Context,Question,FinalAns,Category "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.",What did the author find in a junk shop?,"The author found a roll-top desk for sale in a junk shop. It was made of oak wood, but it was in a veiy bad condition.",Reasoning "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.",What did he find in a secret drawer? Who do you think had put it in there?,"In the secret drawer of the desk, the author found a small tin box. It had a letter in it. I think the owner of the roll-top desk might have put it there.",Reasoning "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.","Who had written the letter, to whom, and when?","John Macpherson, a captain in the British army, had written that letter, dated Dec. 26, 1914, to his wife Connie.",Reasoning "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.",Why was the letter written — what was the wonderful thing that had happened?,The letter described a wonderful event. The two armies-the British and the Ger­man—fighting against each other celebrated Christmas together.,Factor "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.",What jobs did Hans Wolf and Jim Macpherson have when they were not soldiers?,"Before joining the army, Hans played the cello in the orchestra and Jim was a teacher.",Reasoning "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.",Had Hans Wolf ever been to Dorset? Why did he say he knew it?,"No, Hans had never been to Dorset. He had only read about Dorset in Hardy’s novel ‘Far from the Madding Crowd’.",Boolean "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.",Do you think Jim Macpherson came back from the war? How do you know this?,"No, Jim Macpherson never came back home from the war. Perhaps therefore his wife Connie had preserved his letters.",Boolean "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.",Why did the author go to Bridport?,The author went to Bridport to meet Mrs Jim Macpherson and deliver to her Jim’s letter.,Factor "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.",How old was Mrs Macpherson now? Where was she?,Macpherson was 101 years old. She was in a nursing home.,Reasoning "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.",Who did Connie Macpherson think her visitor was?,"Connie thought that the visitor was her own husband, Jim Macpherson.",Reasoning "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.",Which sentence in the text shows that the visitor did not try to hide his identity?,"That sentence is, “you told me you’d come home by Christmas, dearest,” she said, “And here you are, the best Christmas present in the world. Come closer, Jim dear, sit down.",Reasoning "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.",For how long do you think Connie had kept Jim’s letter? Give reasons for your answer.,"Connie had kept Jim’s last letter till January 25, 1915. The letter was dated Dec. 26, 1914. ",Factor "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.","Why do you think the desk had been sold, and when?","The desk must have been sold when Connie’s house had burnt. The table had been damaged by fire as well as water. ",Factor "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.",Why do Jim and Hans think that games or sports are good ways of resolving conflicts? Do you agree?,"Both Jim and Hans were soldiers. Both were warm hearted. They had seen the sufferings of war. So it was natural for them to hate war. They favoured a peaceful solution to settle disputes. Games or sports, they said, were good ways of resolving conflicts. I also quite agree with them. ",Factor "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.","Do you think the soldiers of the two armies are like each other, or different from each other? Find evidence from the story to support your answer.","All human beings are alike in many ways. They love peace and hate war. They want to live together. Examples from the story: “Then they were calling out to us from a cross no man’s land. “Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas! “When we had got ",Boolean "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.",Mention the various ways in which the British and the German soldiers become friends and find things in common at Christmas.,"The British and the German soldiers belonged to different camps. They were enemies in war time. But after all they were human beings and therefore they had similar feelings. They shared the festive spirit of the Christmas. They got over hatred and played games, feasted and drank like good friends. Both hated war. Both were anxious to go back to their families at the end of war. ",Unknown "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.",What is Connie’s Christmas present? Why is it the best Christmas present in the world?,"Connie thought that Jim had come back home from war. She mistook the author for Jim. She had been waiting for her husband Jim. So the coming home of Jim was the best Christmas present in the world for her. ",Factor "I spotted it in a junk shop in Bridport, a roll-top desk. The man said it was early nineteenth century, and oak. I had wanted one, but they were far too expensive. This one was in a bad condition, the roll-top in several pieces, one leg clumsily mended, scorch marks all down one side. It was going for very little money. I thought I could restore it. It would be a risk, a challenge, but I had to have it. I paid the man and brought it back to my workroom at the back of the garage. I began work on it on Christmas Eve. I removed the roll-top completely and pulled out the drawers. The veneer had lifted almost everywhere it looked like water damage to me. Both fire and water had clearly taken their toll on this desk. The last drawer was stuck fast. I tried all I could to ease it out gently. In the end I used brute force. I struck it sharply with the side of my fist and the drawer flew open to reveal a shallow space underneath, a secret drawer. There was something in there. I reached in and took out a small black tin box. Sello-taped to the top of it was a piece of lined notepaper, and written on it in shaky handwriting: ""Jim's last letter, received January 25, 1915. To be buried with me when the time comes."" I knew as I did it that it was wrong of me to open the box, but curiosity got the better of my scruples. It usually does. Inside the box there was an envelope. The address read: ""Mrs Jim Macpherson, 12 Copper Beeches, Bridport, Dorset."" I took out the letter and unfolded it. It was written in pencil and dated at the top ""December 26, 1914"". II Dearest Connie, I write to you in a much happier frame of mind because something wonderful has just happened that I must tell you about at once. We were all standing to in our trenches yesterday morning, Christmas morning. It was crisp and quiet all about, as beautiful a morning as I've ever seen, as cold and frosty as a Christmas morning should be. I should like to be able to tell you that we began it. But the truth, I'm ashamed to say, is that Fritz began it. First someone saw a white flag waving from the trenches opposite. Then they were calling out to us from across no man's land, ""Happy Christmas, Tommy! Happy Christmas!"" When we had got over the surprise, some of us shouted back, ""Same to you, Fritz! Same to you!"" I thought that would be that. We all did. But then suddenly one of them was up there in his grey greatcoat and waving a white flag. ""Don't shoot, lads!"" someone shouted. And no one did. Then there was another Fritz up on the parapet, and another. ""Keep your heads down,"" I told the men, ""it's a trick."" But it wasn't.","Do you think the title of the story is suitable for it? Can you think of any other title(s)? ","Decidedly the title of the story is most suitable. For the old Connie, no other present could have given her such joy as the coming home of Jim, her husband. Her presumption might be wrong, but she got the greatest happiness of her life. Since the story revolves around Christmas, the alternate title of the story could be War and Peace’ or ‘Christmas Gift’. But neither can be a match to the present title. ",Boolean Context 2,Question,Answer,Unknown "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown","Ignesious lost his wife, two children, his father-in-law, and his brother-in-law in the tsunami.",TRUE,Unknown "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown",Sanjeev made it to safety after the tsunami.,FALSE,Unknown "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown",Meghna was saved by a relief helicopter.,FALSE,Unknown "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown",Almas’s father realised that a tsunami was going to hit the island.,TRUE,Unknown "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown",Her mother and aunts were washed away with the tree that they were holding on to.,TRUE,Unknown "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown",Why did Tilly’s family come to Thailand?,Tilly’s family had come to Thailand to celebrate Christmas.,Factor "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown",What were the warning signs that both Tilly and her mother saw?,Both saw the sea rise and it started to foam and form whirlpools.,Reasoning "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown",Do you think Tilly’s mother was alarmed by them?,"No, Tilly’s mother was not alarmed by them.",Boolean "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown",Where had Tilly seen the sea behaving in the same strange fashion?,Tilly had seen the strange sea behaviour in a video.,Unknown "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown",Where did the Smith family and the others on the beach go to escape; from the tsunami?,They went to the third floor of the hotel and were saved.,Unknown "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown",How do you think her geography teacher felt when he heard about what Tilly had done in Phuket?,She felt very pleased and satisfied.,Reasoning "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown","In the Tsunami 150,000 people died. How many animals died?",Very few animals died.,Reasoning "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown",How many people and animals died in Yala National Park?,Sixty visitors and two animals.,Reasoning "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown",What do people say about the elephants of Yala National Park?,People say that the elephants ran from the beach an hour before the Tsunami hit the coast.,Reasoning "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown",What did the dogs in Galle do?,The dogs in Galle refused to go to the beach for their daily exercise.,Reasoning "**Part I** These stories are all from the Andaman and Nicobar archipelago. Ignesious was the manager of a cooperative society in Katchall. His wife woke him up at 6 a.m. because she felt an earthquake. Ignesious carefully took his television set off its table and put it down on the ground so that it would not fall and break. Then the family rushed out of the house. When the tremors stopped, they saw the sea rising. In the chaos and confusion, two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mothers father and mothers brother, and rushed in the opposite direction. He never saw them again. His wife was also swept away. Only the three other children who came with him were saved. A tsunami is a very large and powerful wave caused by earthquakes under the sea. On 26 December 2004, a tsunami hit Thailand and parts of India such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and the Tamil Nadu coast. Here are some stories of courage and survival. Did animals sense that a tsunami was coming? Some stories suggest that they did. Sanjeev was a policeman, serving in the Katchall island of the Nicobar group of islands. He somehow managed to save himself, his wife, and his baby daughter from the waves. But then he heard cries for help from the wife of John, the guesthouse cook. Sanjeev jumped into the water to rescue her, but they were both swept away. Thirteen-year-old Meghna was swept away along with her parents and seventy-seven other people. She spent two days floating in the sea, holding on to a wooden door. Eleven times she saw relief helicopters overhead, but they did not see her. She was brought to the shore by a wave and was found walking on the seashore in a daze. Almas Javed was ten years old. She was a student of Carmel Convent in Port Blair where her father had a petrol pump. Her mother Rahilas home was in Nancowry island. The family had gone there to celebrate Christmas. When the tremors came early in the morning, the family was sleeping. Almass father saw the sea water recede. He understood that the water would come rushing back with great force. He woke everyone up and tried to rush them to a safer place. As they ran, her grandfather was hit on the head by something and he fell down. Her father rushed to help him. Then came the first giant wave that swept both of them away. Almass mother and aunts stood clinging to the leaves of a coconut tree, calling out to her. A wave uprooted the tree, and they too were washed away. Almas saw a log of wood floating. She climbed on to it. Then she fainted. When she woke up, she was in a hospital in Kamorta. From there she was brought to Port Blair. The little girl does not want to talk about the incident with anyone. She is still traumatized. **Part II** Tilly Smith (a British school girl) was able to save many lives when the tsunami struck Phuket beach in Thailand. Now here is a story from Thailand. The Smith family from South-East England were celebrating Christmas at a beach resort in southern Thailand. Tilly Smith was a ten-year-old schoolgirl; her sister was seven years old. Their parents were Penny and Colin Smith. It was 26 December 2004. Deadly tsunami waves were already on their way. They had been triggered by a massive earthquake off northern Sumatra earlier that morning. The water was swelling and kept coming in, Penny Smith remembered. The beach was getting smaller and smaller. I didnt know what was happening. But Tilly Smith sensed that something was wrong. Her mind kept going back to a geography lesson she had taken in England just two weeks before she flew out to Thailand with her family. Tilly saw the sea slowly rise, and start to foam, bubble, and form whirlpools. She remembered that she had seen this in class in a video of a tsunami that had hit the Hawaiian islands in 1946. Her geography teacher had shown her class the video, and told them that tsunamis can be caused by earthquakes, volcanoes, and landslides. Tilly started to scream at her family to get off the beach. She talked about an earthquake under the sea. She got more and more hysterical, said her mother Penny. I didnt know what a tsunami was. But seeing my daughter so frightened, I thought something serious must be going on. Tillys parents took her and her sister away from the beach, to the swimming pool at the hotel. A number of other tourists also left the beach with them. Then it was as if the entire sea had come out after them. I was screaming, Run! The family took refuge in the third floor of the hotel. The building withstood the surge of three tsunami waves. If they had stayed on the beach, they would not have been alive. The Smiths later met other tourists who had lost entire families. Thanks to Tilly and her geography lesson, they had been forewarned. Tilly went back to her school in England and told her classmates her terrifying tale. **Part III** Before the giant waves slammed into the coast in India and Sri Lanka, wild and domestic animals seemed to know what was about to happen. They fled to safety. According to eyewitness accounts, elephants screamed and ran for higher ground; dogs refused to go outdoors; flamingoes abandoned their low-lying breeding areas; and zoo animals rushed into their shelters and could not be enticed to come back out. Many people believe that animals possess a sixth sense and know when the earth is going to shake. Some experts believe that animals more acute hearing helps them to hear or feel the earths vibration. They can sense an approaching disaster long before humans realize whats going on. We cannot be sure whether animals have a sixth sense or not. But the fact is that the giant waves that rolled through the Indian Ocean killed more than 150,000 people in a dozen countries; but not many animals have been reported dead. Along Indias Cuddalore coast, where thousands of people perished, buffaloes, goats, and dogs were found unharmed. The Yala National Park in Sri Lanka is home to a variety of animals including elephants, leopards, and 130 species of birds. Sixty visitors were washed away from the Patanangala beach inside the park; but no animal carcasses were found, except for two water buffaloes. About an hour before the tsunami hit, people at Yala National Park had observed three elephants running away from the Patanangala beach. A Sri Lankan gentleman who lives on the coast near Galle said his two dogs would not go for their daily run on the beach. They are usually excited to go on this outing, he said. But on that day they refused to go, and most probably saved his life. **Poem: Geography Lesson** When the jet sprang into the sky, it was clear why the city had developed the way it had, seeing it scaled six inches to the mile. There seemed an inevitability about what on ground had looked haphazard, unplanned and without style When the jet sprang into the sky. When the jet reached ten thousand feet, it was clear why the country had cities where the rivers ran and why the valleys were populated. The logic of geography that land and water attracted man was clearly delineated When the jet reached ten thousand feet. When the jet rose six miles high, it was clear the earth was round and that it had more sea than land. **Poem: Betty at the Party** When I was at the party, Said Betty, aged just four, A little girl fell off her chair Right down upon the floor; And all the other little girls Began to laugh, but me I didnt laugh a single bit, Said Betty seriously. Why not? her mother asked her, Full of delight to find That Betty bless her little heart Had been so sweetly kind. Why didnt you laugh, my darling? Or dont you like to tell? I didnt laugh, said Betty, Because it was I that fell. Unknown","When he felt the earthquake, do you think Ignesious immediately worried about a Tsunami? Give reasons for your answer. Which sentence in the text tells you that the Ignesious family did not have any time to discuss and plan their course of action after the tsunami struck?","No, Ignesious did not think about the tsunami. He thought that it was just an earthquake. So he took the television off the table and put it on the ground. His family did not have time to discuss and plan their course of action. The following sentence tells about the chaos and confusion. “…two of his children caught hold of the hands of their mother’s father and mother’s brother, and rushed in the opposite direction.” ",Factor ,,,Unknown Context 3,Question,Answer,Unknown "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.",Look at picture 1 and recall the opening lines of the original song in Hindi. Who is the singer? Who else do you see in this picture?,"The opening lines of the Hindi Song are “Aye Mere Waten Ke Logon, Turn Khub Logo Nara: Ye Shubh Din Hai Hum Sab Ka Lehralo Tiranga Pyara, Par Mat Bhulo Seema Par Veron Ne Hain Pran Gawayen.” It was sung by Lata Mangeskar. We see Pt. Jawaharlal Nehru, Lai Bahadur Shastri and Mrs. Indira Gandhi in this picture.",Reasoning "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.",In picture 2 what do you understand by the Company’s ‘superior weapons?,"The East India Company conquered India by using their superior weapons, the guns and diplomacy.",Reasoning "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.",Who is an artisan? Why do you think the artisans suffered? (Picture 3),"An artisan is a craftsman, skilled in some trade. They suffered because the goods that they produced lost demand in the Indian market.",Factor "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.","Which picture, according to you, reveals the first sparks of the fire of revolt?",Picture 7 reveals the first spark of the fire of revolt.,Unknown "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.",Do you think the Indian princes were short-sighted in their approach to the events of 1757?,"Do you think the Indian princes were short-sighted in their approach to the events of 1757? ",Boolean "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.",How did the East India Company subdue the Indian Princes?,"The East India company spread their wings in India to promote their trade. They supported one Indian Prince to finish the other. As a result power passed onto their hands. ",Reasoning "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.",Quote the words used by Ram Mohan Roy to say that every religion teaches the same principles.,"The words of Ram Mohan Roy spoken to his wife were: “Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same.” ",Unknown "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.","In what ways did the British officers exploit Indians? ","The British rulers passed a resolution under which an Indian could be sent to jail without trial in a court. The goods manufactured in England were exempted from custom duty. The officers prospered on the company’s loot and their private business flourished. ",Reasoning "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.",The ruler who fought pitched battles against the British and died fighting.,Tipu Sultan of Mysore.,Reasoning "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.",The person who wanted to reform the society.,Raja Ram Mohan Roy of Bengal.,Reasoning "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.",The person who recommended the introduction of English education in India.,Lord Mecaulay,Reasoning "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.",Two popular leaders who led the revolt (choices may vary.),"Nana Sahib Peshwa, Kunwar Singh, Begum Hazrat Mahal.",Reasoning "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.",Two examples of social practices prevailing then.,Untouchability and child marriage.,Unknown "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.",Two oppressive policies of the British.,"The British masters allowed imports in India tax free. They ruined Indian cottage industries,",Unknown "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.",Two ways in which common people suffered.,The farmers were taxed heavily and the thumbs of skilled workers were cut.,Unknown "At a function in Delhi Oh my countrymen! Let your eyes fill with tears, as you recall the sacrifices of Indias martyrs. The Martyrs With its superior weapons, the British East India Company was extending its power in 18th century India. INDIA 1765 Indian Princes British Territory Indian princes were short-sighted. That upstart Rajah Bah Call the English merchants. They will help me to defeat him. The people had no peace due to such constant fights. A far-seeing ruler like the brave Tipu of Mysore fought the British till he died fighting! The rivalries helped the East India Company and it could easily subdue Indian princes one by one. Thank God, there is peace in the country now No more wars and no looting by thugs! It is God who sent the British Our destiny is linked with them! How did Indians react to these conquests? The Companys conquests (1757-1849) The white man has killed or dethroned our kings. Some kings were not good, but after all, they were of this land. Now we have become slaves of foreigners! Glimpses of the Past 37 Religious leaders preached ideas like untouchability and child marriage. The truth was that Indians had lost self-respect. The British scorned them. Being merchants, the British wanted quick profits, their heavy taxes forced farmers to abandon their fields. All the misery in the world is due to women. But your men are taking all my crop! You are still in arrears. If you dont pay next week. I will send you to jail. The natives are unworthy of trust, incapable of honesty True, your honour, but I am honest. Still, the British invented other methods which gave them more profits. Inevitably famines followed. Between 1822 and 1836 fifteen lakh Indians died of starvation. The British policies ruined the expert artisans and their business. A good idea! The goods manufactured in England should not have any import duty when brought into India. The East India Companys laws began to cripple Indian industries. British Rule (1765-1836) Anyone who crosses the seas loses his religion. Ram Mohan Roy (1772-1833) Ram Mohan Roy, a learned man from Bengal, understood what was wrong with the country. Let us not despise ourselves, our ancient culture is great. And we are capable of greater achievements. We must first reform our society. Superstitions have been ruining us. He told his wife Uma Cows are of different colours, but the colour of their milk is the same. Different teachers have different opinions but the essence of