tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18865455278871069092024-03-08T00:52:44.985-08:00English Language IIIrd Sem.Raju Kalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221798538327638018noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1886545527887106909.post-49829621423014974262015-08-04T21:58:00.000-07:002018-08-18T01:32:31.181-07:00For the students of IInd Year (B.Com.,B.Sc.) .<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Syllabus.</b></blockquote>
<div>
<b>Unit 1.</b></div>
<div>
<b>1. Tree : Tina Morris </b></div>
<div>
<b>2. Night of the Scorpion : Nissim Ezekiel</b></div>
<div>
<b>3. Letter to God : G.L.Sawnteh</b></div>
<div>
<b>4. My Bank Account : Stephen Leacock</b><br />
<b>5. God sees the truth but waits : Leo Tolstoy.</b></div>
<div>
<b>6. Idgah : By premchand Translated by Khushwant Singh. </b><br />
<b>Unit 2. </b></div>
<div>
<b>1. Unseen Passages</b></div>
<div>
<b>2. Paragraph Writing</b></div>
<div>
<b>3. Report Writing</b></div>
<div>
<b>4. Short Essay on a given topic.</b></div>
<div>
<b>5. Formal and Informal Letters and Application</b></div>
<div>
<b>6. Basic Language Skills </b></div>
<div>
<b> Tenses,Preposition,Determiners,Verbs,and Articles. ( 18 marks)</b><br />
<b>---------------------------------------------------------------------------------</b><br />
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tree By Tina Morris. </span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">They did not
tell us<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What it
would be like<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Without trees.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nobody
imagined<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That the
whispering of leaves <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Would grow
silent<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Or the
vibrant jade of spring<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Pale to grey
death.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And now we
pile<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Rubbish on
rubbish<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the dusty
landscape<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Struggling
to create a tree.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But though
the shape is right <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And the
nailed branches <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lean upon
the wind<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And plastic
leaves <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lend colour
to the twigs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We wait in
vain <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For the slow
unfurling of buds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And no
amount of loving<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Can stir our
weary tree <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To singing.</span><br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<b>Letter to God By G.L.Swanteh </b></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Translated by Donald A. Yates<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The house – the only one in the entire valley – sat on the
crest of a low hill. From this height one could se the river and, next to the
corral, the field of ripe corn dotted with the kidney bean flowers that always
promised a good harvest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The only thing the earth needed was a rainfall, or at least
a shower. Throughout the morning Lencho – who knew his fields intimately – had
done nothing else but scan the sky toward the northeast.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Now we’re really going to get some water, woman.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The woman, who was preparing supper, replied: “Yes, God
willing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The oldest boys were working in the field, while the smaller
ones were playing near the house, until the woman called to them all: “Come for
dinner…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was during the meal that, just as Lencho had predicted,
big drips of rain began to fall. In the northeast huge mountains of clouds
could be seen approaching. The air was fresh and sweet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The man went out to look for something in the corral for no
other reason than to allow himself the pleasure of feeling the rain on his
body, and when he returned he exclaimed: “those aren’t raindrops falling from
the sky, they’re new coins. The big drops are ten-centavo pieces and the little
ones are fives…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With a satisfied expression he regarded the field of ripe
corn with its kidney bean flowers, draped in a curtain of rain. But suddenly a
strong wind began to fall. These truly did resemble new silver coins. The boys,
exposing themselves to the rain, ran out to collect the frozen pearls.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s really getting bad now,” exclaimed the man, mortified.
“I hope it passes quickly.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It did not pass quickly. For an hour the hail rained on the
house, the garden, the hillside, the cornfield, on the whole valley. The field
was white, as if covered with salt. Not a leaf remained on the trees. The corn
was totally destroyed. The flowers were gone from the kidney bean plants.
