open it. He would soon be sorting the letters.The banging sound of stamping seal could be soon heard. Kesavan Master would be engaged in othersupervisory work.


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The villagers would be eagerly looking at the face of Mr. Panicker for their letters and Money orders likethose who eagerly awaited to know the election result. In a trice, Panicker became the central figure of the local gathering. Soon, he would come out with a bunch of letters and sit on the bench. He would sitin an erect manner and by holding the bunch at hands distance, would begin to call out addresses. Inno time the small group would disburse with mixed feelings and emotions.

Ayamu would be waiting in the Verandah in solemn notes. What could be his thoughts at the momentother than a square meal? What could be his dreams at that hour other than the belligerent call of nature? But, he had not carried his lunch box to meet this call. In real terms, he could not afford alunch on his own. He was such a poor man having had to support a big family consisting of wife andchildren and his paltry monthly income of Rs.40/- came nowhere in the picture.

Kesavan Master very well knew about the difficulties of this age old mail runner . He had a generousheart and thus allowed Ayamu to have his lunch from the school. During those times, CARE used to feedpoor children with milk and the food item prepared from roasted Rava. Ayamu had his due share of this. I cant imagine the situation if the master had denied Ayamu the liberty of having this lunch.

After his lunch and short rest, once again it was the same walk all the way back to his source withanother mail bag upon his shoulders. Return mail had to be delivered. It also contained the dreams of that hamlet. The weight of the bag could be less in comparison to what he had carried earlier in theday.

By about 3Oclock he would arrive at his destination. He would be sweating. His toes would be painingdue to corn. He had just finished a long walk in summer. He had practically no hope of an escape fromthe situation. It was his bread and butter. He could not throw away his job for any reason. After all, hewas better disposed than a jobless man!

Family planning was out of question. That earned him more than five or six children. These children

grew before him as a question mark. He knew that the familys future was very bleak but he did notthink of committing suicide. The eldest son did not get through the 10th class. One fine morning, thatboy was found to be absconding. He heaved a sigh of relief. He really had felt that at least one boycould enjoy the freedom of life. It did not last long. The boy returned home after a while. That couldhave given Ayamu a great blow!. Later on, the boy boarded the train for Bombay. Let Ayamu diepeacefully seeing a few currency notes in his life.


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Somehow, he could see that his eldest daughter was blest with married life.

There is no time for retirement for a mail runner. His fate is to get lost in the endless wood amongthose umpteen hamlets. I can definitely say that a Marathon runner is nowhere in comparison to a Mailrunners non-stop run for over forty or forty five years.

Thus, our mail runner Ayamu ran along those beaten paths for over forty five years carrying a mail bagupon his shoulders, carrying hopes and dreams of a generation upon his shoulder, knowing no rest.Seasons he complained not. About his work, he complained not. He was as silent as the distant stars atthe mid-night hour.

The toil and turmoil of four decades finally took its toll. He could no longer walk. He was not even ableto stand properly. Still, he did not leave the battlefield. He availed a cycle advance and purchased acycle belonging to 18th century! Thus, the mail runner became a mail cycle runner and he continuedhis job in this manner for some more time. Later on, he handed over the job to one of his sons andbegan to lead a retired life.

How did he spend his retired life? Not in a marking way. He would now and then get out of his hut tomeet his friends . Financial aid was the main theme of such visits. My father had helped him a lot andthere is no evidential record for the amount that Ayamu owned my father during his life time. Both areno more and a historical dig is very impossible. Even otherwise, who needs an evidence for this at themoment other than for statistical purpose? One can easily guess the poor circumstances of this mailrunner.

Summing up his life, it can be seen that he would have easily covered around 1,50,000 KM in about 45years of his job. According to this statistics, he should have continued to be a healthy man in every

respect but that was not his case. When we would usually say that a long walk is good for our health,we conveniently forget about one thing, that, such walks are to be supplemented with rich andnourishing food. Otherwise, the effort can go in vain.

He is now in eternal sleep somewhere on the foothill of the Anangan Mala. It could be a peaceful sleepin comparison to his struggles in life.


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This mail runners name should have appeared in the Guinness Book of World Records for having donesuch a stupendous feat in his life time 1.5 lacs KMs is not a small measure. But his name appearsnowhere, not even in his tomb stone. He has no memorial in this world except in the heart of those old

generation of people of my hamlet and in the passing winds of his old alleyways.

That single room post office is no more in the locality. Time has taken away that bench which bore thehistory of a period. Panicker, the postman and Kesavan Master have withdrawn from this mortal world.Old alleyways which Ayamu had once measured with his feet have now changed to tar road. Some partsof the path way have merged with fields and surrounding properties. If this mail runner happened tocome along this way once again, he is sure to miss his direction.

This world is a big grave-yard. One generation builds its hopes and aspirations in the form of mansionsand a set of laws. Man moves within that framework. The following generation demolishes thosemansions and rewrite those set of laws. Man continues to move within that new framework. Thus, thisforever is an ongoing process and if we look at the scenario, man is building his newer mansions andlaws upon the debris of the old. Thus, old faces are forgotten. Old alleyways get disappeared within thenewer ones. Every man ultimately loses his identity long after he enters the crypt. Finally, he becomespart of a civilization and no more. This is the truth.

Thus, this old mail runner of my hamlet also represents the living image of a bygone era. But he was aman of flesh and blood. He too had emotions and aspiration for life. For the future generations, his talemay seem to be a paradox, a story of improbability. But, for the waters and fields of South Panamanna,for the old alleyways and shady grove of that hamlet, for the seasons that enliven the hamlet, he is atrue friend and embodiment of life. Along those sludge trodden pathways walked a man unto histaverns with a bag of dreams upon his shoulders. How can those whispering winds forget him tooeasily? Can the passage of time rub off his foot mark that he had left clear and deep in that soil?

Oh the passersby of future! Pause for a moment. Take a closer look at those foot marks. They are notetched by the morning dew drops but the sweat drops that dripped from his life.

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Ayamu, The Mail Runner of my hamlet - English - Subramanian A