every religion is the same. He was attracted by science and modern knowledge. Knowledge should be practical and scientific. He crossed the seas and went to England to see what made the British powerful. There he told them We accept you as rulers, and you must accept us as subjects. But you must remember the responsibility a ruler owes to his subjects. He started newspapers but the suspicious British stopped them in 1823. Oppression (1765-1835) But the British continued to oppress Indians. In 1818, they had passed Regulation III. Under it, an Indian could be jailed without trial in a court. All the time British officers in India drew big salaries and also made fortunes in private business. By 1829, Britain was exporting British goods worth seven crore rupees to India. The British prospered on the Companys loot while Indian industries began to die. Governor-General Bentinck reported back home The bones of cotton weavers are bleaching the plains of India. Dissatisfaction (1835-56) We should teach the natives through the English language. I agree. English education produced clerks to whom the British gave petty jobs under them. Incidentally, it also produced a new generation of intellectuals. We must educate our brothers. And try to improve their material conditions. For that we must convey our grievances to the British Parliament. By 1856, the British had conquered the whole of India. Our kings have become puppets, and we have lost our old jobs. They cared little about the needs of Indians. And lands. They are converting our brothers! You only talk! Do something to drive them out! States British area The Sparks (1855-57) Taxes continued to ruin the peasants. In Bengal, the Santhals who had lost their lands under new land rules, became desperate. In 1855, they rose in rebellion and massacred Europeans and their supporters alike. Discontent was brewing in the East India Companys army too. The white soldier gets huge pay, mansions to live in, servants. While we get a pittance and slow promotions! The Angrez asks us to cross the sea which is against our religion. Who is the topiwala to abolish our age-old customs? We must drive out the Angrez. Thousands of other sepoys revolted. They were stripped of their uniforms, humiliated and put in irons. Sepoy Mangal Pande attacked the adjutant of his regiment and was executed. Few Englishmen had cared to understand Indian customs or the peoples mind. The white man has deceived us too! Soon, chapaties were sent from village to village to tell the people that their emperor would want their services. Similarly lotus flowers circulated among Indian soldiers. Death to the foreigner! Yes, all my village men will be ready. The masses gave all help and shelter to the patriots. Revolt (1857) The sepoys marched to Delhi. Long live our Emperor Bahadur Shah! The rebellion spread wider. Many landlords had lost their lands because of the British policies, and they were sore. The white mans rule must end! Yes, we will help you. The Fight for Freedom (1857) Many former rulers like Begum Hazrat Mahal of Lucknow were bitter. The white man has taken away my kingdom! Popular leaders like Maulvi Ahmedulla of Faizabad told the people Rise, brothers, rise! The Angrez is ruining our land! They joined the upsurge against the foreigner. Azimulla Khan told Tatya Tope We should have Peshwa Nana Saheb as our leader in this war of independence Eighty-year old Kunwar Singh of Bihar received a bullet in his wrist. Mother Ganga! This is my last offering to you! The patriots pounced upon the British and fought pitched battles all over North India. The people rose everywhere, in Bareilly, Kanpur and Allahabad.",Four reasons for the discontent that led to the 1857 War of Independence.,"(a) Santhals who lost their land became desparate and they revolted. (b) The sepoys in the English army were paid much less than the white soldiers. So they were discontented and angry. (c) The Brahmins were furious when they came to know that the bullets they had to bite, contained cow fat and pig-fat. (d) Many landlords were sore because the British policies deprived them of their land and estate.",Factor ,,,Unknown Context 4,Question,Answer,Unknown " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.",Why did the man stare at Bepin Babu’s is disbelief?,"The man, Parimal Ghose, was taken aback when Bepin failed to recognise him. He didn’t believe that Bepin had a lapse of memory.",Factor " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.",Where did Bepin Babu say he went in October’ 58?,Bepin Babu said that in October 58 he was in Kanpur.,Unknown " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.",Mention any three (or more) things that Parimal Ghose knew about Bepin Babu.,"Parimal Ghose knew that Bepin Babu’s wife was dead, and his only brother had died in the same year in a Ranchi lunatic asylum. He also knew that Bepin Babu had no children and he was a lover of books.",Unknown " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.",Why did Bepin Babu worry about what Parimal Ghose had said?,Bepin Babu was taken aback to hear the intimate details about his life from Parimal Ghose. There seeded no reason why he should tell a lie. He wondered if he really had forgotten about his visit to Ranchi.,Factor " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.",How did he try to decide who was right— his memory or Parimal Ghose?,"In order to resolve the puzzle about his visit to Ranchi, Bepin Babu decided to contact Dinesh Mukerji. Parimal had said that Mukerji was also in Ranchi at that time",Reasoning " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.",Why did Bepin Babu hesitate to visit Mr. Mukerji? Why did he finally decide to phone him?,"Bepin Babu hesitated to visit Mr. Mukerji thinking that it would be ridiculous if he had really visited Ranchi. Mukerji would think Bepin Babu had gone mad. Hence, Bepin babu finally decided to phone him.",Factor " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.","What did Mr. Mukerji say? Did it comfort Bepin Babu, or add to his worries?",Mukerji didn’t reply clearly. But he said that he had been to Ranchi twice. He was not sure about the trip. Bepin Babu exactly wanted to know. It made Bepin Babu more puzzled. He lost his appetite.,Reasoning " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.",Who was Chunilal? What did he want from Bepin Babu?,Chunilal was an old friend of Bepin Babu. He wanted a favour from Bepin Babu in his job.,Reasoning " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.",Why was Dr. Chanda puzzled? What was unusual about Bepin Babu’s loss of memory?,Paresh Chanda was a young physician. He had never dealt a case of memory loss. So he was puzzled. He gave a suggestion to Bepin Babu to visit Ranchi again.,Factor " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.",Had Bepin Babu really lost his memory and forgotten all about a trip to Ranchi?,Perhaps not. He finally recollected his memory and admitted that he had visited. Ranchi in 1958.,Boolean " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.",Why do you think Chunilal did what he did? Chunilal says he has no money; what is it that he does have?,"Chunilal wanted some money from Bepin Babu, his old friend. So he went to him for help. He assured Bepin that the term of his fortune would be back again. Chunilal had no money but he had mind and wit.",Factor " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.",The author describes Bepin Babu as a serious and hardworking man. What evi­dence can you find in the story to support this?,"Bepin Babu was a serious, honest and hardworking fellow. He went to office regularly. He was doing a responsible job. He was not a good mixer. Being serious minded, he didn’t waste time in idle chat. ",Reasoning " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.","Why did Bepin Babu change his mind about meeting Chunilal? What was the result of this meeting? ","Bepin Babu first refused to meet Chunilal. He was in no mood to help Chunilal out of his trouble. But he changed his mind soon. He thought Chunilal might remember something about his trip to Ranchi in 1958. ",Factor " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.",Bepin Babu lost consciousness at Hundroo Falls. What do you think was the reason for this?,"Bepin Babu might have slipped near Hundroo Falls that made him unconscious. ",Factor " Every Monday, on his way back from work, Bepin Choudhury would drop in at Kalicharan's in New Market to buy books. Crime stories, ghost stories and thrillers. He had to buy at least five at a time to last him through the week. He lived alone, was not a good mixer, had few friends, and didnt like spending time in idle chat. Today, at Kalicharans, Bepin Babu had the feeling that someone was observing him from close quarters. He turned round and found himself looking at a round faced, meek looking man who now broke into a smile. I dont suppose you recognise me. Have we met before? asked Bepin Babu. The man looked greatly surprised. We met every day for a whole week. I arranged for a car to take you to the Hudroo falls. In 1958. In Ranchi. My name is Parimal Ghose. Ranchi? Now Bepin Babu realised that it was not he but this man who was making a mistake. Bepin Babu had never been to Ranchi. He had been at the point of going several times, but never made it. He smiled and said, Do you know who I am? The man raised his eyebrows, bit his tongue and said, Do I know you? Who doesnt know Bepin Choudhury? Bepin Babu now turned towards the bookshelves and said, Still youre making a mistake. One often does. Ive never been to Ranchi. The man now laughed aloud. What are you saying, Mr Choudhury? You had a fall in Hudroo and cut your right knee. I brought you iodine. I had fixed up a car for you to go to Netarhat the next day, but you couldnt because of the pain in the knee. Cant you recall anything? Someone else you know was also in Ranchi at that time. Mr Dinesh Mukerji. You stayed in a bungalow. You said you didnt like hotel food and would prefer to have your meals cooked by a bawarchi. Mr Mukerji stayed with his sister. You had a big argument about the moon landing, remember? Ill tell you more: you always carried a bag with your books in it on your sight-seeing trips. Am I right or not? Bepin Babu spoke quietly, his eyes still on the books. Which month in 58 are you talking about? The man said, October. No, sir, said Bepin Babu. I spent Puja in 58 with a friend in Kanpur. Youre making a mistake. Good day. But the man didnt go, nor did he stop talking. Very strange. One evening I had tea with you in a veranda of your bungalow. You spoke about your family. You said you had no children, and that you had lost your wife ten years ago. Your only brother had died insane, which is why you didnt want to visit the mental hospital in Ranchi... When Bepin Babu had paid for the books and was leaving the shop, the man was still looking at him in utter disbelief. II Bepin Babus car was safely parked in Bertram Street by the Lighthouse Cinema. He told the driver as he got into the car, Just drive by the Ganga, will you, Sitaram. Driving up the Strand Road, Bepin Babu regretted having paid so much attention to the intruder. He had never been to Ranchi no question about it. It was inconceivable that he should forget such an incident which took place only six or seven years ago. He had an excellent memory. Unless Bepin Babus head reeled. Was he losing his mind? But how could that be? He was working daily in his office. It was a big firm, and he was doing a responsible job. He wasnt aware of anything ever going seriously wrong. Only today he spoke for half an hour at an important meeting. And yet... And yet the man knew a great deal about him. How? He even seemed to know some intimate details. The bag of books, wifes death, brothers insanity... The only mistake was about his having gone to Ranchi. Not a mistake; a deliberate lie. In 58, during the Pujas, he was in Kanpur at his friend Haridas Bagchis place. All Bepin Babu had to do was write to no, there was no way of writing to Haridas. Bepin Babu suddenly remembered that Haridas had left with his wife for Japan some weeks ago, and he didnt have his address. But where was the need for proof? He himself was fully aware that he hadnt been to Ranchi and that was that. The river breeze was bracing, and yet a slight discomfort lingered in Bepin Babus mind. Around Hastings, Bepin Babu decided to roll up his trousers and take a look at his right knee. There was the mark of an old inch-long cut. It was impossible to tell when the injury had occurred. Had he never had a fall as a boy and cut his knee? He tried to recall such an incident, but couldnt. Then Bepin Babu suddenly thought of Dinesh Mukerji. The man had said that Dinesh was in Ranchi at the same time. The best thing surely would be to ask him. He lived quite near in Beninandan Street. What about going right now? But then, if he had really never been to Ranchi, what would Dinesh think if Bepin Babu asked for a confirmation? He would probably conclude Bepin Babu was going nuts. No; it would be ridiculous to ask him. And he knew how ruthless Dineshs sarcasm could be. Sipping a cold drink in his air-conditioned living room, Bepin Babu felt at ease again. Such a nuisance Just because they have nothing else to do, they go about getting into other peoples hair. After dinner, snuggling in bed with one of the new thrillers, Bepin Babu forgot all about the man in New Market. Next day, in the office, Bepin Babu noticed that with every passing hour, the previous days encounter was occupying more and more of his mind. If the man knew so much about Bepin Babu, how could he make such a mistake about the Ranchi trip? Just before lunch Bepin Babu decided to ring up Dinesh Mukerji. It was better to settle the question over the phone; at least the embarrassment on his face wouldnt show. Two-Three-Five-Six-One-Six. Bepin Babu dialled the number. Hallo. Is that Dinesh? This is Bepin here. Well, well whats the news? I just wanted to find out if you recalled an incident which took place in 58. 58? What incident? Were you in Calcutta right through that year? Thats the first thing Ive got to know. Wait just a minute... 58... just let me check in my diary. For a minute there was silence. Bepin Babu could feel that his heartbeat had gone up. He was sweating a little. Hallo. Yes. I've got it. Id been out twice. Where? Once in February nearby to Krishnanagar to a nephews wedding. And then... but youd know about this one. The trip to Ranchi. You were there too. Thats all. But whats all this sleuthing about? No. I just wanted to anyway, thanks. Bepin Babu slammed the receiver down and gripped his head with his hands. He felt his head swimming. A chill seemed to spread over his body. There were sandwiches in his tiffin box, but he didnt eat them. He had lost his appetite.",How do you think Bepin Babu reacted when he found out that Chunilal had tricked him?,"Bepin Babu’s first reaction was that he regretted having refused to help Chunilal. He saw through Chunilal’s trick to test him, and learnt a lesson. ",Reasoning ,,,Unknown Context 5,Question,Answer,Unknown " **The Summit Within** Major H.P.S. Ahluwalia was a member of the first successful Indian expedition to Mount Everest in 1965. Of all the emotions which surged through me as I stood on the summit of Everest, looking over miles of panorama below us, the dominant one I think was humility. The physical in me seemed to say, Thank God, its all over! However, instead of being jubilant, there was a tinge of sadness. Was it because I had already done the ultimate in climbing and there would be nothing higher to climb and all roads hereafter would lead down? By climbing the summit of Everest you are overwhelmed by a deep sense of joy and thankfulness. It is a joy which lasts a lifetime. The experience changes you completely. The man who has been to the mountains is never the same again. As I look back at life after climbing Everest I cannot help remarking about the other summit the summit of the mind no less formidable and no easier to climb. Even when getting down from the summit, once the physical exhaustion had gone, I began asking myself the question why I had climbed Everest. Why did the act of reaching the summit have such a hold on my imagination? It was already a thing of the past, something done yesterday. With every passing day, it would become more remote. And then what would remain? Would my memories fade slowly away? All these thoughts led me to question myself as to why people climb mountains. It is not easy to answer the question. The simplest answer would be, as others have said, Because it is there. It presents great difficulties. Man takes delight in overcoming obstacles. The obstacles in climbing a mountain are physical. A climb to a summit means endurance, persistence and will power. The demonstration of these physical qualities is no doubt exhilarating, as it was for me also. I have a more personal answer to the question. From my childhood I have been attracted by mountains. I had been miserable, lost, when away from mountains, in the plains. Mountains are nature at its best. Their beauty and majesty pose a great challenge, and like many, I believe that mountains are a means of communion with God. Once having granted this, the question remains: Why Everest? Because it is the highest, the mightiest and has defied many previous attempts. It takes the last ounce of ones energy. It is a brutal struggle with rock and ice. Once taken up, it cannot be given up halfway even when ones life is at stake. The passage back is as difficult as the passage onwards. And then, when the summit is climbed, there is the exhilaration, the joy of having done something, the sense of a battle fought and won. There is a feeling of victory and of happiness. Glimpsing a peak in the distance, I get transported to another world. I experience a change within myself which can only be called mystical. By its beauty, aloofness, might, ruggedness, and the difficulties encountered on the way, the peak draws me to it as Everest did. It is a challenge that is difficult to resist. Looking back I find that I have not yet fully explained why I climbed Everest. It is like answering a question why you breathe. Why do you help your neighbour? Why do you want to do good acts? There is no final answer possible. And then there is the fact that Everest is not just a physical climb. The man who has been to the mountain-top becomes conscious in a special manner of his own smallness in this large universe. The physical conquest of a mountain is only one part of the achievement. There is more to it than that. It is followed by a sense of fulfilment. There is the satisfaction of a deep urge to rise above ones surroundings. It is the eternal love for adventure in man. The experience is not merely physical. It is emotional. It is spiritual. Consider a typical climb, towards the summit on the last heights. You are sharing a rope with another climber. You firm in. He cuts the steps in the hard ice. Then he belays and you inch your way up. The climb is grim. You strain every nerve as you take every step. Famous climbers have left records of the help given by others. They have also recorded how they needed just that help. Else they might have given up. Breathing is difficult. You curse yourself for having let yourself in for this. You wonder why you ever undertook the ascent. There are moments when you feel like going back. It would be sheer relief to go down, instead of up. But almost at once you snap out of that mood. There is something in you that does not let you give up the struggle. And you go on. Your companion keeps up with you. Just another fifty feet. Or a hundred, maybe. You ask yourself: Is there no end? You look at your companion and he looks at you. You draw inspiration from each other. And then, without first being aware of it, you are at the summit. Looking round from the summit you tell yourself that it was worthwhile. Other silvery peaks appear through the clouds. If you are lucky the sun may be on them. The surrounding peaks look like a jewelled necklace around the neck of your summit. Below, you see vast valleys sloping into the distance. It is an ennobling, enriching experience to just look down from the summit of a mountain. You bow down and make your obeisance to whichever God you worship. I left on Everest a picture of Guru Nanak. Rawat left a picture of Goddess Durga. Phu Dorji left a relic of the Buddha. Edmund Hillary had buried a cross under a cairn (a heap of rocks and stones) in the snow. These are not symbols of conquest but of reverence. The experience of having climbed to the summit changes you completely. There is another summit. It is within yourself. It is in your own mind. Each man carries within himself his own mountain peak. He must climb it to reach to a fuller knowledge of himself. It is fearful, and unscalable. It cannot be climbed by anyone else. You yourself have to do it. The physical act of climbing to the summit of a mountain outside is akin to the act of climbing the mountain within. The effects of both the climbs are the same. Whether the mountain you climb is physical or emotional and spiritual, the climb will certainly change you. It teaches you much about the world and about yourself. I venture to think that my experience as an Everester has provided me with the inspiration to face lifes ordeals resolutely. Climbing the mountain was a worthwhile experience. The conquest of the internal summit is equally worthwhile. The internal summits are, perhaps, higher than Everest. H.P.S. Ahluwalia **The School Boy** I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me. O what sweet company. But to go to school in a summer morn, O it drives all joy away; Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day, In sighing and dismay. Ah then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour. Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learnings bower, Worn thr with the dreary shower. How can the bird that is born for joy, Sit in a cage and sing. How can a child when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring. O Father and Mother, if buds are nipd, And blossoms blown away, And if the tender plants are stripd Of their joy in the springing day, By sorrow and cares dismay, How shall the summer arise in joy, Or the summer fruits appear? WILLIAM BLAKE",(i) What are the three qualities that played a major role in the author’s climb?,"The three qualities that ensured the success of the author were ‘endurance, persistence and will power’.",Reasoning " **The Summit Within** Major H.P.S. Ahluwalia was a member of the first successful Indian expedition to Mount Everest in 1965. Of all the emotions which surged through me as I stood on the summit of Everest, looking over miles of panorama below us, the dominant one I think was humility. The physical in me seemed to say, Thank God, its all over! However, instead of being jubilant, there was a tinge of sadness. Was it because I had already done the ultimate in climbing and there would be nothing higher to climb and all roads hereafter would lead down? By climbing the summit of Everest you are overwhelmed by a deep sense of joy and thankfulness. It is a joy which lasts a lifetime. The experience changes you completely. The man who has been to the mountains is never the same again. As I look back at life after climbing Everest I cannot help remarking about the other summit the summit of the mind no less formidable and no easier to climb. Even when getting down from the summit, once the physical exhaustion had gone, I began asking myself the question why I had climbed Everest. Why did the act of reaching the summit have such a hold on my imagination? It was already a thing of the past, something done yesterday. With every passing day, it would become more remote. And then what would remain? Would my memories fade slowly away? All these thoughts led me to question myself as to why people climb mountains. It is not easy to answer the question. The simplest answer would be, as others have said, Because it is there. It presents great difficulties. Man takes delight in overcoming obstacles. The obstacles in climbing a mountain are physical. A climb to a summit means endurance, persistence and will power. The demonstration of these physical qualities is no doubt exhilarating, as it was for me also. I have a more personal answer to the question. From my childhood I have been attracted by mountains. I had been miserable, lost, when away from mountains, in the plains. Mountains are nature at its best. Their beauty and majesty pose a great challenge, and like many, I believe that mountains are a means of communion with God. Once having granted this, the question remains: Why Everest? Because it is the highest, the mightiest and has defied many previous attempts. It takes the last ounce of ones energy. It is a brutal struggle with rock and ice. Once taken up, it cannot be given up halfway even when ones life is at stake. The passage back is as difficult as the passage onwards. And then, when the summit is climbed, there is the exhilaration, the joy of having done something, the sense of a battle fought and won. There is a feeling of victory and of happiness. Glimpsing a peak in the distance, I get transported to another world. I experience a change within myself which can only be called mystical. By its beauty, aloofness, might, ruggedness, and the difficulties encountered on the way, the peak draws me to it as Everest did. It is a challenge that is difficult to resist. Looking back I find that I have not yet fully explained why I climbed Everest. It is like answering a question why you breathe. Why do you help your neighbour? Why do you want to do good acts? There is no final answer possible. And then there is the fact that Everest is not just a physical climb. The man who has been to the mountain-top becomes conscious in a special manner of his own smallness in this large universe. The physical conquest of a mountain is only one part of the achievement. There is more to it than that. It is followed by a sense of fulfilment. There is the satisfaction of a deep urge to rise above ones surroundings. It is the eternal love for adventure in man. The experience is not merely physical. It is emotional. It is spiritual. Consider a typical climb, towards the summit on the last heights. You are sharing a rope with another climber. You firm in. He cuts the steps in the hard ice. Then he belays and you inch your way up. The climb is grim. You strain every nerve as you take every step. Famous climbers have left records of the help given by others. They have also recorded how they needed just that help. Else they might have given up. Breathing is difficult. You curse yourself for having let yourself in for this. You wonder why you ever undertook the ascent. There are moments when you feel like going back. It would be sheer relief to go down, instead of up. But almost at once you snap out of that mood. There is something in you that does not let you give up the struggle. And you go on. Your companion keeps up with you. Just another fifty feet. Or a hundred, maybe. You ask yourself: Is there no end? You look at your companion and he looks at you. You draw inspiration from each other. And then, without first being aware of it, you are at the summit. Looking round from the summit you tell yourself that it was worthwhile. Other silvery peaks appear through the clouds. If you are lucky the sun may be on them. The surrounding peaks look like a jewelled necklace around the neck of your summit. Below, you see vast valleys sloping into the distance. It is an ennobling, enriching experience to just look down from the summit of a mountain. You bow down and make your obeisance to whichever God you worship. I left on Everest a picture of Guru Nanak. Rawat left a picture of Goddess Durga. Phu Dorji left a relic of the Buddha. Edmund Hillary had buried a cross under a cairn (a heap of rocks and stones) in the snow. These are not symbols of conquest but of reverence. The experience of having climbed to the summit changes you completely. There is another summit. It is within yourself. It is in your own mind. Each man carries within himself his own mountain peak. He must climb it to reach to a fuller knowledge of himself. It is fearful, and unscalable. It cannot be climbed by anyone else. You yourself have to do it. The physical act of climbing to the summit of a mountain outside is akin to the act of climbing the mountain within. The effects of both the climbs are the same. Whether the mountain you climb is physical or emotional and spiritual, the climb will certainly change you. It teaches you much about the world and about yourself. I venture to think that my experience as an Everester has provided me with the inspiration to face lifes ordeals resolutely. Climbing the mountain was a worthwhile experience. The conquest of the internal summit is equally worthwhile. The internal summits are, perhaps, higher than Everest. H.P.S. Ahluwalia **The School Boy** I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me. O what sweet company. But to go to school in a summer morn, O it drives all joy away; Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day, In sighing and dismay. Ah then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour. Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learnings bower, Worn thr with the dreary shower. How can the bird that is born for joy, Sit in a cage and sing. How can a child when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring. O Father and Mother, if buds are nipd, And blossoms blown away, And if the tender plants are stripd Of their joy in the springing day, By sorrow and cares dismay, How shall the summer arise in joy, Or the summer fruits appear? WILLIAM BLAKE","(ii) Why is adventure, which is risky, also pleasurable?",Mountain climbing is a great adventure but is also risky. It is a great challenge and a doing challenging job is in itself pleasurable. It gives immense joy to the doers.,Factor " **The Summit Within** Major H.P.S. Ahluwalia was a member of the first successful Indian expedition to Mount Everest in 1965. Of all the emotions which surged through me as I stood on the summit of Everest, looking over miles of panorama below us, the dominant one I think was humility. The physical in me seemed to say, Thank God, its all over! However, instead of being jubilant, there was a tinge of sadness. Was it because I had already done the ultimate in climbing and there would be nothing higher to climb and all roads hereafter would lead down? By climbing the summit of Everest you are overwhelmed by a deep sense of joy and thankfulness. It is a joy which lasts a lifetime. The experience changes you completely. The man who has been to the mountains is never the same again. As I look back at life after climbing Everest I cannot help remarking about the other summit the summit of the mind no less formidable and no easier to climb. Even when getting down from the summit, once the physical exhaustion had gone, I began asking myself the question why I had climbed Everest. Why did the act of reaching the summit have such a hold on my imagination? It was already a thing of the past, something done yesterday. With every passing day, it would become more remote. And then what would remain? Would my memories fade slowly away? All these thoughts led me to question myself as to why people climb mountains. It is not easy to answer the question. The simplest answer would be, as others have said, Because it is there. It presents great difficulties. Man takes delight in overcoming obstacles. The obstacles in climbing a mountain are physical. A climb to a summit means endurance, persistence and will power. The demonstration of these physical qualities is no doubt exhilarating, as it was for me also. I have a more personal answer to the question. From my childhood I have been attracted by mountains. I had been miserable, lost, when away from mountains, in the plains. Mountains are nature at its best. Their beauty and majesty pose a great challenge, and like many, I believe that mountains are a means of communion with God. Once having granted this, the question remains: Why Everest? Because it is the highest, the mightiest and has defied many previous attempts. It takes the last ounce of ones energy. It is a brutal struggle with rock and ice. Once taken up, it cannot be given up halfway even when ones life is at stake. The passage back is as difficult as the passage onwards. And then, when the summit is climbed, there is the exhilaration, the joy of having done something, the sense of a battle fought and won. There is a feeling of victory and of happiness. Glimpsing a peak in the distance, I get transported to another world. I experience a change within myself which can only be called mystical. By its beauty, aloofness, might, ruggedness, and the difficulties encountered on the way, the peak draws me to it as Everest did. It is a challenge that is difficult to resist. Looking back I find that I have not yet fully explained why I climbed Everest. It is like answering a question why you breathe. Why do you help your neighbour? Why do you want to do good acts? There is no final answer possible. And then there is the fact that Everest is not just a physical climb. The man who has been to the mountain-top becomes conscious in a special manner of his own smallness in this large universe. The physical conquest of a mountain is only one part of the achievement. There is more to it than that. It is followed by a sense of fulfilment. There is the satisfaction of a deep urge to rise above ones surroundings. It is the eternal love for adventure in man. The experience is not merely physical. It is emotional. It is spiritual. Consider a typical climb, towards the summit on the last heights. You are sharing a rope with another climber. You firm in. He cuts the steps in the hard ice. Then he belays and you inch your way up. The climb is grim. You strain every nerve as you take every step. Famous climbers have left records of the help given by others. They have also recorded how they needed just that help. Else they might have given up. Breathing is difficult. You curse yourself for having let yourself in for this. You wonder why you ever undertook the ascent. There are moments when you feel like going back. It would be sheer relief to go down, instead of up. But almost at once you snap out of that mood. There is something in you that does not let you give up the struggle. And you go on. Your companion keeps up with you. Just another fifty feet. Or a hundred, maybe. You ask yourself: Is there no end? You look at your companion and he looks at you. You draw inspiration from each other. And then, without first being aware of it, you are at the summit. Looking round from the summit you tell yourself that it was worthwhile. Other silvery peaks appear through the clouds. If you are lucky the sun may be on them. The surrounding peaks look like a jewelled necklace around the neck of your summit. Below, you see vast valleys sloping into the distance. It is an ennobling, enriching experience to just look down from the summit of a mountain. You bow down and make your obeisance to whichever God you worship. I left on Everest a picture of Guru Nanak. Rawat left a picture of Goddess Durga. Phu Dorji left a relic of the Buddha. Edmund Hillary had buried a cross under a cairn (a heap of rocks and stones) in the snow. These are not symbols of conquest but of reverence. The experience of having climbed to the summit changes you completely. There is another summit. It is within yourself. It is in your own mind. Each man carries within himself his own mountain peak. He must climb it to reach to a fuller knowledge of himself. It is fearful, and unscalable. It cannot be climbed by anyone else. You yourself have to do it. The physical act of climbing to the summit of a mountain outside is akin to the act of climbing the mountain within. The effects of both the climbs are the same. Whether the mountain you climb is physical or emotional and spiritual, the climb will certainly change you. It teaches you much about the world and about yourself. I venture to think that my experience as an Everester has provided me with the inspiration to face lifes ordeals resolutely. Climbing the mountain was a worthwhile experience. The conquest of the internal summit is equally worthwhile. The internal summits are, perhaps, higher than Everest. H.P.S. Ahluwalia **The School Boy** I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me. O what sweet company. But to go to school in a summer morn, O it drives all joy away; Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day, In sighing and dismay. Ah then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour. Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learnings bower, Worn thr with the dreary shower. How can the bird that is born for joy, Sit in a cage and sing. How can a child when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring. O Father and Mother, if buds are nipd, And blossoms blown away, And if the tender plants are stripd Of their joy in the springing day, By sorrow and cares dismay, How shall the summer arise in joy, Or the summer fruits appear? WILLIAM BLAKE",(iii) What was it about Mount Everest that the author found irresistible?,"Mount Everest attracted the author because it is the highest, the mightiest and has defied many previous attempts. It takes the last ounce of one’s energy.",Reasoning " **The Summit Within** Major H.P.S. Ahluwalia was a member of the first successful Indian expedition to Mount Everest in 1965. Of all the emotions which surged through me as I stood on the summit of Everest, looking over miles of panorama below us, the dominant one I think was humility. The physical in me seemed to say, Thank God, its all over! However, instead of being jubilant, there was a tinge of sadness. Was it because I had already done the ultimate in climbing and there would be nothing higher to climb and all roads hereafter would lead down? By climbing the summit of Everest you are overwhelmed by a deep sense of joy and thankfulness. It is a joy which lasts a lifetime. The experience changes you completely. The man who has been to the mountains is never the same again. As I look back at life after climbing Everest I cannot help remarking about the other summit the summit of the mind no less formidable and no easier to climb. Even when getting down from the summit, once the physical exhaustion had gone, I began asking myself the question why I had climbed Everest. Why did the act of reaching the summit have such a hold on my imagination? It was already a thing of the past, something done yesterday. With every passing day, it would become more remote. And then what would remain? Would my memories fade slowly away? All these thoughts led me to question myself as to why people climb mountains. It is not easy to answer the question. The simplest answer would be, as others have said, Because it is there. It presents great difficulties. Man takes delight in overcoming obstacles. The obstacles in climbing a mountain are physical. A climb to a summit means endurance, persistence and will power. The demonstration of these physical qualities is no doubt exhilarating, as it was for me also. I have a more personal answer to the question. From my childhood I have been attracted by mountains. I had been miserable, lost, when away from mountains, in the plains. Mountains are nature at its best. Their beauty and majesty pose a great challenge, and like many, I believe that mountains are a means of communion with God. Once having granted this, the question remains: Why Everest? Because it is the highest, the mightiest and has defied many previous attempts. It takes the last ounce of ones energy. It is a brutal struggle with rock and ice. Once taken up, it cannot be given up halfway even when ones life is at stake. The passage back is as difficult as the passage onwards. And then, when the summit is climbed, there is the exhilaration, the joy of having done something, the sense of a battle fought and won. There is a feeling of victory and of happiness. Glimpsing a peak in the distance, I get transported to another world. I experience a change within myself which can only be called mystical. By its beauty, aloofness, might, ruggedness, and the difficulties encountered on the way, the peak draws me to it as Everest did. It is a challenge that is difficult to resist. Looking back I find that I have not yet fully explained why I climbed Everest. It is like answering a question why you breathe. Why do you help your neighbour? Why do you want to do good acts? There is no final answer possible. And then there is the fact that Everest is not just a physical climb. The man who has been to the mountain-top becomes conscious in a special manner of his own smallness in this large universe. The physical conquest of a mountain is only one part of the achievement. There is more to it than that. It is followed by a sense of fulfilment. There is the satisfaction of a deep urge to rise above ones surroundings. It is the eternal love for adventure in man. The experience is not merely physical. It is emotional. It is spiritual. Consider a typical climb, towards the summit on the last heights. You are sharing a rope with another climber. You firm in. He cuts the steps in the hard ice. Then he belays and you inch your way up. The climb is grim. You strain every nerve as you take every step. Famous climbers have left records of the help given by others. They have also recorded how they needed just that help. Else they might have given up. Breathing is difficult. You curse yourself for having let yourself in for this. You wonder why you ever undertook the ascent. There are moments when you feel like going back. It would be sheer relief to go down, instead of up. But almost at once you snap out of that mood. There is something in you that does not let you give up the struggle. And you go on. Your companion keeps up with you. Just another fifty feet. Or a hundred, maybe. You ask yourself: Is there no end? You look at your companion and he looks at you. You draw inspiration from each other. And then, without first being aware of it, you are at the summit. Looking round from the summit you tell yourself that it was worthwhile. Other silvery peaks appear through the clouds. If you are lucky the sun may be on them. The surrounding peaks look like a jewelled necklace around the neck of your summit. Below, you see vast valleys sloping into the distance. It is an ennobling, enriching experience to just look down from the summit of a mountain. You bow down and make your obeisance to whichever God you worship. I left on Everest a picture of Guru Nanak. Rawat left a picture of Goddess Durga. Phu Dorji left a relic of the Buddha. Edmund Hillary had buried a cross under a cairn (a heap of rocks and stones) in the snow. These are not symbols of conquest but of reverence. The experience of having climbed to the summit changes you completely. There is another summit. It is within yourself. It is in your own mind. Each man carries within himself his own mountain peak. He must climb it to reach to a fuller knowledge of himself. It is fearful, and unscalable. It cannot be climbed by anyone else. You yourself have to do it. The physical act of climbing to the summit of a mountain outside is akin to the act of climbing the mountain within. The effects of both the climbs are the same. Whether the mountain you climb is physical or emotional and spiritual, the climb will certainly change you. It teaches you much about the world and about yourself. I venture to think that my experience as an Everester has provided me with the inspiration to face lifes ordeals resolutely. Climbing the mountain was a worthwhile experience. The conquest of the internal summit is equally worthwhile. The internal summits are, perhaps, higher than Everest. H.P.S. Ahluwalia **The School Boy** I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me. O what sweet company. But to go to school in a summer morn, O it drives all joy away; Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day, In sighing and dismay. Ah then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour. Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learnings bower, Worn thr with the dreary shower. How can the bird that is born for joy, Sit in a cage and sing. How can a child when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring. O Father and Mother, if buds are nipd, And blossoms blown away, And if the tender plants are stripd Of their joy in the springing day, By sorrow and cares dismay, How shall the summer arise in joy, Or the summer fruits appear? WILLIAM BLAKE","(iv) One does not do it (climb a high peak) for fame alone. What does one do it for, really?","Conquering summit is a great physical achievement. But more than that, it gives the climber the emotional and spiritual satisfaction. It satisfies man’s eternal love for adventure.",Reasoning " **The Summit Within** Major H.P.S. Ahluwalia was a member of the first successful Indian expedition to Mount Everest in 1965. Of all the emotions which surged through me as I stood on the summit of Everest, looking over miles of panorama below us, the dominant one I think was humility. The physical in me seemed to say, Thank God, its all over! However, instead of being jubilant, there was a tinge of sadness. Was it because I had already done the ultimate in climbing and there would be nothing higher to climb and all roads hereafter would lead down? By climbing the summit of Everest you are overwhelmed by a deep sense of joy and thankfulness. It is a joy which lasts a lifetime. The experience changes you completely. The man who has been to the mountains is never the same again. As I look back at life after climbing Everest I cannot help remarking about the other summit the summit of the mind no less formidable and no easier to climb. Even when getting down from the summit, once the physical exhaustion had gone, I began asking myself the question why I had climbed Everest. Why did the act of reaching the summit have such a hold on my imagination? It was already a thing of the past, something done yesterday. With every passing day, it would become more remote. And then what would remain? Would my memories fade slowly away? All these thoughts led me to question myself as to why people climb mountains. It is not easy to answer the question. The simplest answer would be, as others have said, Because it is there. It presents great difficulties. Man takes delight in overcoming obstacles. The obstacles in climbing a mountain are physical. A climb to a summit means endurance, persistence and will power. The demonstration of these physical qualities is no doubt exhilarating, as it was for me also. I have a more personal answer to the question. From my childhood I have been attracted by mountains. I had been miserable, lost, when away from mountains, in the plains. Mountains are nature at its best. Their beauty and majesty pose a great challenge, and like many, I believe that mountains are a means of communion with God. Once having granted this, the question remains: Why Everest? Because it is the highest, the mightiest and has defied many previous attempts. It takes the last ounce of ones energy. It is a brutal struggle with rock and ice. Once taken up, it cannot be given up halfway even when ones life is at stake. The passage back is as difficult as the passage onwards. And then, when the summit is climbed, there is the exhilaration, the joy of having done something, the sense of a battle fought and won. There is a feeling of victory and of happiness. Glimpsing a peak in the distance, I get transported to another world. I experience a change within myself which can only be called mystical. By its beauty, aloofness, might, ruggedness, and the difficulties encountered on the way, the peak draws me to it as Everest did. It is a challenge that is difficult to resist. Looking back I find that I have not yet fully explained why I climbed Everest. It is like answering a question why you breathe. Why do you help your neighbour? Why do you want to do good acts? There is no final answer possible. And then there is the fact that Everest is not just a physical climb. The man who has been to the mountain-top becomes conscious in a special manner of his own smallness in this large universe. The physical conquest of a mountain is only one part of the achievement. There is more to it than that. It is followed by a sense of fulfilment. There is the satisfaction of a deep urge to rise above ones surroundings. It is the eternal love for adventure in man. The experience is not merely physical. It is emotional. It is spiritual. Consider a typical climb, towards the summit on the last heights. You are sharing a rope with another climber. You firm in. He cuts the steps in the hard ice. Then he belays and you inch your way up. The climb is grim. You strain every nerve as you take every step. Famous climbers have left records of the help given by others. They have also recorded how they needed just that help. Else they might have given up. Breathing is difficult. You curse yourself for having let yourself in for this. You wonder why you ever undertook the ascent. There are moments when you feel like going back. It would be sheer relief to go down, instead of up. But almost at once you snap out of that mood. There is something in you that does not let you give up the struggle. And you go on. Your companion keeps up with you. Just another fifty feet. Or a hundred, maybe. You ask yourself: Is there no end? You look at your companion and he looks at you. You draw inspiration from each other. And then, without first being aware of it, you are at the summit. Looking round from the summit you tell yourself that it was worthwhile. Other silvery peaks appear through the clouds. If you are lucky the sun may be on them. The surrounding peaks look like a jewelled necklace around the neck of your summit. Below, you see vast valleys sloping into the distance. It is an ennobling, enriching experience to just look down from the summit of a mountain. You bow down and make your obeisance to whichever God you worship. I left on Everest a picture of Guru Nanak. Rawat left a picture of Goddess Durga. Phu Dorji left a relic of the Buddha. Edmund Hillary had buried a cross under a cairn (a heap of rocks and stones) in the snow. These are not symbols of conquest but of reverence. The experience of having climbed to the summit changes you completely. There is another summit. It is within yourself. It is in your own mind. Each man carries within himself his own mountain peak. He must climb it to reach to a fuller knowledge of himself. It is fearful, and unscalable. It cannot be climbed by anyone else. You yourself have to do it. The physical act of climbing to the summit of a mountain outside is akin to the act of climbing the mountain within. The effects of both the climbs are the same. Whether the mountain you climb is physical or emotional and spiritual, the climb will certainly change you. It teaches you much about the world and about yourself. I venture to think that my experience as an Everester has provided me with the inspiration to face lifes ordeals resolutely. Climbing the mountain was a worthwhile experience. The conquest of the internal summit is equally worthwhile. The internal summits are, perhaps, higher than Everest. H.P.S. Ahluwalia **The School Boy** I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me. O what sweet company. But to go to school in a summer morn, O it drives all joy away; Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day, In sighing and dismay. Ah then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour. Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learnings bower, Worn thr with the dreary shower. How can the bird that is born for joy, Sit in a cage and sing. How can a child when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring. O Father and Mother, if buds are nipd, And blossoms blown away, And if the tender plants are stripd Of their joy in the springing day, By sorrow and cares dismay, How shall the summer arise in joy, Or the summer fruits appear? WILLIAM BLAKE",(v) “He becomes conscious in a special manner of his own smallness in this large universe”. This awareness defines an emotion mentioned in the first paragraph. Which is the emotion?,"That emotion is ‘humility’. ",Unknown " **The Summit Within** Major H.P.S. Ahluwalia was a member of the first successful Indian expedition to Mount Everest in 1965. Of all the emotions which surged through me as I stood on the summit of Everest, looking over miles of panorama below us, the dominant one I think was humility. The physical in me seemed to say, Thank God, its all over! However, instead of being jubilant, there was a tinge of sadness. Was it because I had already done the ultimate in climbing and there would be nothing higher to climb and all roads hereafter would lead down? By climbing the summit of Everest you are overwhelmed by a deep sense of joy and thankfulness. It is a joy which lasts a lifetime. The experience changes you completely. The man who has been to the mountains is never the same again. As I look back at life after climbing Everest I cannot help remarking about the other summit the summit of the mind no less formidable and no easier to climb. Even when getting down from the summit, once the physical exhaustion had gone, I began asking myself the question why I had climbed Everest. Why did the act of reaching the summit have such a hold on my imagination? It was already a thing of the past, something done yesterday. With every passing day, it would become more remote. And then what would remain? Would my memories fade slowly away? All these thoughts led me to question myself as to why people climb mountains. It is not easy to answer the question. The simplest answer would be, as others have said, Because it is there. It presents great difficulties. Man takes delight in overcoming obstacles. The obstacles in climbing a mountain are physical. A climb to a summit means endurance, persistence and will power. The demonstration of these physical qualities is no doubt exhilarating, as it was for me also. I have a more personal answer to the question. From my childhood I have been attracted by mountains. I had been miserable, lost, when away from mountains, in the plains. Mountains are nature at its best. Their beauty and majesty pose a great challenge, and like many, I believe that mountains are a means of communion with God. Once having granted this, the question remains: Why Everest? Because it is the highest, the mightiest and has defied many previous attempts. It takes the last ounce of ones energy. It is a brutal struggle with rock and ice. Once taken up, it cannot be given up halfway even when ones life is at stake. The passage back is as difficult as the passage onwards. And then, when the summit is climbed, there is the exhilaration, the joy of having done something, the sense of a battle fought and won. There is a feeling of victory and of happiness. Glimpsing a peak in the distance, I get transported to another world. I experience a change within myself which can only be called mystical. By its beauty, aloofness, might, ruggedness, and the difficulties encountered on the way, the peak draws me to it as Everest did. It is a challenge that is difficult to resist. Looking back I find that I have not yet fully explained why I climbed Everest. It is like answering a question why you breathe. Why do you help your neighbour? Why do you want to do good acts? There is no final answer possible. And then there is the fact that Everest is not just a physical climb. The man who has been to the mountain-top becomes conscious in a special manner of his own smallness in this large universe. The physical conquest of a mountain is only one part of the achievement. There is more to it than that. It is followed by a sense of fulfilment. There is the satisfaction of a deep urge to rise above ones surroundings. It is the eternal love for adventure in man. The experience is not merely physical. It is emotional. It is spiritual. Consider a typical climb, towards the summit on the last heights. You are sharing a rope with another climber. You firm in. He cuts the steps in the hard ice. Then he belays and you inch your way up. The climb is grim. You strain every nerve as you take every step. Famous climbers have left records of the help given by others. They have also recorded how they needed just that help. Else they might have given up. Breathing is difficult. You curse yourself for having let yourself in for this. You wonder why you ever undertook the ascent. There are moments when you feel like going back. It would be sheer relief to go down, instead of up. But almost at once you snap out of that mood. There is something in you that does not let you give up the struggle. And you go on. Your companion keeps up with you. Just another fifty feet. Or a hundred, maybe. You ask yourself: Is there no end? You look at your companion and he looks at you. You draw inspiration from each other. And then, without first being aware of it, you are at the summit. Looking round from the summit you tell yourself that it was worthwhile. Other silvery peaks appear through the clouds. If you are lucky the sun may be on them. The surrounding peaks look like a jewelled necklace around the neck of your summit. Below, you see vast valleys sloping into the distance. It is an ennobling, enriching experience to just look down from the summit of a mountain. You bow down and make your obeisance to whichever God you worship. I left on Everest a picture of Guru Nanak. Rawat left a picture of Goddess Durga. Phu Dorji left a relic of the Buddha. Edmund Hillary had buried a cross under a cairn (a heap of rocks and stones) in the snow. These are not symbols of conquest but of reverence. The experience of having climbed to the summit changes you completely. There is another summit. It is within yourself. It is in your own mind. Each man carries within himself his own mountain peak. He must climb it to reach to a fuller knowledge of himself. It is fearful, and unscalable. It cannot be climbed by anyone else. You yourself have to do it. The physical act of climbing to the summit of a mountain outside is akin to the act of climbing the mountain within. The effects of both the climbs are the same. Whether the mountain you climb is physical or emotional and spiritual, the climb will certainly change you. It teaches you much about the world and about yourself. I venture to think that my experience as an Everester has provided me with the inspiration to face lifes ordeals resolutely. Climbing the mountain was a worthwhile experience. The conquest of the internal summit is equally worthwhile. The internal summits are, perhaps, higher than Everest. H.P.S. Ahluwalia **The School Boy** I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me. O what sweet company. But to go to school in a summer morn, O it drives all joy away; Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day, In sighing and dismay. Ah then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour. Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learnings bower, Worn thr with the dreary shower. How can the bird that is born for joy, Sit in a cage and sing. How can a child when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring. O Father and Mother, if buds are nipd, And blossoms blown away, And if the tender plants are stripd Of their joy in the springing day, By sorrow and cares dismay, How shall the summer arise in joy, Or the summer fruits appear? WILLIAM BLAKE",(vi) What were the ‘symbols of reverence’ left by members of the team on Everest?,"The author left on Everest a picture of Guru Nanak. Rawat left a picture of Goddess Durga. Phu Durgi left a relic of the Buddha. Edmund Hillary, being a Christian, buried a Cross under the rock. All these were symbols of reverence for God. ",Reasoning " **The Summit Within** Major H.P.S. Ahluwalia was a member of the first successful Indian expedition to Mount Everest in 1965. Of all the emotions which surged through me as I stood on the summit of Everest, looking over miles of panorama below us, the dominant one I think was humility. The physical in me seemed to say, Thank God, its all over! However, instead of being jubilant, there was a tinge of sadness. Was it because I had already done the ultimate in climbing and there would be nothing higher to climb and all roads hereafter would lead down? By climbing the summit of Everest you are overwhelmed by a deep sense of joy and thankfulness. It is a joy which lasts a lifetime. The experience changes you completely. The man who has been to the mountains is never the same again. As I look back at life after climbing Everest I cannot help remarking about the other summit the summit of the mind no less formidable and no easier to climb. Even when getting down from the summit, once the physical exhaustion had gone, I began asking myself the question why I had climbed Everest. Why did the act of reaching the summit have such a hold on my imagination? It was already a thing of the past, something done yesterday. With every passing day, it would become more remote. And then what would remain? Would my memories fade slowly away? All these thoughts led me to question myself as to why people climb mountains. It is not easy to answer the question. The simplest answer would be, as others have said, Because it is there. It presents great difficulties. Man takes delight in overcoming obstacles. The obstacles in climbing a mountain are physical. A climb to a summit means endurance, persistence and will power. The demonstration of these physical qualities is no doubt exhilarating, as it was for me also. I have a more personal answer to the question. From my childhood I have been attracted by mountains. I had been miserable, lost, when away from mountains, in the plains. Mountains are nature at its best. Their beauty and majesty pose a great challenge, and like many, I believe that mountains are a means of communion with God. Once having granted this, the question remains: Why Everest? Because it is the highest, the mightiest and has defied many previous attempts. It takes the last ounce of ones energy. It is a brutal struggle with rock and ice. Once taken up, it cannot be given up halfway even when ones life is at stake. The passage back is as difficult as the passage onwards. And then, when the summit is climbed, there is the exhilaration, the joy of having done something, the sense of a battle fought and won. There is a feeling of victory and of happiness. Glimpsing a peak in the distance, I get transported to another world. I experience a change within myself which can only be called mystical. By its beauty, aloofness, might, ruggedness, and the difficulties encountered on the way, the peak draws me to it as Everest did. It is a challenge that is difficult to resist. Looking back I find that I have not yet fully explained why I climbed Everest. It is like answering a question why you breathe. Why do you help your neighbour? Why do you want to do good acts? There is no final answer possible. And then there is the fact that Everest is not just a physical climb. The man who has been to the mountain-top becomes conscious in a special manner of his own smallness in this large universe. The physical conquest of a mountain is only one part of the achievement. There is more to it than that. It is followed by a sense of fulfilment. There is the satisfaction of a deep urge to rise above ones surroundings. It is the eternal love for adventure in man. The experience is not merely physical. It is emotional. It is spiritual. Consider a typical climb, towards the summit on the last heights. You are sharing a rope with another climber. You firm in. He cuts the steps in the hard ice. Then he belays and you inch your way up. The climb is grim. You strain every nerve as you take every step. Famous climbers have left records of the help given by others. They have also recorded how they needed just that help. Else they might have given up. Breathing is difficult. You curse yourself for having let yourself in for this. You wonder why you ever undertook the ascent. There are moments when you feel like going back. It would be sheer relief to go down, instead of up. But almost at once you snap out of that mood. There is something in you that does not let you give up the struggle. And you go on. Your companion keeps up with you. Just another fifty feet. Or a hundred, maybe. You ask yourself: Is there no end? You look at your companion and he looks at you. You draw inspiration from each other. And then, without first being aware of it, you are at the summit. Looking round from the summit you tell yourself that it was worthwhile. Other silvery peaks appear through the clouds. If you are lucky the sun may be on them. The surrounding peaks look like a jewelled necklace around the neck of your summit. Below, you see vast valleys sloping into the distance. It is an ennobling, enriching experience to just look down from the summit of a mountain. You bow down and make your obeisance to whichever God you worship. I left on Everest a picture of Guru Nanak. Rawat left a picture of Goddess Durga. Phu Dorji left a relic of the Buddha. Edmund Hillary had buried a cross under a cairn (a heap of rocks and stones) in the snow. These are not symbols of conquest but of reverence. The experience of having climbed to the summit changes you completely. There is another summit. It is within yourself. It is in your own mind. Each man carries within himself his own mountain peak. He must climb it to reach to a fuller knowledge of himself. It is fearful, and unscalable. It cannot be climbed by anyone else. You yourself have to do it. The physical act of climbing to the summit of a mountain outside is akin to the act of climbing the mountain within. The effects of both the climbs are the same. Whether the mountain you climb is physical or emotional and spiritual, the climb will certainly change you. It teaches you much about the world and about yourself. I venture to think that my experience as an Everester has provided me with the inspiration to face lifes ordeals resolutely. Climbing the mountain was a worthwhile experience. The conquest of the internal summit is equally worthwhile. The internal summits are, perhaps, higher than Everest. H.P.S. Ahluwalia **The School Boy** I love to rise in a summer morn, When the birds sing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me. O what sweet company. But to go to school in a summer morn, O it drives all joy away; Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day, In sighing and dismay. Ah then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour. Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learnings bower, Worn thr with the dreary shower. How can the bird that is born for joy, Sit in a cage and sing. How can a child when fears annoy, But droop his tender wing, And forget his youthful spring. O Father and Mother, if buds are nipd, And blossoms blown away, And if the tender plants are stripd Of their joy in the springing day, By sorrow and cares dismay, How shall the summer arise in joy, Or the summer fruits appear? WILLIAM BLAKE","(vii) What according to the writer, did his experience as an Everester teach him?","The experience of having conquered Mount Everest changed him completely. It made him realise his own smallness. ",Reasoning ,,,Unknown Context 6,Question,Answer,Unknown "I Jody allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fawn. He could not keep it out of his mind. He had held it, in his dreams, in his arms. He slipped from the table and went to his father's bedside. Penny lay at rest. His eyes were open and clear, but the pupils were still dark and dilated. Jody said, ""How are you feeling, Pa?"" ""Just fine, son. Old Death has gone thieving elsewhere. But wasn't it a close shave!"" ""I agree."" Penny said, ""I'm proud of you, boy, the way you kept your head and did what was needed."" ""Pa-"" ""Yes, son."" ""Pa, do you recollect the doe and the fawn?"" ""I can never forget them. The poor doe saved me, that's certain."" ""Pa, the fawn may be out there yet. It might be hungry and very scared."" ""I suppose so."" ""Pa, I'm a big boy now and don't need to drink milk. Why don't I go and see if I can find the fawn?"" ""And bring it here?"" ""And raise it."" Penny lay quiet, staring at the ceiling. ""Boy, you've got me hemmed in."" ""It won't take much to raise it, Pa. It'll soon start eating leaves and acorns."" ""You are smarter than boys of your age."" ""We took its mother, and it wasn't to blame."" ""Surely it seems ungrateful to leave it to starve. Son, I can't say 'No' to you. I never thought I'd live to see another day."" ""Can I ride back with Mill-wheel and see if I can find it?"" ""Tell your Ma I said you can go."" He sidled back to the table and sat down. His mother was pouring coffee for everyone. He said, ""Ma, Pa says I can go bring back the fawn."" She held the coffee pot in mid-air. ""What fawn?"" ""The fawn belonging to the doe we killed. We used the doe's liver to draw out the poison and save Pa."" She gasped. ""Well, for pity sake—"" ""Pa says it would be ungrateful to leave it to starve."" Doc Wilson said, ""That's right, Ma'am. Nothing in the world comes quite free. The boy's right and his daddy's right."" Mill-wheel said, ""He can ride back with me. I'll help him find it."" She set down the pot helplessly. ""Well, if you'll give it your milk—we've got nothing else to feed it."" Mill-wheel said, ""Come on, boy. We've got to get riding."" Ma Baxter asked anxiously, ""You'll not be gone long?"" Jody said, ""I'll be back before dinner for sure."" Mill-wheel mounted his horse and pulled Jody up behind him. He said to Mill-wheel, ""Do you think the fawn's still there? Will you help me find him?"" ""We'll find him if he's alive. How you know it's a he?"" ""The spots were all in a line. On a doe-fawn, Pa says the spots are every which way…"" II Jody gave himself over to thoughts of the fawn. They passed the abandoned clearing. He said, ""Cut to the north, Mill-wheel. It was up here that Pa got bitten by the snake and killed the doe and I saw the fawn."" Suddenly Jody was unwilling to have Mill-wheel with him. If the fawn was dead, or could not be found, he could not have his disappointment seen. And if the fawn was there, the meeting would be so lovely and so secret that he could not endure to share it. He said, ""It's not far now, but the scrub is very thick for a horse. I can make it on foot."" ""But I'm afraid to leave you, boy. Suppose you got lost or got bitten by the snake, too?"" ""I'll take care. It might take me a long time to find the fawn, if he's wandered. Leave me off right here."" ""All right, but you take it easy now. You know north here, and east?"" ""There, and there. That tall pine makes a bearing."" ""So long."" ""So long, Mill-wheel. I'm obliged."" He waited for the sound of the hooves to end, then cut to the right. The scrub was still. Only his own crackling of twigs sounded across the silence. He wondered for an instant if he had mistaken his direction. Then a buzzard rose in front of him and flapped into the air. He came into the clearing under the oaks. Buzzards sat in a circle around the carcass of the doe. They turned their heads on their long scrawny necks and hissed at him. He threw his bough at them and they flew into an adjacent tree. The sand showed large cat prints but the big cats killed fresh, and they had left the doe to the carrion birds. He parted the grass at the place where he had seen the fawn. It did not seem possible that it was only yesterday. The fawn was not there. He circled the clearing. There was no sound, no sign. The buzzards clacked their wings, impatient to return to their business. He returned to the spot where the fawn had emerged and dropped on all fours, studying the sand for the small hoof prints. The night's rain had washed away all tracks except those of cat and buzzards. III Movement directly in front of him startled him so that he tumbled backward. The fawn lifted its face to his. It turned its head with a wide, wondering motion and shook him through with the stare of its liquid eyes. It was quivering. It made no effort to rise or run. Jody could not trust himself to move. He whispered, ""It's me."" The fawn lifted its nose, scenting him. He reached out one hand and laid it on the soft neck. The touch made him delirious. He moved forward on all fours until he was close beside it. He put his arms around its body. A light convulsion passed over it but it did not stir. He stroked its sides as gently as though the fawn were a china deer and he might break it. Its skin was very soft. It was sleek and clean and had a sweet scent of grass. He rose slowly and lifted the fawn from the ground. Its legs hung limply. They were surprisingly long and he had to hoist the fawn as high as possible under his arm. He was afraid that it might kick and bleat at sight and smell of its mother. He skirted the clearing and pushed his way into the thicket. It was difficult to fight through with his burden. The fawn's legs caught in the bushes and he could not lift his own with freedom. He tried to shield its face from prickling vines. Its head bobbed with his stride. His heart thumped with the marvel of its acceptance of him. He reached the trail and walked as fast as he could until he came to the intersection with the road home. He stopped to rest and set the fawn down on its dangling legs. It wavered on them. It looked at him and bleated. He said, enchanted, ""I'll carry you after I get my breath."" He remembered his father saying that a fawn would follow if it had first been carried. He started away slowly. The fawn stared after him. He came back to it and stroked it and walked away again. It took a few wobbling steps toward him and cried piteously. It was willing to follow him. It belonged to him. It was his own. He was light-headed with his joy. He wanted to fondle it, to run and romp with it, to call to it to come to him. He dared not alarm it. He picked it up and carried it in front of him over his two arms. It seemed to him that he walked without effort. His arms began to ache and he was forced to stop again. When he walked on, the fawn followed him at once. He allowed it to walk a little distance, then picked it up again. The distance home was nothing. He could have walked all day and into the night, carrying it and watching it follow. He was wet with sweat but a light breeze blew through the June morning, cooling him. The sky was as clear as spring water in a blue china cup. He came to the clearing. It was fresh and green after the night's rain. He fumbled with the latch and was finally obliged to set down the fawn to manage it. Then, he had an idea — he would walk into the house, into Penny's bedroom, with the fawn walking behind him. But at the steps, the fawn balked and refused to climb them. He picked it up and went to his father. Penny