Differently The Same
Coming out of the infinitesimal bathroom, that had a dark piece of cloth hanging to replace the door, Samrat rubbed his wet hair with a white cotton cloth.
“Hari Om!” he muttered as the cold surroundings of his lobby embraced his naked torso, sending shivers to his whole body. He walked briskly to the porch of his house to hang the wet white cotton cloth on a rope tied for drying clothes. His gaze fell out of the window. The sky was tar-black and huge clouds moved towards Samrat’s house. He let out a cold sigh seeing the cruel form of the weather arriving.
“Take my rain-coat out. The day is going to be tough today!” Samrat asked his wife, while washing his hands after the breakfast.
“The weather, I tell you, has become so unpredictable these days.” His wife retorted, in a worried tone.
Packing himself in three layers of clothes, and a raincoat over them. Samrat took his outmoded bicycle out of the porch and put it on stand.
“Bring my lunch Mansi!” Samrat said aloud.
“Here” His wife said, handing him his lunch box. He took the lunch and fastened it along with the top tube of his bicycle.
“Bye baba!” little Smit came out running from the house, rubbing his eyes.
“Bye Gopu! Don’t you trouble maa today. You have an off, better finish your homework” Samrat said and kissed Smit’s forehead.
“Okay Baba” Smit said as Mansi smiled gaping them both.
Samrat put his leather messenger bag around his body and buttoned his raincoat over it, to save the bag from the rain as well. He paddled as he budged out in rain. Sharda and Smit rushed inside their house briskly.
Samrat tried paddling as faster as he could and the clouds were his only combat, they would spat out their beads of water as vehemently as they could. The sky was be darkened and weeping. It wasn’t really a good start of the day. Samrat took a sigh of relief as he saw the huge saffron and yellow colored board of the post office. He parked his bicycle. As soon as he reached inside the office, like any usual day, he found the office empty. He used to be at the office 15 minutes before his reporting time every day. Removing his raincoat, Samrat realized, water had seeped down to his clothes and they were pretty soaked. He sat at his chair and placed his bag on the table. He badly needed to have something warm as his damp clothes were making him colder with every passing second. But there were no provisions for soothing his discomfort. He was a poor man and poor men have to take everything as a gift of their poverty, without letting out any disturbed sigh.
The staff started arriving at their usual times, some were even late because of the weather. Samrat kept noticing everyone coming with a smile. But his staff had always been a little callous towards him. Out of everyone present at the office, Samrat was the only one with the most impoverished financial background. He was the most destitute of them all, and so, no one liked to talk to him, because he could never ‘Fit-In’.
Unlike the others, the post master arrived in his white sedan. The rusty screech of post-master’s car brought an angelic smile on Samrat’s face. It was the postmaster only, who would reply to his Namaste, and that too with an adequate smile.
“Samrat! How are you doing?” he would ask every day.
“With God’s grace, ever thing is going great sir” Samrat would reply with a bow.
The post master was a humble man, besides his status and reputation. He had always lent a hand in Samrat’s hard times and Samrat was always grateful to him and respected him the most.
While collecting his lot of mails that he needed to deliver, Samrat smiled at one of the envelopes.
“To,
Mr. Ranjeet Rathore” The envelope bore in bold letters.
Samrat took the lot and shoved it in his messenger bag after sorting it as per the prerequisites. The weather had turned a tad perked up. The rain had stopped but Samrat was greeted by puddles of mud far and wide. Sculling through the roads, Samrat, the postman kept delivering the mails at their respective addresses. He would just paddle and deliver the messages to the people whom he loved to serve, some messages drew forth happiness and the others drew sadness or disappointment to the receivers. But they had that one thing common, Samrat was there bearer who would pray for the well-being and betterment of the whole world.
Close to whole day passed and at long last, he reached, Ranjeet Villa.
Samrat parked his cycle in front of the entrance of the villa.
“Namaste Chaccha!” Samrat said with folded hands and bowed a little as soon as a grey-haired elderly man came out to open the door.
“Ohho! Look who’s here! Come Samrat. Come in son!” The man, Ranjeet Rathore welcomed Samrat warmly.
“Smita. Come on out! Look, Samrat’s here!” Ranjeet spoke aloud, calling for his wife. He and Samrat got settled on the seven-sitter-sofa in their lavish living room.
“Here!” Samrat said, handling Ranjeet, his letter.
“Oh! It’s from Aarush.” Ranjeet said, with a glimmer of euphoria spreading from his eyes to his lips.
Smita, joined them both in the living room, she replied to Samrat’s greets with happiness and joined her husband in reading the letter by their son, blissfully.
“Oh! He has sent some tickets!” Ranjeet said, with a blend of puzzled and excited tone.
