Old Post Office Part-2

One cloudless fortnight in the rainy season, the air was warm and soft, the sun-drenched grass and trees smelled like a scent, it seemed as if the warm breath of the weary dharani came upon the body, and a bird from somewhere did not let go, its continuous melodious complaint all afternoon in a very pitiful tone to the court of nature. Recited again and again. The postmaster had no work to do – the hail of the day's rain-swept smooth squishy Tarupallab and the broken sun-white cumulus clouds of the vanquished monsoon were a sight to behold; The postmaster looked at it and thought, this time there was one of your own people – a human figure with a heart attached to it. Gradually, it seemed to me that the bird was saying the same thing over and over again, and the meaning of this desolate midday pallabammar was also somewhat similar. No one believes, and no one knows, but such a thought arises in the mind of a small village sub-postmaster on a deep silent afternoon on a long holiday.

The postmaster sighed and called out, “Ratan”. Ratan was eating raw guavas with his legs spread in the guava tree; Hearing the Lord's voice, he immediately came running - panting and saying, "Dadababu, are you calling?" "I will teach you to read little by little," said the postmaster. He said, "Sware a" "sware a" and took him all afternoon. And thus in a short time the syllables were passed.

There is no end to rain in Shravana month. The canal was filled with water. The call of Aharnishi Vek and the sound of rain. Traffic in the village road is almost completely closed - you have to go by boat.

One day it has been very cloudy since morning. The postmaster's student had been waiting by the door for a long time, but not hearing the regular calls as she had done the other day, she slowly entered the room with a bow. Seeing that the postmaster was lying on his cot - thinking that he was resting, he proceeded to go out of the room again very quietly. Immediately heard "Ratan". He hurried back and said, "Dadababu, were you sleeping?" "The body does not feel well," said the postmaster in a pitiful voice, "look at me with my hand on my forehead."

In this extremely lonely sojourn, in the heavy rains, the diseased body wishes to receive a little service. I remember the touch of soft hands on the hot forehead. I want to remember that mother and sister are sitting next to me as loving women in this terrible journey. And here the desire of the expatriate's mind did not fail. The girl Ratan was no longer a girl. At that moment she took the position of mother, called the mediciner, fed the medicine at the right time, stayed awake all night, cooked the food, and asked a hundred times, "Hey, grandpa, are you feeling a little better?"After many days, the postmaster left the sick bed in a weak body - he decided, no more, he had to be transferred from here somehow. Referring to the local unhealthiness, he immediately applied to the authorities in Calcutta to be transferred.

After being discharged from the hospital, Ratan took up his abode again outside the door. But the past no longer calls him; With occasional peeps, the postmaster is very absent-mindedly sitting on the stool or lying on the cot. As Ratan sits awaiting the summons, he eagerly awaits the reply to his request. The girl sat outside the door and read her old reading over and over again. One of his fears was that the day he would be called suddenly, all his syllables would become jumbled. Finally, one evening after a week, the call rang. Ratan entered the house with an excited heart and said, "Dadababu, were you calling me?"

The postmaster said, "Ratan, I am leaving tomorrow."rattan Where are you going, grandfather?

Postmaster. going home

rattan When will you come again?

Postmaster. I will not come again.

Ratan did not ask any more. The postmaster told him that he had applied for a transfer, that the application had been refused; So he is going home after replying to work. No one spoke for a long time. The lamp flickered and at one point rain water began to pour through the dilapidated rice paddies of the house and onto an earthen slat.After a while, Ratan got up slowly and went to the kitchen to roll bread. It was not as fast as the other day. I think there were many thoughts in my mind. After the postmaster finished his meal, the girl asked him, "Dadababu, will you take me to your house?"

“How can he?” laughed the postmaster. He did not feel it necessary to explain to the girl that the matter was impossible for some reason.

All night long the postmaster's laughing voice rang in the girl's ears in dreams and waking hours – “What will she do?”

When the postmaster got up in the morning, he found that his bath water was fine; According to the custom of Calcutta he used to bathe in the water taken from him. Why could not the girl inquire when he would set out; Ratan fetched water for his bath from the river that night in case it was necessary in the morning.

When the bath was over, Ratan called. Ratan quietly entered the house and looked silently into the Lord's face once, waiting for orders. Prabhu said, "Ratan, I will tell the person who will come in my place, he will take care of you like me, you don't have to think anything because I am going." There is no doubt that these words came from a very loving and kind heart, but what a woman's heart will understand. Ratan had been silently enduring many scoldings from Lord for a long time but could not bear these soft words. "No, no, you don't have to tell anyone, I don't want to stay."Postmaster Ratan had never seen such use, so he was surprised.