The postmaster

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.
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.
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."
Ratan would sit outside waiting for this call, and, instead of coming in at once,
would reply, "Did you call me, sir?"
"What are you doing?" the postmaster would ask.
"I must be going to light the kitchen fire," would be the answer.
And the postmaster would say: "Oh, let the kitchen fire be for awhile; light me my
pipe first."
At last Ratan would enter, with puffed-out cheeks, vigorously blowing into a
flame a live coal to light the tobacco. This would give the postmaster an
opportunity of conversing. "Well, Ratan," perhaps he would begin, "do you
remember anything of your mother?" That was a fertile subject. 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: "Oh, if only some kindred
soul were near—just one loving human being whom I could hold near my heart!"
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. 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." Ratan was then sprawling beneath
the guava-tree, busily engaged in eating unripe guavas. At the voice of her
master, she ran up breathlessly, saying: "Were you calling me, Dada?" "I was
thinking," said the postmaster, "of teaching you to read." And then for the rest of
the afternoon he taught her the alphabet.
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.
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!" She turned at once and asked:
"Were you sleeping, Dada?" The postmaster in a plaintive voice said: "I am not
well. Feel my head; is it very hot?"
In the loneliness of his exile, and in the gloom of the rains, his ailing body needed
a little tender nursing. 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?"
It was some time before the postmaster, with weakened body, was able to leave
his sick-bed. "No more of this," said he with decision. "I must get a transfer." He at
once wrote off to Calcutta an application for a transfer, on the ground of the
unhealthiness of the place.
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 said: "I am going away to-morrow, Ratan."
"Where are you going, Dada?"
"I am going home."
"When will you come back?"
"I am not coming back."
Ratan asked no other question. 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. 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?"
The postmaster laughed. "What an idea!" said he; but he did not think it
necessary to explain to the girl wherein lay the absurdity.
That whole night, in her waking and in her dreams, the postmaster's laughing
reply haunted her—"What an idea!"
On getting up in the morning, the postmaster found his bath ready. 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." These words were kindly meant, no doubt: but inscrutable are
the ways of a woman's heart!
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."
The postmaster was dumbfounded. 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." He brought out
from his pocket the whole of his month's salary, retaining only a trifle for his
travelling expenses. 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.
When he got in and the boat was under way, and the rain-swollen river, like a
stream of tears welling up from the earth, swirled and sobbed at her bows, then
he felt a pain at heart; the grief-stricken face of a village girl seemed to represent
for him the great unspoken pervading grief of Mother Earth herself. At one time
he had an impulse to go back, and bring away along with him that lonesome waif,
forsaken of the world. But the wind had just filled the sails, the boat had got well
into the middle of the turbulent current, and already the village was left behind,
and its outlying burning-ground came in sight.
So the traveller, borne on the breast of the swift-flowing river, consoled himself
with philosophical reflections on the numberless meetings and partings going on
in the world—on death, the great parting, from which none returns.
But Ratan had no philosophy. She was wandering about the post office in a flood
of tears. 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. Alas
for our foolish human nature! Its fond mistakes are persistent. The dictates of
reason take a long time to assert their own sway. The surest proofs meanwhile
are disbelieved. False hope is clung to with all one's might and main, till a day
comes when it has sucked the heart dry and it forcibly breaks through its bonds
and departs. After that comes the misery of awakening, and then once again the
longing to get back into the maze of the same mistakes.

The Gift of the Magi Summary

 This article provides a summary of The Gift of Magi by O Henry. Short stories
of O Henry are widely read and appreciated for their sudden twist in the endings.
One of the most popular O Henry short stories is “The gift of magi” which is an
unconventional celebration of love. Jim and Della, the two main characters of the
story move the readers by their mutual love and leave an impact which lasts long
after the story has been read. The Gift of magi story has been set during the time
of Christmas in the bright city of New York. The whole city was bathing in the
light of Christmas but somewhere in a gray corner a pretty lady was counting
money and crying.
Della, who had been saving up for a long time for  a great Christmas gift for her
husband Jim was moved to tears after discovering that she only  had a dollar and
eighty seven cents left with her for buying the present. Her husband was a great
man whom she loved dearly and the little money she had managed to save up
was barely enough  to  get him a present as wonderful as the person   that he was.
Della did not want to spend the Christmas without gifting her husband a fine and
rare present so she cooked up a way to procure the money. Della had the most
beautiful hair  which flew down to her knees like a brown cascade. She went to a
hair shop and sold off   her beautiful hair for twenty dollars which was  just
enough to buy an elegant looking platinum chain for Jim’s gold time-piece which
was a   prized heirloom that the couple possessed. She  ran home and curled her
hair in a desperate attempt to repair the damage that her love for  Jim had done
to her hair and beauty.
When Jim reached home and saw Della’s cut hair he was neither angry nor
surprised. He just gave an incomprehensible expression which made Della cry
out and explain him that she had to sell off her hair to buy him a gift. Jim who
had still not come to terms with the fact that Della had sold off her hair took her
in his arms and consoled her. He took out his gift for her hoping that his gift
would explain his reaction. Upon unwrapping Jim’s gift Della found the prettiest
jeweled combs made out of tortoise shell for her hair which Della had craved for
knowing that she could never possess it. Now she had those combs but her hair
was gone! This made Della break into sobs which only stopped when she
remembered about the wonderful gift that she had got for Jim. Upon opening his
present, Jim found the platinum chain for his watch and in-spite of Della’s wish
that he put on the chain on his time-piece; he could not, as he had sold off that
heirloom to get money for Della’s gift. This gift of the magi short story ended
there after the gifts were opened