“Let me call him” Smita said and dialed Aarush’s number. Samrat kept noticing them both warily. He didn’t grasp much, he still was trying to figure out what was happening. Soon after the telephonic conversations of the Rathore couple got ended, Samrat learned that Aarush, their only son who lived in US had sent them the tickets to fly to him and get settled with him forever. Ranjeet and his wife got full of the joys of spring. They grinned from ear to ear and Samrat saw them absorbed in utter euphoria. He too was happy with the happiness of the couple as he had witnessed them suffering all those years, longing for the love and care of their only child. And finally came the time when they were going to be together like a happy family.
The Rathore couple gave the messenger of their happy news, a little treat of tea and an assortment of appetizing snacks. And after such a long time, Samrat had eaten adequately. His heart got filled with blessings for the happiness of the Rathore family who had always been nicer and nicer to him.
He left the ambience of celebration and went back home. He shared the day’s incident with Sharda who herself was happy. little Smit was fast asleep as Samrat sat in his porch, with his eyes glued to the sky which was now clearer and filled with sparkling white dots.
“I will lose those two great people of my life, there will be no more delivering letters to them, they’ll be gone. But… but I’m happy for them. Too happy” Samrat’s thoughts kept battling.
The rain continued to the next day and the same agenda followed. Samrat’s house seemed ramshackle. It bore various leakages that would drip due to the rain, the damp walls gave out a sulky smells and the doors would creak with every moment. The noises of drips and creaks, smells of the walls would get blended with his routine. He had no time to pay heed to his houses’ slip-ups, neither did his pocket let him. He had to serve people and that was what gave peace to his heart and his soul. To see the pacified expressions on people’s face after getting their letters, was the thing that pacified even his soul.
“Samrat!” one of Samrat’s colleagues called for him from behind.
“Ya!” he asked, politely.
“Here!” the colleague said, handing him a box of sweets and an invitation card. “My daughter is getting married” the colleague said.
“Oh that’s great news. Congratulations” Samrat said humbly. The colleague smiled reluctantly.
“Tell me if I can help in any possible way” Samrat spoke.
“Try coming in some good clothes” the colleague said patting his shoulder, mocking him. he was followed by some others, who joined him laughing.
Samrat stood there, with a smile on his face and the box of sweets in his hands. He had a storm stirring his soul up, but he could only smile.
“Hello!” Samrat spoke.
“Hello Samrat!” came the voice from the other side.
“Oh Rathore Sahab! How are you?” Samrat asked, recognizing the voice on the phone.
“I’m good son. We’re leaving tomorrow wanted to see you for the last goodbye. Do come by” Mr. Rathore spoke, politely.
“Sure Chaccha!” Samrat said as the little invitation had made him a different sort of blissful.
“Okay Samrat. We have a flight a catch. God bless you son” Ranjeet Rathore said, embracing the man who was way below his status. But he had a heart of pure gold, and that is what made him connected with Samrat, who himself had a pure heart and soul.
“And son. I have this one little gift for you. With all my blessings and prayers, I want to give this to you. A person like you would never had accepted any gifts so, this little thing is just your luck and nothing else. I know you might not feel this appropriate, but please keep it” Ranjeet said, grinning, handing an envelope to Samrat and his car drove off. Samrat kept staring at the car that got miniscule and disappeared after a while. He then stared at the white envelope for a while.
“LOTTERY NUMBER 1155577
Price Money 1 Crore!” the little ticket bore in bright letters. With his quizzical gaze, Samrat glared at the ticket and gazed to the direction of Ranjeet’s car. He grinned and went back home.
“Winners of Lottery 2014” Samrat read with his finger moving along the list. He looked at his ticket and then at the result. “Winner of one crore price- LOTTERY NUMBER 1155577!” the result displayed.
A surge of something rushed through Samrat’s veins. His eyes bulged out and his heart pounded. He shifted back, in a shock, and got aside the crowd of people who were checking the results.
“God! Thank you so much!” Samrat shouted at the top of his lungs. He fell on his knees and cried out aloud. His poverty was going to wash away, his house was going to be ramshackle no more, his son was going to study in a better school and his wife was going to look much prettier in some good sarees. Everything was going to be changed, he thought and streaks of happiness flew down his eyes.
“Hello Mr. Kumar! Congratulations!” Samrat wished his colleague with a humble smile, and folded hands. His colleague stood there, taken aback by Samrat and his family’s appearance.
Samrat wore a Brocade bandhgala, his wife wore a pure silk saree and Smit wore an expensive shirt and pair of trousers. His colleague could do nothing but gulp the lump formed in his dry throat.
“I hope these are your desired Nice Clothes” Samrat whispered in his ear and with a smile he walked to the marriage pandal to have some food.
A brand new Honda Slpendor stopped in front of the post office.
“ Namaste sir!” Samrat wished the postmaster humbly, dressed in his khakhi uniform.
“Oh so millionare Samrat is here on duty!” the post master said laughing.
“No sir! Postman Samrat is on the duty” Samrat said with a smile.
The postmaster smiled back!
