CIs POETRY (A Collection of Poems) S.No. Page No. 1. The Heart of the Tree —Henry Cuyler Bunner 2. The Cold Within—James Patrick Kinney 3. The Bangle Sellers —Sarojini Naidu 4. After Blenheim —Robert Southey ef Television —Roald Dahl “~~ 6. Daffodils —William Wordsworth 7. 1 Know why the Caged Bird Sings —Maya Angelou 8 The Patriot —Robert Browning 9 Abou Ben Adhem —Leigh Hunt BeXeRRSR EBS 10- Nine Gold Medals —David Roth SHORT STORIES (A Collection of Stories) S.No. Chief Seattle’s Speech 2. Old Man at the Bridge —Ernest Hemingway 3. AHorse and Two Goats —R.K. Narayan 4. Hearts and Hands —O. Henry WO A Face in the Dark —Ruskin Bond 7 6. An Angel in Disguise —T.S. Arthur 7. The Little Match Girl —Hans Christian Andersen 8. The Blue Bead —Norah Burke 9. My Greatest Olympic Prize —Jesse Owens 10. All Summer in a Day —Ray Douglas Bradbury S@eexuaeaeaga[4] The Heart of the Tree —Henry Cuyley What does he plant who plants a tree? He plants a friend of sun and sky; He plants the flag of breezes free; The shaft of beauty, towering high; He plants a home to heaven anigh; For song and mother-croon of bird In hushed and happy twilight heard-- The treble of heaven's harmony— These things he plants who plants a tree, What does he plant who plants a tree? He plants cool shade and tender rain, And seed and bud of days to be, And years that fade and flush again; He plants the glory of the plain He plants the forest’s heritage; The harvest of a coming age; The joy that unborn eyes shall see- These things he plants who plants a tree. What does he plant who plants a tree? He plants, in sap and leaf and wood, In love of home and loyalty And far-cast thought of civic good— His blessings on the neighborhood Who in the hollow of His hand Holds all the growth of all our land— A nation’s growth from sea to sea Stirs in his heart who plants a tree.James Patrick Kinney is an American poet wh, this poem in the 1960s, Although it was first rei 7%! being too controversial, it gained popularity rapiqh as| had been read out at a council meeting of all religion it The poem describes the tragic death of a group , who stand around a fire - each holding on grimly to", 0°" wood. Allowing their selfishness, p: “ they had overcome the petty barriers of cla oy had overs " SS, race and The poem is a simple yet powerful reminder d that if selfishly hold on to the world's resources, and the a that it has to offer, if we persist in discriminating on grounds| of race, religion, caste, gender and ethnicity, we are all lost! The Cold Within James Patrick Kinney Six humans.trapped by happenstance In bleak and bitter cold. Each one possessed a stick of wood Or $0 the story's told. Their dying fire in need of logs, But the first one held hers back, For, of the faces round the fire, She noticed one was black. ‘The next man looking ‘cross the way Saw one not of his church, And could not bring himself to give The fire his stick of birch. The third one sat in tattered clothes. He gave his coat a hitch. Why should his log be put to use To warm the idle rich? ‘The rich man just sat back and thought Of the wealth he had in store, And how to keep what he had eamed From the lazy, shiftless poor. "‘The black man's face bespoke reven, As the fire passed from his sight, For all he saw in his stick of wooq Was a chance to spite the white, The last man of this forlorn group Did nought except for gain, Giving only to those who gaye Was how he played the game Their logs held tight in death's still hands Was proof of human sin. They did not die from the cold without They died from the cold. within, Sarojini Naidu was called The Nightingale of India by Mahatma Gandhi because of the colour, imagery and lyrical quality of her poetry. ‘The Bangle Sellers’ is a fine example of her musical verse. The poem is the song of the men who sell glass bangles at village fairs and in temple towns. The different coloured bangles symbolise the different stages in a woman's life as a young maiden, a bride, as a middle aged matron and as an older woman. Listen carefully to the music of the poem as you read it aloud. Look for the different colours of the glass bangles and see how well they are suited to the stage in the woman's life. Sarojini Naidu was an important presence in the Freedom Struggle and worked alongside Gandhiji. Her birthday is celebrated as Women's Day to recognise the powerful voices of Women in India's history.Bl _ The Bangle Sellers ~Seofny Our shining loads to the temple fair, Who will buy these delicate, bright Rainbow-tinted circles of light? Lustrous tokens of radiant lives, For happy daughters and happy wives, ome are meet for a maiden's wrist, Silver and blue as the mountain mist, Some are flushed like the buds that dream On the tranquil brow of a woodland stream, Some are aglow with the bloom that cleaves To the limpid glory of new born leaves. Some are like fields of sunlit corn, Meet for a bride on her bridal mom, Some, like the flame of her marriage fire, Or, rich with the hue of her heart's desire, Tinkling, luminous, tender, and clear, Like her bridal laughter and bridal tear. Some are purple and gold flecked grey For she who has journeyed through life midway, Whose hands have cherished, whose love has blest, 14 ‘And cradled fair sons on her faithful breast, ‘And serves her household in fruitfal pride, ‘And worships the gods at her husband's side. es ewaneener aeRobert Southey was an English Romantic Poet, ithe Poet Laureate (Court Poet) of his time. He 1796 about a battle that took place in Blenhe, thi| . im, 4 It is an anti-war poem that sharply CTiticise, destruction and death caused by war. The poet ,, S the simple narrative of a grandfather explaining to his ae [children his own suffering and the suffering of many o like him who were victims of the battle. The aa cannot give any good reason for war and can only repey that ‘it was a famous victory." Obviously, this was propaganda that was indoctrinated in the common peopl | The poet wants to emphasise through the repetition of the lines that wars are senseless, futile and evil and that, in war, there are no real winners. This is a powerful poem that echoes Wilfred Owens’ famous quote "the pity of war". This poem is a wake-up call to seek peaceful solutions to all conflicts. a ae [4] After Blenheim —Robert Southey It was a summer evening, Old Kaspar’s work was done, And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun, ‘And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine. She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found, That was so large, and smooth, and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; ‘And then the old man shook his head, ‘And, with a natural sigh, "Tis some poor fellow’s skull,’ said he, ‘Who fell in the great victory. ‘I find them in the garden, For there's many here about; ‘And often when | go to plough, ‘The ploughshare turns them out! 7For many thousand men,' said he, ‘Were slain in that great victory.’ ‘Now tell us what ‘twas all about,’ Young Peterkin, he cries; ‘And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes; ‘Now tell us all about the war, ‘And what they fought each other for. ‘tt was the English,’ Kaspar cried, ‘Who put the French to rout; But what they fought each other for, I could not well make out; But everybody said,’ quoth he, "That ‘twas a famous victory. "My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by; They bumt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly; So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head. ‘With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide, And many a childing mother then, And new-born baby died; But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory. 18 "They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun; But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. ‘Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good Prince Eugene.’ ‘Why, ‘twas a very wicked thing!” Said little Wilhelmine. "Nay... nay... my litte gitl' quoth he, "It was a famous victory. ‘and everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win.’ "But what good came of it at last?’ Quoth little Peterkin. i ‘Why that I cannot tell,’ said he, "But 'twas a famous victory.’* [5] OY Television The most important thing we've learned, So far as children are concerned, Is never, NEVER, NEVER let Them near your television set - Or better still, just don't install The idiotic thing at all. In almost every house we've been, We've watched them gaping at the screen. They loll and slop and lounge about, ee And stare until their eyes pop out. (Last week in someone's place we saw A dozen eyeballs on the floor.) —Roald Dahl Roald Dahl is one of the most prolific of modem in English. He was a British novelist, short story i poet, screenwriter, fighter pilot and has a large fan follows among young readers. : problem among young children today. The poem wams x. about the dangers of excessive television watching. He tel, us that the T.V. robs the mind of the power of imagination and creativity. Dahl in his characteristic exaggerated style They sit and stare and stare and sit warns that we will become zombies if we keep staring Until they're hypnotised by it, . uninterrupted at the television for long hours. Until they're absolutely drunk He advises us to read books, for this will enable us to Ea ee rea yes, we it discover deeper levels of joy, find fulfilment in life and open a whole new and exciting world for us. They don't climb out the window sill, They never fight or kick or punch, They leave you free to cook the hunch And wash the dishes in the sink - But did you ever stop to think, To wonder just exactly what This does to your beloved tot? IT ROTS THE SENSE IN THE HEAD! IT KILLS IMAGINATION DEAD!AND CLUTT ERS UP THE MIND; CHILD SO DULL AND BLIND. HE CAN NO LONGER UNDERSTAND ‘A FANTASY, A FAIRYLAND! His BRAIN BECOMES AS SOFT AS CHEESE! HIS POWERS OF THINKING RUST AND FREEzZp; HE CANNOT THINK — HE ONLY SEEs! ‘All right!" you'll ery. ‘All right!' you'll say, ‘But if we take the set away, What shall we do to entertain Our darling children? Please explain!" We'll answer this by asking you, ‘What used the darling ones to do? "How used they keep themselves contented Before this monster was invented?! Have you forgotten? Don't you know? We'll say it very loud and slow: THEY ... USED ... TO ... READ! They'd READ and READ, AND READ and READ, and then proceed To READ some more. Great Scott! Gadzooks! One half their lives was reading books! The nursery shelves held books galore! Books cluttered up the nursery floor! And in the bedroom, by the bed, More books were waiting to be read! Such wondrous, fine, fantastic tales Of dragons, gypsies, queens, and whales And treasure isles, and distant shores ir CLOGS 1 MAKES A Where smugglers rowed with muffled oars, And pirates wearing purple pants, And sailing ships and elephants, © ” ‘And cannibals crouching ‘round the pot, Stirring away at something hot. (It smells so good, what can it be? Good gracious, it's Penelope.) The younger ones had Beatrix Potter With Mr. Tod, the dirty rotter, And Squirrel Nutkin, Pigling Bland, ‘And Mrs. Tiggy-WinKle and- Just How The Camel Got His Hump, ‘And How the Monkey Lost His Rump, ‘And Mr. Toad, and bless my soul, ‘There's Mr. Rat and Mr. Mole- Oh, books, what books they used to know, Those children living long ago! So please, oh please, we beg, we pray, Go throw your TV set away, And in its place you can install A lovely bookshelf on the wall. Then fill the shelves with lots of books, Ignoring all the dirty looks, The screams and yells, the bites and kicks, And children hitting you with sticks- Fear not, because we promise you That, in about a week or two Of having nothing else to do,They'll now begin to feel the need Of having something to read. ‘And once they start - oh boy, oh boy! You watch the slowly growing joy That fills their hearts. They'll grow so keen They'll wonder what they'd ever seen In that ridiculous machine, ‘That nauseating, foul, unclean, Repulsive television screen! ‘And later, each and every kid Will love you more for what you did. No study of English literature is complete without a reading of William Wordsworth, who is pethaps the greatest of the Romantic poets. It was he who rallied for the use of everyday language, common people and things in poetry. Wordsworth was a great lover of Nature and this poem was inspired by a real life experience. ‘Once when on a walk with his sister he came upon a Jt of Daffodils! beside a lake, with the wind powers of Nature.For oft, when on my couch I lie, In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Iwandered lonely as a cloud Which is the bliss of solitude; That lots on high o'er vales and hills And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze, Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. ‘The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: | gazed-and gazed-but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: 26 FEi: 1 Know Why the Caged Bird Sings —Maya Angelou _ A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends | and dips his wing | in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks in 1969 tells of her life up to the age of 17. It is this poem Se hat brought her international acclaim and recognition, can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings With fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom.spe tre irs Buns OF ANSE Drotag ate ee ar ge worms vn PAE lay and be names the sky his own. pera caged bd stag om the TAG oF rag is shadow snows on 2 nightmare scream wees ave cippes and rus recs are ted go he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown ut longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. Age. This poem z man who is being led to the gallows Monologue, where recounting his tale. ‘The speaker recalls been led down this very street, with crowds of people cheering him and scattering roses in his path. He was a hero being welcomed by his adoring fans. tried, convicted and is being led short is public adulation and and death. ‘A grim reminder that life is uncertain! Yet the poem ends on a note of optimism. Browning's own philosophy and all's Right with the World” is Joses. The Patriot believes that jing to his true merit the note on which the poem cl it is God who will reward him accordiIt was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mag; ee reaie roa seemed to heave and Sway, ‘The churchspires flamed, such flags they had, ‘A year ago on this very day. I. ‘The air broke into a mist with bells, ‘The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries, Had | said, "Good folk, mere noise repels— But give me your sun from yonder skies!" ‘They had answered, "And afterward, what else?" I. Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun To give it my loving friends to keep! Nought man could do, have I left undone: ‘And you see my harvest, what I reap ‘This very day, now a year is run. IV. There's nobody on the house-tops now— Just a palsied few at the windows set; For the best of the sight is, all allow, 32 At the Shambles’ Gate—or, better yet, By the very scaffold's foot, I trow. Vv. 1 go in the rain, and, more than needs, ‘A rope cuts both my wrists behind; ‘And I think, by the feel, my forehead bieeds, For they fling, whoever has a mind, Stones at me for my year’s misdeeds. vi Thus | entered, and thus I go! In triumphs, people have dropped down dead. Paid by the world, what dost thou owe "Me?" —God might question; now instead, "Tis God shall repay: I am safer $0.Abou Ben Adhem (9) —tagh nn ae ‘Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) ‘Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, ‘And saw, within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, ‘An angel writing in a book of gold: - Exceeding, peace had made Ben Adhem bold, ‘And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?"-The vision raised its head, ‘And with a look made of all sweet accord, ‘Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one? said Abou. "Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow men." ‘The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again with a great wakening light, ‘And showed the names whom love of God had blest, } ‘And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.David Roth is an American poet, singer, songwriter ang recording artist. His poem ‘Nine Gold Medals’ is a poignant record of ay incident that takes place at the Special Olympics, when| differently-abled contestants set off for a race. Soon after the| race begins one of the contestants has a sharp fall and lies| on the track crying out in pain. He loses all hope of winning the medal for which he had trained so hard. The eight other contestants in a remarkable display of empathy and| compassion stop running and return to help their fallen| fellow - competitor back to his feet and together all nine of| them link arms and walk to the finish line. In recognition of this display of great human compassion every one of them is awarded a gold medal. All of them are| wisnere! The poem celebrates this spirit of care and compassion. What the world needs now is not more| ‘competition but rather more cooperation and collaboration. Nine Gold Medals —David Roth se ‘The athletes had come from so many countries To run for the gold, for the silver and bronze Many weeks and months in training All building up to the games. All round the field spectators were gathered Cheering on all the young women and men Then the final event of the day was approaching The last race about to begin. ‘The loudspeakers called out the names of the runners The one hundred metres the race to be run ‘And nine young athletes stood there determined ‘And poised for the sound of the gun. ‘The signal was given, the pistol exploded ‘And so did the runners on hearing the sound But the youngest among them stumbled and staggered ‘And he fell on his knees to the ground. He gave out a cry of frustration and anguish His dreams and his efforts dashed in the dirt But as sure as I'm standing here telling the story Now it’s a strange one, but here's what occurredeight other athletes stopped in their tracks ‘The ones who had trained for so long to com, ‘ cone they tuned round and came back to One by one And lifted the lad to his feet elo hin, ‘Then all nine runners joined hands and continued ‘The one hundred metres reduced to a walk And the banner above that said "Special Olympics Could not have been nearer the mark. ‘That's how the race ended, with nine gold medais ‘They came to the finish line holding hands stin ‘And the banner above and nine smiling faces Said more than these words ever will Said more than these words ever willi chief Seattle’s Speech* athentic Tet OF Chief Seattle's Treaty Oration, 1854 (ar ) that has wept tears of Compassion ,, e for centuries untold, and which to us a, people im and etemal, may change Today is fair, 1° Ptr changeless t with clouds. My words are like it may be Bore Whatever Seattle says, the Great c ° that neve? can rely upon with as much certainty a8 he a Washingto m jm of te sun. or the seasons. The White cay at Big Chief at Washington sends us Breetings . as oi ead. Ths is Kind of him f0r we ky ttle need of our friendship in return. His peop. cor like the grass that covers vast prairi we many. They are . fairies. My are few. They resemble the scattering trees of a stom, swept plain. The great ~ and, I presume - good, White Chie sends us word that he wishes to buy cor ane but is Willing tp allow us enough to live comfortably. This indeed appears jus, even generous, for the Red Man no longer has rights that be reed respect, and the offer may be wise, also, as we are no longer in need of an extensive country. ‘There was a time when our people covered the land as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea cover its shell-paved floor, but that time Jong since passed away with the greatness of tribes that are now but a mournful memory. I will not dwell on, nor mourn over, our untimely decay, nor reproach my paleface brothers with hastening it, as we too may have been somewhat ‘wo blame. Youth is impulsive. When our young men grow angry # some real or imaginary wrong, and disfigure their faces wit black paint, it denotes that their hearts are black, and thet 42 they are often cruel and relentless, and our old men and old women are unable to restrain them. Thus it has ever been. ‘Thus it was when the white man began to push our forefathers ever westward, But let us hope that the hostilities between us may never return, We would have everything to lose and nothing to gain. Revenge by young men is considered gain, even at the cost of their own lives, but old men who stay at home in times of war, and mothers who have sons to lose, know better. Our good father in Washington —for I presume he is now our father as well as yours, since King George has moved his poundaries further north—our great and good father, I