Money Order

"Has my money order come?"

Postmaster Joshi looked up from the stock register he was updating. Frayed threads straggled away from its edges of bruised cardboard. Green pages of obscure records written in a small, labored script waited for the new figures to join them. The black fountain pen rose, slid on its grooves, and the cap screwed shut to shield it from the world outside. This is a genuine foreign pen, postmaster Joshi's father had said, I got it from a real English officer. We have too much heat and dust. Keep it out only as much as you need, otherwise it will get spoiled soon. One final, careful twist of the practiced fingers and the cap screwed on tight. "No, Magan, your money order hasn't come."

"But they said, 'in a few days,' you only read me their letter."

"Yes, Magan, I read you their letter, but your money order hasn't come."

"Have you checked today?"

"Yes, I have checked today. There are only two letters today-one for Rasik, from his brother in Dubai, and the other from Shyam, for his mother, Gangabai."

"Where are the letters?"

"With the schoolteacher. She is reading them to Rasik and Gangabai."

"Why aren't you reading for them?"

"My spectacle's glass is broken. I get a headache reading my own paperwork only. So, the schoolteacher stayed back to read the letters before going home. Don't worry, she is college pass."

"If you can't read, then how do you know my money order hasn't come?"

"Magan, I can read. I only get a headache. Your money order hasn't come. I am telling you, no."

"But they said, 'in a few days,' you only read me their letter."

"When your money order comes, I will give it to you. That is my job. I have been Postmaster here for twenty-five years. I have not been absent without leave for one day also. You show me one person whose letter I have lost. Do you know, when you were born, I even wrote the postcard to your father. And I only asked your mother for the postcard money. Now put your thumb stamp for this month and let me complete my ledger."

"Is it in Arvind's name?"

"Yes."

"When will it become in my name?"

"This is government work, it takes time: the papers have to go the big office, there they will look at everything and then decide. I cannot do anything from here. I told you first it will take time. Now don't ask so many questions."

"You will tell me, no, when my money order comes. Don't give it to someone else."

"Yes, I will tell you. Don't worry, I won't give it to someone else. Now let me do my work. What do you want money for? Have you eaten? Did Savitri give you food? You go tell her to give you some breakfast."

"I can't. I feel shy; you tell her."

"What is there in that? You were both in the same class in school. She is like your brother's wife. When Arvind writes from Oman he always asks, how are my brothers, Govind and Magan. Now go and see what she is doing-today she even forgot to bring my tea-and let me finish my stock register. The new Inspector is going to come tomorrow morning. She wants to see everything in tip-top condition."

"Shall I sweep the post office?"

"First you go and eat. Then you go and close the railway gate and wait for the signal to open it back. The train is coming today."

"I know that. Today is Monday. It always comes on Monday morning. One hour after the bus time. Only the bus comes on Wednesday night. Even when Arvind was here I would always know the timing. I only told him every time."

"When the train comes today, you tell the engine driver that my spectacle's glass is broken. Tell him to get a new glass next Monday. With the old power only. This new power is too strong. Don't forget now, you remember and tell him, okay."

"Okay. But if my money order comes, you don't forget. Give it to me only."

"Yes, yes, I won't forget. Go now, I have a lot of work to do."

Magan pushed the bamboo curtain aside and stood at the door, forcing his eyes to adjust to the blinding light crowding to come in, his hand shading his bowed head to cut off the glare. Dust whirled across the bare fields where the main street melted into mirrors that danced with the sky. The sun glared down, not appeased by the last drops of water its rays burned out from the ground. Only an old Banyan tree refused to give up, its branches sheltering a world of frenzied ants and languid men. Its reassuring leaves swaying together a cool, gentle air with memories of years when the rain had colored the earth green and the sun had warmed the fields to gold.

"Shut the curtain, Magan. All the hot air will come in."

