THE AGE RUNNER

(Short Story)

PEDDIBHOTLA SUBBARAMAIAH

(Translated from Telugu by Vallampati Venkata Subbaiah).

A boy whizzed forward on the pavement like an arrow: He ran like a sprinter running a race.

Ramachandra Murty stopped walking and looked back. By then the boy had gone out of sight.

Ramachandra Murty smiled to himself. Wherever he sees someone running, he stands still and looks at him in fascinated wonder. Then he smiles to himself.

He started walking again.

Several film posters are pasted to the pillars on the pavement pictures of beautiful girls, scenes of the heroes and the heroines passionately hugging and rolling over each other.

Still a furlong to go for the bus stop. Unless he starts from home very early, he can’t catch the bus and reach the office in time. Sitamma wakes up very early, when it is still dark, and starts her chores. Though she huzzles with the work gasping and sweating, food is not ready before nine. He eats a few morsels of it in a hurry, but not before it is half-past-nine. It takes another fifteen minutes for him to reach bus stop......Then starts his waiting for the bus. The bus he has to take never comes on time. Some of them don’t stop at all. Because it is a peak hour for the traffic, all buses are crammed with passengers who squeeze in like bugs and lizards. His office is not close to his house so that he can gather strength and walk the distance. It is on the other side of the town, five kilometres away.

“In that case why don’t you rent a house near the office?” Some of his friends suggest.

But he can’t afford the rents there. They are with the stars. Already he is finding it difficult to make the both ends meet...He has a few happy-go-lucky colleagues at the office. They wear expensive clothes, smoke expensive cigarettes and have an expensive aroma about them. They are always crisp like new currency notes ... They can afford to be like that because their “seats” in the office allow them to be so. They are ask-it-will-be-given-to-you sort of seats, Kamadhenus and Kalpavrikshas..........

His seat is unlike theirs, a very heavy one though. Files pile up on his table and the work is never slack. But he gets nothing besides his mean pay, after several deductions are made. What he gets in the name of pay never makes him happy, but adds to his problems.

He wears a coat, an old one. Some people say that he looks dignified in his coat. Little do they know that his coat conceals the umpteen holes in his shirt.

The heat is baking and boiling. The sun is ill-tempered. The swelter is gradually increasing.

Ramachandra Murty wiped the sweat with his palm, narrowed his eyes into slits and looked along the length of the road. A bus was coming, its number hazy .... By the way the vision is a little dim these days .... May be due to astigmatism.

Yes, it is time one gets it. If the date of birth in his S.S.L.C. Register is right, he is two months past forty eight years. How many years to go for his retirement.....

The number on the bus was not clearly visible until it came very near. It was not his bus. The driver increased the speed as he approached the bus stop. The passengers waiting for it gave it a chase for some distance and came back to their usual places, deciding that it wouldn’t stop.

Ramachandra Murty continued to stand there thinking. How long does it take him to reach his office on foot? May be it takes fifty or sixty minutes if he walks fast.....Suppose he runs the distance? Can he run now? Once he could. He could run as fast as the air and an arrow. Audiences applauded and congratulated him. They praised him to the skies for bringing fame to his native district...He was garlanded...photographed...

He used to practise running every day, getting up early in the morning. Miles melted under his slim and shapely legs. They were strong and thin like iron rods. His muscles never felt tired ... Can he run now, after becoming tired in life so much? It is doubtful that he can run even a few yards .... “What is the time like?” He asked the man standing by his side.

“Nine-fifty,” he said, looking at his watch with a flicker of irritation.

Nine-fifty .... My God ...

He must be in his seat by ten. If not his new officer, an irritable fire-brand, will fly into a temper. He is always fretting and fuming without a reason. He is a fairly young man and nobody knows how he has secured so many promotions in his service. Some people say that he has spent a lot of money in managing to secure them. He is a pastmaster in two things. One, amassing money a hundred times more than he has spent. Two, trying to build up an image for himself that he is a stickler for discipline by harassing his subordinates for nothing. It has to be said that he has been successful in both and he knows how to balance them with each other. The very sight of the man is disgusting. He is fat with a beefy neck, so beefy that he can’t turn it. When he is expected to turn only his neck, he turns himself. His body fills and even overflows the chair he sits in. He has greying hair and eyes that look like burning pieces of coal. Children are scared by his booming voice...........