say, sends us word that if we do as he desires he will protect us. His brave warriors will be to uS a bristling wall of strength, and his wonderful ships of war will fill our harbors, so that our ancient enemies far to the northward — the Haidas and Tsimshians — will cease to frighten our women, children, and old men. Then in reality he will be our father and we his children. But can that ever be? Your God is not our God! Your God loves your people and hates mine! He folds his strong protecting arms lovingly about the paleface and leads him by the hand as a father Jeads an infant son. But, He has forsaken His Red children, if they really are His. Our God, the Great Spirit, seems also to have forsaken us. Your God makes your people wax stronger every day. Soon they will fil all the land. Our people are ebbing away like a rapidly receding tide that will never return. The white man’s God cannot love our people or He would protect them. They seem to be orphans who can look nowhere for help. How then can we be brothers? How can your God become our God and renew our prosperity and awaken in us dreams of returning greatness? If we have a common Heavenly Father He must be partial, for He came to His paleface children. We never saw Him. He gave you laws “a3eo 4 for His red children whose = filled this vast continent as stars nt y; we are two distinct races with separate a te it. No} A little in comm and separate destinies. There is ON between, a is yur ancestors are sacred and thej, ie ae ay oa You wander far from the eg Pe reer nd seemingly witout TET. Your rel tablets of stone by the iron finger of God so that you could not forget. The Red Man could y, comprehend of remember it Our religion is the traditions can | the dreams of our old men, given them ot solemn hours of the night by the Great Spirit; and the ae of our sachems, and és written in the hearts of our people a3 Your dead cease to love you and the land of their Nativity as soon as they pass the portals of the tomb and wand, away beyond the stars. They are soon forgotten and never wrurn, Our dead never forget this beautiful world that gave them being, They still love its verdant valleys, its murmuring rivers, its magnificent mountains, sequestered vales ang verdant lined lakes and bays, and ever yearn in tender fond affection over the lonely hearted living, and often return from the happy hunting ground to visit, guide, console, and comfort them. Day and night cannot dwell together. The Red Man has ‘ever fled the approach of the White Man, as the morning mist flees before the morning sun. However, your proposition seems fair and I think that my people will accept it and will retire to the reservation you offer them. Then we will dwell apart in peace, for the words of the Great White Chief seem to be the words of nature speaking to my people out of dense darkness. It matters little where we pass the remnant of our days. ‘They will not be many. The Indian’s night promises to be “4 ark Not a single star of hope hovers above his horizon. Sad- yoiced winds moan in the distance. Grim fate seems to be on the Red Man's trail, and wherever he will hear the approaching footsteps of his fell destroyer and prepare stolidly to meet his doom, ‘as does the wounded doe that hears the approaching, footsteps of the hunter. oA few more moons, a few more winters, and not one of the descendants of the mighty hosts that once moved over this broad land or lived in happy homes, protected by the Great Spirit, will remain to-moum over the graves of a people ‘once more powerful and hopeful than yours. But why should [ mourn at the untimely fate of my people? Tribe follows tribe, and nation follows nation, like the waves of the sea. It is the order of nature, and regret is useless. Your time of decay may be distant, but it will surely come, for even the White Man whose God walked and talked with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We will see. We will ponder your proposition and when we decide we will let you know. But should we accept it, I here and now make this condition that we will not be denied the privilege without molestation of visiting at any time the tombs of our ancestors, friends and children. Every part of this soil is sacred in the estimation of my people. Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove, has been hallowed by some sad or happy event in days long vanished. Even the rocks, which seem to be dumb and dead as they swelter in the sun along the silent shore, thrill with memories of stirring events connected with the lives of my people, and the very dust upon which you now stand responds more lovingly to their footsteps than yours, because it is rich with the blood of our ancestors, and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch.braves, fond mothers, glad, happy ‘and even the little children who liveg i aide ea bri season, Will Ove these somben ang eventide they greet shadowy Teturning sping ast Red Man shall have perished, and the, Ang tbe shall have become a myth among y, Sten ese shores will swarm with the invisible dogg "hie tribe, and when your children’s childrer Hunk themselves a? in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway, oy ;° silence ofthe pathless woods, they will not be alone, in ay, earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At nighy ,. the streets of your cities and villages are silent and yo, them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts g., ence filed them and still love this beautiful land. The wy), Man will never be alone. 3 Let him be just, and deal kindly with my people, forty dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no dean, only a change of worlds. ur departed ven and at when the Emest Miller Hemingway was an American novelist, short story writer and journalist, whose simple and understated writing was a strong influence on twentieth century fiction. One of the shortest of Emest Hemingway's short stories, ‘Old Man at the Bridge’ is based upon an incident that took place during an Easter Sunday stopover at the Ebro River while Hemingway was a war correspondent covering the Spanish Civil War, ‘Old Man at the Bridge’ demonstrates the power of narrative art. Hemingway takes a small, ordinary detail in a situation and through the art of story-telling transforms it into a powerful story about the tragedy of war. The old man becomes a symbol of the countless civilian victims of war— those “without politics”. Displaced, disoriented and alone, he is faced with the inevitability of death. ~ Chief Seattie “Version 1, which appeared in the Seattle ‘Sunday Star’ on Octobe 29, 1887, in a column by Dr. Henry A. Smith REKN |Man at the Bridge —Ernest Hemingrog, old Dae roan me Pe and very dus, An vat by tne side of the road. There was a Pontooy clothes river and carts, trucks, and men, wo, ‘ridge across it, The mule-drawn carts sta, children were red ea steep bank from the bridge with soldiers helping py, ae of the wheels. The trucks ground up