Carrier of Words: Class 9 Kaveri · Chapter 7

A message can now cross India in less than a second. You type, you tap send, and an aunt in Guwahati or a cousin in Chennai reads it at once. But in many parts of the country the mobile network gives out somewhere along the road. Past that point, words still travel the old way: on paper, inside a cloth bag, on somebody's shoulder.

7.1 Carrier of Words: before you read

Carrier of Words is non-fiction: a true account of a rural postman in the Thar Desert, a few kilometres from the border with Pakistan. As you read, ask what the job costs him and what it gives to the people he serves.

7.1.1 Six words to know first

These six words appear early in the text. Learn them first.

7.2 Part I: the last link in the desert

The text opens in the age before email, then travels to a place where that age has never quite ended. Across most of India, letters still move from post box to sorting office to postman without our noticing. At the country's edges, though, trains and roads simply run out. There the Gramin Dak Sewaks (ग्रामीण डाक सेवक), rural postal workers, are often the only thread tying remote families to relatives far away.

Khetaram is one such thread. For fifteen years he has been the lone postman of the Somarad branch post office in western Rajasthan. The heavy bag has left his left shoulder permanently sagging. His beat is a scatter of desert hamlets, called dhaanis (ढाणी), only 2.5 km from the India–Pakistan border. Their letters set out from Jodhpur, about 330 km away, and arrive within 24 hours (Fig. 7.1). They go by train to Barmer, the last railway station, and by bus after that. For the final stretch, where the road dissolves into sand too soft even for a bicycle, they ride on Khetaram's back.

What does the desert demand of him? Four things stand out.

• Load: a mailbag of up to 28 kg, the official limit, carried on foot for as much as 20 km for a single delivery.
• Heat: sand hot enough to scorch his feet through his mojris (Rajasthani leather shoes). When the air passes 50 °C, the record still reads 49.9 °C, because 50 °C would force a state holiday. On the worst days he delivers only after sunset.
• Storms: blistering hot winds and whirling sand, with nothing but a khaki uniform and turban for cover. By evening he is so coated that he looks made of sand.
• Water: too scarce to spare for washing, so the sand is simply wiped away.

Khetaram is part of a huge workforce. Since 2001, the people once called delivery agents have had the official title Gramin Dak Sewak. There are over three lakh of them, more than half of all India Post staff. A top postal officer in Rajasthan calls them invaluable, because they reach places no vehicle can: the icy heights of Ladakh, the islands of Lakshadweep and river villages in the north-east.

Why does India need so many of them? The answer lies in a change of purpose. Under British rule the post existed mainly to move official mail between administrative centres. After 1947, India Post took on a much bigger job, serving every citizen, and post offices multiplied many times over. The GDS also bring banking to the village: families deposit their monthly savings at the local post office, and the sheer number of such accounts is a measure of their trust.

7.3 Part II: trusted at every doorstep

Part II opens with the unusual rules behind the system. A Sewak is expected to have a second income, such as a farm, and works only part of the day, about five hours. In return the post office can promise a small but steady payment and keep Sewaks on until 65. Regular postmen, by contrast, are paid like other government staff. According to a postmaster, only these flexible terms make it possible to keep so many workers in far-flung outposts.

What does the job mean to Khetaram himself? Put simply, it keeps his family of five fed. Famine, akaal (अकाल), visits this land so often that people treat it as normal, and even a good year yields a single harvest of bajra (pearl millet). Families without such a job lean on money orders from relatives working in other places.

That reliance runs deep. The novelist Mulk Raj Anand wrote a history of the Indian post office. In it he argued that Indian villagers depend on the post for small sums of money more than people anywhere else, a sign of their complete faith in it. The people of the Thar proved the point when a plan to abolish the GDS and hand their duties to patwaris (village record keepers) was quickly thrown out. The elder Budh Singh says nobody believed the patwaris could cope.

Wherever he goes, Khetaram is welcomed. Villagers happily hand him their letters, and he sits at their doorsteps to read them aloud and write the replies. Kindness flows back to him. Soldiers of the Border Security Force (BSF), whose camp came up nearby a year earlier, drive him along and give him tea when he brings their post. A family that hears of a new baby or a wedding thanks him with a lump of jaggery, often all it can afford.