The tight plastic straps of Shivlal's old slippers scraped at the raw skin on his left foot. Putting a leaf on the foot did not help. Even the leaf had got stuck last time. Why didn't Shivlal give his bigger slippers. If only he would give bigger, old slippers. Magan tested the concrete steps with his toes and decided to keep the slippers on. Wear them, Shivlal had promised, and you won't burn your feet in the sun. Next month, if I make good money and you help well at my tea-stall, I will give you my leather sandals. But only if I get a new pair from town. He followed his shadow around the post office compound wall with the signs that Arvind had painted, and knocked on the back door.

"Joshiji said to give me some breakfast before the train comes. You forgot to give him his tea today. My money order has again not come."

"I am having a bath, Magan." said Savitri, from behind the door. "Can you go to the well first? Our water is almost over."

"I will go to the well and fill the pots. It is already little late now but I can run and come back quickly before the train comes."

"Good, but don't leave my rope behind. Bring it back."

With the cool brass pots snuggled on his hip and the rope draped over his shoulder, Magan walked to the well. Savitri was nice. She had always been his friend, even when they were in school. She never laughed and teased him like all the others in school. She even came with him to climb up the trees and pick mangoes and tammarinds.

The pot reached deep, down into the well, and the earth poured in water that the sun hadn't reached. The metal pulley squeaked, the rope groaned, and a quivering pot jerked upwards with its twinkling hoard. Yes, she had never laughed and teased him like all the others. If only she would not go to the river with Govind. Carrying a pot on the head was good. It made the mind feel cool.

"Magan, you look so silly carrying the pots on your head." Savitri giggled as she flung her hair back to dry. "Come on, eat your breakfast. Your train will be coming soon. Don't leave anything for my father, I already gave him."

The railway platform was empty. Two monkeys sat on the tracks grooming each other. The rest waited in the trees at a distance, watching for the train with its promise of dropped, begged, and stolen food. Soon Govind would arrive. Magan knew that he was the only passenger today. He was going to the City to work. His uncle had got him a job in a big office. Now he would go away too. Everyone was going away. Shyam, Arvind, Govind. Soon he would be alone. He and Savitri.

Shivlal stood up from behind his tea-stall with his primus stove throwing up lazy flames of fire. "Magan, you finish your work and come and help me move this stand. As soon as this stove is set, I'll make you a nice cup of tea with almost brand-new leaves."

The stove burst into life. Jets of blue fire shot out in straight lines into the summer air. The blackened plate on the stand began to glow in anticipation as it waited for the battered aluminium kettle to settle on it. The kettle sizzled for an instant before the flames disdainfully burned away the few drops of water that clung to its blackened walls. Shivlal unearthed his tea pouch with the leaves that he had used for the bus passengers last week. He began to add milk to the water in the pan, waiting for it to descend and then rise and cloud the surface. Practiced hands spooned sugar from an old milk powder tin into the barely white liquid before lowering the tea leaves in their dirty brown, cloth pouch. The flames burned on, sucking the kerosene from the primed tank and goading the contents of the kettle into a steadily bubbling liquid. Shivlal began to stir the half-dried leaves in their seething mass of watered-down milk. His hands sensed the moment when it all began to boil over, lifted the kettle off the flames, waited for just the right amount of time, and put the kettle back with one quick stir to push the jaded leaves into parting with their last dregs of flavor.

"Okay. I will go and close the level crossing gate first. The train will come very soon now. I can tell. Even when the railway clock is broken I can tell the time. When the shadow of that tree touches the tracks, it is time for the train."

"Magan! Open the gate. I have to cross over." Narain shouted as his cart raced a cloud of dust around the corner.

"Gate is closed. The train is coming. Wait now until it is gone, then I will open the gate."

"Come on, open it, no. I have to go urgent. I must tell postmaster Joshi that the Inspector is coming now."

"I told you, Narain, the gate is closed for the train. It will open after ten minutes. Rule is a rule."

"I thought you were a friend. You won't open even for the postmaster?"