Lencho’s soul was filled with sadness. When the storm had passed, he stood in
the middle of the field and said to his sons: “A plague of locusts would have
left more than this… the hail has left nothing: this year we will have no corn
or beans…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That night was a sorrowful one: “All our work, for nothing!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“There’s no one who can help us!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But in the hears of all who lived in that solitary house in
the middle of the valley, there was a single hope: help from God.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t be so upset, even though this seems like a total
loss. Remember, no one dies of hunger!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s what they say: no one dies of hunger….”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All through the night, Lencho thought only of his one hoe:
the help of God, whose eyes, as he had been instructed, see everything, even
what is deep in one’s conscience.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lencho was an ox of a man, working like an animal in the
fields, but still he knew how to write. The following Sunday, at day break,
after having convinced, himself that there is a protecting spirit he bgan to
write a letter which he himself would carry to town and place in the mail.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was nothing less than a letter to God.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“God,” he wrote, “if you don’t help me, my family and I will
go hungry this year. I need a hundred pesos in order to resow the field and to
live until the crop comes, because the hailstorm…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He wrote “To God” on the envelope, put the letter inside
and, still troubled, went to town. At the post office he placed a stamp on the
letter and dropped it into the mailbox.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the employees, who was a postman and also helped at
the post officer, went to his boss, laughing heartily and showed him the letter
to God. Never in his career as a postman had he known that address. The
postmaster – a fat amiable fellow – also broke out laughing, but almost
immediately he turned serious and, tapping the letter on his desk, commented:
“what faith! I wish I had the faith of the man who wrote this letter. To
believe the way he believes. To hope with the confidence that he knows how to hope
with. Starting up a correspondence with God!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, in order not to disillusion that prodigy of faith,
revealed by a letter that could not be delivered, the postmaster cmae up with
an idea: answer the letter. But when he opened it, it was evident that to
answer it he needed something more than good will, ink and paper. But he stuck
to his resolution: he asked for money from his employee, he himself gave part
of his salary, and several friends of his were obliged to give something “for
an act of charity”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was impossible for him to gather together the hundred
pesos requested by Lencho, so he was able to send the farmer only a little more
than half. He put the bills in an envelope addressed to Lencho and with them a
letter containing only a signature:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
GOD<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The following Sunday Lencho came a bit earlier than usual to
ask if there was a letter for him. It was the postman himself who handed the
letter to him, while the postmaster, experiencing the contentment of a man who
ahs performed a good deed, looked on from the doorway of his office.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lencho showed not the slightest surprise on seeing the bills
– such was his confidence – but he became angry when he counted the money. God
could not have made a mistake, nor could he have denied Lencho what he had
requested!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Immediately, Lencho went up to the window to ask for paper
and ink. On the public writing table, he started to write with much wrinkling
of his brow, caused by the effort he had to make to express his ideas. When he
finished, he went to the window to buy a stamp, which he licked and then
affixed to the envelope with a blow of his fist.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The moment that the letter fell into the mailbox the
postmaster went to open it. It said;<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“God: Of the money that I asked for only seventy pesos
reached me. Send me the rest, since I need it very much. But don’t send it to
me through the mail, because the post office employees are a bunch of crooks.
Lencho.”</div>
<h1 itemprop="itemreviewed" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-family: Georgia, Palatino, serif; font-size: 23px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 55px; margin: 20px 0px 10px;">
Night of the Scorpion Nissim Ezekiel</h1>
<div class="poem_body" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; line-height: 27px;">
<div style="box-sizing: border-box;">
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
I remember the night my mother</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
was stung by a scorpion. Ten hours</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
of steady rain had driven him</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
to crawl beneath a sack of rice.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
Parting with his poison - flash</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
of diabolic tail in the dark room -</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
he risked the rain again.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
The peasants came like swarms of flies</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
and buzzed the name of God a hundred times</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
to paralyse the Evil One.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
With candles and with lanterns</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
throwing giant scorpion shadows</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
on the mud-baked walls</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
they searched for him: he was not found.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
They clicked their tongues.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
With every movement that the scorpion made his poison moved in Mother's blood, they said.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
May he sit still, they said</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
May the sins of your previous birth</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
be burned away tonight, they said.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
May your suffering decrease</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
the misfortunes of your next birth, they said.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
May the sum of all evil</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
balanced in this unreal world</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
against the sum of good</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
become diminished by your pain.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
May the poison purify your flesh</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
of desire, and your spirit of ambition,</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
they said, and they sat around</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
on the floor with my mother in the centre,</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
the peace of understanding on each face.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
More candles, more lanterns, more neighbours,</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
more insects, and the endless rain.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
My mother twisted through and through,</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
groaning on a mat.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
My father, sceptic, rationalist,</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
trying every curse and blessing,</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
powder, mixture, herb and hybrid.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
He even poured a little paraffin</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
upon the bitten toe and put a match to it.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
I watched the flame feeding on my mother.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
I watched the holy man perform his rites to tame the poison with an incantation.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
After twenty hours</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
it lost its sting.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /></div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
My mother only said</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
Thank God the scorpion picked on me</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
And spared my children.</div>
<div style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<h2 style="font-family: georgia, palatino, serif; text-align: left;">
<b style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-size: large;">My Bank Account : Stephen Leacock</span></b></h2>
<div>