Not every delivery is happy. Khetaram knows at a glance when a letter brings a death: its envelope is missing its right-hand corner (Fig. 7.2). Such news, ashubh samachar (अशुभ समाचार), is never allowed inside a home. So he reads it out at the threshold, twice over, and then rips the letter apart. His explanation is calm and simple: “Bad news must be destroyed.”

The text ends by looking ahead. Phone lines have reached within 50 km of Somarad. When they arrive, Khetaram may become a Gramin Sanchar Sewak, taking a mobile phone from house to house along with the post so that villagers can make calls. He is not worried. After fifteen-plus years his back still feels strong, and he is thankful to be allowed to work past 60. His answer to change is Main tayyar hoon (मैं तैयार हूँ): I am ready. With that he shoulders his sack and heads out to finish one more delivery, for a woman named Panna Devi, before the sun goes down. The writer closes with a salute to him and to everyone like him who quietly holds our society together.

7.4 Understanding the text

7.4.1 Setting and people

The text is set at the far western edge of the Thar Desert, where the railway, the road and the phone network all stop short of the border. Summer heat passes 50 °C, sandstorms are common, rain is unreliable and crops often fail. People live in scattered dhaanis, far from schools and health centres. In such a place, a postman is not a convenience. He is a lifeline.

• Khetaram: the Gramin Dak Sewak at the heart of the text, the only postman of Somarad.
• The Postmaster-General, Rajasthan Western Region: a senior officer who praises the GDS.
• A postmaster: explains why the GDS rules are different.
• Mulk Raj Anand: the novelist whose book on the Indian post office is quoted.
• Budh Singh: a village elder who backs the GDS.
• BSF soldiers and villagers such as Panna Devi: the people Khetaram serves.

Khetaram is not the hero of an adventure. His courage is quiet and repeated every day. He walks where buses cannot go, works through heat that would close offices elsewhere and never seems to complain. He is also gentle. He reads and writes for villagers who cannot, and he follows their customs around grief with respect. Most striking of all, he is not afraid of the future: when the phones come, he plans to carry them too.

7.4.2 Themes and message

• Duty and service: the mail gets through whatever the weather, because one man refuses to let people down.
• Trust: villagers hand him their savings, their secrets and their sorrows; that trust is the real strength of India Post.
• Hardship and endurance: the desert tests the body, and Khetaram's sagging shoulder and sandy feet show its cost.
• Change and continuity: letters may give way to phones, but the need for a trusted human link stays.
• Dignity of ordinary work: the writer's closing salute asks us to honour people whose work we rarely notice.

7.4.3 Key moments explained

• The 49.9 °C reading: the official record bends so that work never stops. It shows how much the system leans on people like Khetaram.
• The sandman image: a metaphor for how completely the sandstorms cover him. He seems to be made of sand.
• The torn corner: a family's grief is treated with care. Khetaram keeps the bad news outside the home, as custom demands.
• “Main tayyar hoon”: three words that sum up his spirit. A man who has served for years is still eager to learn something new.

7.5 Vocabulary and structures

7.5.1 Phrases from the text

The text uses a few vivid phrases. Here is what each means, with a sentence of our own.

• crumbles into sand: a road that breaks up and vanishes into the desert. After the last village, the track crumbled into sand and we had to walk.
• a new lease of life: a fresh chance to live well or carry on. The new roof gave the old library a new lease of life.
• turn into a trickle before drying out: shrink slowly and then stop completely. By May the hill stream turns into a trickle before drying out.
• bearing words across a lonely land: carrying messages through an empty, remote region, the writer's poetic way of describing a postman's work. For decades, boatmen in the Sundarbans went on bearing words across lonely waterways.

7.5.2 Alliteration and metaphor

Alliteration is the repetition of the same first sound in words close together, as in Priya packed plump purple plums. It makes a phrase musical and easy to remember. A metaphor describes one thing as if it were another, without like or as: The exam hall was an oven.