ang the I and the peasants plodded alo, avvay heading out of it 2 Ng in the kl deep dust. But the old man sat there without moving He was too tired to go any farther. It was my business to cross the bridge, explore the bridgehead beyond and find out to what point the enemy had advanced. | did this and returned over the bridge. There were not so many carts now and very few people on foot, but the old man was still there. “Where do you come from?” I asked him. “From San Carlos,” he said, and smiled. ‘That was his native town and so it gave him pleasure to mention it and he smiled. “| was taking care of animals,” he explained. “Oh,” | said, not quite understanding. “Yes,” he said, “I stayed, you see, taking care of animals. I was the last one to leave the town of San Carlos.” He did not look like a shepherd nor a herdsman and I looked at his black dusty clothes and his gray dusty face and his steel rimmed spectacles and said, “What animals were they?” “Vanous animals,” he said, and shook his head. “I had to leave them.” Jning, the bridge and the African looking country of the Ebro Delta and wondering how long now it would be before we would see the enemy, and listening all the while for the first noises that would signal that ever mysterious event called contact, and the old man still sat there. 1 was wate What animals were they?’ I asked. | wphere were three animals altogether,” he explained. there were two goats and a cat and then there were four pairs of pigeons.” “And you had to leave them?” I asked. “Yes, Because of the artillery. The captain told me to go because of the artillery.” “And you have no family?” I asked, watching the far end of the bridge where a few last carts were hurrying down the slope of the bank. “No,” he said, “only the animals | stated. The cat, of course, will be all right. A cat can look out for itself, but I ¢annot think what will become of the others.” “What politics have you?” I asked. “1 am without politics,” he said. “I am seventy-six years old. I have come twelve kilometers now and I think now I'can go no further.” “This is not a good place to stop,” I said. “If you can make it, there are trucks up the road where it forks for Tortosa.” “{ will wait a while,” he said, “and then I will go. Where do the trucks go?” “Towards Barcelona,” | told him. “| know no one in that direction,” he said, “but thank you very much. Thank you again very much.” 4 oY eeee very plankly and tiredly, then said, worry with someone, sThe'cat Will be = ay) to share his js no need to be unquiet about the .., I, jam sure. Now what do you think about the others» But rer probably come through it all right y “You think $07” not,” I said, watching the far bank where n, “why low here were no carts. “put what will they do par the artillery when | = toto leave because ofthe artillery?” pid you leave the dove cage unlocked?” I asked, at me “Yes. “Then they'll fly.” “Yes, certainly they'll fly. But the others. It’s better not to think about the others,” he said. “if you are rested 1 would go,” I urged. “Get up and try to walk now.” “Thank you,” he said and got to his feet, swayed from side to side and then sat down backwards in the dust. "| was taking care of animals,” he said dully, but no longer to me. “I was only taking care of animals.” There was nothing to do about him. It was Easter Sunday and the Fascists were advancing toward the Ebro. It was a gay overcast day with a low ceiling so their planes were not up. That and the fact that cats know how to look after Sr Mas all Ge good Tack that old man woul ere RE H RK. Narayan was an Indian writer who is best remembered for his stories set in the fictional South Indian town of Malgudi. Narayan’s style is simple, easy and unpretentious and his stories explore with humour and compassion the everyday lives of ordinary people. The following is an edited version of his short story, ‘A Horse and Two Goats’. In it, Narayan describes what happens when an English speaking American meets an illiterate South Indian villager who knows only Tamil and has never stepped outside his village. The foreigner with his English is baffled by the incomprehensible and bizarre behaviour of Muni while Muni is equally mystified by the American’s strange words and antics. Using the simplest of settings, Narayan has crafted a sensitive yet amusing story, rich in situational comedy. stand Two Goats a A Horse =RK, K Narayan hn thousand villages etn the map ply the tiniest, indicat of india, Keita 9% ener dot. But its a a he cistct Urey es the grandiose name Kritam, me a, vor “crown” on the bro meant in Tamil ‘corone! consisted of less than ce re ilt with brick and cement. Paar and blue all over with gorgeous carvings or on its balustrade, it was known as the Big se. The other houses, distributed in four streets, were generally ‘of bamboo thatch, straw, mud and other unspecifieg material. Muni’s was the last house in the fourth street, beyond wonich stretched the fields. In his prosperous days Muni had ‘owned a flock of forty sheep and goats and sallied forth every moming driving the flock to the highway a couple of miles away. There he would sit on the pedestal of a clay statue of a horse while his cattle grazed around. He carried a crook at the end of a bamboo pole and snapped foliage from the avenue trees to feed his flock; he also gathered faggots and dry sticks, bundled them, and carried them home for fuel at sunset. His wife lit the domestic fire at dawn, boiled water in a mud pot, threw into it a handful of millet flour, added salt, and gave him his first nourishment for the day. When he started out, she would put in his hand a packed lunch, once again the same millet cooked into a little ball, which he could ‘swallow with a raw onion at midday. ne fortunes had declined gradually, unnoticed. From 3 forty which he drove into a pen at night, his stock 82 -ome down to the two goats, which were tethered to the trunk of a drumstick tree which grew in front of fis pad now © rut and from which occasionally Muni could shake down. drumsticks. ‘This morning he got six. He carried them in with f triumph. Although no one could say precisely who a sense 0! owned the tree, it was his because he lived in its shadow. His wife said, “If you were content with the drumstick Jeaves alone, I could boil and salt some for you.” Oh, 1 am tired of eating those leaves. I have a craving to chew the drumstick out of sauce. | tell you.” You have only four teeth in your jaw, but your craving is for big things. All right, get the stuff for the sauce, and | will prepare it for you. After all, next year you may not be alive to ask for anything. But first get me all the stuff, including a veasure of rice or millet, and I will satisfy your unholy craving. Our store is empty today. Dhall, chilly, curry leaves, mustard, coriander, gingelley oil, ‘and one large potato. Go out and get all this.” He repeated the list after her in order not to miss any item and walked off to the shop in the third street. ‘Muni sat