lay with closed eyes. Jody called, ""Pa Look!"" Penny turned his head. Jody stood beside him, the fawn clutched hard against him. It seemed to Penny that the boy's eyes were as bright as the fawn's. He said, ""I'm glad you found him."" Jody then went to the kitchen. The fawn wobbled after him. A pan of morning's milk stood in the kitchen safe. The cream had risen on it. He skimmed the cream into a jug. He poured milk into a small gourd. He held it out to the fawn. It butted it suddenly, smelling the milk. He saved it precariously from spilling over the floor. It could make nothing of the milk in the gourd. He dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn's soft wet mouth. It sucked greedily. When he withdrew them, it bleated frantically and butted him. He dipped his fingers again and as the fawn sucked, he lowered them slowly into the milk. The fawn blew and sucked and snorted. It stamped its small hoofs impatiently. As long as he held his fingers below the level of the milk, the fawn was content. It closed its eyes dreamily. It was ecstasy to feel its tongue against his hand. Its small tail flicked back and forth. The last of the milk vanished in a swirl of foam and gurgling.",What had happened to Jody’s father?,Jody’s father had been bitten by a rattlesnake.,Reasoning "I Jody allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fawn. He could not keep it out of his mind. He had held it, in his dreams, in his arms. He slipped from the table and went to his father's bedside. Penny lay at rest. His eyes were open and clear, but the pupils were still dark and dilated. Jody said, ""How are you feeling, Pa?"" ""Just fine, son. Old Death has gone thieving elsewhere. But wasn't it a close shave!"" ""I agree."" Penny said, ""I'm proud of you, boy, the way you kept your head and did what was needed."" ""Pa-"" ""Yes, son."" ""Pa, do you recollect the doe and the fawn?"" ""I can never forget them. The poor doe saved me, that's certain."" ""Pa, the fawn may be out there yet. It might be hungry and very scared."" ""I suppose so."" ""Pa, I'm a big boy now and don't need to drink milk. Why don't I go and see if I can find the fawn?"" ""And bring it here?"" ""And raise it."" Penny lay quiet, staring at the ceiling. ""Boy, you've got me hemmed in."" ""It won't take much to raise it, Pa. It'll soon start eating leaves and acorns."" ""You are smarter than boys of your age."" ""We took its mother, and it wasn't to blame."" ""Surely it seems ungrateful to leave it to starve. Son, I can't say 'No' to you. I never thought I'd live to see another day."" ""Can I ride back with Mill-wheel and see if I can find it?"" ""Tell your Ma I said you can go."" He sidled back to the table and sat down. His mother was pouring coffee for everyone. He said, ""Ma, Pa says I can go bring back the fawn."" She held the coffee pot in mid-air. ""What fawn?"" ""The fawn belonging to the doe we killed. We used the doe's liver to draw out the poison and save Pa."" She gasped. ""Well, for pity sake—"" ""Pa says it would be ungrateful to leave it to starve."" Doc Wilson said, ""That's right, Ma'am. Nothing in the world comes quite free. The boy's right and his daddy's right."" Mill-wheel said, ""He can ride back with me. I'll help him find it."" She set down the pot helplessly. ""Well, if you'll give it your milk—we've got nothing else to feed it."" Mill-wheel said, ""Come on, boy. We've got to get riding."" Ma Baxter asked anxiously, ""You'll not be gone long?"" Jody said, ""I'll be back before dinner for sure."" Mill-wheel mounted his horse and pulled Jody up behind him. He said to Mill-wheel, ""Do you think the fawn's still there? Will you help me find him?"" ""We'll find him if he's alive. How you know it's a he?"" ""The spots were all in a line. On a doe-fawn, Pa says the spots are every which way…"" II Jody gave himself over to thoughts of the fawn. They passed the abandoned clearing. He said, ""Cut to the north, Mill-wheel. It was up here that Pa got bitten by the snake and killed the doe and I saw the fawn."" Suddenly Jody was unwilling to have Mill-wheel with him. If the fawn was dead, or could not be found, he could not have his disappointment seen. And if the fawn was there, the meeting would be so lovely and so secret that he could not endure to share it. He said, ""It's not far now, but the scrub is very thick for a horse. I can make it on foot."" ""But I'm afraid to leave you, boy. Suppose you got lost or got bitten by the snake, too?"" ""I'll take care. It might take me a long time to find the fawn, if he's wandered. Leave me off right here."" ""All right, but you take it easy now. You know north here, and east?"" ""There, and there. That tall pine makes a bearing."" ""So long."" ""So long, Mill-wheel. I'm obliged."" He waited for the sound of the hooves to end, then cut to the right. The scrub was still. Only his own crackling of twigs sounded across the silence. He wondered for an instant if he had mistaken his direction. Then a buzzard rose in front of him and flapped into the air. He came into the clearing under the oaks. Buzzards sat in a circle around the carcass of the doe. They turned their heads on their long scrawny necks and hissed at him. He threw his bough at them and they flew into an adjacent tree. The sand showed large cat prints but the big cats killed fresh, and they had left the doe to the carrion birds. He parted the grass at the place where he had seen the fawn. It did not seem possible that it was only yesterday. The fawn was not there. He circled the clearing. There was no sound, no sign. The buzzards clacked their wings, impatient to return to their business. He returned to the spot where the fawn had emerged and dropped on all fours, studying the sand for the small hoof prints. The night's rain had washed away all tracks except those of cat and buzzards. III Movement directly in front of him startled him so that he tumbled backward. The fawn lifted its face to his. It turned its head with a wide, wondering motion and shook him through with the stare of its liquid eyes. It was quivering. It made no effort to rise or run. Jody could not trust himself to move. He whispered, ""It's me."" The fawn lifted its nose, scenting him. He reached out one hand and laid it on the soft neck. The touch made him delirious. He moved forward on all fours until he was close beside it. He put his arms around its body. A light convulsion passed over it but it did not stir. He stroked its sides as gently as though the fawn were a china deer and he might break it. Its skin was very soft. It was sleek and clean and had a sweet scent of grass. He rose slowly and lifted the fawn from the ground. Its legs hung limply. They were surprisingly long and he had to hoist the fawn as high as possible under his arm. He was afraid that it might kick and bleat at sight and smell of its mother. He skirted the clearing and pushed his way into the thicket. It was difficult to fight through with his burden. The fawn's legs caught in the bushes and he could not lift his own with freedom. He tried to shield its face from prickling vines. Its head bobbed with his stride. His heart thumped with the marvel of its acceptance of him. He reached the trail and walked as fast as he could until he came to the intersection with the road home. He stopped to rest and set the fawn down on its dangling legs. It wavered on them. It looked at him and bleated. He said, enchanted, ""I'll carry you after I get my breath."" He remembered his father saying that a fawn would follow if it had first been carried. He started away slowly. The fawn stared after him. He came back to it and stroked it and walked away again. It took a few wobbling steps toward him and cried piteously. It was willing to follow him. It belonged to him. It was his own. He was light-headed with his joy. He wanted to fondle it, to run and romp with it, to call to it to come to him. He dared not alarm it. He picked it up and carried it in front of him over his two arms. It seemed to him that he walked without effort. His arms began to ache and he was forced to stop again. When he walked on, the fawn followed him at once. He allowed it to walk a little distance, then picked it up again. The distance home was nothing. He could have walked all day and into the night, carrying it and watching it follow. He was wet with sweat but a light breeze blew through the June morning, cooling him. The sky was as clear as spring water in a blue china cup. He came to the clearing. It was fresh and green after the night's rain. He fumbled with the latch and was finally obliged to set down the fawn to manage it. Then, he had an idea — he would walk into the house, into Penny's bedroom, with the fawn walking behind him. But at the steps, the fawn balked and refused to climb them. He picked it up and went to his father. Penny lay with closed eyes. Jody called, ""Pa Look!"" Penny turned his head. Jody stood beside him, the fawn clutched hard against him. It seemed to Penny that the boy's eyes were as bright as the fawn's. He said, ""I'm glad you found him."" Jody then went to the kitchen. The fawn wobbled after him. A pan of morning's milk stood in the kitchen safe. The cream had risen on it. He skimmed the cream into a jug. He poured milk into a small gourd. He held it out to the fawn. It butted it suddenly, smelling the milk. He saved it precariously from spilling over the floor. It could make nothing of the milk in the gourd. He dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn's soft wet mouth. It sucked greedily. When he withdrew them, it bleated frantically and butted him. He dipped his fingers again and as the fawn sucked, he lowered them slowly into the milk. The fawn blew and sucked and snorted. It stamped its small hoofs impatiently. As long as he held his fingers below the level of the milk, the fawn was content. It closed its eyes dreamily. It was ecstasy to feel its tongue against his hand. Its small tail flicked back and forth. The last of the milk vanished in a swirl of foam and gurgling.",How did the doe save Penny’s life?,Penny used the doe’s heart and liver to draw out the poison.,Reasoning "I Jody allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fawn. He could not keep it out of his mind. He had held it, in his dreams, in his arms. He slipped from the table and went to his father's bedside. Penny lay at rest. His eyes were open and clear, but the pupils were still dark and dilated. Jody said, ""How are you feeling, Pa?"" ""Just fine, son. Old Death has gone thieving elsewhere. But wasn't it a close shave!"" ""I agree."" Penny said, ""I'm proud of you, boy, the way you kept your head and did what was needed."" ""Pa-"" ""Yes, son."" ""Pa, do you recollect the doe and the fawn?"" ""I can never forget them. The poor doe saved me, that's certain."" ""Pa, the fawn may be out there yet. It might be hungry and very scared."" ""I suppose so."" ""Pa, I'm a big boy now and don't need to drink milk. Why don't I go and see if I can find the fawn?"" ""And bring it here?"" ""And raise it."" Penny lay quiet, staring at the ceiling. ""Boy, you've got me hemmed in."" ""It won't take much to raise it, Pa. It'll soon start eating leaves and acorns."" ""You are smarter than boys of your age."" ""We took its mother, and it wasn't to blame."" ""Surely it seems ungrateful to leave it to starve. Son, I can't say 'No' to you. I never thought I'd live to see another day."" ""Can I ride back with Mill-wheel and see if I can find it?"" ""Tell your Ma I said you can go."" He sidled back to the table and sat down. His mother was pouring coffee for everyone. He said, ""Ma, Pa says I can go bring back the fawn."" She held the coffee pot in mid-air. ""What fawn?"" ""The fawn belonging to the doe we killed. We used the doe's liver to draw out the poison and save Pa."" She gasped. ""Well, for pity sake—"" ""Pa says it would be ungrateful to leave it to starve."" Doc Wilson said, ""That's right, Ma'am. Nothing in the world comes quite free. The boy's right and his daddy's right."" Mill-wheel said, ""He can ride back with me. I'll help him find it."" She set down the pot helplessly. ""Well, if you'll give it your milk—we've got nothing else to feed it."" Mill-wheel said, ""Come on, boy. We've got to get riding."" Ma Baxter asked anxiously, ""You'll not be gone long?"" Jody said, ""I'll be back before dinner for sure."" Mill-wheel mounted his horse and pulled Jody up behind him. He said to Mill-wheel, ""Do you think the fawn's still there? Will you help me find him?"" ""We'll find him if he's alive. How you know it's a he?"" ""The spots were all in a line. On a doe-fawn, Pa says the spots are every which way…"" II Jody gave himself over to thoughts of the fawn. They passed the abandoned clearing. He said, ""Cut to the north, Mill-wheel. It was up here that Pa got bitten by the snake and killed the doe and I saw the fawn."" Suddenly Jody was unwilling to have Mill-wheel with him. If the fawn was dead, or could not be found, he could not have his disappointment seen. And if the fawn was there, the meeting would be so lovely and so secret that he could not endure to share it. He said, ""It's not far now, but the scrub is very thick for a horse. I can make it on foot."" ""But I'm afraid to leave you, boy. Suppose you got lost or got bitten by the snake, too?"" ""I'll take care. It might take me a long time to find the fawn, if he's wandered. Leave me off right here."" ""All right, but you take it easy now. You know north here, and east?"" ""There, and there. That tall pine makes a bearing."" ""So long."" ""So long, Mill-wheel. I'm obliged."" He waited for the sound of the hooves to end, then cut to the right. The scrub was still. Only his own crackling of twigs sounded across the silence. He wondered for an instant if he had mistaken his direction. Then a buzzard rose in front of him and flapped into the air. He came into the clearing under the oaks. Buzzards sat in a circle around the carcass of the doe. They turned their heads on their long scrawny necks and hissed at him. He threw his bough at them and they flew into an adjacent tree. The sand showed large cat prints but the big cats killed fresh, and they had left the doe to the carrion birds. He parted the grass at the place where he had seen the fawn. It did not seem possible that it was only yesterday. The fawn was not there. He circled the clearing. There was no sound, no sign. The buzzards clacked their wings, impatient to return to their business. He returned to the spot where the fawn had emerged and dropped on all fours, studying the sand for the small hoof prints. The night's rain had washed away all tracks except those of cat and buzzards. III Movement directly in front of him startled him so that he tumbled backward. The fawn lifted its face to his. It turned its head with a wide, wondering motion and shook him through with the stare of its liquid eyes. It was quivering. It made no effort to rise or run. Jody could not trust himself to move. He whispered, ""It's me."" The fawn lifted its nose, scenting him. He reached out one hand and laid it on the soft neck. The touch made him delirious. He moved forward on all fours until he was close beside it. He put his arms around its body. A light convulsion passed over it but it did not stir. He stroked its sides as gently as though the fawn were a china deer and he might break it. Its skin was very soft. It was sleek and clean and had a sweet scent of grass. He rose slowly and lifted the fawn from the ground. Its legs hung limply. They were surprisingly long and he had to hoist the fawn as high as possible under his arm. He was afraid that it might kick and bleat at sight and smell of its mother. He skirted the clearing and pushed his way into the thicket. It was difficult to fight through with his burden. The fawn's legs caught in the bushes and he could not lift his own with freedom. He tried to shield its face from prickling vines. Its head bobbed with his stride. His heart thumped with the marvel of its acceptance of him. He reached the trail and walked as fast as he could until he came to the intersection with the road home. He stopped to rest and set the fawn down on its dangling legs. It wavered on them. It looked at him and bleated. He said, enchanted, ""I'll carry you after I get my breath."" He remembered his father saying that a fawn would follow if it had first been carried. He started away slowly. The fawn stared after him. He came back to it and stroked it and walked away again. It took a few wobbling steps toward him and cried piteously. It was willing to follow him. It belonged to him. It was his own. He was light-headed with his joy. He wanted to fondle it, to run and romp with it, to call to it to come to him. He dared not alarm it. He picked it up and carried it in front of him over his two arms. It seemed to him that he walked without effort. His arms began to ache and he was forced to stop again. When he walked on, the fawn followed him at once. He allowed it to walk a little distance, then picked it up again. The distance home was nothing. He could have walked all day and into the night, carrying it and watching it follow. He was wet with sweat but a light breeze blew through the June morning, cooling him. The sky was as clear as spring water in a blue china cup. He came to the clearing. It was fresh and green after the night's rain. He fumbled with the latch and was finally obliged to set down the fawn to manage it. Then, he had an idea — he would walk into the house, into Penny's bedroom, with the fawn walking behind him. But at the steps, the fawn balked and refused to climb them. He picked it up and went to his father. Penny lay with closed eyes. Jody called, ""Pa Look!"" Penny turned his head. Jody stood beside him, the fawn clutched hard against him. It seemed to Penny that the boy's eyes were as bright as the fawn's. He said, ""I'm glad you found him."" Jody then went to the kitchen. The fawn wobbled after him. A pan of morning's milk stood in the kitchen safe. The cream had risen on it. He skimmed the cream into a jug. He poured milk into a small gourd. He held it out to the fawn. It butted it suddenly, smelling the milk. He saved it precariously from spilling over the floor. It could make nothing of the milk in the gourd. He dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn's soft wet mouth. It sucked greedily. When he withdrew them, it bleated frantically and butted him. He dipped his fingers again and as the fawn sucked, he lowered them slowly into the milk. The fawn blew and sucked and snorted. It stamped its small hoofs impatiently. As long as he held his fingers below the level of the milk, the fawn was content. It closed its eyes dreamily. It was ecstasy to feel its tongue against his hand. Its small tail flicked back and forth. The last of the milk vanished in a swirl of foam and gurgling.",Why does Jody want to bring the fawn home?,Jody thought it would be ungrateful to leave the fawn there to starve.,Factor "I Jody allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fawn. He could not keep it out of his mind. He had held it, in his dreams, in his arms. He slipped from the table and went to his father's bedside. Penny lay at rest. His eyes were open and clear, but the pupils were still dark and dilated. Jody said, ""How are you feeling, Pa?"" ""Just fine, son. Old Death has gone thieving elsewhere. But wasn't it a close shave!"" ""I agree."" Penny said, ""I'm proud of you, boy, the way you kept your head and did what was needed."" ""Pa-"" ""Yes, son."" ""Pa, do you recollect the doe and the fawn?"" ""I can never forget them. The poor doe saved me, that's certain."" ""Pa, the fawn may be out there yet. It might be hungry and very scared."" ""I suppose so."" ""Pa, I'm a big boy now and don't need to drink milk. Why don't I go and see if I can find the fawn?"" ""And bring it here?"" ""And raise it."" Penny lay quiet, staring at the ceiling. ""Boy, you've got me hemmed in."" ""It won't take much to raise it, Pa. It'll soon start eating leaves and acorns."" ""You are smarter than boys of your age."" ""We took its mother, and it wasn't to blame."" ""Surely it seems ungrateful to leave it to starve. Son, I can't say 'No' to you. I never thought I'd live to see another day."" ""Can I ride back with Mill-wheel and see if I can find it?"" ""Tell your Ma I said you can go."" He sidled back to the table and sat down. His mother was pouring coffee for everyone. He said, ""Ma, Pa says I can go bring back the fawn."" She held the coffee pot in mid-air. ""What fawn?"" ""The fawn belonging to the doe we killed. We used the doe's liver to draw out the poison and save Pa."" She gasped. ""Well, for pity sake—"" ""Pa says it would be ungrateful to leave it to starve."" Doc Wilson said, ""That's right, Ma'am. Nothing in the world comes quite free. The boy's right and his daddy's right."" Mill-wheel said, ""He can ride back with me. I'll help him find it."" She set down the pot helplessly. ""Well, if you'll give it your milk—we've got nothing else to feed it."" Mill-wheel said, ""Come on, boy. We've got to get riding."" Ma Baxter asked anxiously, ""You'll not be gone long?"" Jody said, ""I'll be back before dinner for sure."" Mill-wheel mounted his horse and pulled Jody up behind him. He said to Mill-wheel, ""Do you think the fawn's still there? Will you help me find him?"" ""We'll find him if he's alive. How you know it's a he?"" ""The spots were all in a line. On a doe-fawn, Pa says the spots are every which way…"" II Jody gave himself over to thoughts of the fawn. They passed the abandoned clearing. He said, ""Cut to the north, Mill-wheel. It was up here that Pa got bitten by the snake and killed the doe and I saw the fawn."" Suddenly Jody was unwilling to have Mill-wheel with him. If the fawn was dead, or could not be found, he could not have his disappointment seen. And if the fawn was there, the meeting would be so lovely and so secret that he could not endure to share it. He said, ""It's not far now, but the scrub is very thick for a horse. I can make it on foot."" ""But I'm afraid to leave you, boy. Suppose you got lost or got bitten by the snake, too?"" ""I'll take care. It might take me a long time to find the fawn, if he's wandered. Leave me off right here."" ""All right, but you take it easy now. You know north here, and east?"" ""There, and there. That tall pine makes a bearing."" ""So long."" ""So long, Mill-wheel. I'm obliged."" He waited for the sound of the hooves to end, then cut to the right. The scrub was still. Only his own crackling of twigs sounded across the silence. He wondered for an instant if he had mistaken his direction. Then a buzzard rose in front of him and flapped into the air. He came into the clearing under the oaks. Buzzards sat in a circle around the carcass of the doe. They turned their heads on their long scrawny necks and hissed at him. He threw his bough at them and they flew into an adjacent tree. The sand showed large cat prints but the big cats killed fresh, and they had left the doe to the carrion birds. He parted the grass at the place where he had seen the fawn. It did not seem possible that it was only yesterday. The fawn was not there. He circled the clearing. There was no sound, no sign. The buzzards clacked their wings, impatient to return to their business. He returned to the spot where the fawn had emerged and dropped on all fours, studying the sand for the small hoof prints. The night's rain had washed away all tracks except those of cat and buzzards. III Movement directly in front of him startled him so that he tumbled backward. The fawn lifted its face to his. It turned its head with a wide, wondering motion and shook him through with the stare of its liquid eyes. It was quivering. It made no effort to rise or run. Jody could not trust himself to move. He whispered, ""It's me."" The fawn lifted its nose, scenting him. He reached out one hand and laid it on the soft neck. The touch made him delirious. He moved forward on all fours until he was close beside it. He put his arms around its body. A light convulsion passed over it but it did not stir. He stroked its sides as gently as though the fawn were a china deer and he might break it. Its skin was very soft. It was sleek and clean and had a sweet scent of grass. He rose slowly and lifted the fawn from the ground. Its legs hung limply. They were surprisingly long and he had to hoist the fawn as high as possible under his arm. He was afraid that it might kick and bleat at sight and smell of its mother. He skirted the clearing and pushed his way into the thicket. It was difficult to fight through with his burden. The fawn's legs caught in the bushes and he could not lift his own with freedom. He tried to shield its face from prickling vines. Its head bobbed with his stride. His heart thumped with the marvel of its acceptance of him. He reached the trail and walked as fast as he could until he came to the intersection with the road home. He stopped to rest and set the fawn down on its dangling legs. It wavered on them. It looked at him and bleated. He said, enchanted, ""I'll carry