Look at the passage about Khetaram's uniform. The hiss of the s sound in scorching summer and swirling sandstorms is alliteration, and it echoes the sound of wind-blown sand. Calling him “a walking sandman” is a metaphor. He is not made of sand, but he is so caked in it that he seems to be. Speaking of the desert's furies is also figurative: the weather is pictured as an angry force.

7.5.3 Words in context

• arid: very dry, with too little rain for most crops. Arid land near Jaisalmer grows little besides bajra and hardy grasses.
• concessional: lower than the usual price or rate, given as a help. Small farmers can borrow at a concessional rate of interest.
• gaunt: very thin and bony, often from hunger, worry or illness. After two failed monsoons, the farmer looked gaunt.
• remote: far from towns and other people, and hard to reach. The remote hamlet gets a bus only twice a week.
• desolate: empty, bare and lonely. The highway crossed a desolate stretch with no trees or houses.

7.5.4 The present perfect tense

The present perfect links the past with the present. We use it when an action happened at some time before now, without saying exactly when, and it still matters now. Its form is has/have + past participle (the third form of the verb). Use has with he, she, it and singular nouns; use have with I, you, we, they and plural nouns.

Words that often travel with the present perfect are just, already, yet, ever, never, so far, for and since. Never use it with a finished time such as yesterday, last week or in 2019. Say I posted it yesterday, not I have posted it yesterday.

7.5.5 Active and passive voice

In the active voice, the subject does the action: The postman delivers the mail. In the passive voice, the subject receives the action: The mail is delivered by the postman. We choose the passive when the action matters more than the doer, or when the doer is unknown or obvious.

1. Make the object of the active sentence the new subject.
2. Add the right form of be (is, are, was, were, has been, will be…) and the past participle.
3. Put the doer after by, or leave it out if it is unknown or obvious.

Advice, rules and instructions often use the passive with a modal verb, because the doer is simply you or everyone: modal + be + past participle. You must carry an ID card becomes An ID card must be carried. We will need a lot of patience becomes A lot of patience will be needed.

7.6 Listening, speaking and writing

7.6.1 Listen and respond

Ask a friend or a family member to read this short talk aloud to you, once, at normal speed. Listen without looking, then answer the questions below. Hear it a second time if you need to.

Notice how the speaker ends. A suggestion offers an idea the listener may take or leave (You could…, Why not…?). A request politely asks for something (Please…, I request you to…, Could you…?). Advice tells someone what is good for them (You should…, It is better to…).

7.6.2 Speaking: which mail form matters most?

Imagine a postcard, an inland letter card, an envelope and a money order form arguing about which of them is most useful. In groups of four, each of you speaks for one. Argue with facts, not just feelings: think about usefulness, cost, privacy, space to write and whether anything can be sent inside.

• In my view, …
• Here is something to consider: …
• I see your point, but …
• Some people believe …; however, …
• I couldn't agree more with …
• Let me put it another way: …

Model (the inland letter card speaks): Friends, I respect you all, but let me make my case. The postcard is cheap, I agree, yet anyone who handles it can read every word. The envelope is private, but it costs more, and families who write often must count every rupee. I offer both: privacy at a price close to a postcard's, and far more room to write. I see the money order's point, but money is spent in a day; a letter written on me is kept and read again for years.

7.6.3 Writing a condolence message

A condolence message is a short note that tells someone you share their sorrow after a death. It is not the place for long stories or advice. What matters is sincerity, warmth and a simple offer of support. Keep it brief: five or six sentences are enough.

7.6.4 Learning beyond the text

Your textbook mentions Daakroom, a carnival backed by the Ministry of Culture and India Post to bring children back to pen and paper through letter-writing contests and workshops. It describes the event as a kind of digital detox: a break from screens.

7.7 Words: the poem

7.7.1 Before you read

7.7.2 About the poet

Charles Swain (1801–1874) was an English poet from Manchester. He earned his living as an engraver and wrote poetry alongside his work. He is best remembered for short, musical lyrics, and many of them were set to music, some by Swain himself.

