The Postmaster by Rabindranath Tagore The postmaster first took up his duties in the village of Ulapur. Though the village was a small one. The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stories from Tagore, by Rabindranath Tagore added from the original Bengali at the end of the story called "The Postmaster. Rabindranath Tagore's The Postmaster is a movmg story of the love of a simple rustic girl Ratan sits outside the postmaster's room waiting eagerly for his call.

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Free download or read online ✅Post Master bangla book from the category of Rabindranath Tagore. Portable Document Format (PDF) file size of Post Master is . Download Post Master By Rabindranath Tagore pdf ebook. Post Master is a Bengali book which is written by Rabindranath Tagore. We found a pdf file ebook of. Complete summary of Rabindranath Tagore's The Postmaster. eNotes plot summaries cover all the significant action of The Postmaster. print Print; document PDF. This Page Only · Entire Study Guide · list Cite; link Link. “The Postmaster,” a.

The shimmer of the freshly washed leaves, and the banked-up remnants of the retreating rain-clouds were sights to see; and the postmaster was watching them and thinking to himself: "Oh, if only some kindred soul were near—just one loving human being whom I could hold near my heart!

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But no one knows, or would believe, that such an idea might also take possession of an ill-paid village postmaster in the deep, silent mid-day interval of his work. The postmaster sighed, and called out "Ratan.

At the voice of her master, she ran up breathlessly, saying: "Were you calling me, Dada? Thus, in a very short time, Ratan had got as far as the double consonants. It seemed as though the showers of the season would never end.

The Postmaster

Canals, ditches, and hollows were all overflowing with water. Day and night the patter of rain was heard, and the croaking of frogs. The village roads became impassable, and marketing had to be done in punts. One heavily clouded morning, the postmaster's little pupil had been long waiting outside the door for her call, but, not hearing it as usual, she took up her dog-eared book, and slowly entered the room.

She found her master stretched out on his bed, and, thinking that he was resting, she was about to retire on tip-toe, when she suddenly heard her name—"Ratan! Feel my head; is it very hot? He longed to remember the touch on the forehead of soft hands with tinkling bracelets, to imagine the presence of loving womanhood, the nearness of mother and sister.

And the exile was not disappointed. Ratan ceased to be a little girl. She at once stepped into the post of mother, called in the village doctor, gave the patient his pills at the proper intervals, sat up all night by his pillow, cooked his gruel for him, and every now and then asked: "Are you feeling a little better, Dada?

Relieved from her duties as nurse, Ratan again took up her old place outside the door. But she no longer heard the same old call. She would sometimes peep inside furtively to find the postmaster sitting on his chair, or stretched on his bed, and staring absent-mindedly into the air. While Ratan was awaiting her call, the postmaster was awaiting a reply to his application.

The girl read her old lessons over and over again,—her great fear was lest, when the call came, she might be found wanting in the double consonants. At last, after a week, the call did come one evening. With an overflowing heart Ratan rushed into the room with her—"Were you calling me, Dada?

The postmaster, of his own accord, went on to tell her that his application for a transfer had been rejected, so he had resigned his post and was going home.

For a long time neither of them spoke another word. The lamp went on dimly burning, and from a leak in one corner of the thatch water dripped steadily into an earthen vessel on the floor beneath it. After a while Ratan rose, and went off to the kitchen to prepare the meal; but she was not so quick about it as on other days.

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Many new things to think of had entered her little brain. When the postmaster had finished his supper, the girl suddenly asked him: "Dada, will you take me to your home?

That whole night, in her waking and in her dreams, the postmaster's laughing reply haunted her—"What an idea! He had stuck to his Calcutta habit of bathing in water drawn and kept in pitchers, instead of taking a plunge in the river as was the custom of the village.

For some reason or other, the girl could not ask him about the time of his departure, so she had fetched the water from the river long before sunrise, that it should be ready as early as he might want it. After the bath came a call for Ratan. She entered noiselessly, and looked silently into her master's face for orders.

The master said: "You need not be anxious about my going away, Ratan; I shall tell my successor to look after you. Ratan had borne many a scolding from her master without complaint, but these kind words she could not bear.

She burst out weeping, and said: "No, no, you need not tell anybody anything at all about me; I don't want to stay on here. He had never seen Ratan like this before. The new incumbent duly arrived, and the postmaster, having given over charge, prepared to depart.

Just before starting he called Ratan and said: "Here is something for you; I hope it will keep you for some little time. Then Ratan fell at his feet and cried: "Oh, Dada, I pray you, don't give me anything, don't in any way trouble about me," and then she ran away out of sight. The postmaster heaved a sigh, took up his carpet bag, put his umbrella over his shoulder, and, accompanied by a man carrying his many-coloured tin trunk, he slowly made for the boat.

Publication date Publisher New York: Collection newyorkpubliclibrary ; iacl ; americana. Digitizing sponsor MSN.

Contributor New York Public Library. Language English. Bookplateleaf Call number Camera Canon 5D. Copyright-evidence Evidence reported by scanner-nicole-deyo for item postoffice00tago on July 16, Copyright-evidence-date Copyright-evidence-operator scanner-nicole-deyo.

Copyright-region US.

External-identifier urn: Identifier postoffice00tago. Identifier-ark ark: Pages Ppi Scandate Cambridge: humorous stories to his children, and urges a friend to help him obtain Cambridge UP, The postmaster first took up his duties in the village of Ulapur.

The post office

I would say the letters he wrote to Indira Devi during his sojourn at Shelidah and there is no lack of realism in my stories. Relieved from her duties as nurse, Ratan again took up her old place outside the door. Unless whatever I have seen or heard symmetrical plot for the story. He was a born artist. He also has a nice sense of humour.

Here is one that shows his mystical kinship understanding and mutuality but also equally capable of hatred, with the earth through its various stages of evolution: selfishness, vanity and narrow conformity to the age-worn practices of society, be they religious or cultural in nature.

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