you after I get my breath."" He remembered his father saying that a fawn would follow if it had first been carried. He started away slowly. The fawn stared after him. He came back to it and stroked it and walked away again. It took a few wobbling steps toward him and cried piteously. It was willing to follow him. It belonged to him. It was his own. He was light-headed with his joy. He wanted to fondle it, to run and romp with it, to call to it to come to him. He dared not alarm it. He picked it up and carried it in front of him over his two arms. It seemed to him that he walked without effort. His arms began to ache and he was forced to stop again. When he walked on, the fawn followed him at once. He allowed it to walk a little distance, then picked it up again. The distance home was nothing. He could have walked all day and into the night, carrying it and watching it follow. He was wet with sweat but a light breeze blew through the June morning, cooling him. The sky was as clear as spring water in a blue china cup. He came to the clearing. It was fresh and green after the night's rain. He fumbled with the latch and was finally obliged to set down the fawn to manage it. Then, he had an idea — he would walk into the house, into Penny's bedroom, with the fawn walking behind him. But at the steps, the fawn balked and refused to climb them. He picked it up and went to his father. Penny lay with closed eyes. Jody called, ""Pa Look!"" Penny turned his head. Jody stood beside him, the fawn clutched hard against him. It seemed to Penny that the boy's eyes were as bright as the fawn's. He said, ""I'm glad you found him."" Jody then went to the kitchen. The fawn wobbled after him. A pan of morning's milk stood in the kitchen safe. The cream had risen on it. He skimmed the cream into a jug. He poured milk into a small gourd. He held it out to the fawn. It butted it suddenly, smelling the milk. He saved it precariously from spilling over the floor. It could make nothing of the milk in the gourd. He dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn's soft wet mouth. It sucked greedily. When he withdrew them, it bleated frantically and butted him. He dipped his fingers again and as the fawn sucked, he lowered them slowly into the milk. The fawn blew and sucked and snorted. It stamped its small hoofs impatiently. As long as he held his fingers below the level of the milk, the fawn was content. It closed its eyes dreamily. It was ecstasy to feel its tongue against his hand. Its small tail flicked back and forth. The last of the milk vanished in a swirl of foam and gurgling.",How does Jody know that the fawn is a male?,"The spots of a male are in a line, whereas those of a doe-fawn are scattered randomly.",Reasoning "I Jody allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fawn. He could not keep it out of his mind. He had held it, in his dreams, in his arms. He slipped from the table and went to his father's bedside. Penny lay at rest. His eyes were open and clear, but the pupils were still dark and dilated. Jody said, ""How are you feeling, Pa?"" ""Just fine, son. Old Death has gone thieving elsewhere. But wasn't it a close shave!"" ""I agree."" Penny said, ""I'm proud of you, boy, the way you kept your head and did what was needed."" ""Pa-"" ""Yes, son."" ""Pa, do you recollect the doe and the fawn?"" ""I can never forget them. The poor doe saved me, that's certain."" ""Pa, the fawn may be out there yet. It might be hungry and very scared."" ""I suppose so."" ""Pa, I'm a big boy now and don't need to drink milk. Why don't I go and see if I can find the fawn?"" ""And bring it here?"" ""And raise it."" Penny lay quiet, staring at the ceiling. ""Boy, you've got me hemmed in."" ""It won't take much to raise it, Pa. It'll soon start eating leaves and acorns."" ""You are smarter than boys of your age."" ""We took its mother, and it wasn't to blame."" ""Surely it seems ungrateful to leave it to starve. Son, I can't say 'No' to you. I never thought I'd live to see another day."" ""Can I ride back with Mill-wheel and see if I can find it?"" ""Tell your Ma I said you can go."" He sidled back to the table and sat down. His mother was pouring coffee for everyone. He said, ""Ma, Pa says I can go bring back the fawn."" She held the coffee pot in mid-air. ""What fawn?"" ""The fawn belonging to the doe we killed. We used the doe's liver to draw out the poison and save Pa."" She gasped. ""Well, for pity sake—"" ""Pa says it would be ungrateful to leave it to starve."" Doc Wilson said, ""That's right, Ma'am. Nothing in the world comes quite free. The boy's right and his daddy's right."" Mill-wheel said, ""He can ride back with me. I'll help him find it."" She set down the pot helplessly. ""Well, if you'll give it your milk—we've got nothing else to feed it."" Mill-wheel said, ""Come on, boy. We've got to get riding."" Ma Baxter asked anxiously, ""You'll not be gone long?"" Jody said, ""I'll be back before dinner for sure."" Mill-wheel mounted his horse and pulled Jody up behind him. He said to Mill-wheel, ""Do you think the fawn's still there? Will you help me find him?"" ""We'll find him if he's alive. How you know it's a he?"" ""The spots were all in a line. On a doe-fawn, Pa says the spots are every which way…"" II Jody gave himself over to thoughts of the fawn. They passed the abandoned clearing. He said, ""Cut to the north, Mill-wheel. It was up here that Pa got bitten by the snake and killed the doe and I saw the fawn."" Suddenly Jody was unwilling to have Mill-wheel with him. If the fawn was dead, or could not be found, he could not have his disappointment seen. And if the fawn was there, the meeting would be so lovely and so secret that he could not endure to share it. He said, ""It's not far now, but the scrub is very thick for a horse. I can make it on foot."" ""But I'm afraid to leave you, boy. Suppose you got lost or got bitten by the snake, too?"" ""I'll take care. It might take me a long time to find the fawn, if he's wandered. Leave me off right here."" ""All right, but you take it easy now. You know north here, and east?"" ""There, and there. That tall pine makes a bearing."" ""So long."" ""So long, Mill-wheel. I'm obliged."" He waited for the sound of the hooves to end, then cut to the right. The scrub was still. Only his own crackling of twigs sounded across the silence. He wondered for an instant if he had mistaken his direction. Then a buzzard rose in front of him and flapped into the air. He came into the clearing under the oaks. Buzzards sat in a circle around the carcass of the doe. They turned their heads on their long scrawny necks and hissed at him. He threw his bough at them and they flew into an adjacent tree. The sand showed large cat prints but the big cats killed fresh, and they had left the doe to the carrion birds. He parted the grass at the place where he had seen the fawn. It did not seem possible that it was only yesterday. The fawn was not there. He circled the clearing. There was no sound, no sign. The buzzards clacked their wings, impatient to return to their business. He returned to the spot where the fawn had emerged and dropped on all fours, studying the sand for the small hoof prints. The night's rain had washed away all tracks except those of cat and buzzards. III Movement directly in front of him startled him so that he tumbled backward. The fawn lifted its face to his. It turned its head with a wide, wondering motion and shook him through with the stare of its liquid eyes. It was quivering. It made no effort to rise or run. Jody could not trust himself to move. He whispered, ""It's me."" The fawn lifted its nose, scenting him. He reached out one hand and laid it on the soft neck. The touch made him delirious. He moved forward on all fours until he was close beside it. He put his arms around its body. A light convulsion passed over it but it did not stir. He stroked its sides as gently as though the fawn were a china deer and he might break it. Its skin was very soft. It was sleek and clean and had a sweet scent of grass. He rose slowly and lifted the fawn from the ground. Its legs hung limply. They were surprisingly long and he had to hoist the fawn as high as possible under his arm. He was afraid that it might kick and bleat at sight and smell of its mother. He skirted the clearing and pushed his way into the thicket. It was difficult to fight through with his burden. The fawn's legs caught in the bushes and he could not lift his own with freedom. He tried to shield its face from prickling vines. Its head bobbed with his stride. His heart thumped with the marvel of its acceptance of him. He reached the trail and walked as fast as he could until he came to the intersection with the road home. He stopped to rest and set the fawn down on its dangling legs. It wavered on them. It looked at him and bleated. He said, enchanted, ""I'll carry you after I get my breath."" He remembered his father saying that a fawn would follow if it had first been carried. He started away slowly. The fawn stared after him. He came back to it and stroked it and walked away again. It took a few wobbling steps toward him and cried piteously. It was willing to follow him. It belonged to him. It was his own. He was light-headed with his joy. He wanted to fondle it, to run and romp with it, to call to it to come to him. He dared not alarm it. He picked it up and carried it in front of him over his two arms. It seemed to him that he walked without effort. His arms began to ache and he was forced to stop again. When he walked on, the fawn followed him at once. He allowed it to walk a little distance, then picked it up again. The distance home was nothing. He could have walked all day and into the night, carrying it and watching it follow. He was wet with sweat but a light breeze blew through the June morning, cooling him. The sky was as clear as spring water in a blue china cup. He came to the clearing. It was fresh and green after the night's rain. He fumbled with the latch and was finally obliged to set down the fawn to manage it. Then, he had an idea — he would walk into the house, into Penny's bedroom, with the fawn walking behind him. But at the steps, the fawn balked and refused to climb them. He picked it up and went to his father. Penny lay with closed eyes. Jody called, ""Pa Look!"" Penny turned his head. Jody stood beside him, the fawn clutched hard against him. It seemed to Penny that the boy's eyes were as bright as the fawn's. He said, ""I'm glad you found him."" Jody then went to the kitchen. The fawn wobbled after him. A pan of morning's milk stood in the kitchen safe. The cream had risen on it. He skimmed the cream into a jug. He poured milk into a small gourd. He held it out to the fawn. It butted it suddenly, smelling the milk. He saved it precariously from spilling over the floor. It could make nothing of the milk in the gourd. He dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn's soft wet mouth. It sucked greedily. When he withdrew them, it bleated frantically and butted him. He dipped his fingers again and as the fawn sucked, he lowered them slowly into the milk. The fawn blew and sucked and snorted. It stamped its small hoofs impatiently. As long as he held his fingers below the level of the milk, the fawn was content. It closed its eyes dreamily. It was ecstasy to feel its tongue against his hand. Its small tail flicked back and forth. The last of the milk vanished in a swirl of foam and gurgling.",Jody didn’t want Mill-wheel with him for two reasons. What were they?,"He thought if the fawn was dead or couldn’t be found, he didn’t want his despair to be seen. Moreover, if the fawn was found, the meeting would be so lovely and secret that he didn’t want to share it with Mill-wheel.",Factor "I Jody allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fawn. He could not keep it out of his mind. He had held it, in his dreams, in his arms. He slipped from the table and went to his father's bedside. Penny lay at rest. His eyes were open and clear, but the pupils were still dark and dilated. Jody said, ""How are you feeling, Pa?"" ""Just fine, son. Old Death has gone thieving elsewhere. But wasn't it a close shave!"" ""I agree."" Penny said, ""I'm proud of you, boy, the way you kept your head and did what was needed."" ""Pa-"" ""Yes, son."" ""Pa, do you recollect the doe and the fawn?"" ""I can never forget them. The poor doe saved me, that's certain."" ""Pa, the fawn may be out there yet. It might be hungry and very scared."" ""I suppose so."" ""Pa, I'm a big boy now and don't need to drink milk. Why don't I go and see if I can find the fawn?"" ""And bring it here?"" ""And raise it."" Penny lay quiet, staring at the ceiling. ""Boy, you've got me hemmed in."" ""It won't take much to raise it, Pa. It'll soon start eating leaves and acorns."" ""You are smarter than boys of your age."" ""We took its mother, and it wasn't to blame."" ""Surely it seems ungrateful to leave it to starve. Son, I can't say 'No' to you. I never thought I'd live to see another day."" ""Can I ride back with Mill-wheel and see if I can find it?"" ""Tell your Ma I said you can go."" He sidled back to the table and sat down. His mother was pouring coffee for everyone. He said, ""Ma, Pa says I can go bring back the fawn."" She held the coffee pot in mid-air. ""What fawn?"" ""The fawn belonging to the doe we killed. We used the doe's liver to draw out the poison and save Pa."" She gasped. ""Well, for pity sake—"" ""Pa says it would be ungrateful to leave it to starve."" Doc Wilson said, ""That's right, Ma'am. Nothing in the world comes quite free. The boy's right and his daddy's right."" Mill-wheel said, ""He can ride back with me. I'll help him find it."" She set down the pot helplessly. ""Well, if you'll give it your milk—we've got nothing else to feed it."" Mill-wheel said, ""Come on, boy. We've got to get riding."" Ma Baxter asked anxiously, ""You'll not be gone long?"" Jody said, ""I'll be back before dinner for sure."" Mill-wheel mounted his horse and pulled Jody up behind him. He said to Mill-wheel, ""Do you think the fawn's still there? Will you help me find him?"" ""We'll find him if he's alive. How you know it's a he?"" ""The spots were all in a line. On a doe-fawn, Pa says the spots are every which way…"" II Jody gave himself over to thoughts of the fawn. They passed the abandoned clearing. He said, ""Cut to the north, Mill-wheel. It was up here that Pa got bitten by the snake and killed the doe and I saw the fawn."" Suddenly Jody was unwilling to have Mill-wheel with him. If the fawn was dead, or could not be found, he could not have his disappointment seen. And if the fawn was there, the meeting would be so lovely and so secret that he could not endure to share it. He said, ""It's not far now, but the scrub is very thick for a horse. I can make it on foot."" ""But I'm afraid to leave you, boy. Suppose you got lost or got bitten by the snake, too?"" ""I'll take care. It might take me a long time to find the fawn, if he's wandered. Leave me off right here."" ""All right, but you take it easy now. You know north here, and east?"" ""There, and there. That tall pine makes a bearing."" ""So long."" ""So long, Mill-wheel. I'm obliged."" He waited for the sound of the hooves to end, then cut to the right. The scrub was still. Only his own crackling of twigs sounded across the silence. He wondered for an instant if he had mistaken his direction. Then a buzzard rose in front of him and flapped into the air. He came into the clearing under the oaks. Buzzards sat in a circle around the carcass of the doe. They turned their heads on their long scrawny necks and hissed at him. He threw his bough at them and they flew into an adjacent tree. The sand showed large cat prints but the big cats killed fresh, and they had left the doe to the carrion birds. He parted the grass at the place where he had seen the fawn. It did not seem possible that it was only yesterday. The fawn was not there. He circled the clearing. There was no sound, no sign. The buzzards clacked their wings, impatient to return to their business. He returned to the spot where the fawn had emerged and dropped on all fours, studying the sand for the small hoof prints. The night's rain had washed away all tracks except those of cat and buzzards. III Movement directly in front of him startled him so that he tumbled backward. The fawn lifted its face to his. It turned its head with a wide, wondering motion and shook him through with the stare of its liquid eyes. It was quivering. It made no effort to rise or run. Jody could not trust himself to move. He whispered, ""It's me."" The fawn lifted its nose, scenting him. He reached out one hand and laid it on the soft neck. The touch made him delirious. He moved forward on all fours until he was close beside it. He put his arms around its body. A light convulsion passed over it but it did not stir. He stroked its sides as gently as though the fawn were a china deer and he might break it. Its skin was very soft. It was sleek and clean and had a sweet scent of grass. He rose slowly and lifted the fawn from the ground. Its legs hung limply. They were surprisingly long and he had to hoist the fawn as high as possible under his arm. He was afraid that it might kick and bleat at sight and smell of its mother. He skirted the clearing and pushed his way into the thicket. It was difficult to fight through with his burden. The fawn's legs caught in the bushes and he could not lift his own with freedom. He tried to shield its face from prickling vines. Its head bobbed with his stride. His heart thumped with the marvel of its acceptance of him. He reached the trail and walked as fast as he could until he came to the intersection with the road home. He stopped to rest and set the fawn down on its dangling legs. It wavered on them. It looked at him and bleated. He said, enchanted, ""I'll carry you after I get my breath."" He remembered his father saying that a fawn would follow if it had first been carried. He started away slowly. The fawn stared after him. He came back to it and stroked it and walked away again. It took a few wobbling steps toward him and cried piteously. It was willing to follow him. It belonged to him. It was his own. He was light-headed with his joy. He wanted to fondle it, to run and romp with it, to call to it to come to him. He dared not alarm it. He picked it up and carried it in front of him over his two arms. It seemed to him that he walked without effort. His arms began to ache and he was forced to stop again. When he walked on, the fawn followed him at once. He allowed it to walk a little distance, then picked it up again. The distance home was nothing. He could have walked all day and into the night, carrying it and watching it follow. He was wet with sweat but a light breeze blew through the June morning, cooling him. The sky was as clear as spring water in a blue china cup. He came to the clearing. It was fresh and green after the night's rain. He fumbled with the latch and was finally obliged to set down the fawn to manage it. Then, he had an idea — he would walk into the house, into Penny's bedroom, with the fawn walking behind him. But at the steps, the fawn balked and refused to climb them. He picked it up and went to his father. Penny lay with closed eyes. Jody called, ""Pa Look!"" Penny turned his head. Jody stood beside him, the fawn clutched hard against him. It seemed to Penny that the boy's eyes were as bright as the fawn's. He said, ""I'm glad you found him."" Jody then went to the kitchen. The fawn wobbled after him. A pan of morning's milk stood in the kitchen safe. The cream had risen on it. He skimmed the cream into a jug. He poured milk into a small gourd. He held it out to the fawn. It butted it suddenly, smelling the milk. He saved it precariously from spilling over the floor. It could make nothing of the milk in the gourd. He dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn's soft wet mouth. It sucked greedily. When he withdrew them, it bleated frantically and butted him. He dipped his fingers again and as the fawn sucked, he lowered them slowly into the milk. The fawn blew and sucked and snorted. It stamped its small hoofs impatiently. As long as he held his fingers below the level of the milk, the fawn was content. It closed its eyes dreamily. It was ecstasy to feel its tongue against his hand. Its small tail flicked back and forth. The last of the milk vanished in a swirl of foam and gurgling.",Why was Mill-wheel afraid to leave Jody alone?,Mill-wheel was afraid Jody might get lost or bitten by a snake.,Factor "I Jody allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fawn. He could not keep it out of his mind. He had held it, in his dreams, in his arms. He slipped from the table and went to his father's bedside. Penny lay at rest. His eyes were open and clear, but the pupils were still dark and dilated. Jody said, ""How are you feeling, Pa?"" ""Just fine, son. Old Death has gone thieving elsewhere. But wasn't it a close shave!"" ""I agree."" Penny said, ""I'm proud of you, boy, the way you kept your head and did what was needed."" ""Pa-"" ""Yes, son."" ""Pa, do you recollect the doe and the fawn?"" ""I can never forget them. The poor doe saved me, that's certain."" ""Pa, the fawn may be out there yet. It might be hungry and very scared."" ""I suppose so."" ""Pa, I'm a big boy now and don't need to drink milk. Why don't I go and see if I can find the fawn?"" ""And bring it here?"" ""And raise it."" Penny lay quiet, staring at the ceiling. ""Boy, you've got me hemmed in."" ""It won't take much to raise it, Pa. It'll soon start eating leaves and acorns."" ""You are smarter than boys of your age."" ""We took its mother, and it wasn't to blame."" ""Surely it seems ungrateful to leave it to starve. Son, I can't say 'No' to you. I never thought I'd live to see another day."" ""Can I ride back with Mill-wheel and see if I can find it?"" ""Tell your Ma I said you can go."" He sidled back to the table and sat down. His mother was pouring coffee for everyone. He said, ""Ma, Pa says I can go bring back the fawn."" She held the coffee pot in mid-air. ""What fawn?"" ""The fawn belonging to the doe we killed. We used the doe's liver to draw out the poison and save Pa."" She gasped. ""Well, for pity sake—"" ""Pa says it would be ungrateful to leave it to starve."" Doc Wilson said, ""That's right, Ma'am. Nothing in the world comes quite free. The boy's right and his daddy's right."" Mill-wheel said, ""He can ride back with me. I'll help him find it."" She set down the pot helplessly. ""Well, if you'll give it your milk—we've got nothing else to feed it."" Mill-wheel said, ""Come on, boy. We've got to get riding."" Ma Baxter asked anxiously, ""You'll not be gone long?"" Jody said, ""I'll be back before dinner for sure."" Mill-wheel mounted his horse and pulled Jody up behind him. He said to Mill-wheel, ""Do you think the fawn's still there? Will you help me find him?"" ""We'll find him if he's alive. How you know it's a he?"" ""The spots were all in a line. On a doe-fawn, Pa says the spots are every which way…"" II Jody gave himself over to thoughts of the fawn. They passed the abandoned clearing. He said, ""Cut to the north, Mill-wheel. It was up here that Pa got bitten by the snake and killed the doe and I saw the fawn."" Suddenly Jody was unwilling to have Mill-wheel with him. If the fawn was dead, or could not be found, he could not have his disappointment seen. And if the fawn was there, the meeting would be so lovely and so secret that he could not endure to share it. He said, ""It's not far now, but the scrub is very thick for a horse. I can make it on foot."" ""But I'm afraid to leave you, boy. Suppose you got lost or got bitten by the snake, too?"" ""I'll take care. It might take me a long time to find the fawn, if he's wandered. Leave me off right here."" ""All right, but you take it easy now. You know north here, and east?"" ""There, and there. That tall pine makes a bearing."" ""So long."" ""So long, Mill-wheel. I'm obliged."" He waited for the sound of the hooves to end, then cut to the right. The scrub was still. Only his own crackling of twigs sounded across the silence. He wondered for an instant if he had mistaken his direction. Then a buzzard rose in front of him and flapped into the air. He came into the clearing under the oaks. Buzzards sat in a circle around the carcass of the doe. They turned their heads on their long scrawny necks and hissed at him. He threw his bough at them and they flew into an adjacent tree. The sand showed large cat prints but the big cats killed fresh, and they had left the doe to the carrion birds. He parted the grass at the place where he had seen the fawn. It did not seem possible that it was only yesterday. The fawn was not there. He circled the clearing. There was no sound, no sign. The buzzards clacked their wings, impatient to return to their business. He returned to the spot where the fawn had emerged and dropped on all fours, studying the sand for the small hoof prints. The night's rain had washed away all tracks