"You don't say that now. I am your friend but Joshiji only has told me not to open the gate until the train is gone. What can I do, it is a rule. Now I have to go. I have to help Shivlal move his tea-stand. Don't touch the gate, Narain, it is government property. If they catch you, you will go to jail."

As he walked to the platform, Magan saw Govind walk in. "Where is your ticket, Govind?"

"I don't need a ticket, Magan."

"Everyone must have a ticket to come on the platform. Rule is a rule. What will Joshiji say?"

"What can postmaster Joshi say, Magan, my uncle is a Guard in the Railways. I'm telling you I don't need a ticket."

"But your uncle is on the big line. He is not here."

"He got a transfer. He paid five hundred and got himself moved to this line. It is better. Now he can go home every week without any headaches."

"He makes a lot of money, no. Everybody says he takes too much."

"What can he do? He has to return the five hundred he borrowed for his transfer, then he has to pay another five hundred for interest, and every week the Line Inspector asks for something. Where is all that money going to come from? You tell me that.

"My money order didn't come even today."

"No? Come, I will buy you some tea."

"No. Shivlal is giving me tea; do you have a cigarette?"

"I have one filter cigarette. We can share it if you want."

"Okay, but you wait. Don't go anywhere. I will move Shivlal's stand and get tea for both of us."

"Hurry up. If the train comes, I will have to go."

"You don't worry. If I don't take the signal ball from the driver and put it in the signal machine, the train cannot get the signal to go."

"Ah, Magan. Move the stand forward where the passengers can see there is a tea stall on this platform. Move it, move it. Don't worry, I asked postmaster Joshi and he said I can put it in the middle. Yes, that is enough."

"I am going to drink my tea with Govind. He is going to give me a cigarette. A filter cigarette. I am going to tell him to go to the office in the City and ask about my money order also."

Magan picked up his tea and walked over to Govind, "do you want the cup or the plate? This is good tea, Shivlal made it with almost brand-new leaves. I can drink from the plate, no problem."

"Magan, you have the cigarette later, okay. Here, you keep it in your pocket. Don't take it out in front of my uncle and don't offer it to me when he is there. He does not know I smoke."

"Govind, when you get to the City, you go to the office."

"Which office?"

"My money order office."

"Oh! That office."

"Yes. And listen, you tell them, my money order hasn't come."

"Did you ask postmaster Joshi today?"

"Yes. He saw it hasn't come. Even with the glass broken. The engine driver will get a new glass when he comes next time. I will tell him."

"What glass is broken?"

"Joshiji's spectacle's glass. But you let that go. You go to the office and tell them."

"Don't worry, Magan, I will tell them. I told them last time also, and they said they would send it. I told you, no."

"Yes, but that was long time ago. You tell them again. You tell them I have their letter. It says, 'in a few days.' Joshiji read it for me. That time the glass was not broken and he could read without getting a headache. Now the schoolteacher from the next village has to read the letters. She is college pass. Shivlal said she doesn't read as nicely as Joshiji. You tell them, if they don't send my money order soon, I will go to the police constable with the schoolteacher. He is from her village. You tell them I always do what I say. I told you and Savitri I wouldn't tell anyone what you were doing, and did I tell anyone? No. No one will know. You tell them I cannot wait for very long. You tell them I have a lot of things to do. I am going to have a railway job in my own name. They said, 'in a few days'."

"Okay, okay, don't worry, Magan, I will tell them. You keep quiet about Savitri now. I am your friend, no. I will tell them as soon as I get to the City. Look, the train is coming. You go and stand in front for the signal ball, and I will go to the back to meet my uncle. Don't tell anyone, okay, Magan. I will talk to them and write you a postcard soon."

"But you don't know how to write."

"Who told you I don't know how to write? How did I get this office job then? You wait, I will write and postmaster Joshi can read it for you. But you keep quiet about Savitri, Magan. When did you see us? Where were you hiding? I thought you went to the well."

