I need Critical appreciation of the story 'The postmaster' by Rabindranath Tagore.

Excerpt from:

Lago, Mary M. "Tagore's
Short Fiction." Rabindranath Tagore. Twayne, 1976. 80-114. Rpt. in
Short Story Criticism. Ed. Justin Karr. Vol. 48. Detroit: Gale
Group, 2002. Literature Resource Center. Web. 28 Apr.
2010.

Examinations of the psychological
distance between the rural and urban appear again and again in
Tagore's stories, of which three may be considered here as
being splendidly representative: "The Postmaster"
["Postmastar"] (1891),
"The Return of Khokababu"
["Khokababur Pratyabartan"] (1891),
and "The Troublemaker"
["Apada"] (1895).8 All three convey
the message that not all of society's strengths are to be found in the Westernized
society of the cities. Each of these stories brings a citizen of Calcutta into close
contact with a person from the countryside, in a situation with possibilities for
genuine communication; in each, for various reasons, the opportunity is
wasted.

"The
Postmaster" has particular importance as the first of
Tagore's East Bengal stories to speak out clearly with the
voice of Rabindranath, the writer of modern short fiction. The genesis of the story is
well documented. At Shelaidaha the estate post office was in the
Tagore house. The only circumstance transferred literally
to the story is that the Shelaidaha postmaster was a lonely
young man from Calcutta. In 1936 Rabindranath recalled that the Shelaidaha
postmaster "didn't like his surroundings. He thought he was
forced to live among barbarians. And his desire to get leave was so intense that he even
thought of resigning from his post. He used to relate to me the happenings of village
life. He thus gave me material for a character in my story:
Postmaster."9 To this rusticated young man, Rabindranath
added details from the rural scene and a village orphan waif like so many he had
observed during his travels from one part of the estate to
another.

The Shelaidaha
postmaster had Rabindranath to talk to. The fictional
postmaster has no
one:

 Our
postmaster belonged to Calcutta. He felt like a fish out of
water in this remote village. ...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.