Student Answers namratagogoi Student Punishment" begins in an Indian village, where brothers Dukhiram and Chidam work. They spend their entire day working too hard to even take a break for lunch.
Though the village was a small one, there was an indigo factory near by, and the proprietor, an Englishman, had managed to get a post office established. Our postmaster belonged to Calcutta.
He felt like a fish out of water in this remote village. His office and living-room were in a dark thatched shed, not far from a green, slimy pond, surrounded on all sides by a dense growth.
The men employed in the indigo factory had no leisure; moreover, they were hardly desirable companions for decent folk. Nor is a Calcutta boy an adept in the art of associating with others. Among strangers he appears either proud or ill at ease.
At any rate, the postmaster had but little company; nor had he much to do.
At times he tried his hand at writing a verse or two. That the movement of the leaves and the clouds of the sky were enough to fill life with joy—such were the sentiments to which he sought to give expression.
But God knows that the poor fellow would have felt it as the gift of a new life, if some genie of the Arabian Nights had in one night swept away the trees, leaves and all, and replaced them with a macadamised road, hiding the clouds from view with rows of tall houses.
The postmaster's salary was small. He had to cook his own meals, which he used to share with Ratan, an orphan girl of the village, who did odd jobs for him. And the postmaster would say: This would give the postmaster an opportunity of conversing.
Ratan partly remembered, and partly didn't.
Her father had been fonder of her than her mother; him she recollected more vividly. He used to come home in the evening after his work, and one or two evenings stood out more clearly than others, like pictures in her memory.
Ratan would sit on the floor near the postmaster's feet, as memories crowded in upon her. She called to mind a little brother that she had—and how on some bygone cloudy day she had played at fishing with him on the edge of the pond, with a twig for a make-believe fishing-rod. Such little incidents would drive out greater events from her mind.
Thus, as they talked, it would often get very late, and the postmaster would feel too lazy to do any cooking at all. Ratan would then hastily light the fire, and toast some unleavened bread, which, with the cold remnants of the morning meal, was enough for their supper.
On some evenings, seated at his desk in the corner of the big empty shed, the postmaster too would call up memories of his own home, of his mother and his sister, of those for whom in his exile his heart was sad,—memories which were always haunting him, but which he could not talk about with the men of the factory, though he found himself naturally recalling them aloud in the presence of the simple little girl.
And so it came about that the girl would allude to his people as mother, brother, and sister, as if she had known them all her life. In fact, she had a complete picture of each one of them painted in her little heart.
One noon, during a break in the rains, there was a cool soft breeze blowing; the smell of the damp grass and leaves in the hot sun felt like the warm breathing of the tired earth on one's body.
A persistent bird went on all the afternoon repeating the burden of its one complaint in Nature's audience chamber. The postmaster had nothing to do. 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: 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: 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. 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.The postmaster [Rabindranath Tagore] The story ‘The Postmaster’ has been written by Rabindranath Tagore.
He was the first Indian poet to be awarded with Nobel Prize in literature for his monumental work the ‘Geetanjali’.5/5(1). the castaway’ by rabindranath tagore and ‘touch-me-not by ismat chughtai: a comparative analysis East and West by Rabindranath Tagore Rabindranath Tagore Selected short stories.
Justify the title of the story "The Homecoming" by Rabindranath Tagore. 2 educator answers "Kabuliwala" is a tale of human relationships and the effect of time on human emotions. Christian Institute for the Study of Religion and Society by the Christian Literature Society, Madras.
Get an answer for 'In the story The Postmaster by Rabindranath Tagore explain the role of the postmaster in Ratan's life and Ratan's role in the Postmaster's life. Kabiguru Rabindranath Tagore is perpetually present in the Bengali memory and is a part and parcel of the Indian cultural fabric even after 75 years of his demise.
The Bard of Bengal has retained his greatness through his songs, poetry, stories, progressive world view and love for his country. The.