patiently on an upturned packing case below the platform of the shop. The shop man paid no attention to him. Muni kept clearing his throat, coughing, and sneezing until the shop man could not stand it anymore and demanded, “What ails you? You will fly off that seat into the gutter if you sneeze so hard, young man.” Muni laughed inordinately, in order to please the shop man, at being called “young man.” This completely won the shop man over; he liked his sense of humour to be appreciated. By thus humouring the shop man, Muni could always ask for one or two items of food, promising repayment later. Some days the shop man was in a good mood and gave in, and 53i iddeniy jose his temper su ly ang pe would credit beri I 40 ask FOF “ aaring wip you could find five ry shop ma" said, off an ancient debt. ang he sto? ay have Paid How mg on the first of the Next Month» whom do you except to rob by then» . t and mumbled, “My daughter ha cme sending me RONCY.” a daughter?” sneered the shop man, “Ang ‘ you money! For what PUrPOS®, may I know?” fiftieth birthday,” said Muni quietly.” “Birthday How old are you?” Muni repeated weakly, not being sure of it himself, “Fifty.” He always calculated his age from the time of the great famine ‘chen he stood as high as the parapet around the village wet, tut who could calculate such things accurately nowadays with so many famines occurring? The shop man a encouraged when other customers stood around to watch and comment. “More likely you are seventy,” he said to Muni. “You also forget that you mentioned a birthday five weeks ago when you wanted castor oil for your holy bath.” At this Muni unobtrusively rose and moved off. He ier his wife, “That scoundrel would not give me Ce go out and sell the drumsticks for what they are He ee ee in a comer to recoup from the fatigue of his visit to the shop. His wife said, “You are getting 54 no sauce today, nor anything else. I can’t find anything to Fast till the evening, itll do you good. Take be gone now,” she cried and added, “Don't the sun is down.” He knew that if he obeyed how conjure up some food for him in the we you 10 eat: a goats and pack before her she would some y he must be careful not to argue and ientate her. ont oot ‘was undependable in the morning but improved time. She was sure to go out and work— grind se, sweep of scrub somewhere, and earn foodstuff and keep a dinner ready for him in ” Unleashing the goats from the drumstick tree, we ai started out, driving them ahead and uttering wat OE ame to time in order to urge them on. He passed through the village with his head bowed in thought He did not want ws gok at anyone or be accosted. A couple of cronies loun6in + the temple corridor hailed him, but he ignored their call The shop man had said that he was seventy. At seventy, gne only waited to be summoned by God. When he was dead what would his wife do? They had lived in each other's company since they were children. He had been told on their day ‘of wedding that he was ten years old and she was eight. Progeny, none. Perhaps a large progeny would have brought him the blessing of the gods. Only on the outskirts did he lift his head and look up. He urged and bullied the goats until they meandered along tote feat of the horse statue on the edge of the village. He sat on is for the rest of the day. The advantage of this was that he could watch the highway and see the lorries and buses pass through to the hill, and it gave him a sense of belonging to a larger world. The pedestal of the statue was broad enough for him to move around as the sun travelled up |_ ch un and westward or he could ao cou Ander the by of tore fF ife-size, moulded out o| The horse WA eer and reared its rel bake ‘burnt, and pe in the air and flourishing its a) 4 ia the horse stood a Jee with Scythes 7 {oP , and aquiline nose. The ike ve been as White as diiiicemen ise back a cover of pure brocade of req md ching the multi coloured sash around the w, lacy, ree But none in the village remembered the spi Aist of Oe ee noted its existence. Even Muni, who spent “i * ing hours at is £004 never bothered to look up, i untouched even by the young vandals of the Village ee gpshed tee trunks with knives and tried to topple off F 0 rd inscribed lewd designs on all walls. This statue had toe loser to the population of the village at one time, when me spot bordered the village. Muni sat at the foot of the statue, watching his two = graze in the arid soil among the cactus and lantana He looked at the sun; it had tilted westward no doubt, but it was not the time yet to go back home; if he went too early his wife would have no food for him. Also he must give het tine to cool off her temper and feel sympathetic, and then she would scrounge and manage to get some food. was said to ha) had had on is He noticed now a new sort of vehicle coming down at full speed. It looked like both a motor car and a bus. He used to be intrigued by the novelty of such spectacles, but of late work was going on at the source of the river on the mountain and an assortment of people and traffic went past him, and he took it all casually and described to his wife, later in the day, everything he saw. Today, while he observed the yellow 56 EIST senile coming, down. he was wondering how to describe it ine to his wife when it sputtered and stopped in front of la ‘A red-faced foreigner, who had been driving it, got down et went round it, stooping, looking, and poking under the eanicle: then he straightened himself up, looked at the Yoshboard, stared in Muni’s direction, and approached him. “pxcuse me, is there a gas station nearby, or do I have to wait until another car comes—" He suddenly looked up at the clay horse and cried, “Marvellous,” without completing his sentence. Muni felt he should get up and run away, and cursed his age. He could not readily put his limbs into action. ‘The red-faced man wore khaki clothes—evidently a policeman or a soldier. Muni said to himself, “He will chase or shoot if I start running, Some dogs chase only those who run—oh, Shiva protect me. I don’t know why this man should be after me.” Meanwhile the foreigner cried, “Marvellous!” again, nodding his head. He paced around the statue with his eyes fixed on it. Muni sat frozen for a while, and then fidgeted and tried to edge away. Now the other man suddenly pressed. his palms together, smiled, and said, “Namaste! How do you do?” At which Muni’spoke the only English expressions he had Jeamt, “Yes, no.” Having exhausted his English vocabulary, he started in Tamil: “My name is Muni. These two goats are mine, and no one can gainsay it—though our village is full of slanderers these days who will not hesitate to say that what belongs to a man doesn’t belong to him.” The foreigner faithfully looked in the direction indicated by Muni’s fingers, gazed for a while at the two goats and the rocks, and with a puzzled expression took out his silver cigarette case and lit a cigarette. Suddenly remembering, the courtesies