<div style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">My Bank Account" is a humorous story written by Mr. Stephen Leacock. He has been a professor of political science at McGill University in Montral, Canada. He is better known for his humorous writings and short. His short stories make a very interesting reading. Professor Stephen Leacock was a famous humorous writer. He could never have been nervous. Actually he has invented the story, like other story writer to amuse his readers.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Summary.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">In this story the author is the central figure. He says that he was always afraid of a bank. As he went there, he got frightened to see the clerks doing their work, the furniture of the bank, the sight of the money, etc. When he passed through the doors </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">of a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;"> bank</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">, he became an </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">irresponsible fool</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">. When his </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">salary</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;"> was raised to fifty (</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">50</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">) dollars a month, he thought that the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">bank</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;"> was a right place for it. So he decided to open an </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">account</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;"> and save some</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;"> money</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">. Unfortunately he had never before gone to a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">bank</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">, nor had he ever heard about a method of opening a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">bank account</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: 700;">. </span></div>
<div style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box;">He walked in the bank unsteadily and asked the accountant if he could see the manager in private. His request was complied with. The manager took him to a private room believing that he was a detective or a rich man. But when he told the manager that he wanted to open an account with only fifty-six (56) dollars at present and then fifty dollars (50) a month regularly, his attitude at once changed.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The manager sent him back to the accountant. This thing put the author in a fix. He was much surprised to find people looking at him in a mocking way. As soon as his account was opened <span style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box;">and</span> he got his cheque book. He was too upset now.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box;">He wanted to withdraw only six (6) dollars for his present expenses but he wrote a cheque for fifty-six (56) dollars which was the whole amount of his deposit. The clerk was surprised and asked him if he was drawing it all out again. He realized his mistake but he was so miserable that he made a decision carelessly. He answered in affirmative. He could not explain it that he had written the amount by oversight.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; font-size: 16px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The author tried to hide his foolishness by behaving as if he had been insulted by some of the bank employees. All the clerks were amazed and stopped writing.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="border-radius: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; text-align: justify;">
<div style="font-size: 16px;">
<span style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: 700;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-radius: 0px !important; box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">He got back all his money and his account was closed. As he walked out of the bank, he heard a big roar of laughter from behind the door. Since then he used a bank no more. He kept his money in his pocket and his savings in silver dollars in a sock.</span></span></span></div>
<h2>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">God sees the truth but waits Leo Tostoy.</span></h2>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
God Sees the Truth, But Waits</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the town of Vladimir lived a young merchant named Ivan
Dmitrich Aksionov. He had two shops and a house of his own.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aksionov was a handsome, fair-haired, curly-headed fellow,
full of fun, and very fond of singing. When quite a young man he had been given
to drink, and was riotous when he had had too much; but after he married he
gave up drinking, except now and then.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One summer Aksionov was going to the Nizhny Fair, and as he
bade good-bye to his family, his wife said to him, "Ivan Dmitrich, do not
start to-day; I have had a bad dream about you."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aksionov laughed, and said, "You are afraid that when I
get to the fair I shall go on a spree."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His wife replied: "I do not know what I am afraid of;
all I know is that I had a bad dream. I dreamt you returned from the town, and
when you took off your cap I saw that your hair was quite grey."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aksionov laughed. "That's a lucky sign," said he.
"See if I don't sell out all my goods, and bring you some presents from
the fair."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So he said good-bye to his family, and drove away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When he had travelled half-way, he met a merchant whom he
knew, and they put up at the same inn for the night. They had some tea
together, and then went to bed in adjoining rooms.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was not Aksionov's habit to sleep late, and, wishing to
travel while it was still cool, he aroused his driver before dawn, and told him
to put in the horses.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then he made his way across to the landlord of the inn (who
lived in a cottage at the back), paid his bill, and continued his journey.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When he had gone about twenty-five miles, he stopped for the
horses to be fed. Aksionov rested awhile in the passage of the inn, then he
stepped out into the porch, and, ordering a samovar to be heated, got out his
guitar and began to play.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suddenly a troika drove up with tinkling bells and an
official alighted, followed by two soldiers. He came to Aksionov and began to
question him, asking him who he was and whence he came. Aksionov answered him
fully, and said, "Won't you have some tea with me?" But the official
went on cross-questioning him and asking him. "Where did you spend last
night? Were you alone, or with a fellow-merchant? Did you see the other
merchant this morning? Why did you leave the inn before dawn?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aksionov wondered why he was asked all these questions, but
he described all that had happened, and then added, "Why do you
cross-question me as if I were a thief or a robber? I am travelling on business
of my own, and there is no need to question me."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then the official, calling the soldiers, said, "I am
the police-officer of this district, and I question you because the merchant
with whom you spent last night has been found with his throat cut. We must
search your things."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They entered the house. The soldiers and the police-officer
unstrapped Aksionov's luggage and searched it. Suddenly the officer drew a
knife out of a bag, crying, "Whose knife is this?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aksionov looked, and seeing a blood-stained knife taken from
his bag, he was frightened.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"How is it there is blood on this knife?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aksionov tried to answer, but could hardly utter a word, and
only stammered: "I--don't know--not mine." Then the police-officer
said: "This morning the merchant was found in bed with his throat cut. You
are the only person who could have done it. The house was locked from inside,
and no one else was there. Here is this blood-stained knife in your bag and
your face and manner betray you! Tell me how you killed him, and how much money
you stole?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aksionov swore he had not done it; that he had not seen the
merchant after they had had tea together; that he had no money except eight
thousand rubles of his own, and that the knife was not his. But his voice was
broken, his face pale, and he trembled with fear as though he went guilty.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The police-officer ordered the soldiers to bind Aksionov and
to put him in the cart. As they tied his feet together and flung him into the
cart, Aksionov crossed himself and wept. His money and goods were taken from
him, and he was sent to the nearest town and imprisoned there. Enquiries as to
his character were made in Vladimir. The merchants and other inhabitants of
that town said that in former days he used to drink and waste his time, but
that he was a good man. Then the trial came on: he was charged with murdering a
merchant from Ryazan, and robbing him of twenty thousand rubles.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His wife was in despair, and did not know what to believe.