"No, no. See, you forgot already. We were in school, remember? I did not go to the well, I was picking mangoes."

"Oh! Anyway, you don't talk about it now. Otherwise I won't write to you."

"Okay. But you don't forget."

Magan walked up to the front of the platform as the train swept in. White smoke tumbled out and floated into the blue sky as the engine slowed to nestle against the platform with a sigh. Shivlal's tea-bell tinkled and called out to the passengers. The monkeys began to descend from the branches. Before the train groaned to a halt, people jumped off and ran for the water tap with their plastic water-bottles, steel cups, and thermos jugs. The monkeys spread out and began to inspect the crumpled plastic and paper that came flying out of the windows.

"Magan?" said Shivlal, as he picked up two cups and ran towards a beckoning hand, "tell the engine driver to wait two extra minutes. Many passengers want tea. And take one cup for him also. Take it from this big kettle only."

Magan walked up to the engine driver. "Wait for two more minutes. Passengers want to drink their tea. Here is your cup. Joshiji's spectacle's glass is broken. When the train comes next Monday, send a new glass from the City. With the old power only. This new power is too strong. He can't read; he gets a headache. The new, college pass schoolteacher is not a good reader. She doesn't say the letter very nicely. My money order has still not come. They said, 'in a few days.' I am gong to go with the schoolteacher to her village and tell the constable if they don't send the money order soon."

"Go quickly now and put the signal ball in the machine. And tell Shivlal to hurry up. I can't wait extra today. The train is late five minutes. I have to make up or they will mark my record again. Tell him I don't want only tea. If he doesn't share, next time I won't stop even two minutes. I have six other stops. They all give better tea and something to eat. I will send the glass with my uncle's son, tell postmaster Joshi to give him the money also. And listen to what I say, Magan, forget about that money order business. Nobody is giving you any money. That was like a lottery ticket, not a money order. If you want money, tell your postmaster Joshi to give you some from what he collects in his son's name. You only are doing all the work. You forget that printed letter story now. They send out thousands every day. Even I got one last month."

"What do you think, I don't knowÐJoshiji read my letter. It says they will give me fifty thousand in a few days, when I win the first prize. If I had not won, why would they congratulate me? You think you are very smart, no. You tell me now. You are only getting jealous because it is my fifty thousand. But I have to buy a lot of things. I need the money."

"Listen, Magan . . ."

"No, I will not listen. I will not listen to you. You are not my real friend. You are jealous of my money order. It is not like a lottery ticket. It says on the top, 'Money Order.' They will have to send the money. I have so many things to do. I will go to the constable. He is from the schoolteacher's village. How can they not send. They said they would send. I did not ask, they said. I have the letter. It is written. Joshiji read it to me. I am not going to listen to you; I want my money order. Why should I listen to you. You are not even my friend. You don't know how to read even. Joshiji can read. He can read everything. He wrote to the big office to make it in my name. It is government work. It takes time, what do you know. He can read better than the college pass schoolteacher. You ask Shivlal. Ask anyone. Why should I listen to you. Joshiji knows everything. More than you. I won't listen to you."

"Okay, okay. Don't listen to me. You do what you want. See if I care. Just go and put the signal ball in the machine. I am going to blow the whistle. As soon as the signal goes up, I am leaving. So tell Shivlal also. Tell him I don't want him on the train collecting money and then pulling the chain to get off. If he does that, this time I will tell the police. Then I don't know, it will be his responsibility."

