The Purveyor Of News

By Roy Thomas

Kochumon had started as the office boy in the village post office. Having studied up to the 9th standard at the government school and then dropping out, the only choice left for the young lad was to work as a rubber tapper at the nearby estate or look for a manual job.

Fortunately, his uncle, who worked as a clerk at the post office in the nearby town of Pathenemthitta, fed up with the constant badgering from his sister to find her son a job, spoke to a few of his bosses and they agreed to him being unofficially employed as the office boy at the village post office, which was an extended wing that reported back to them.

The post office, other than the Panchayat office, was the only government office in the village. It was staffed by two persons, the postmaster, who was the in-charge, and the postman whose job it was to sort out the mail in the afternoon and take a ride on his cycle to distribute it to the villagers.

The mail was usually delivered by around 11a.m. in the only government bus that came into the village. It was, also literally, the only means of commuting to any place outside.

During its return trip from the village in the afternoon, it collected whatever little mail there was and took it back to the town where it was then sorted out and sent to the various hubs, along with the other mail that had been collected from the neighbouring villages, and the town itself.

Kochumon’s work, when he had initially joined, was basic and simple. He had to open the small, two-roomed building and see that the cleaning and dusting were done before the others arrived. He then had to do all the odd jobs, including moving the files inside the post office, buying coffee and cigarettes for the staff, and generally being a handyman around.

At 11 a.m. when the bus arrived, his job was to help in collecting the mail bags and then, in the evening, take back the return mail after sealing the bags.

Kochumon was a smart boy and picked up things fast. He had been good at languages in school and was able to read and write basic Malayalam and English quite fluently. This skill had enabled him to gradually helping out with the sorting out of the mail, to a point where the staff started leaving the entire job to him, after they became confident that he could handle it.

Not that it was a complicated exercise - it was just a matter of sorting out the mail into four bundles according to the four regions that the small village and its outskirts had been divided into. The postman would then take the mail to be delivered to the various addressees in the village.

As in most of the towns and villages in the state the houses had no number –only a house name, which normally corresponded with the family name, it was easy for the postman to identify and locate the addressees.

Having lived and grown up in the village all his life, Kochumon knew all the names of the residents and the various houses in the village and soon he was entrusted with the work of delivering the mail, as a substitute, in the event of the postman falling ill. Being young and enthusiastic, he did a good job and soon he was substituting, more often than not, for the ageing postman.

Kochu, as he was affectionately called by his friends, was an extrovert and also a person who empathized with people. He was very popular with the villagers and like most postmen all over the world, was a welcome figure wherever he went. Bored wives took time off to tell him about all the news and gossip while the shopkeepers offered him tea and kept him updated on all that affected their lives.

What they were all sure off was that he never gossiped and even better, was never judgmental – instead, he often counselled them and offered them good advice - when he was asked for it.

Wherever the recipients of mail were unlettered and unable to read, Kochumon read the letters to them and even helped them write replies. In this way, inadvertently, he was privy to confidential and secret information that a lot of the residents poured out in their letters. Some of the residents were old and lived alone – their children were either in the armed forces or working in the Gulf.

Empathetic by nature, Kochomon had by then got so involved in the lives of his ‘friends’ that he even started opening the letters in his anxiety to know the latest developments.

Soon he became like a censor, either not reading bits that he felt was good for the recipient or even not handing over letters that would cause stress and frustration and not serve any useful or tangible purpose.

Years later, the older, incumbent postman eventually retired and it was but natural that Kochumon’s name was unanimously recommended by the postmaster to fill the vacancy. The proud young man, at the age of 24, was given the job and everyone was happy that this school dropout had landed himself a permanent job as a covenanted government servant, with all its attended benefits that included a pension.

Eighty five-year-old Parvathyamma was one such person who doted on Kochumon. She depended on him for not only reading the occasional mail that she got from her son who was a soldier in the army, but also for doing odd jobs like purchasing foodstuff and making any payments.

She suffered from various age-related ailments and the young man made it a point to go the ayurvedic doctor who visited the village twice a week and collect the medicines that she required.

The only joy in her life was her son Kuttan who was a BSF soldier who had been posted in the Kashmir border. He came over to visit her once every six months and the old woman eagerly looked forward to these bi-annual visits from her son.

‘The next time you come I am going to get you married and that is final –how long are you going to stay single?’ she admonished her son. ‘This is it and I want no further arguments from you,’ she adoringly told him, “I want to see my grandchildren before I die!”

Kuttan would laugh but eventually grudgingly agreed. ‘You find a nice girl for me amma,’ he quipped, ‘and keep in mind that I want someone as beautiful as you!’

‘Go on you scoundrel before I hit you,’ she would scowl at her son with mock anger,” and I don’t care if you are some big soldier; for me, you are still a little boy!!”

The old lady was actually thrilled to bits that her son had eventually actually agreed to get married and there was now something exciting to look forward to.