Her children were all quite small; one was a baby at her breast. Taking them
all with her, she went to the town where her husband was in jail. At first she
was not allowed to see him; but after much begging, she obtained permission
from the officials, and was taken to him. When she saw her husband in
prison-dress and in chains, shut up with thieves and criminals, she fell down,
and did not come to her senses for a long time. Then she drew her children to
her, and sat down near him. She told him of things at home, and asked about
what had happened to him. He told her all, and she asked, "What can we do
now?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"We must petition the Czar not to let an innocent man
perish."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His wife told him that she had sent a petition to the Czar,
but it had not been accepted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aksionov did not reply, but only looked downcast.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then his wife said, "It was not for nothing I dreamt
your hair had turned grey. You remember? You should not have started that
day." And passing her fingers through his hair, she said: "Vanya
dearest, tell your wife the truth; was it not you who did it?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"So you, too, suspect me!" said Aksionov, and,
hiding his face in his hands, he began to weep. Then a soldier came to say that
the wife and children must go away; and Aksionov said good-bye to his family
for the last time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When they were gone, Aksionov recalled what had been said,
and when he remembered that his wife also had suspected him, he said to
himself, "It seems that only God can know the truth; it is to Him alone we
must appeal, and from Him alone expect mercy."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And Aksionov wrote no more petitions; gave up all hope, and
only prayed to God.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aksionov was condemned to be flogged and sent to the mines.
So he was flogged with a knot, and when the wounds made by the knot were
healed, he was driven to Siberia with other convicts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For twenty-six years Aksionov lived as a convict in Siberia.
His hair turned white as snow, and his beard grew long, thin, and grey. All his
mirth went; he stooped; he walked slowly, spoke little, and never laughed, but
he often prayed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In prison Aksionov learnt to make boots, and earned a little
money, with which he bought The Lives of the Saints. He read this book
when there was light enough in the prison; and on Sundays in the prison-church
he read the lessons and sang in the choir; for his voice was still good.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The prison authorities liked Aksionov for his meekness, and
his fellow-prisoners respected him: they called him "Grandfather,"
and "The Saint." When they wanted to petition the prison authorities
about anything, they always made Aksionov their spokesman, and when there were
quarrels among the prisoners they came to him to put things right, and to judge
the matter.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No news reached Aksionov from his home, and he did not even
know if his wife and children were still alive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One day a fresh gang of convicts came to the prison. In the
evening the old prisoners collected round the new ones and asked them what
towns or villages they came from, and what they were sentenced for. Among the
rest Aksionov sat down near the newcomers, and listened with downcast air to
what was said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the new convicts, a tall, strong man of sixty, with a
closely-cropped grey beard, was telling the others what be had been arrested
for.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Well, friends," he said, "I only took a
horse that was tied to a sledge, and I was arrested and accused of stealing. I
said I had only taken it to get home quicker, and had then let it go; besides,
the driver was a personal friend of mine. So I said, 'It's all right.' 'No,'
said they, 'you stole it.' But how or where I stole it they could not say. I
once really did something wrong, and ought by rights to have come here long
ago, but that time I was not found out. Now I have been sent here for nothing
at all... Eh, but it's lies I'm telling you; I've been to Siberia before, but I
did not stay long."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Where are you from?" asked some one.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"From Vladimir. My family are of that town. My name is
Makar, and they also call me Semyonich."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aksionov raised his head and said: "Tell me, Semyonich,
do you know anything of the merchants Aksionov of Vladimir? Are they still
alive?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Know them? Of course I do. The Aksionovs are rich,
though their father is in Siberia: a sinner like ourselves, it seems! As for
you, Gran'dad, how did you come here?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aksionov did not like to speak of his misfortune. He only
sighed, and said, "For my sins I have been in prison these twenty-six
years."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What sins?" asked Makar Semyonich.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But Aksionov only said, "Well, well--I must have
deserved it!" He would have said no more, but his companions told the
newcomers how Aksionov came to be in Siberia; how some one had killed a
merchant, and had put the knife among Aksionov's things, and Aksionov had been
unjustly condemned.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When Makar Semyonich heard this, he looked at Aksionov,
slapped his own knee, and exclaimed, "Well, this is wonderful!