The people at the water tap had begun to glance nervously at the signal. The queue which had formed when the train came in had moved, jostled, and pushed itself into a crowd. Water squirted out of a flask as a shoulder pushed aside an intruding glass. A pile of hands, five deep, grabbed the tap while empty containers pushed each other even as they fought for the spot under the flowing water. A pink, wide-mouthed plastic water-bottle shot to the top, cutting off the flow of water by nearly swallowing the entire tap. A stocky, middle-aged lady, victorious but drenched by the tussle, squared off at the tap, her bottle growing heavier as the water rose inside. The crowd, desperate to get at the water before the train started off, shuffled into a queue behind her, cringing from the glare accompanying the insults and curses she flung their way. The water-bottle began to overflow but she didn't notice. She stood glaring as she tried to dry her soaked watch. The crowd surged forward, pushing her away. An impatient hand dislodged her bottle from under the tap. The platform sizzled gleefully as it swallowed the water gurgling out of the fallen bottle.

Magan pushed the signal ball into the slot and turned the lever until it clicked into place. The green light on the board lit up as another signal ball shot out from the machine. He slid it into the engine driver's ring and began to move towards the engine once again. A hoarse, brassy blast of steam shredded the air as the engine let out its first warning hoot. The platform froze for an instant before everyone began to edge closer to the train. The crowd at the water tap began to get frantic, forcing aside bottles and flasks before they were filled. Magan handed the engine driver his ring with a new signal ball for the next station. The engine whistle blasted off again with two sharp bursts. The signal rose, the train lurched forward to warn the passengers that this time it was really ready to leave, and then stopped. Tracks shifted into place as people scampered to their wooden seats, and the engine began to pull itself away from yet another platform.

"That was a good train, Magan. So many wanted tea. This is good money I have made. If only that engine driver had waited five minutes, I could have broken my record from last week at the bus-stand. Maybe I should have sent him some good tea, what, Magan. When you go back, take this to Savitri. Govind said to give it to her. Magan, what happened to you now?"

"It is written."

"What? Of course, it is written. It is a letter."

"I did not ask, they said. They wrote and said."

"Oh, you are still thinking about that. Listen, you forget that just now, come and help me move back my tea stall and we can both have another cup of tea. Then you can smoke your filter cigarette also. Don't give this to the postmaster, give it to Savitri only."

"He said it is not a money order."

"Who said?"

"The engine driver. He said it is like a lottery ticket."

"You look at me: what does he know, has he seen his face. He failed in high school; our postmaster Joshi has passed high school with first class. He can read and writeÐlike thatÐwithout thinking. Why do you listen to this engine driver. Where is he from; does he know anything. Just because he got a railway job he thinks he knows everything and he can say anything he wants. Who got him the job? You ask him that, first. I'm telling you, if my father-in-law was not a railway clerk from his village, no one would even look at him. Come on, now you stop thinking about all that. When the time comes, everything will be all right."

"Give me your match box."

The match flared and sputtered off. Magan fumbled for another and watched it die out.

"Don't waste!" said Shivlal, "I have only one box left." He eased the match box out of Magan's hands and a steady flame reached up towards the cigarette.

The cigarette was good. Magan felt the smoke go into his chest. It made him relax, just as the sign on the wall said. It said this filter cigarette would relax and satisfy. It was not an ordinary cigarette made in a village, it was made in a big, foreign factory in the city where every worker got a uniform and more money than even in a government job. Relax and satisfy. It would always do that Nobody would ever write it down if it didn't. After all, what did it mean to write it down. You can't do it just like that, without being sure. Joshiji never wrote anything down without thinking about it for a long time. Even Arvind never wrote without thinking. He never left his writing without reading it two-three times to see that it was correct. When he had painted the wall for the cigarette company man from the City, he had stood in front of the wall for one hour, reading it out to everyone who came to see, just to make sure it was correct. Even he never wrote anything wrong. That is why his company was so happy with his work. That is why the cigarette company man had taken him to work in Oman also. No one paid one thousand every month, with food, room, and medical just for nothing. Arvind had even got a new radio as bonus for his work. Joshiji said that they were very happy with his good work. No one would have given him all that if it was allowed to write just anything, anywhere. It was not allowed. It could not be.