That is all right. Now it is past ten. When is the bus coming? How does he get into it? When does he reach the office? And what explanation can he give his boss?

Look, there the bus comes at last! It is crowded and the passengers are crammed into like bricks. Fortunately it stopped because a couple of passengers had to get down at this stop. Ramachandra Murty caught hold of the iron bar on the footboard and got into the bus in a flash before the passengers had an opportunity to get down. If one doesn’t have this much of basic experience in the art of bus-boarding, he will have to stand on the pavement for hours, like that man in the suit. Brother .... this world belongs to the one who plunges forward .... If you don’t, you are finished .... stand .... stand .... stand, eternally ... People around you rush ahead of you .... They alone can go up .... You are left where you are .....

“Ticket... ticket?”

Ducking under the arms of passengers, the conductor came forward. Ramachandra Murty bought a ticket.

On my next pay day, the first thing I must do is to see an opthalmologist...My vision is becoming dim .... I find it very difficult to read .... Reading just a few lines makes my eyes water and gives me a headache ....

Ramachandra Murty is standing ... He had a vision, an old one. He was twenty or twenty-two. By then he had already made a name as a runner ... He went to a school in a small town four miles away from his native village. Getting up early and eating the previous day’s left-over food, he used to walk to school, his school bag dangling from his shoulder. While returning in the evening he felt more energetic and sprinted his way home. His friends always felt weak and limp after the day’s walk. He always left them far behind ... That made him a runner ... He always stood first in the races at school. That increased his zest for running. He always went running to every place and almost forgot walking. His legs slimmed and his stamina increased. His light body felt refreshed after a long morning run ....

The bus stopped. Pushing two passengers aside and wading through as though in a jungle, Ramachandra Murty got out and found the time from a passer by. His heart missed a beat. He started walking briskly, wiping sweat from his forehead. He has another furlong to walk to reach his office.

The heat is unbearable and frightening like the authority of a dictator.

That day .....

The day of the finals in the inter-district sports meet....The track was clean and attractive. There were eighteen runners, limbering and relaxing their muscles and getting ready for the race. The District Collector who had been invited to give away the prizes was seated along with other important invitees.

He had practised for hours every day on the same track for that event and was eagerly waiting for it .... The names of the competitors were being announced on the loudspeakers.

The eighteen competitiors went to the starting point, bent down and took the starting position. Each one was like an arrow on a drawn bow, ready to plunge forward like a race horse .... Silence for a few moments.

There was a muffled shot and he lunged forward and had a head start. As he ran he saw only the track ahead of him ... no people .... no green grass around .... no blue sky above .... A thin thread broke across his chest ... He ran a few yards after that and collapsed exhausted on the grass. People gathered around him ... embraced him ..... congratulated him. He was gasping for breath but they threw him up into the air and carried him on their shoulders.

When the District Collector was presenting him with the trophy, the stadium reverberated with thunderous sounds of ovation. His photograph was printed in the souvenir, with the write up “The Fastest Runner of the State” underneath it.

Ramachandra Murty is climbing the steps leading to his office, tired and panting. He wiped the sweat on his neck ..... That trophy is still with him. He doesn’t have glass cases to exhibit the trophy and the several other small cups he won as prizes. Some silver cups found their way to the jewellers’ when he was in need. Still he has a couple of them somewhere at home. The big trophy is in the window corner collecting dust. White ants and silverfish have made holes into his certificates. They have become very old and will break to pieces if touched.

Ramachandra Murty entered the office opening the spring doors and found his boss reading a newspaper. The boss turned in his revolving chair and looked at the clock. He gathered his eyebrows into a knot, put the newspaper down and said, “yes”.

Ramachandra Murty tried to reach for the attendance register.

“Wait a little. It will be noon in a short while. You can apply for half-a-day’s leave, the officer said.