The Model Millionaire by Oscar Wilde

I found The Model Millionaire by Oscar Wilde very touching. Oscar Wilde wrote
an amazing start for this story, “Unless one is wealthy there is no use in being a
charming fellow. Romance is the privilege of the rich, not the profession of the
unemployed. The poor should be practical and prosaic. It is better to have a
permanent income than to be fascinating.” What are your thoughts, do you agree
with this?
Hughie Erskine, a handsome young man, hasn’t been able to get his act together.
He has tried many things to make a living, including being a stock trader and also
a merchant. Hughie is in love with Laura Merton, the daughter of a retired
merchant. Although the retired Colonel likes and approves of the young man, he
will not give his daughter’s hand in marriage unless Hughie is able to amass a
wealth of £10,000, and then he will revisit the matter. Hughie does not have a
profession and doesn’t know how he will ever get the money. On the positive
side, Laura loves him, but what good is that if they cannot marry?
Hughie often visits his friend, Alan Trevor, a renowned painter, whose paintings
are always in demand. Alan happens to like Hughie, and allows him to visit even
while he is working. One day when Hughie is visiting, Alan is painting a beggar
with a piteous and miserable look on his face. The two friends talk about the
beggar and Hughie asks how much the model gets, and he learns that it is a
schilling for an hour while Alan gets 2000 guineas for the painting. Hughie
declares that the model works as hard as the painter and should earn more.
“’Nonsense, nonsense! Why, look at the trouble of laying on the paint alone, and
standing all day long at one’s easel! It’s all very well, Hughie, for you to talk, but I
assure you that there are moments when Art almost attains to the dignity of
manual labour. But you mustn’t chatter; I’m very busy. Smoke a cigarette, and
keep quiet.’”
A servant informs Alan that the frame maker wants to speak to him. While he is
gone, the beggar takes the time to rest his weary body. Hughie starts to speak to
him, and feeling compassion he dips into his pocket and shares the little he has,
thinking that the beggar needs it more than he does. The beggar is very grateful
for the money. It’s at a great sacrifice because that means that Hughie has no
transportation for two weeks and will have to walk home. Is that such a bad
thing? Anyway, much later when he visits Laura and tells her what he did, she
scolds him for being extravagant.
At 11:00 pm that night, he visits the Palette Club and finds Alan there, sitting by
himself smoking and drinking. Alan tells Hughie that he told the beggar all about
him – about his financial situation and the £10,000 he has to amass before he can
marry Laura. Hughie cannot understand why Alan would share his personal
information with a beggar. He also tells Alan that he gave the beggar money. Alan
discloses that the beggar isn’t really a beggar, “’that old beggar, as you call him, is
one of the richest men in Europe. He could buy all London tomorrow without
overdrawing his account. He has a house in every capital, dines off gold plate,
and can prevent Russia going to war when he chooses.’”
The ‘beggar,’ Baron Hausberg, commissioned the painted and posed for it. Hughie
is not happy about the deception. The next morning while he is eating breakfast,
his servant brings him a card from Monsieur Gustave Naudin who works for
Baron Hausberg. Hughie thinks he has to apologize for giving a multimillionaire
spare change. As it turns out, Baron Hausberg was touched by Hughie’s kind
gesture despite his financial situation. Monsieur Gustave Naudin delivers a made
out to Hughie Erskine for £10,000 so that he can marry his sweetheart.
The Conclusion: The Model Millionaire by Oscar Wilde
I loved this story because it teaches us to have compassion for all, and that we are
our brother’s keeper. Today, we are living in an individualistic society where
most of us focus on monetary success, and often forget the important things in
life.

