When in the evening the smoke began to curl up from the village cowsheds, and the cicalas chirped in every bush; when the mendicants of the Baül sect sang their shrill songs in their daily meeting-place, when any poet, who had attempted to watch the movement of the leaves in the dense bamboo thickets, would have felt a ghostly shiver run down his back, the postmaster would light his little lamp, and call out "Ratan." I hope that you would also enjoy the Post Master pdf book.BDeBooks is online Bengali books reading library. 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.
He felt like a fish out of water in this remote village. Now in this post of “Bengali EBook”, we give you a nice chance to download full story (Postmaster) in the Bengali version as a PDF file. While Ratan was awaiting her call, the postmaster was awaiting a reply to his application.
Our postmaster belonged to Calcutta.
At any rate, the postmaster had but little company; nor had he much to do. It may be that she had still a lurking hope in some corner of her heart that her Dada would return, and that is why she could not tear herself away. Postmaster - Rabindranath Tagore, bangla ebooks, free download , mediafire , humayun ahmed , zafar iqbal , sunil gangopadhaya , suchitra , bengali ebooks, free bangla books online, ebooks bangla, bangla pdf, bangla books. She was wandering about the post office in a flood of tears. At last Ratan would enter, with puffed-out cheeks, vigorously blowing into a flame a live coal to light the tobacco. It was some time before the postmaster, with weakened body, was able to leave his sick-bed. Kabiguru Rabindranath’s Amazing composition is Postmaster. নতুন বই ইমেইলে পেতে হলে. The images Rabindranath Tagore creates are at times so intense. I think you should read the Post Master pdf book. 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: "Oh, let the kitchen fire be for awhile; light me my pipe first." said he; but he did not think it necessary to explain to the girl wherein lay the absurdity. Her father had been fonder of her than her mother; him she recollected more vividly.
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. 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!"
Ratan would sit on the floor near the postmaster's feet, as memories crowded in upon her. Thus, as they talked, it would often get very late, and the postmaster would feel too lazy to do any cooking at all. Canals, ditches, and hollows were all overflowing with water. Many new things to think of had entered her little brain. Our postmaster belonged to Calcutta. "Well, Ratan," perhaps he would begin, "do you remember anything of your mother?"
Its fond mistakes are persistent. It seemed as though the showers of the season would never end. The village roads became impassable, and marketing had to be done in punts. Post Master is a popular book of Rabindranath Tagore.
The story revolves around an old postmaster who hails from Calcutta under the British rule. 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. Postmaster by Rabindranath Tagore [Bangla] book free to read online. That was a fertile subject. You could tear up at any vulnerability. sister projects: Wikidata item. She turned at once and asked: "Were you sleeping, Dada?" At the voice of her master, she ran up breathlessly, saying: "Were you calling me, Dada?" But Ratan had no philosophy.
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. On getting up in the morning, the postmaster found his bath ready.
The postmaster first took up his duties in the village of Ulapur.
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. 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. Just before starting he called Ratan and said: "Here is something for you; I hope it will keep you for some little time." This was exactly, he went on to think, what that bird was trying to say, and it was the same feeling which the murmuring leaves were striving to express. The Postmaster by Rabindranath Tagore. The PostMaster pdf book picks up the finest details of human behavior and amplifies them with the use of detailed, visionary literature, within perfectly thought-of stories. Download Postmaster by Rabindranath Tagore [Bangla] in pdf format. Visit our site regularly to download your desire Bangla PDF Books.All right reseved by BDeBooks.Com.
Nor is a Calcutta boy an adept in the art of associating with others. 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. "What an idea!"
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. The postmaster said: "I am going away to-morrow, Ratan." Thus, in a very short time, Ratan had got as far as the double consonants. At last, after a week, the call did come one evening. The images Rabindranath Tagore creates are at times so intense. 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. He felt like a fish out of water in this remote village.
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