except those of cat and buzzards. III Movement directly in front of him startled him so that he tumbled backward. The fawn lifted its face to his. It turned its head with a wide, wondering motion and shook him through with the stare of its liquid eyes. It was quivering. It made no effort to rise or run. Jody could not trust himself to move. He whispered, ""It's me."" The fawn lifted its nose, scenting him. He reached out one hand and laid it on the soft neck. The touch made him delirious. He moved forward on all fours until he was close beside it. He put his arms around its body. A light convulsion passed over it but it did not stir. He stroked its sides as gently as though the fawn were a china deer and he might break it. Its skin was very soft. It was sleek and clean and had a sweet scent of grass. He rose slowly and lifted the fawn from the ground. Its legs hung limply. They were surprisingly long and he had to hoist the fawn as high as possible under his arm. He was afraid that it might kick and bleat at sight and smell of its mother. He skirted the clearing and pushed his way into the thicket. It was difficult to fight through with his burden. The fawn's legs caught in the bushes and he could not lift his own with freedom. He tried to shield its face from prickling vines. Its head bobbed with his stride. His heart thumped with the marvel of its acceptance of him. He reached the trail and walked as fast as he could until he came to the intersection with the road home. He stopped to rest and set the fawn down on its dangling legs. It wavered on them. It looked at him and bleated. He said, enchanted, ""I'll carry you after I get my breath."" He remembered his father saying that a fawn would follow if it had first been carried. He started away slowly. The fawn stared after him. He came back to it and stroked it and walked away again. It took a few wobbling steps toward him and cried piteously. It was willing to follow him. It belonged to him. It was his own. He was light-headed with his joy. He wanted to fondle it, to run and romp with it, to call to it to come to him. He dared not alarm it. He picked it up and carried it in front of him over his two arms. It seemed to him that he walked without effort. His arms began to ache and he was forced to stop again. When he walked on, the fawn followed him at once. He allowed it to walk a little distance, then picked it up again. The distance home was nothing. He could have walked all day and into the night, carrying it and watching it follow. He was wet with sweat but a light breeze blew through the June morning, cooling him. The sky was as clear as spring water in a blue china cup. He came to the clearing. It was fresh and green after the night's rain. He fumbled with the latch and was finally obliged to set down the fawn to manage it. Then, he had an idea — he would walk into the house, into Penny's bedroom, with the fawn walking behind him. But at the steps, the fawn balked and refused to climb them. He picked it up and went to his father. Penny lay with closed eyes. Jody called, ""Pa Look!"" Penny turned his head. Jody stood beside him, the fawn clutched hard against him. It seemed to Penny that the boy's eyes were as bright as the fawn's. He said, ""I'm glad you found him."" Jody then went to the kitchen. The fawn wobbled after him. A pan of morning's milk stood in the kitchen safe. The cream had risen on it. He skimmed the cream into a jug. He poured milk into a small gourd. He held it out to the fawn. It butted it suddenly, smelling the milk. He saved it precariously from spilling over the floor. It could make nothing of the milk in the gourd. He dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn's soft wet mouth. It sucked greedily. When he withdrew them, it bleated frantically and butted him. He dipped his fingers again and as the fawn sucked, he lowered them slowly into the milk. The fawn blew and sucked and snorted. It stamped its small hoofs impatiently. As long as he held his fingers below the level of the milk, the fawn was content. It closed its eyes dreamily. It was ecstasy to feel its tongue against his hand. Its small tail flicked back and forth. The last of the milk vanished in a swirl of foam and gurgling.",How did Jody bring the fawn back home?,He held the fawn in his arms and carried it back home.,Reasoning "I Jody allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fawn. He could not keep it out of his mind. He had held it, in his dreams, in his arms. He slipped from the table and went to his father's bedside. Penny lay at rest. His eyes were open and clear, but the pupils were still dark and dilated. Jody said, ""How are you feeling, Pa?"" ""Just fine, son. Old Death has gone thieving elsewhere. But wasn't it a close shave!"" ""I agree."" Penny said, ""I'm proud of you, boy, the way you kept your head and did what was needed."" ""Pa-"" ""Yes, son."" ""Pa, do you recollect the doe and the fawn?"" ""I can never forget them. The poor doe saved me, that's certain."" ""Pa, the fawn may be out there yet. It might be hungry and very scared."" ""I suppose so."" ""Pa, I'm a big boy now and don't need to drink milk. Why don't I go and see if I can find the fawn?"" ""And bring it here?"" ""And raise it."" Penny lay quiet, staring at the ceiling. ""Boy, you've got me hemmed in."" ""It won't take much to raise it, Pa. It'll soon start eating leaves and acorns."" ""You are smarter than boys of your age."" ""We took its mother, and it wasn't to blame."" ""Surely it seems ungrateful to leave it to starve. Son, I can't say 'No' to you. I never thought I'd live to see another day."" ""Can I ride back with Mill-wheel and see if I can find it?"" ""Tell your Ma I said you can go."" He sidled back to the table and sat down. His mother was pouring coffee for everyone. He said, ""Ma, Pa says I can go bring back the fawn."" She held the coffee pot in mid-air. ""What fawn?"" ""The fawn belonging to the doe we killed. We used the doe's liver to draw out the poison and save Pa."" She gasped. ""Well, for pity sake—"" ""Pa says it would be ungrateful to leave it to starve."" Doc Wilson said, ""That's right, Ma'am. Nothing in the world comes quite free. The boy's right and his daddy's right."" Mill-wheel said, ""He can ride back with me. I'll help him find it."" She set down the pot helplessly. ""Well, if you'll give it your milk—we've got nothing else to feed it."" Mill-wheel said, ""Come on, boy. We've got to get riding."" Ma Baxter asked anxiously, ""You'll not be gone long?"" Jody said, ""I'll be back before dinner for sure."" Mill-wheel mounted his horse and pulled Jody up behind him. He said to Mill-wheel, ""Do you think the fawn's still there? Will you help me find him?"" ""We'll find him if he's alive. How you know it's a he?"" ""The spots were all in a line. On a doe-fawn, Pa says the spots are every which way…"" II Jody gave himself over to thoughts of the fawn. They passed the abandoned clearing. He said, ""Cut to the north, Mill-wheel. It was up here that Pa got bitten by the snake and killed the doe and I saw the fawn."" Suddenly Jody was unwilling to have Mill-wheel with him. If the fawn was dead, or could not be found, he could not have his disappointment seen. And if the fawn was there, the meeting would be so lovely and so secret that he could not endure to share it. He said, ""It's not far now, but the scrub is very thick for a horse. I can make it on foot."" ""But I'm afraid to leave you, boy. Suppose you got lost or got bitten by the snake, too?"" ""I'll take care. It might take me a long time to find the fawn, if he's wandered. Leave me off right here."" ""All right, but you take it easy now. You know north here, and east?"" ""There, and there. That tall pine makes a bearing."" ""So long."" ""So long, Mill-wheel. I'm obliged."" He waited for the sound of the hooves to end, then cut to the right. The scrub was still. Only his own crackling of twigs sounded across the silence. He wondered for an instant if he had mistaken his direction. Then a buzzard rose in front of him and flapped into the air. He came into the clearing under the oaks. Buzzards sat in a circle around the carcass of the doe. They turned their heads on their long scrawny necks and hissed at him. He threw his bough at them and they flew into an adjacent tree. The sand showed large cat prints but the big cats killed fresh, and they had left the doe to the carrion birds. He parted the grass at the place where he had seen the fawn. It did not seem possible that it was only yesterday. The fawn was not there. He circled the clearing. There was no sound, no sign. The buzzards clacked their wings, impatient to return to their business. He returned to the spot where the fawn had emerged and dropped on all fours, studying the sand for the small hoof prints. The night's rain had washed away all tracks except those of cat and buzzards. III Movement directly in front of him startled him so that he tumbled backward. The fawn lifted its face to his. It turned its head with a wide, wondering motion and shook him through with the stare of its liquid eyes. It was quivering. It made no effort to rise or run. Jody could not trust himself to move. He whispered, ""It's me."" The fawn lifted its nose, scenting him. He reached out one hand and laid it on the soft neck. The touch made him delirious. He moved forward on all fours until he was close beside it. He put his arms around its body. A light convulsion passed over it but it did not stir. He stroked its sides as gently as though the fawn were a china deer and he might break it. Its skin was very soft. It was sleek and clean and had a sweet scent of grass. He rose slowly and lifted the fawn from the ground. Its legs hung limply. They were surprisingly long and he had to hoist the fawn as high as possible under his arm. He was afraid that it might kick and bleat at sight and smell of its mother. He skirted the clearing and pushed his way into the thicket. It was difficult to fight through with his burden. The fawn's legs caught in the bushes and he could not lift his own with freedom. He tried to shield its face from prickling vines. Its head bobbed with his stride. His heart thumped with the marvel of its acceptance of him. He reached the trail and walked as fast as he could until he came to the intersection with the road home. He stopped to rest and set the fawn down on its dangling legs. It wavered on them. It looked at him and bleated. He said, enchanted, ""I'll carry you after I get my breath."" He remembered his father saying that a fawn would follow if it had first been carried. He started away slowly. The fawn stared after him. He came back to it and stroked it and walked away again. It took a few wobbling steps toward him and cried piteously. It was willing to follow him. It belonged to him. It was his own. He was light-headed with his joy. He wanted to fondle it, to run and romp with it, to call to it to come to him. He dared not alarm it. He picked it up and carried it in front of him over his two arms. It seemed to him that he walked without effort. His arms began to ache and he was forced to stop again. When he walked on, the fawn followed him at once. He allowed it to walk a little distance, then picked it up again. The distance home was nothing. He could have walked all day and into the night, carrying it and watching it follow. He was wet with sweat but a light breeze blew through the June morning, cooling him. The sky was as clear as spring water in a blue china cup. He came to the clearing. It was fresh and green after the night's rain. He fumbled with the latch and was finally obliged to set down the fawn to manage it. Then, he had an idea — he would walk into the house, into Penny's bedroom, with the fawn walking behind him. But at the steps, the fawn balked and refused to climb them. He picked it up and went to his father. Penny lay with closed eyes. Jody called, ""Pa Look!"" Penny turned his head. Jody stood beside him, the fawn clutched hard against him. It seemed to Penny that the boy's eyes were as bright as the fawn's. He said, ""I'm glad you found him."" Jody then went to the kitchen. The fawn wobbled after him. A pan of morning's milk stood in the kitchen safe. The cream had risen on it. He skimmed the cream into a jug. He poured milk into a small gourd. He held it out to the fawn. It butted it suddenly, smelling the milk. He saved it precariously from spilling over the floor. It could make nothing of the milk in the gourd. He dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn's soft wet mouth. It sucked greedily. When he withdrew them, it bleated frantically and butted him. He dipped his fingers again and as the fawn sucked, he lowered them slowly into the milk. The fawn blew and sucked and snorted. It stamped its small hoofs impatiently. As long as he held his fingers below the level of the milk, the fawn was content. It closed its eyes dreamily. It was ecstasy to feel its tongue against his hand. Its small tail flicked back and forth. The last of the milk vanished in a swirl of foam and gurgling.",Jody was filled with emotion after he found the fawn. Can you find at least three words or phrases which show how he felt?,"The following words show his emotion: startled, wanted to fondle it, delirious, light-headed with joy.",Reasoning "I Jody allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fawn. He could not keep it out of his mind. He had held it, in his dreams, in his arms. He slipped from the table and went to his father's bedside. Penny lay at rest. His eyes were open and clear, but the pupils were still dark and dilated. Jody said, ""How are you feeling, Pa?"" ""Just fine, son. Old Death has gone thieving elsewhere. But wasn't it a close shave!"" ""I agree."" Penny said, ""I'm proud of you, boy, the way you kept your head and did what was needed."" ""Pa-"" ""Yes, son."" ""Pa, do you recollect the doe and the fawn?"" ""I can never forget them. The poor doe saved me, that's certain."" ""Pa, the fawn may be out there yet. It might be hungry and very scared."" ""I suppose so."" ""Pa, I'm a big boy now and don't need to drink milk. Why don't I go and see if I can find the fawn?"" ""And bring it here?"" ""And raise it."" Penny lay quiet, staring at the ceiling. ""Boy, you've got me hemmed in."" ""It won't take much to raise it, Pa. It'll soon start eating leaves and acorns."" ""You are smarter than boys of your age."" ""We took its mother, and it wasn't to blame."" ""Surely it seems ungrateful to leave it to starve. Son, I can't say 'No' to you. I never thought I'd live to see another day."" ""Can I ride back with Mill-wheel and see if I can find it?"" ""Tell your Ma I said you can go."" He sidled back to the table and sat down. His mother was pouring coffee for everyone. He said, ""Ma, Pa says I can go bring back the fawn."" She held the coffee pot in mid-air. ""What fawn?"" ""The fawn belonging to the doe we killed. We used the doe's liver to draw out the poison and save Pa."" She gasped. ""Well, for pity sake—"" ""Pa says it would be ungrateful to leave it to starve."" Doc Wilson said, ""That's right, Ma'am. Nothing in the world comes quite free. The boy's right and his daddy's right."" Mill-wheel said, ""He can ride back with me. I'll help him find it."" She set down the pot helplessly. ""Well, if you'll give it your milk—we've got nothing else to feed it."" Mill-wheel said, ""Come on, boy. We've got to get riding."" Ma Baxter asked anxiously, ""You'll not be gone long?"" Jody said, ""I'll be back before dinner for sure."" Mill-wheel mounted his horse and pulled Jody up behind him. He said to Mill-wheel, ""Do you think the fawn's still there? Will you help me find him?"" ""We'll find him if he's alive. How you know it's a he?"" ""The spots were all in a line. On a doe-fawn, Pa says the spots are every which way…"" II Jody gave himself over to thoughts of the fawn. They passed the abandoned clearing. He said, ""Cut to the north, Mill-wheel. It was up here that Pa got bitten by the snake and killed the doe and I saw the fawn."" Suddenly Jody was unwilling to have Mill-wheel with him. If the fawn was dead, or could not be found, he could not have his disappointment seen. And if the fawn was there, the meeting would be so lovely and so secret that he could not endure to share it. He said, ""It's not far now, but the scrub is very thick for a horse. I can make it on foot."" ""But I'm afraid to leave you, boy. Suppose you got lost or got bitten by the snake, too?"" ""I'll take care. It might take me a long time to find the fawn, if he's wandered. Leave me off right here."" ""All right, but you take it easy now. You know north here, and east?"" ""There, and there. That tall pine makes a bearing."" ""So long."" ""So long, Mill-wheel. I'm obliged."" He waited for the sound of the hooves to end, then cut to the right. The scrub was still. Only his own crackling of twigs sounded across the silence. He wondered for an instant if he had mistaken his direction. Then a buzzard rose in front of him and flapped into the air. He came into the clearing under the oaks. Buzzards sat in a circle around the carcass of the doe. They turned their heads on their long scrawny necks and hissed at him. He threw his bough at them and they flew into an adjacent tree. The sand showed large cat prints but the big cats killed fresh, and they had left the doe to the carrion birds. He parted the grass at the place where he had seen the fawn. It did not seem possible that it was only yesterday. The fawn was not there. He circled the clearing. There was no sound, no sign. The buzzards clacked their wings, impatient to return to their business. He returned to the spot where the fawn had emerged and dropped on all fours, studying the sand for the small hoof prints. The night's rain had washed away all tracks except those of cat and buzzards. III Movement directly in front of him startled him so that he tumbled backward. The fawn lifted its face to his. It turned its head with a wide, wondering motion and shook him through with the stare of its liquid eyes. It was quivering. It made no effort to rise or run. Jody could not trust himself to move. He whispered, ""It's me."" The fawn lifted its nose, scenting him. He reached out one hand and laid it on the soft neck. The touch made him delirious. He moved forward on all fours until he was close beside it. He put his arms around its body. A light convulsion passed over it but it did not stir. He stroked its sides as gently as though the fawn were a china deer and he might break it. Its skin was very soft. It was sleek and clean and had a sweet scent of grass. He rose slowly and lifted the fawn from the ground. Its legs hung limply. They were surprisingly long and he had to hoist the fawn as high as possible under his arm. He was afraid that it might kick and bleat at sight and smell of its mother. He skirted the clearing and pushed his way into the thicket. It was difficult to fight through with his burden. The fawn's legs caught in the bushes and he could not lift his own with freedom. He tried to shield its face from prickling vines. Its head bobbed with his stride. His heart thumped with the marvel of its acceptance of him. He reached the trail and walked as fast as he could until he came to the intersection with the road home. He stopped to rest and set the fawn down on its dangling legs. It wavered on them. It looked at him and bleated. He said, enchanted, ""I'll carry you after I get my breath."" He remembered his father saying that a fawn would follow if it had first been carried. He started away slowly. The fawn stared after him. He came back to it and stroked it and walked away again. It took a few wobbling steps toward him and cried piteously. It was willing to follow him. It belonged to him. It was his own. He was light-headed with his joy. He wanted to fondle it, to run and romp with it, to call to it to come to him. He dared not alarm it. He picked it up and carried it in front of him over his two arms. It seemed to him that he walked without effort. His arms began to ache and he was forced to stop again. When he walked on, the fawn followed him at once. He allowed it to walk a little distance, then picked it up again. The distance home was nothing. He could have walked all day and into the night, carrying it and watching it follow. He was wet with sweat but a light breeze blew through the June morning, cooling him. The sky was as clear as spring water in a blue china cup. He came to the clearing. It was fresh and green after the night's rain. He fumbled with the latch and was finally obliged to set down the fawn to manage it. Then, he had an idea — he would walk into the house, into Penny's bedroom, with the fawn walking behind him. But at the steps, the fawn balked and refused to climb them. He picked it up and went to his father. Penny lay with closed eyes. Jody called, ""Pa Look!"" Penny turned his head. Jody stood beside him, the fawn clutched hard against him. It seemed to Penny that the boy's eyes were as bright as the fawn's. He said, ""I'm glad you found him."" Jody then went to the kitchen. The fawn wobbled after him. A pan of morning's milk stood in the kitchen safe. The cream had risen on it. He skimmed the cream into a jug. He poured milk into a small gourd. He held it out to the fawn. It butted it suddenly, smelling the milk. He saved it precariously from spilling over the floor. It could make nothing of the milk in the gourd. He dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn's soft wet mouth. It sucked greedily. When he withdrew them, it bleated frantically and butted him. He dipped his fingers again and as the fawn sucked, he lowered them slowly into the milk. The fawn blew and sucked and snorted. It stamped its small hoofs impatiently. As long as he held his fingers below the level of the milk, the fawn was content. It closed its eyes dreamily. It was ecstasy to feel its tongue against his hand. Its small tail flicked back and forth. The last of the milk vanished in a swirl of foam and gurgling.",How did the fawn drink milk from the gourd?,"Jody dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn’s mouth. He then lowered them into the gourd. The fawn snorted, sucked, and then started sipping the milk.",Reasoning "I Jody allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fawn. He could not keep it out of his mind. He had held it, in his dreams, in his arms. He slipped from the table and went to his father's bedside. Penny lay at rest. His eyes were open and clear, but the pupils were still dark and dilated. Jody said, ""How are you feeling, Pa?"" ""Just fine, son. Old Death has gone thieving elsewhere. But wasn't it a close shave!"" ""I agree."" Penny said, ""I'm proud of you, boy, the way you kept your head and did what was needed."" ""Pa-"" ""Yes, son."" ""Pa, do you recollect the doe and the fawn?"" ""I can never forget them. The poor doe saved me, that's certain."" ""Pa, the fawn may be out there yet. It might be hungry and very scared."" ""I suppose so."" ""Pa, I'm a big boy now and don't need to drink milk. Why don't I go and see if I can find the fawn?"" ""And bring it here?"" ""And raise it."" Penny lay quiet, staring at the ceiling. ""Boy, you've got me hemmed in."" ""It won't take much to raise it, Pa. It'll soon start eating leaves and acorns."" ""You are smarter than boys of your age."" ""We took its mother, and it wasn't to blame."" ""Surely it seems ungrateful to leave it to starve. Son, I can't say 'No' to you. I never thought I'd live to see another day."" ""Can I ride back with Mill-wheel and see if I can find it?"" ""Tell your Ma I said you can go."" He sidled back to the table and sat down. His mother was pouring coffee for everyone. He said, ""Ma, Pa says I can go bring back the fawn."" She held the coffee pot in mid-air. ""What fawn?"" ""The fawn belonging to the doe we killed. We used the doe's liver to draw out the poison and save Pa."" She gasped. ""Well, for pity sake—"" ""Pa says it would be ungrateful to leave it to starve."" Doc Wilson said, ""That's right, Ma'am. Nothing in the world comes quite free. The boy's right and his daddy's right."" Mill-wheel said, ""He can ride back with me. I'll help him find it."" She set down the pot helplessly. ""Well, if you'll give it your milk—we've got nothing else to feed it."" Mill-wheel said, ""Come on, boy. We've got to get riding."" Ma Baxter asked anxiously, ""You'll not be gone long?"" Jody said, ""I'll be back before dinner for sure."" Mill-wheel mounted his horse and pulled Jody up behind him. He said to Mill-wheel, ""Do you think the fawn's still there? Will you help me find him?"" ""We'll find him if he's alive. How you know it's a he?"" ""The spots were all in a line. On a doe-fawn, Pa says the spots are every which way…"" II Jody gave himself over to thoughts of the fawn. They passed the abandoned clearing. He said, ""Cut to the north, Mill-wheel. It was up here that Pa got bitten by the snake and killed the doe and I saw the fawn."" Suddenly Jody was unwilling to have Mill-wheel with him. If the fawn was dead, or could not be found, he could not have his