Really wonderful! But how old you've grown, Gran'dad!"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The others asked him why he was so surprised, and where he
had seen Aksionov before; but Makar Semyonich did not reply. He only said:
"It's wonderful that we should meet here, lads!"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These words made Aksionov wonder whether this man knew who
had killed the merchant; so he said, "Perhaps, Semyonich, you have heard
of that affair, or maybe you've seen me before?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"How could I help hearing? The world's full of rumours.
But it's a long time ago, and I've forgotten what I heard."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Perhaps you heard who killed the merchant?" asked
Aksionov.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Makar Semyonich laughed, and replied: "It must have
been him in whose bag the knife was found! If some one else hid the knife
there, 'He's not a thief till he's caught,' as the saying is. How could any one
put a knife into your bag while it was under your head? It would surely have
woke you up."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When Aksionov heard these words, he felt sure this was the
man who had killed the merchant. He rose and went away. All that night Aksionov
lay awake. He felt terribly unhappy, and all sorts of images rose in his mind.
There was the image of his wife as she was when he parted from her to go to the
fair. He saw her as if she were present; her face and her eyes rose before him;
he heard her speak and laugh. Then he saw his children, quite little, as they:
were at that time: one with a little cloak on, another at his mother's breast.
And then he remembered himself as he used to be-young and merry. He remembered
how he sat playing the guitar in the porch of the inn where he was arrested,
and how free from care he had been. He saw, in his mind, the place where he was
flogged, the executioner, and the people standing around; the chains, the
convicts, all the twenty-six years of his prison life, and his premature old
age. The thought of it all made him so wretched that he was ready to kill
himself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"And it's all that villain's doing!" thought
Aksionov. And his anger was so great against Makar Semyonich that he longed for
vengeance, even if he himself should perish for it. He kept repeating prayers
all night, but could get no peace. During the day he did not go near Makar
Semyonich, nor even look at him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A fortnight passed in this way. Aksionov could not sleep at
night, and was so miserable that he did not know what to do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One night as he was walking about the prison he noticed some
earth that came rolling out from under one of the shelves on which the
prisoners slept. He stopped to see what it was. Suddenly Makar Semyonich crept
out from under the shelf, and looked up at Aksionov with frightened face.
Aksionov tried to pass without looking at him, but Makar seized his hand and
told him that he had dug a hole under the wall, getting rid of the earth by
putting it into his high-boots, and emptying it out every day on the road when
the prisoners were driven to their work.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Just you keep quiet, old man, and you shall get out
too. If you blab, they'll flog the life out of me, but I will kill you
first."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aksionov trembled with anger as he looked at his enemy. He
drew his hand away, saying, "I have no wish to escape, and you have no
need to kill me; you killed me long ago! As to telling of you--I may do so or
not, as God shall direct."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next day, when the convicts were led out to work, the convoy
soldiers noticed that one or other of the prisoners emptied some earth out of
his boots. The prison was searched and the tunnel found. The Governor came and
questioned all the prisoners to find out who had dug the hole. They all denied any
knowledge of it. Those who knew would not betray Makar Semyonich, knowing he
would be flogged almost to death. At last the Governor turned to Aksionov whom
he knew to be a just man, and said:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"You are a truthful old man; tell me, before God, who
dug the hole?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Makar Semyonich stood as if he were quite unconcerned,
looking at the Governor and not so much as glancing at Aksionov. Aksionov's
lips and hands trembled, and for a long time he could not utter a word. He
thought, "Why should I screen him who ruined my life? Let him pay for what
I have suffered. But if I tell, they will probably flog the life out of him,
and maybe I suspect him wrongly. And, after all, what good would it be to
me?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Well, old man," repeated the Governor, "tell
me the truth: who has been digging under the wall?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aksionov glanced at Makar Semyonich, and said, "I
cannot say, your honour. It is not God's will that I should tell! Do what you
like with me; I am your hands."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However much the Governor! tried, Aksionov would say no
more, and so the matter had to be left.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That night, when Aksionov was lying on his bed and just
beginning to doze, some one came quietly and sat down on his bed. He peered
through the darkness and recognised Makar.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What more do you want of me?" asked Aksionov.