7.7.3 The poem at a glance

Words has six short stanzas of four lines each. The speaker is not a character in a story but a thoughtful voice reflecting on life. Its question is simple: can words satisfy the heart? The poem's answer is mostly no. Words that are many, pretty or empty fail us when we need them most, while a few sincere words, and real deeds, are what count.

7.7.4 Stanza by stanza

• Stanza 1, the problem: The poem opens with a hope and dismisses it at once. Words, the poet suggests, behave like migrating birds: pleasant while they stay, gone before they can do the heart any lasting good. The stanza sets up the poem's question, can words satisfy the heart, and gives its first answer: no.
• Stanza 2, the search: Now the heart becomes “a pilgrim upon earth”, a traveller searching through life for something precious. The cruel twist is timing. Just when the heart needs support, words prove as cheap as weeds, which spring up everywhere and are thrown away.
• Stanza 3, the turn: The poem changes direction: quality beats quantity. A little that is honestly meant brings more joy than “hosts of words”. The poet separates two targets: the head, which crowds of words may impress, and the heart, which only sincere words can reach.
• Stanza 4, an example: To prove the point, the poet pictures a kind, sunny voice bringing cheer into a lonely home. Such a voice is sparing with words, and that is exactly why each one is treasured. The stanza closes on a note of warm admiration.
• Stanza 5, the hope returns: The opening wish comes back, now exaggerated. If words could truly fill the chest, where the heart lives, the whole world would be celebrating. Yet when words are actually tested, when someone needs them, they tend to fail. The ending sounds frustrated.
• Stanza 6, the final image: The poem closes in a garden. Some plants put on a dazzling show of blossom yet never produce fruit. Empty words are just like them: attractive on the surface, barren underneath. The last exclamation carries the poet's disillusionment.

7.7.5 Theme, mood and tone

The central theme is the gap between words and true feeling. Words cost nothing, so they are easy to pour out, but quantity is not quality. A second theme is loneliness. The heart is a lone pilgrim, the cheering voice enters a lonely home, and the needy heart is left with empty air. The mood is reflective and a little sad, with one warm moment in stanza 4. The tone is thoughtful and gently critical of empty talk. The message: say less, mean more, and let your deeds bear fruit.

7.8 Appreciating the poem

7.8.1 Rhyme and rhyme scheme

Words rhyme when their ending sounds match, as in heart and depart. A rhyme scheme uses letters to show which line-endings rhyme. In every stanza of Words, line 1 rhymes with line 3 and line 2 with line 4, so each stanza follows the pattern abab (with new letters for each stanza: abab, cdcd, efef and so on).

• Stanza 1: heart / depart; care / air
• Stanza 2: earth / worth; needs / weeds
• Stanza 3: said / head; impart / heart
• Stanza 4: way / say; cheer / dear
• Stanza 5: chest / test; feast / least
• Stanza 6: show / grow; root / fruit

7.8.2 Poetic devices

Repetition. Words appears again and again, and so do heart and satisfy. The echo keeps our attention on the poem's one question and gives it the feel of a song. Stanza 5 even repeats the opening If words could… pattern, bringing us back to the first wish just before the final answer.

Exclamation marks. Stanzas 4, 5 and 6 each end with one, but the feeling changes each time. Stanza 4 admires the few precious words of a kind voice. Stanza 5 is frustrated that words fail the test. Stanza 6 is disillusioned: the plant that promised so much gives no fruit at all.

7.8.3 Hyperbole

A hyperbole is a deliberate exaggeration, used for effect and not meant literally. When the poet says the whole world would hold a feast if words could satisfy us, he exaggerates to show how rare true satisfaction is. We use hyperbole every day: I've told you a million times, My little sister cried a river, This homework will take me a hundred years.

7.8.4 Rhythm and metre

Rhythm is the beat of a line. Every word is made of syllables, single beats of sound: post-man has two, de-li-ver has three. When we speak, some syllables are stressed (said more strongly) and others are not. A regular pattern of stresses is called metre.