The Tiger in the Tunnel Summary

“The Tiger in the Tunnel” tells the story of an Indian family who faces the stark
reality of their humble existence with honor and duty. These themes permeate
the characters’ lives and actions, and highlight Bond’s take on the place of service
and family, as well as the theme of protection in relation to family.
Tembu is a twelve-year-old boy who lives with his father, Baldeo, as well as his
mother and younger sister. They live in a tribal village on the outskirts of a
jungle, in India. The family faces a meager subsistence, as they are dependent
upon a nearby rice field for produce, and the field provides very little. To earn
more money, Baldeo works as a watchman for the railroad. He is stationed at a
nearby way station, and must sit in a bare hut near the tunnel of the story’s
namesake, which is cut into the rock. Baldeo’s job is to keep the signal lamp lit,
and to also ensure that there are no obstructions in the tunnel so that the
overland mail can pass through the tunnel.
Occasionally, Tembu accompanies his father on his job, thus sleeping inside the
little hut. One night he awakens to find his father leaving to check the signal
lamp, and thinks to go with his father. Baldeo, however, tells Tembu to remain in
the hut, where it is warm and safe.
Baldeo heads to the tunnel, and while walking in the dark, thinks about the
various animals he might encounter along the way. The villagers all tell stories of
an infamous tiger known as a “man-eater.” The tiger has supposedly been seen
quite often in the area, especially around the tunnel. Baldeo, however, has never
seen or even heard the tiger while on his trips to check on the signal lamp. Even if
he did, Baldeo feels certain that he can handle himself. Not only is he familiar
with the jungle, he carries a weapon. It is a small axe that Baldeo knows how to
use both deftly and expertly. It was given to Baldeo by his father, and he sees it as
an extension of his own person.
When he arrives at the tunnel, Baldeo finds that the signal light is indeed out, and
sets about relighting it. He then walks down the length of the tunnel to ensure
that there are no obstructions in the way. The train is late on this night, but
Baldeo soon feels the trembling of the ground, signaling the overland mail train’s
approach. Tembu is still awake back at the hut, and soon feels the trembling of
the ground as well, so waits for his father to return as his work should be done.
Right before the train reaches the tunnel, a tiger springs into the entrance and
charges at Baldeo. Baldeo knows he cannot run from the tiger, so stands his
ground. He keeps his back to the signal lamp and brandishes his axe. When the
tiger attacks Baldeo, he lunges to one side and manages to bury his axe in the
tiger’s shoulder. The fierce blow only upsets the tiger more, and it attacks Baldeo
again. Baldeo jumps to the tiger’s side and again buries his axe into the tiger’s
shoulder. This time, however, the axe lodges too deep into the shoulder blade and
becomes stuck, leaving Baldeo defenseless. The tiger lunges at Baldeo one last
time, finally managing to topple the defenseless Baldeo and rip him apart.
The tiger is so strained from its battle with Baldeo that it does not notice the
fast-approaching train. There is no place for the tiger to escape to, so it rushes
into the tunnel, with the train hot on its trail. The train finally exits at the other
end of the tunnel, and everything is silent. When the train driver inspects his
headlamps at the next station stop, he finds nearly half of the tiger’s body stuck
on the train, and realizes that the tiger must have been dissected by the train’s
engine.
Though the train driver is shocked and amazed at the find, Bond contrasts this
amazement with Tembu’s shock back at the tunnel. Tembu has arrived at the
tunnel to find his father’s broken body. The crying child remains with his father’s
corpse all night to protect it from scavenging animals like hyenas. The next day,
Tembu’s family mourns Baldeo’s passing. They continue to mourn for the next
two days as well. Once the mourning is over, Tembu takes up his father’s job at
the tunnel, ensuring that the signal light is always lit and that there are no
obstructions in the tunnel itself. The reader finds that the family’s safety and
survival has now fallen on Tembu. Tembu, however, does not seem afraid. He
had his father’s axe, after all. And Tembu knows how to wield the axe.
Bond’s story highlights the theme of protection, and protection in relation to
family, in several ways throughout the piece. First, Baldeo knows that his family
cannot exist solely from what the small rice field alone produces, and so takes a
job as a watchman, despite the perils. Baldeo, as most of the villagers know,
understands that there are dangerous animals about, but he believes in himself
and, ultimately, knows he must perform his duty to ensure his family’s wellbeing.
As such, Baldeo meets danger head on each night he goes to check the signal
lamp. His family comes first, but Baldeo’s actions also highlight the larger scope
of protection as he is keeping the tunnel safe for the overland mail train. Baldeo’s
actions show that he is a watchman for both the public and private sectors of his
life.
The theme comes full-circle when Tembu takes up his father’s mantle by taking
the job as watchman. As such, he is the provider for his family, thus the protector
as well. In addition, he now protects the train. The ending alludes to the fact that
Tembu now has the same confidence that Baldeo had, especially with the axe.
More importantly, Tembu’s role as protector shows that duty, courage and
confidence are all necessary traits in ensuring survival for Tembu and his family,
and for ensuring survival in a world that can often be harsh.