"Why have you come here?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Makar Semyonich was silent. So Aksionov sat up and said,
"What do you want? Go away, or I will call the guard!"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Makar Semyonich bent close over Aksionov, and whispered,
"Ivan Dmitrich, forgive me!"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What for?" asked Aksionov.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"It was I who killed the merchant and hid the knife
among your things. I meant to kill you too, but I heard a noise outside, so I
hid the knife in your bag and escaped out of the window."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aksionov was silent, and did not know what to say. Makar
Semyonich slid off the bed-shelf and knelt upon the ground. "Ivan
Dmitrich," said he, "forgive me! For the love of God, forgive me! I
will confess that it was I who killed the merchant, and you will be released
and can go to your home."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"It is easy for you to talk," said Aksionov,
"but I have suffered for you these twenty-six years. Where could I go to
now?... My wife is dead, and my children have forgotten me. I have nowhere to
go..."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Makar Semyonich did not rise, but beat his head on the
floor. "Ivan Dmitrich, forgive me!" he cried. "When they flogged
me with the knot it was not so hard to bear as it is to see you now ... yet you
had pity on me, and did not tell. For Christ's sake forgive me, wretch that I
am!" And he began to sob.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When Aksionov heard him sobbing he, too, began to weep.
"God will forgive you!" said he. "Maybe I am a hundred times
worse than you." And at these words his heart grew light, and the longing
for home left him. He no longer had any desire to leave the prison, but only
hoped for his last hour to come.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In spite of what Aksionov had said, Makar Semyonich
confessed, his guilt. But when the order for his release came, Aksionov was
already dead.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<h2>
<b style="color: black; text-align: left;">Idgah : By premchand Translated by Khushwant Singh. </b></h2>
<div>
<div style="background: whitesmoke; border: solid #CCCCCC 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid #CCCCCC .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 7.0pt 7.0pt 7.0pt 7.0pt;">
<div class="Style1">
IDGAH </div>
<div class="Style1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Style1">
FESTIVAL OF EID </div>
<div class="Style1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Style1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Style1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Style1">
Premchand </div>
<div class="Style1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Style1">
Translator Kush want Singh </div>
<div class="Style1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Style1">
A full thirty days after Ramadan comes Eid. How wonderful and
beautiful </div>
<div class="Style1">
is the morning of Eid! The trees look greener, the field more
festive, the sky </div>
<div class="Style1">
has a lovely pink glow. Look at the sun! It comes up brighter
and more </div>
<div class="Style1">
dazzling than before to wish the world a very happy Eid. The
village is agog </div>
<div class="Style1">
with excitement. Everyone is up early to go to the Eidgah
mosque. One finds </div>
<div class="Style1">
a button missing from his shirt and is hurrying to his
neighbour's house for </div>
<div class="Style1">
thread and needle. Another finds that the leather of his shoes
has become </div>
<div class="Style1">
hard and is running to the oil-press for oil to grease it. They
are dumping </div>
<div class="Style1">
fodder before their oxen because by the time they get back from
the Eidgah </div>
<div class="Style1">
it may be late afternoon. It is a good three miles from the
village. There will </div>
<div class="Style1">
also be hundreds of people to greet and chat with; they would
certainly not </div>
<div class="Style1">
be finished before midday. </div>
<div class="Style1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Style1">
The boys are more excited than the others. Some of them kept
only one </div>
<div class="Style1">
fast— and that only till noon. Some didn't even do that. But no
one can deny </div>
<div class="Style1">
them the joy of going to the Eidgah. Fasting is for the
grown-ups and the </div>
<div class="Style1">
aged. For the boys it is only the day of Eid. They have been
talking about it </div>
<div class="Style1">
all the time. At long last the day has come. And now they are
impatient with </div>
<div class="Style1">
people for not hurrying up. They have no concern with things
that have to be </div>
<div class="Style1">
done. They are not bothered whether or not there is enough milk
and sugar </div>
<div class="Style1">
for the vermicelli pudding. All they want is to eat the
pudding. They have no </div>
<div class="Style1">
idea why Abbajan is out of breath running to the house of
Chaudhri Karim </div>
<div class="Style1">
Ali. They don't know that if the Chaudhri were to change his
mind he could </div>
<div class="Style1">
turn the festive day of Eid into a day of mourning. Their
pockets bulge with </div>
<div class="Style1">
coins like the stomach of the pot-bellied Kubera, the Hindu God
of Wealth. </div>
<div class="Style1">
They are forever taking the treasure out of their pockets,
counting and </div>
<div class="Style1">
recounting it before putting it back. Mahmood counts "One,
two, ten, </div>
<div class="Style1">
twelve"— he has twelve pice. Mohsin has "One, two,
three, eight, nine, </div>
<div class="Style1">
fifteen" pice. Out of this countless hoard they will buy
countless things: toys, </div>
<div class="Style1">
sweets, paper-pipes, rubber balls— and much else. </div>
<div class="Style1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Style1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Style1">
<br /></div>
<div class="Style1">
The happiest of the boys is Hamid. He is only four; poorly
dressed, thin </div>
<div class="Style1">
and famished-looking. His father died last year of cholera.