Kuttan and Kochumon were almost of the same age and had known each other from school. The friendship became even stronger, bonded by their love for the feisty old lady and the two would spend a lot of time together whenever the soldier returned home to his village.

A couple of months later, Kuttan was killed in an encounter with a bunch of terrorists who were trying to enter the country at the Kupwara border. The body was so badly mutilated and decomposed that the army had decided to do away with the practice of sending back the body to the hometown and, instead, conducted the last rites at the army camp itself. A communication to this effect was sent to the village in the form of a telegram.

Kochumon felt a rush of tears when he read the contents. The thought of Kuttan, who had by then had almost become a brother to him, not being around anymore and the pain and anguish that Parvathyamma would have to undergo on hearing of her son’s demise, was something he could not bear.

“Life’s not fair,’ Kochumon thought angrily as he fought the tears and made his way to the house to give the telegram to her. “I just don’t want to be the bearer of the bad news…”

‘Who’s there?” Parvathyamma asked, even as her smile lit up her face on seeing Kochumon. ‘I am so glad you are here!’ she remarked chirpily, ‘I was just about to make some tea so now you can join me...!”

Kochumon was silent as he listened to the elderly lady’s chatter. He suddenly became alert when he realized she was talking about Kuttan. “I was telling kuttan that he has to get married this time when he comes down. It will be nice to have a daughter-in-law at home who will help me and be someone who I can confide in and I have a few young girls in mind…Actually Kochu, I will have to find a nice girl for you also, nah!” she chuckled.

“I cannot break the news to her when she is in this mood,’ he told himself sadly.” “Yes, Ammachi,” he replied to Parvathyamma trying to sound enthusiastic, “We will have to get him married to a beautiful girl who will look after you also. You will be a wonderful mother-in-law and also a great grandmother, when all the children come. We can think about me when all that is over!!

Parvathyamma face lit up at the thought of children running around her house and her face broke into a smile as she pictured the scene.

He returned to the post office with a heavy heart without disclosing the contents of the telegram to her, steeling himself to definitely break the news to her the next day.

Kochumon never delivered the telegram or all the subsequent communication from the army headquarters regarding the urn with the ashes being sent to the village in a week’s time. A few official papers, which informed Parvathyamma that she would be entitled to a pension and advising her of the other amounts she would receive as the sole surviving relative, was also kept by him undelivered.

A detailed communication by the army to the village panchayat was received by them advising them that the ashes would be brought in a military truck in a few days and giving instructions on how the formalities would have to be conducted.

Kochumon, who was hastily summoned by the elders, told them that he had already informed Parvathyamma about the sad demise of her son and that the grieving mother was not yet ready to see any visitors. She had, however agreed to let him take her to the river, when the urn would arrive and for the immersion of the ashes.

Glad that they did not have to carry out the unpleasant task of bearing the sad news the elders heard all this without asking any questions and told him to make sure she arrived at the appointed time.

Every evening after that, completing his work as quickly as possible, Kochumon would go over to Parvathyamma’s house. ‘Don’t make any food Ammachi,’ he had told her, “I will be bringing food for you from now on.”

‘No no,’ protested Parvathyamma, “You come and I will also make some food and we can have it together.” Secretly she was relieved though at the thought of not having to make food and also having someone to talk to after sundown, instead of sitting and talking to herself.

As promised, Kochumon landed every evening and the two of them laughed and talked about lots of things; comfortable in each other company. They enjoyed the humble repast that Kochumon brought with him together with whatever Parvathyamma had cooked.

Eventually, the urn with the ashes was supposed to come in the next day. That evening Kochumon, as usual, came over to see Parvathyamma and have their meal together.

‘You know what,’ he informed her, “I have found a medicine for you that will get rid of all your aches and pains; You just have to take one dose of it today and you will be literally flying tomorrow…no more of these health problems…I will give it to you just before you go to sleep tonight…”

‘Nothing is going to take away the aches and pains that come with old age,’ Parvathyamma replied with a smile, ‘but sure there is no harm trying,’ she replied.

The old woman grimaced slightly as she swallowed the small vial of medicine that he held for her even as he held her gently in his arms. She trustingly looked at him and then slowly closed her eyes.

‘I am going to sleep now Kochu; I hope I dream of Kuttan,’ she whispered to him. “And please don’t forget to come tomorrow...I feel so lonely sometimes...”She sighed as her head dropped back. Kuttan gently put her down on the couch. He kissed her forehead as he pushed back some of her grey locks that had fallen over her face.

“Don’t worry Ammachi I am going to be with you from now on,” he whispered back.

Kochumon‘s body was found slumped next to Parvathyamma the next day by the shocked village residents - his arm protectively thrown over her. Both of them looked peaceful and relaxed, as though in deep slumber.

The two bodies were cremated the same day and their ashes, including that of Kuttan, were all placed in one big earthen pot and immersed in the nearby river.

Amidst the Vedic chants, the reverberation of the eighteen-gun salute that the army gave their dead comrade, echoed back from the nearby hills.

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By Roy Thomas