Amal Monologue from The Post Office

From The Post Office by Rabindranath Tagore

male · contemplative · 56 sec

No, I never want to be learned--I'll be like you and take my curds from the village by the red road near the old banyan tree, and I will hawk it from cottage to cottage. Oh, how do you cry--"Curd, curd, good nice curd!" Teach me the tune, will you? (DAIRYMAN: Dear, dear, teach you the tune; what an idea!) Please do. I love to hear it. I can't tell you how queer I feel when I hear you cry out from the bend of that road, through the line of those trees! Do you know I feel like that when I hear the shrill cry of kites from almost the end of the sky? (DAIRYMAN: Dear child, will you have some curds? Yes, do.) But I have no money.

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