Then his mother </div>
<div class="Style1">
wasted away and, without anyone finding out what had ailed her
she also </div>
<div class="Style1">
died. Now Hamid sleeps in Granny Ameena's lap and is as happy
as a lark. </div>
<div class="Style1">
She tells him that his father has gone to earn money and will
return with </div>
<div class="Style1">
sack loads of silver. And that his mother has gone to Allah to
get lovely gifts </div>
<div class="Style1">
for him. This makes Hamid very happy. It is great to live on
hope; for a </div>
<div class="Style1">
child there is nothing like hope. A child's imagination can
turn a mustard </div>
<div class="Style1">
seed into a mountain. Hamid has no shoes on his feet; the cap
on his head is </div>
<div class="Style1">
soiled and tattered; its gold thread has turned black.
Nevertheless Hamid is </div>
<div class="Style1">
happy. He knows that when his father comes back with sacks full
of silver </div>
<div class="Style1">
and his mother with gifts from Allah he will be able to fulfil
all his heart's </div>
<div class="Style1">
desires. Then he will have more than Mahmood, Mohsin, Noorey
and Sammi.</div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>In her hovel the unfortunate Ameena sheds bitter tears. It is
Eid and she</div>
<div class="Style1">
does not have even a handful of grain. Only if her Abid were
there, it would </div>
<div class="Style1">
have been a different kind of Eid ! </div>
<div class="Style1">
Hamid goes to his grandmother and says, "Granny, don’t you
fret over me!</div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>I will be the first to get back. Don't worry!"</div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>Ameena is sad. Other boys are going out with their fathers. She
is the only</div>
<div class="Style1">
'father' Hamid has. How can she let him go to the fair all by
himself? What if </div>
<div class="Style1">
he gets lost in the crowd? No, she must not lose her precious
little soul! How </div>
<div class="Style1">
can he walk three miles? He doesn't even have a pair of shoes.
He will get </div>
<div class="Style1">
blisters on his feet. If she went along with him she could pick
him up now </div>
<div class="Style1">
and then. But then who would be there to cook the vermicelli?
If only she </div>
<div class="Style1">
had the money she could have bought the ingredients on the way
back and </div>
<div class="Style1">
quickly made the pudding. In the village it would take her many
hours to get </div>
<div class="Style1">
everything. The only way out was to ask someone for them. </div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>The villagers leave in one party. With the boys is Hamid. They
run on</div>
<div class="Style1">
ahead of the elders and wait for them under a tree. Why do the
oldies drag </div>
<div class="Style1">
their feet? And Hamid is like one with wings on his feet. How
could anyone </div>
<div class="Style1">
think he would get tired? </div>
<div class="Style1">
They reach the suburbs of the town. On both sides of the road
are</div>
<div class="Style1">
mansions of the rich enclosed all around by thick, high walls.
In the gardens </div>
<div class="Style1">
mango and leechee trees are laden with fruit. A boy hurls a
stone at a mango</div>
<div class="Style1">
tree. The gardener rushes out screaming abuses at them. By then
the boys are </div>
<div class="Style1">
furlongs out of his reach and roaring with laughter. What a
silly ass they </div>
<div class="Style1">
make of the gardener! </div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>Then come big buildings: the law courts, the college and the
club. How</div>
<div class="Style1">
many boys would there be in this big college? No sir, they are
not all boys! </div>
<div class="Style1">
Some are grown-up men. They sport enormous moustaches. What are
such </div>
<div class="Style1">
grown-up men going on studying for? How long will they go on
doing so? </div>
<div class="Style1">
What will they do with all their knowledge? There are only two
or three </div>
<div class="Style1">
grown-up boys in Hamid's school. Absolute duds they are too!