The commonest pattern in English poetry is the iamb: an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed one, da-DUM, as in a-WAY or to-DAY. In Words, the long lines have eight syllables, or four iambs (iambic tetrameter), and the short lines have six syllables, or three iambs (iambic trimeter). This 8–6–8–6 pattern is called common metre, the steady beat of many hymns and ballads (Fig. 7.8).

7.9 Vocabulary in context

7.9.1 Figurative phrases

The poem builds its meaning from a handful of figurative phrases. Here is what each means, with a sentence of our own.

• satisfy the heart: make someone truly content. Her thank-you note satisfied my heart more than any prize.
• depart and leave empty air: vanish without any result. His promises departed and left only empty air.
• hosts of words: a great many words. The speech had hosts of words but no clear idea.
• never touch the heart: fail to move our feelings. The advertisement was clever, but it never touched my heart.
• wins its sunny way: makes its way into people's lives and cheers them. Grandpa's laughter wins its sunny way into every room.
• plants that bear no fruit: efforts or words that achieve nothing. Without action, our plans were plants that bore no fruit.

7.9.2 Building a word map

A word map collects everything useful about one word: its meaning in your own words, synonyms (words with a similar meaning), antonyms (words with the opposite meaning), a sentence that uses it, and a quick sketch or symbol. The figure builds one for pilgrim.

Here are short word maps for more words from the poem: meaning, then synonym / antonym, then a sentence.

• depart: to leave a place · leave / arrive · The flight departs at dawn.
• word: a unit of language; also a promise · promise / silence · Dadi always keeps her word.
• sunny: bright with sunshine; cheerful · cheerful / gloomy · His sunny nature makes friends easily.
• satisfy: to meet a need or a wish · fulfil / disappoint · The reply did not satisfy the judges.
• heart: the organ that pumps blood; also our feelings · feelings / head (reason) · She spoke from the heart.

7.10 Listening, speaking and writing

7.10.1 Listen and respond

Ask two people to read this conversation aloud while you listen without looking. Then decide which statements are true.

7.10.2 Speaking: explain a quotation

Your textbook offers quotations about words, thought and silence from eight famous people. Choose the one you like best, explain what it means, and say why it speaks to you. A personal experience makes your talk come alive. Here are their ideas, in brief:

• Gautama Buddha: choose your words carefully, because they shape the people who hear them, for good or ill.
• Swami Vivekananda: our thoughts make us who we are, so take care what you think.
• Mahatma Gandhi: in prayer, a sincere heart matters more than words.
• Kalpana Chawla: dreams can be reached with vision, courage and perseverance.
• Walt Whitman: the spirit of a book matters more than its exact words.
• Emily Dickinson: silence can sometimes say the most.
• Homer: empty words are better left unsaid.
• Martin Luther King Jr.: in the end, friends' silence hurts more than enemies' words.

To give your reason, try one of these openers: My choice is … because …; What drew me to … was …; … speaks to me since …; I went with … as ….

7.10.3 Writing an essay on a quotation

An essay on a quotation explains the idea, supports it with examples, faces an objection and ends memorably. Plan five paragraphs (Fig. 7.10). Begin each body paragraph with a topic sentence that states its main point, and link paragraphs with transition words such as In addition, For instance, However, As a result and Finally.

Model essay: Words that shape us

Gautama Buddha taught that we should pick our words with great care, because whatever we say is heard and changes the listener, for better or for worse. I chose this idea because I have seen one sentence lift a friend and another crush him. In this essay I explain why careful speech matters.

First, words shape how people see themselves. A teacher who tells a struggling student that she is improving may light a spark that lasts for years. For instance, my cousin took the tabla seriously only after his music teacher praised his sense of rhythm.

In addition, careless words travel further than we think. A joke typed into a class group reaches dozens of phones in seconds and can hurt someone long after the sender has forgotten it. As a result, pausing before we speak or post is itself a kindness.

Some may argue that weighing every word makes us dull or dishonest. However, care is not the same as flattery. We can still tell the truth; we simply choose the moment and the manner, as a good doctor does when giving hard news.

Finally, words build or break. If we speak with the Buddha's care, our words, like the few true ones in Swain's poem, will bring joy rather than pain.

7.10.4 Learning beyond the text