of the season, he asked, “Do you smoke?” Muni 87— » Whereupon the red-faced red, “Yes, NO. . Man ve it to Muni, who received it with a a tte and ga cigars ffer of a smoke from anyone for years 4 P'S, ow, having had no of ways wanted to smoke a cigarette; on}, ee ae ‘him one on credit, and he Teen how good it had tasted. The other flicked the lighter - and offered a light to Muni, Muni felt so confused about se to act that he blew on it and put it out. The other, r ow, te undaunted, flourished his lighter, Presented it again, an tt Muni’s cigarette. Muni drew a deep puff and starteg coughing, it was racking, no doubt, but extremely Pleasant When his cough subsided he wiped his eyes and took stock of the situation, understanding that the other man was not an Inquisitor of any kind. Yet, in order to make sure, he remained wary. No need fo run away from a man who gave him such a potent smoke, His head was reeling from the effect of one of those strong American cigarettes made with roasted tobacco, The man said, “I come from New York,” took out a wallet from his hip pocket, and presented his card. Muni shrank away from the card. Perhaps he was trying to present a warrant and arrest him. Beware of khaki, one part of his mind warned. Take all the cigarettes or whatever 1s offered, but don’t get caught. Beware of khaki. He wished he weren't seventy as the shop man had said. At seventy one didn’t run, but surrendered to whatever came. He could only ward off trouble by talk. So he went on, all in the chaste Tamil for which Kritam was: famous. He said, “Before God, su, Bhagwan, who sees everything, I tell you, sir, that we known nothing of the case. If the murder was committed, whoever did it will not escape. Bhagwan is all-seeing. Don't ask me about it. I know nothing.” A body had been found mutilated and thrown under a tamarind tree at the border | petween Kritam and Kuppam a few weeks before, giving nse to much gossip and speculation. Muni added an explanation »anything is possible there. People over there will stop a nothing.” The foreigner nodded his head and listened fourteously though he understood nothing, am sure you know when this horse was made,” said the red man and smiled ingratiatingly. Muni reacted to the relaxed atmosphere by smiling himself, and pleaded, “Please go away, sir, I know nothing, I promise ‘ve will hold him for you if we see any bad character around, and we will bury him up to his neck in a coconut pit if he tries to escape; but our village has always had a clean record Must definitely be the other village.” Now the red man implored, “Please, please, I will speak slowly, please try to understand me. Can’t you understand even a simple word of English? Everyone in this country seems to know English. I have gotten along with English everywhere in this country, but you don’t speak it Have you any religious or spiritual scruples against English speech?” Muni made some indistinct sounds in his throat and shook his head. Encouraged, the other went on to explain at length, uttering each syllable with care and deliberation. Presently he sidled over and took a seat beside the old man, explaining, “You see, last August, we probably had the hottest summer in history, and 1 was working in shirt-sleeves in my office on the fortieth floor of the Empire State Building. We had a power failure one day, you know, and there 1 was stuck for four hours, no elevator, no air conditioning. All the way in the train | kept thinking, and the minute I reached home in Connecticut, 1 told my wife Ruth, ‘We will visit India this 59‘2st MaElrhiotonataas on . tt other civilizations.” Next g inter, it's time to look al ; ay eee travel agent first thing and told him to fix it, ees - 1am. Ruth came with me but is staying back at Srinagar at dm the one doing the rounds and joining her later fr end of this lon; Muni looked reflective at the TONE Oration ang no,” as a concession to the i feebly, “Yes, Oth said, Be ea oa aT “When I was this hii ree eer a foot high—"I had heard my uncle say..” lanning to say, as th No one can tell what he was plan’ a5 the other interrupted him at this stage to ask, “Boy, what is the secry of your teeth? How old are you?” Muni forgot what he had started to say and Temarked, seized his shoulder and said , “Is there absolutely no one here, to translate for me?” He losieg on and down the road, which was deserted i in this h afternoon. The stranger almost pinioned Muni’s back ee statue and asked, “Isn’t this statue yours? Why don’t you sell itto me?” The old man now understood the reference to the horse thought for a second, and said in his own language, “I wa an urchin this high when I heard my grandfather explain this horse and warrior, and my grandfather himself was when he heard his grandfather, whose grandfather. The other man interrupted him. this high “I don’t want to seem to “Sometimes we too lose our cattle. Jackals or cheetahs may sretimes) them off, but sometimes it is just theft fro a in er cisee and then we will know who iced it. Our priest at the temple can see in eo flame the face of the thief, and when he is caught... He gestured with his hands a perfect mincing of meat. The American watched his hands intently and said, “| know what you mean. Chop something? Maybe I am holding you up and you want to chop wood ? Where is your axe ? Hand it to me and show me what to chop. I do enjoy it, you know, just a hobby, We get a lot of driftwood along the back. water near my house, and on Sundays I do nothing but chop wood for the fireplace. I really feel different when I watch the fire in the fireplace, although it may take all the sections of the Sunday New York Times to get a fire started.” And he smiled at this reference. have stopped here for nothing. | will offer you a good price for this,” he said, indicating the horse. He had concluded without the least doubt that Muni owned this mud horse. Perhaps he guessed by the way he sat on its pedestal; like other souvenir sellers in this country presiding over thei wares. Muni followed the man’s eyes and Pointing fingers and dimly understood the subject matter and, feeling relieved that the theme of the mutilated body had been abandoned at least for the time being, said again, enthusiastically, “I was this high when my grandfather told me about this horse and the warrior, and my grandfather was this high when he himself...” The Tamil that Muni spoke was stimulating even as pure sound, and the foreigner listened with fascination. “I wish I had my tape-recorder here.” He said, assuming the pleasantest expression. “Your language sounds wonderful. I get a kick out of every word you utter, here”—he indicated his ears— “but you don’t have to waste your breath in sales talk. [ appreciate the article. You don’t have to explain its points.” Muni felt totally confused but decided the best thing would be to make an attempt to get away from this place. He tried to edge out, Saying, “Must go home,” and turned to go. The eu) 6ent to school, in