They get a </div>
<div class="Style1">
thrashing every day because they do not work at all. These
college fellows </div>
<div class="Style1">
must be the same type— why else should they be there ! And the
Masonic </div>
<div class="Style1">
Lodge. They perform magic there. It is rumoured that they make
human </div>
<div class="Style1">
skulls move about and do other kinds of weird things. No wonder
they don't </div>
<div class="Style1">
let in outsiders! And the white folk play games in the
evenings. Grown-up </div>
<div class="Style1">
men, men with moustaches and beards playing games ! And not
only they, </div>
<div class="Style1">
but even their Memsahibs! That's the honest truth! You give my
Granny that </div>
<div class="Style1">
something they call a racket; she wouldn't know how to hold it.
And if she </div>
<div class="Style1">
tried to wave it about she would collapse. </div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>Mahmood says, “My mother's hands would shake; I swear by Allah
they</div>
<div class="Style1">
would!" </div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>Mohsin says, "Mine can grind maunders of grain. Her hand
would never</div>
<div class="Style1">
shake holding a miserable racket. She draws hundreds of
pitchers full of </div>
<div class="Style1">
water from the well every day. My buffalo drinks up five
pitchers. If a </div>
<div class="Style1">
Memsahib had to draw one pitcher, she would go blue in the
face." </div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>Mahmood interrupts, “But your mother couldn’t run and leap
about, could she?"</div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>"That's right," replies Mohsin, "she couldn't
leap or jump. But one day our</div>
<div class="Style1">
cow got loose and began grazing in the Chaudhri's fields. My
mother ran so </div>
<div class="Style1">
fast after it that I couldn't catch up with her. Honest to God,
I could not!" </div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>So we proceed to the stores of the sweet-meat vendors. All so
gaily</div>
<div class="Style1">
decorated! Who can eat all these delicacies? Just look! Every
store has them </div>
<div class="Style1">
piled up in mountain heaps. </div>
<div class="Style1">
They say that after 1 1 nightfall, Jinns come and buy up
everything. "My</div>
<div class="Style1">
Abba says that at midnight there is a Jinn at every stall. He
has all that </div>
<div class="Style1">
remains weighed and pays in real rupees, just the sort of
rupees we have," </div>
<div class="Style1">
says Mohsin. </div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>Hamid is not convinced. "Where would the Jinns come by
rupees?"</div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>"Jinns are never short of money," replies Mohsin.
"They can get into any</div>
<div class="Style1">
treasury they want. Mister, don't you know no iron bars can
stop them? They </div>
<div class="Style1">
have all the diamonds and rubies they want. If they are pleased
with anyone </div>
<div class="Style1">
they will give him baskets full of diamonds. They are here one
moment and </div>
<div class="Style1">
five minutes later they can be in Calcutta." </div>
<div class="Style1">
Hamid asks again, “Are these Jinns very big?"</div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>"Each one is as big as the sky," asserts Mohsin.
"He has his feet on the</div>
<div class="Style1">
ground, his head touches the sky. But if he so wanted, he could
get into a </div>
<div class="Style1">
tiny brass pot. </div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>"How do people make Jinns happy?" asks Hamid.
"If anyone taught me</div>
<div class="Style1">
the secret, I would make at least one Jinn happy with me."
</div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>"I do not know," replies Mohsin, "but the
Chaudhri Sahib has a lot of Jinns</div>
<div class="Style1">
under his control. If anything is stolen, he can trace it and
even tell you the </div>
<div class="Style1">
name of the thief. Jinns tell him everything that is going on
in the world." </div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>Hamid understands how Chaudhri Sahib has come by his wealth and
why</div>
<div class="Style1">
people hold him in so much respect. It begins to get crowded.
Parties </div>
<div class="Style1">
heading for the Eidgah are coming into town from different
sides— each one </div>
<div class="Style1">
dressed better than the other. Some on tongas and ekkas, some
in motorcars. </div>
<div class="Style1">
All wearing perfume; all bursting with excitement. </div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>Our small party of village rustics is not bothered about the
poor show they</div>
<div class="Style1">
make. They are a calm, contented lot. </div>
<div class="Style1">
<o:p> </o:p>For village children everything in the town is strange.
Whatever catches</div>
<div class="Style1">
their eye, they stand and gape at it with wonder. Cars hoot
frantically to get </div>
<div class="Style1">
them out of the way, but they couldn't care less. Hamid is
nearly run over by </div>
<div class="Style1">
a car. </div>
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Raju Kalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06221798538327638018noreply@blogger.com33