“Have you got any leave at your credit or have you exhausted it all? he asked again.

Ramachandra Murty withdrew his hand from the register and said, “I think I have some leave at my credit, sir”.

“Good .... that’s all right.... when do you start from home?

“At nine, sir”.

“Good .... you start at nine and reach the office at eleven .... so you take two hours to reach the office, don’t you?”

“No sir, the trouble is with buses. They don’t stop, and they don’t allow us to get in”.

“Good .... that means buses don’t suit you”.

Ramachandra Murty looked down.

“If you think that buses don’t suit you, you should make some alternate arrangement for conveyance. All right ... why don’t you buy yourself a scooter?”

Ramachandra Murty tried to smile.

“Where do I get the money from for a scooter?”

“Good ... you don’t have money. So a car or a scooter is out of the question. Then why don’t you start from home a little more early ... say at eight?”

“By then food won’t be ready, sir”.

“Oh, we have to think about food also. So you can’t start earlier than you do now. All right .... write the leave letter. Meanwhile I will think about a solution.”

Ramachandra Murty took a sheet of paper and started writing a leave letter for the forenoon. The officer was looking at him with a malicious twinkle in his eyes.

After Ramachandra Murty finished it, the officer took it from him and put it aside,

“Yes, here is an idea. I think it is the best one,” he said.

“What is it, sir?”

“Yes, really it is the best....you can start at home at nine as you do now. But you can reach the office on time. It is good for your health also .... good physical exercise ...”

“May I know it, sir?”

“Get out of your house at the stroke of nine. Start running .... Run fast ... Don’t stop anywhere ... you can be here in half an hour ... How do you like it?”

The officer started laughing. He was twisted with laughter. He laughed and laughed and rested himself on the table, exhausted. His face became flushed with laughter and his eyes started watering ....

Ramachandra Murty’s face became red with anger. His fingers trembled and his whole body shook in a fit of fury. He started speaking in a voice choked with emotion. “Your behaviour is not decent, sir. In fact it is vulgar. It doesn’t agree with the dignity of your post. I am older and more experienced than you. You shouldn’t talk to me like that. Your education has failed to teach you that you ought not to talk to me like that...I am sorry for you .... really sorry ... I consider it a misfortune at this age to have met you and worked under you. If you think it is a sense of humour, you are thoroughly mistaken. Your so called sense of humour will take revenge on you some time”.

Ramachandra Murty turned round and started walking towards the door. But he stopped impulsively and faced the officer.

“Perhaps you are not aware that I was a famous runner once. If you want to learn something about me, ask someone who has some knowledge of sports ... good bye...” He opened the spring doors and walked out.

That evening he came out of the office and rubbed his palm on his forehead.

The atmosphere has cooled down. A cool breeze is blowing. Without waiting for the bus, he started walking briskly.

He saw some young men practising running in a playfield on his way. He stopped there for a few minutes.

He started walking again .... Now he is walking through deserted streets. Suddenly he had an impulse to run. He rolled up the bottoms of his pants and the sleeves of his coat.

“Run .... Run” he said to himself.

He stopped only when others stood in his way and at road junctions. He was running when he reached the street he lived in.

Gasping for breath he entered his house and collapsed on the cot.

“Why ..... why do you look so tired,” Sitamma enquired with anxiety.

“Nothing .... some water .... no no ..... some coffee,” he said struggling for breath.

After five minutes she came back and was horrified. She could not understand why her husband was in that condition. She hurried out and brought a doctor who lived in the neighbourhood. He examined Ramachandra Murty and said, “No reason for panic .... It is mild paralytic attack .... The right side is paralysed .... Let him take rest....I will come again and see him .... Absolutely no danger to life .... He will be able to move his leg and hand before long, and went away.

Tears welled up in his eyes and started rolling down his cheeks. He had only one vision .... the vision of that great day .... the big trophy ... and the sounds in his heart.

“Run .... run .... Ramu .... run ....”

“The Fastest Runner of the State”

“Run .... run .... run .... my dear boy .... run.”

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