those days ont “pt we had to G0 Out and Work jn 8 to a ragne om sowing DSrVESt time 1 d we had cut the harvest, my father Whe, play with others at the tank, ang + aloe, ge ane) anguage YOU SPEAK: even Lie fy so the Pratl speak the PAFANEL language yy"*h i Be, 7 ered men and ofcers Know it but hee ‘The foreigner laughed heartily, took out another a and offered it to Muni, who now smoked with ease, ee, to stay on if the fellow was going to be 50 good as to his cigarette supply- The American now stood Up 6 in the attitude of a demonstrative lecturer ang ranning his finger along some of the carved decorations an the horse's neck, speaking slowly and uttering his w, syllable by syllable, “I could give a sales talk for this than anyone else... This is a marvellous combination of. ne and indigo, though faded now... How do you people of ing country achieve these flaming colours?” a} came an Fone jo out and up the Muni, now assured that the subject was still the horse and not the dead body, said, “This is our guardian, it means death to our adversaries. At the end of Kali Yuga, this world and all other worlds will be destroyed, and the Redeemer will come in the shape of a horse called ‘Kalki’; this horse will come to life and gallop and trample down all bad men.” While he was brooding on this pleasant vision, the foreigner utilized the pause to say, “I assure you that this will have the best home in the U.S.A. I'll push away the book case, you know I love books and am a member of five book clubs, and the choice and bonus volumes mount up to a pile really in our Smana high as this horse itself. But theyll have to g°- ‘uth may disapprove, but I will convince Muni continued his 62 Fe scription of the end of the world. “Our pundit discoursed pre mami ee he oeene are SUE clase cverl the rth in a huge wave and swallow us—this horse will grow carr than the biggest wave and carry on its back only the people and kick into the floods the evil ones— plenty of about—” he said reflectively. “Do you know when it is going 10 happen?” he asked. The foreigner now understood by the tone of the other shat a question was being asked and said, “I am not a millionaire, but a modest businessman. My trade is coffee.” good ‘Amidst all this wilderness of obscure sound Muni caught the word “coffee” and said, “If you want to drink ‘kapi’ drive further up, in the next town, they have Friday market, ‘nd there they open ‘kapi-otels’ —so I, learn from passers-by. ‘The foreigner said, “I repeat I am not a millionaire. Ours is a modest business; after all, we can't afford to buy more than sixty minutes of TV. Time in a month, which works out to two minutes a day, that's all, although in the course of time we'll maybe sponsor a one-hour show regularly if our sales graph continues to go uj ‘Then the visitor, feeling that he had spent too much time already, said, “Tell me, will you accept a hundred rupees or ' not for the horse? I’d love to take the whiskered soldier also ut no space for him this year. I'll have to cancel my air ticket and take a boat home, I suppose. Ruth can go by air if she likes, but I will go with the horse and keep him in my cabin all the way if necessary.” And he smiled at the picture of himself voyaging across the seas hugging this horse. He added, “| will have to pad it with straw so that it doesn’t break...” “| have my station wagon as you see. I can push the seat back and take the horse in if you will just lend me a hand with it.”and I can lift off the horse “Lend me # oe the cement at the joints, ae its pedestal after is of understanding,” a0 do if we have a basis enyhnt " tate the mutual mystification was complete, At this to carry on a guessing game a the there se ese The old man chattered away in a spirit meaning of WON gis and debits of conversational exchay st peng order to be on the credit side; “Oh, honourabi, and God has blessed you with numerous Progeny. | seem to be a good man, willing to stay 3 on old man and tak fo him, wie 21 ay J ave none to talk to except when somebody stops by to ask for a piece of tobacco. But 1 seldom have it, tobacco is not what it used to be at oe time, and I have given UP chewing. I cannot afford the other’s interest in his speech, Munj “How many children have you’ With tures with his hands. Realizing that a question the red man replied, “I said a hundred,” juni to go into details. “How many of your children are boys and how many girls? Where are they? Is your daughter married? Is it difficult to find a son-in-law in your country also?” In answer to these questions the red man dashed his hand into his pocket and brought forth his wallet in order to take immediate advantage of the bearish trend in the market. He flourished a hundred-rupee currency note and said, “Well, this is what | meant.” The old man now realized that some financial element was entering their talk. He peered closely at the currency note, the like of which he had never seen in his life; he knew the five and ten by their colours although always in other people's hands, while his own earning at any time was in coppers and nickels. What was this man flourishing the note wt perhaps asking, + change. He laughed to himself at the Mion of anyone coming to him for changing a thousand or ten-thousand-rupee note. He said with a grin, “Ask our village Feadman, who is also a moneylender; he can change even a jakh.of rupees in gold sovereigns if you prefer it that way; he thinks nobody knows, but dig the floor of his puja room and your head will reel at the sight of the hoard. The man disguises pimself in Tags just to mislead the public. Talk to the headman ourself because he goes mad at the sight of me. Someone took away his pumpkins with the creeper and he, for some reason, thinks it was me and my goats... that’s why I never let my goats be seen anywhere near the farms.” His eyes travelled to his goats nosing about, attempting to wrest nutrition from minute greenery peeping out of rock and dry earth. The foreigner followed his look and decided that it would be a sound policy to show an interest in the old man’s pets. He went up casually to them and stroked their backs with every show of courteous attention. Now the truth dawned on the old man. His dream of a lifetime was about to be realized. He understood that the red man was actually making an offer for the goats. He had reared them up in the hope of selling them some day and, with the capital, opening a small shop on this very spot. Sitting here, watching towards the hills, he had often dreamt how he would put up a thatched roof here, spread a gunny sack out on the ground, and display on it fried nuts, coloured sweets, and green coconut for the thirsty and famished wayfarers on the highway, which was sometimes very busy. The animals were not prize ones for a cattle show, but he had spent his occasional savings to provide them some fancy diet now and then, and they did not look too bad. While he was reflecting thus, the ed man shook his say this because YOu 65 64