"You know, an old woman in the village across the lake once found a pot of silver in the wall of her kitchen. My mother told me. But, Magan, these things happen when they happen. You cannot sit and wait for them all your life. If it is written in your name, it will come to you. It is all in His hands. You have to do your work and trust Him, that's all."

He could not be wrong. He had been Postmaster for twenty-five years. He had seen thousands of letters come and go. He had read letters for everyone in the whole village. People from other villages came to listen when he read one of his good stories after the harvest time. Everyone used to listen to what he said. Everyone said that he was always correct, his advice was good. He could solve any problem. All the people said that.

"You don't listen to what people say. They will say anything, whatever comes to their mind. Just quietly hear what they are saying and don't bother about it. They never do anything for anyone. You understand? Be happy, postmaster Joshi let's you do this railway work. See, he trusts you. Does anyone else let you do so much? You tell me. Now go take this letter to Savitri."

Magan didn't know why he nodded. No, I don't understand, his mind screamed as his hand snatched the letter from Shivlal, I want my money order. I don't want to understand. How can Joshiji be wrong? He was never wrong. Only once. That was Savitri's fault alsoÐshe should have told him first that he had gone and spoken about the wrong brother. She should have told him first, Govind, not Arvind. It was her fault only. But the money order was clear. It had the name on the top. It said, 'Magan' very clearly. Joshiji had read it many times without mistake.

The gate squeaked at the platform. Narain had left it open without pushing it into the lock. The plastic strap burned his skin. Magan took off his slippers and began to step onto his shadow. The village square floated towards him with the breeze. Postmaster Joshi's voice came out of the post office, explaining the stock register to the Inspector. A dog sniffed the tires of the jeep while the school children gathered at a distance and stared at the driver waiting in his clean, new uniform. Narain's cart stood outside. The oxen had dragged it under the tree.

But what if it was really not a money order, only a lottery ticket. What if that engine driver was correct. No, no, it said very clearly on the top, 'money order.' Why would a big company write wrong. And Joshiji? And Govind? And Shivlal? Everyone had said it would come. Yes. That money order would come. They would send it. They had promised. Joshiji had promised. Soon there would be a money order and a railway job. There was no mistake. It was written. Magan stopped on a patch of grass to cool his feet and shake of the hot dust. The sun had used up almost all the moisture hidden in the grass. But it was enough. Anything was better than the burning road. Maybe taking off the slippers was a mistake. Maybe they were all wrong. No, it hurt too much. Someone else would use them.

The dog yelped as the driver kicked it away from the tire, and the children drew back. The Inspector stepped out from behind the bamboo curtain. Postmaster Joshi came behind, carrying a big bundle of red files on his stock register.

"Yes, madam, I will update it by next week." he said, "as soon as my spectacles are repaired. You know, madam, in my twenty-five years of service, this has never happened before. I am going to retire, madam, in two years, you can check my record; I promise, this is the first time such a mistake has ever happened with me."

The jeep engine growled to life. Postmaster Joshi ran to the driver's side, gave the files, waited till they were put away safely, and then came back. The Inspector got in.

"Keep it updated without fail. Your daily ledger must be made daily, you understand. I don't want to see this happen next time. Otherwise I will take action." She nodded to the driver and the jeep swept away, its Post and Telegraph seal shinning through the dust it hurled at the sun.

Postmaster Joshi shielded his eyes and watched the jeep disappear. He shuffled back into the post office, his hand clutching the stock register at his side. The children began to straggle towards the tree. The dog settled into the small triangle of shade beside the post office steps and licked himself before twisting around to snap at a flea on his back.

Magan shifted his weight from one foot to the other to allow his feet to cool equally. No Arvind, no Govind. Savitri would have to take him to the river. Now if only the money order would come. Before he stepped off the grass to go behind the post office with the letter, he looked down at the small patch of his shadow as it shifted along with him, trying to get away from the glare of the sun. So small. Just a little time ago, when he walked to the railway station, it had been big enough to take long steps. Maybe it would still be all right. He could walk on it with small steps.