disappointment seen. And if the fawn was there, the meeting would be so lovely and so secret that he could not endure to share it. He said, ""It's not far now, but the scrub is very thick for a horse. I can make it on foot."" ""But I'm afraid to leave you, boy. Suppose you got lost or got bitten by the snake, too?"" ""I'll take care. It might take me a long time to find the fawn, if he's wandered. Leave me off right here."" ""All right, but you take it easy now. You know north here, and east?"" ""There, and there. That tall pine makes a bearing."" ""So long."" ""So long, Mill-wheel. I'm obliged."" He waited for the sound of the hooves to end, then cut to the right. The scrub was still. Only his own crackling of twigs sounded across the silence. He wondered for an instant if he had mistaken his direction. Then a buzzard rose in front of him and flapped into the air. He came into the clearing under the oaks. Buzzards sat in a circle around the carcass of the doe. They turned their heads on their long scrawny necks and hissed at him. He threw his bough at them and they flew into an adjacent tree. The sand showed large cat prints but the big cats killed fresh, and they had left the doe to the carrion birds. He parted the grass at the place where he had seen the fawn. It did not seem possible that it was only yesterday. The fawn was not there. He circled the clearing. There was no sound, no sign. The buzzards clacked their wings, impatient to return to their business. He returned to the spot where the fawn had emerged and dropped on all fours, studying the sand for the small hoof prints. The night's rain had washed away all tracks except those of cat and buzzards. III Movement directly in front of him startled him so that he tumbled backward. The fawn lifted its face to his. It turned its head with a wide, wondering motion and shook him through with the stare of its liquid eyes. It was quivering. It made no effort to rise or run. Jody could not trust himself to move. He whispered, ""It's me."" The fawn lifted its nose, scenting him. He reached out one hand and laid it on the soft neck. The touch made him delirious. He moved forward on all fours until he was close beside it. He put his arms around its body. A light convulsion passed over it but it did not stir. He stroked its sides as gently as though the fawn were a china deer and he might break it. Its skin was very soft. It was sleek and clean and had a sweet scent of grass. He rose slowly and lifted the fawn from the ground. Its legs hung limply. They were surprisingly long and he had to hoist the fawn as high as possible under his arm. He was afraid that it might kick and bleat at sight and smell of its mother. He skirted the clearing and pushed his way into the thicket. It was difficult to fight through with his burden. The fawn's legs caught in the bushes and he could not lift his own with freedom. He tried to shield its face from prickling vines. Its head bobbed with his stride. His heart thumped with the marvel of its acceptance of him. He reached the trail and walked as fast as he could until he came to the intersection with the road home. He stopped to rest and set the fawn down on its dangling legs. It wavered on them. It looked at him and bleated. He said, enchanted, ""I'll carry you after I get my breath."" He remembered his father saying that a fawn would follow if it had first been carried. He started away slowly. The fawn stared after him. He came back to it and stroked it and walked away again. It took a few wobbling steps toward him and cried piteously. It was willing to follow him. It belonged to him. It was his own. He was light-headed with his joy. He wanted to fondle it, to run and romp with it, to call to it to come to him. He dared not alarm it. He picked it up and carried it in front of him over his two arms. It seemed to him that he walked without effort. His arms began to ache and he was forced to stop again. When he walked on, the fawn followed him at once. He allowed it to walk a little distance, then picked it up again. The distance home was nothing. He could have walked all day and into the night, carrying it and watching it follow. He was wet with sweat but a light breeze blew through the June morning, cooling him. The sky was as clear as spring water in a blue china cup. He came to the clearing. It was fresh and green after the night's rain. He fumbled with the latch and was finally obliged to set down the fawn to manage it. Then, he had an idea — he would walk into the house, into Penny's bedroom, with the fawn walking behind him. But at the steps, the fawn balked and refused to climb them. He picked it up and went to his father. Penny lay with closed eyes. Jody called, ""Pa Look!"" Penny turned his head. Jody stood beside him, the fawn clutched hard against him. It seemed to Penny that the boy's eyes were as bright as the fawn's. He said, ""I'm glad you found him."" Jody then went to the kitchen. The fawn wobbled after him. A pan of morning's milk stood in the kitchen safe. The cream had risen on it. He skimmed the cream into a jug. He poured milk into a small gourd. He held it out to the fawn. It butted it suddenly, smelling the milk. He saved it precariously from spilling over the floor. It could make nothing of the milk in the gourd. He dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn's soft wet mouth. It sucked greedily. When he withdrew them, it bleated frantically and butted him. He dipped his fingers again and as the fawn sucked, he lowered them slowly into the milk. The fawn blew and sucked and snorted. It stamped its small hoofs impatiently. As long as he held his fingers below the level of the milk, the fawn was content. It closed its eyes dreamily. It was ecstasy to feel its tongue against his hand. Its small tail flicked back and forth. The last of the milk vanished in a swirl of foam and gurgling.",Why didn’t the fawn follow Jody up the steps as he had thought it would?,"The fawn was very small and weak. Its legs lacked strength, so it couldn’t climb up the steps.",Factor "I Jody allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fawn. He could not keep it out of his mind. He had held it, in his dreams, in his arms. He slipped from the table and went to his father's bedside. Penny lay at rest. His eyes were open and clear, but the pupils were still dark and dilated. Jody said, ""How are you feeling, Pa?"" ""Just fine, son. Old Death has gone thieving elsewhere. But wasn't it a close shave!"" ""I agree."" Penny said, ""I'm proud of you, boy, the way you kept your head and did what was needed."" ""Pa-"" ""Yes, son."" ""Pa, do you recollect the doe and the fawn?"" ""I can never forget them. The poor doe saved me, that's certain."" ""Pa, the fawn may be out there yet. It might be hungry and very scared."" ""I suppose so."" ""Pa, I'm a big boy now and don't need to drink milk. Why don't I go and see if I can find the fawn?"" ""And bring it here?"" ""And raise it."" Penny lay quiet, staring at the ceiling. ""Boy, you've got me hemmed in."" ""It won't take much to raise it, Pa. It'll soon start eating leaves and acorns."" ""You are smarter than boys of your age."" ""We took its mother, and it wasn't to blame."" ""Surely it seems ungrateful to leave it to starve. Son, I can't say 'No' to you. I never thought I'd live to see another day."" ""Can I ride back with Mill-wheel and see if I can find it?"" ""Tell your Ma I said you can go."" He sidled back to the table and sat down. His mother was pouring coffee for everyone. He said, ""Ma, Pa says I can go bring back the fawn."" She held the coffee pot in mid-air. ""What fawn?"" ""The fawn belonging to the doe we killed. We used the doe's liver to draw out the poison and save Pa."" She gasped. ""Well, for pity sake—"" ""Pa says it would be ungrateful to leave it to starve."" Doc Wilson said, ""That's right, Ma'am. Nothing in the world comes quite free. The boy's right and his daddy's right."" Mill-wheel said, ""He can ride back with me. I'll help him find it."" She set down the pot helplessly. ""Well, if you'll give it your milk—we've got nothing else to feed it."" Mill-wheel said, ""Come on, boy. We've got to get riding."" Ma Baxter asked anxiously, ""You'll not be gone long?"" Jody said, ""I'll be back before dinner for sure."" Mill-wheel mounted his horse and pulled Jody up behind him. He said to Mill-wheel, ""Do you think the fawn's still there? Will you help me find him?"" ""We'll find him if he's alive. How you know it's a he?"" ""The spots were all in a line. On a doe-fawn, Pa says the spots are every which way…"" II Jody gave himself over to thoughts of the fawn. They passed the abandoned clearing. He said, ""Cut to the north, Mill-wheel. It was up here that Pa got bitten by the snake and killed the doe and I saw the fawn."" Suddenly Jody was unwilling to have Mill-wheel with him. If the fawn was dead, or could not be found, he could not have his disappointment seen. And if the fawn was there, the meeting would be so lovely and so secret that he could not endure to share it. He said, ""It's not far now, but the scrub is very thick for a horse. I can make it on foot."" ""But I'm afraid to leave you, boy. Suppose you got lost or got bitten by the snake, too?"" ""I'll take care. It might take me a long time to find the fawn, if he's wandered. Leave me off right here."" ""All right, but you take it easy now. You know north here, and east?"" ""There, and there. That tall pine makes a bearing."" ""So long."" ""So long, Mill-wheel. I'm obliged."" He waited for the sound of the hooves to end, then cut to the right. The scrub was still. Only his own crackling of twigs sounded across the silence. He wondered for an instant if he had mistaken his direction. Then a buzzard rose in front of him and flapped into the air. He came into the clearing under the oaks. Buzzards sat in a circle around the carcass of the doe. They turned their heads on their long scrawny necks and hissed at him. He threw his bough at them and they flew into an adjacent tree. The sand showed large cat prints but the big cats killed fresh, and they had left the doe to the carrion birds. He parted the grass at the place where he had seen the fawn. It did not seem possible that it was only yesterday. The fawn was not there. He circled the clearing. There was no sound, no sign. The buzzards clacked their wings, impatient to return to their business. He returned to the spot where the fawn had emerged and dropped on all fours, studying the sand for the small hoof prints. The night's rain had washed away all tracks except those of cat and buzzards. III Movement directly in front of him startled him so that he tumbled backward. The fawn lifted its face to his. It turned its head with a wide, wondering motion and shook him through with the stare of its liquid eyes. It was quivering. It made no effort to rise or run. Jody could not trust himself to move. He whispered, ""It's me."" The fawn lifted its nose, scenting him. He reached out one hand and laid it on the soft neck. The touch made him delirious. He moved forward on all fours until he was close beside it. He put his arms around its body. A light convulsion passed over it but it did not stir. He stroked its sides as gently as though the fawn were a china deer and he might break it. Its skin was very soft. It was sleek and clean and had a sweet scent of grass. He rose slowly and lifted the fawn from the ground. Its legs hung limply. They were surprisingly long and he had to hoist the fawn as high as possible under his arm. He was afraid that it might kick and bleat at sight and smell of its mother. He skirted the clearing and pushed his way into the thicket. It was difficult to fight through with his burden. The fawn's legs caught in the bushes and he could not lift his own with freedom. He tried to shield its face from prickling vines. Its head bobbed with his stride. His heart thumped with the marvel of its acceptance of him. He reached the trail and walked as fast as he could until he came to the intersection with the road home. He stopped to rest and set the fawn down on its dangling legs. It wavered on them. It looked at him and bleated. He said, enchanted, ""I'll carry you after I get my breath."" He remembered his father saying that a fawn would follow if it had first been carried. He started away slowly. The fawn stared after him. He came back to it and stroked it and walked away again. It took a few wobbling steps toward him and cried piteously. It was willing to follow him. It belonged to him. It was his own. He was light-headed with his joy. He wanted to fondle it, to run and romp with it, to call to it to come to him. He dared not alarm it. He picked it up and carried it in front of him over his two arms. It seemed to him that he walked without effort. His arms began to ache and he was forced to stop again. When he walked on, the fawn followed him at once. He allowed it to walk a little distance, then picked it up again. The distance home was nothing. He could have walked all day and into the night, carrying it and watching it follow. He was wet with sweat but a light breeze blew through the June morning, cooling him. The sky was as clear as spring water in a blue china cup. He came to the clearing. It was fresh and green after the night's rain. He fumbled with the latch and was finally obliged to set down the fawn to manage it. Then, he had an idea — he would walk into the house, into Penny's bedroom, with the fawn walking behind him. But at the steps, the fawn balked and refused to climb them. He picked it up and went to his father. Penny lay with closed eyes. Jody called, ""Pa Look!"" Penny turned his head. Jody stood beside him, the fawn clutched hard against him. It seemed to Penny that the boy's eyes were as bright as the fawn's. He said, ""I'm glad you found him."" Jody then went to the kitchen. The fawn wobbled after him. A pan of morning's milk stood in the kitchen safe. The cream had risen on it. He skimmed the cream into a jug. He poured milk into a small gourd. He held it out to the fawn. It butted it suddenly, smelling the milk. He saved it precariously from spilling over the floor. It could make nothing of the milk in the gourd. He dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn's soft wet mouth. It sucked greedily. When he withdrew them, it bleated frantically and butted him. He dipped his fingers again and as the fawn sucked, he lowered them slowly into the milk. The fawn blew and sucked and snorted. It stamped its small hoofs impatiently. As long as he held his fingers below the level of the milk, the fawn was content. It closed its eyes dreamily. It was ecstasy to feel its tongue against his hand. Its small tail flicked back and forth. The last of the milk vanished in a swirl of foam and gurgling.",Why did Penny Baxter allow Jody to go find the fawn and raise it?,Penny felt grateful to the doe they had killed to draw out the poison to save him. He thought it would be ungrateful to leave the fawn to starve.,Factor "I Jody allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fawn. He could not keep it out of his mind. He had held it, in his dreams, in his arms. He slipped from the table and went to his father's bedside. Penny lay at rest. His eyes were open and clear, but the pupils were still dark and dilated. Jody said, ""How are you feeling, Pa?"" ""Just fine, son. Old Death has gone thieving elsewhere. But wasn't it a close shave!"" ""I agree."" Penny said, ""I'm proud of you, boy, the way you kept your head and did what was needed."" ""Pa-"" ""Yes, son."" ""Pa, do you recollect the doe and the fawn?"" ""I can never forget them. The poor doe saved me, that's certain."" ""Pa, the fawn may be out there yet. It might be hungry and very scared."" ""I suppose so."" ""Pa, I'm a big boy now and don't need to drink milk. Why don't I go and see if I can find the fawn?"" ""And bring it here?"" ""And raise it."" Penny lay quiet, staring at the ceiling. ""Boy, you've got me hemmed in."" ""It won't take much to raise it, Pa. It'll soon start eating leaves and acorns."" ""You are smarter than boys of your age."" ""We took its mother, and it wasn't to blame."" ""Surely it seems ungrateful to leave it to starve. Son, I can't say 'No' to you. I never thought I'd live to see another day."" ""Can I ride back with Mill-wheel and see if I can find it?"" ""Tell your Ma I said you can go."" He sidled back to the table and sat down. His mother was pouring coffee for everyone. He said, ""Ma, Pa says I can go bring back the fawn."" She held the coffee pot in mid-air. ""What fawn?"" ""The fawn belonging to the doe we killed. We used the doe's liver to draw out the poison and save Pa."" She gasped. ""Well, for pity sake—"" ""Pa says it would be ungrateful to leave it to starve."" Doc Wilson said, ""That's right, Ma'am. Nothing in the world comes quite free. The boy's right and his daddy's right."" Mill-wheel said, ""He can ride back with me. I'll help him find it."" She set down the pot helplessly. ""Well, if you'll give it your milk—we've got nothing else to feed it."" Mill-wheel said, ""Come on, boy. We've got to get riding."" Ma Baxter asked anxiously, ""You'll not be gone long?"" Jody said, ""I'll be back before dinner for sure."" Mill-wheel mounted his horse and pulled Jody up behind him. He said to Mill-wheel, ""Do you think the fawn's still there? Will you help me find him?"" ""We'll find him if he's alive. How you know it's a he?"" ""The spots were all in a line. On a doe-fawn, Pa says the spots are every which way…"" II Jody gave himself over to thoughts of the fawn. They passed the abandoned clearing. He said, ""Cut to the north, Mill-wheel. It was up here that Pa got bitten by the snake and killed the doe and I saw the fawn."" Suddenly Jody was unwilling to have Mill-wheel with him. If the fawn was dead, or could not be found, he could not have his disappointment seen. And if the fawn was there, the meeting would be so lovely and so secret that he could not endure to share it. He said, ""It's not far now, but the scrub is very thick for a horse. I can make it on foot."" ""But I'm afraid to leave you, boy. Suppose you got lost or got bitten by the snake, too?"" ""I'll take care. It might take me a long time to find the fawn, if he's wandered. Leave me off right here."" ""All right, but you take it easy now. You know north here, and east?"" ""There, and there. That tall pine makes a bearing."" ""So long."" ""So long, Mill-wheel. I'm obliged."" He waited for the sound of the hooves to end, then cut to the right. The scrub was still. Only his own crackling of twigs sounded across the silence. He wondered for an instant if he had mistaken his direction. Then a buzzard rose in front of him and flapped into the air. He came into the clearing under the oaks. Buzzards sat in a circle around the carcass of the doe. They turned their heads on their long scrawny necks and hissed at him. He threw his bough at them and they flew into an adjacent tree. The sand showed large cat prints but the big cats killed fresh, and they had left the doe to the carrion birds. He parted the grass at the place where he had seen the fawn. It did not seem possible that it was only yesterday. The fawn was not there. He circled the clearing. There was no sound, no sign. The buzzards clacked their wings, impatient to return to their business. He returned to the spot where the fawn had emerged and dropped on all fours, studying the sand for the small hoof prints. The night's rain had washed away all tracks except those of cat and buzzards. III Movement directly in front of him startled him so that he tumbled backward. The fawn lifted its face to his. It turned its head with a wide, wondering motion and shook him through with the stare of its liquid eyes. It was quivering. It made no effort to rise or run. Jody could not trust himself to move. He whispered, ""It's me."" The fawn lifted its nose, scenting him. He reached out one hand and laid it on the soft neck. The touch made him delirious. He moved forward on all fours until he was close beside it. He put his arms around its body. A light convulsion passed over it but it did not stir. He stroked its sides as gently as though the fawn were a china deer and he might break it. Its skin was very soft. It was sleek and clean and had a sweet scent of grass. He rose slowly and lifted the fawn from the ground. Its legs hung limply. They were surprisingly long and he had to hoist the fawn as high as possible under his arm. He was afraid that it might kick and bleat at sight and smell of its mother. He skirted the clearing and pushed his way into the thicket. It was difficult to fight through with his burden. The fawn's legs caught in the bushes and he could not lift his own with freedom. He tried to shield its face from prickling vines. Its head bobbed with his stride. His heart thumped with the marvel of its acceptance of him. He reached the trail and walked as fast as he could until he came to the intersection with the road home. He stopped to rest and set the fawn down on its dangling legs. It wavered on them. It looked at him and bleated. He said, enchanted, ""I'll carry you after I get my breath."" He remembered his father saying that a fawn would follow if it had first been carried. He started away slowly. The fawn stared after him. He came back to it and stroked it and walked away again. It took a few wobbling steps toward him and cried piteously. It was willing to follow him. It belonged to him. It was his own. He was light-headed with his joy. He wanted to fondle it, to run and romp with it, to call to it to come to him. He dared not alarm it. He picked it up and carried it in front of him over his two arms. It seemed to him that he walked without effort. His arms began to ache and he was forced to stop again. When he walked on, the fawn followed him at once. He allowed it to walk a little distance, then picked it up again. The distance home was nothing. He could have walked all day and into the night, carrying it and watching it follow. He was wet with sweat but a light breeze blew through the June morning, cooling him. The sky was as clear as spring water in a blue china cup. He came to the clearing. It was fresh and green after the night's rain. He fumbled with the latch and was finally obliged to set down the fawn to manage it. Then, he had an idea — he would walk into the house, into Penny's bedroom, with the fawn walking behind him. But at the steps, the fawn balked and refused to climb them. He picked it up and went to his father. Penny lay with closed eyes. Jody called, ""Pa Look!"" Penny turned his head. Jody stood beside him, the fawn clutched hard against him. It seemed to Penny that the boy's eyes were as bright as the fawn's. He said, ""I'm glad you found him."" Jody then went to the kitchen. The fawn wobbled after him. A pan of morning's milk stood in the kitchen safe. The cream had risen on it. He skimmed the cream into a jug. He poured milk into a small gourd. He held it out to the fawn. It butted it suddenly, smelling the milk. He saved it precariously from spilling over the floor. It could make nothing of the milk in the gourd. He dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn's soft wet mouth. It sucked greedily. When he withdrew them, it bleated frantically and butted him. He dipped his fingers again and as the fawn sucked, he lowered them slowly into the milk. The fawn blew and sucked and snorted. It stamped its small hoofs impatiently. As long as he held his fingers below the level of the milk, the fawn was content. It closed its eyes dreamily. It was ecstasy to feel its tongue against his hand. Its small tail flicked back and forth. The last of the milk vanished in a swirl of foam and gurgling.","What did Doc Wilson mean when he said, 'Nothing in the world ever comes quite free'?","Doc Wilson meant that since they had used the doe’s life to save Penny, they should take care of its fawn as compensation.",Reasoning "I Jody allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fawn. He could not keep it out of his mind. He had held it, in his dreams, in his arms. He slipped from the table and went to his father's bedside. Penny lay at rest. His eyes were open and clear, but the pupils were still dark and dilated. Jody said, ""How are you feeling, Pa?"" ""Just fine, son. Old Death has gone thieving elsewhere. But wasn't it a close shave!"" ""I agree."" Penny said, ""I'm proud of you, boy, the way you kept your head and did what was needed."" ""Pa-"" ""Yes, son."" ""Pa, do you recollect the doe and the fawn?"" ""I can never forget them. The poor doe saved me, that's certain."" ""Pa, the fawn may be out there yet. It might be hungry and very scared."" ""I suppose so."" ""Pa, I'm a big boy now and don't need to drink milk. Why don't I go and see if I can find the fawn?"" ""And bring it here?"" ""And raise it."" Penny lay quiet, staring at the ceiling. ""Boy, you've got me hemmed in."" ""It won't take much to raise it, Pa. It'll soon start eating leaves and acorns."" ""You are smarter than boys of your age."" ""We took its mother, and it wasn't to blame."" ""Surely it seems ungrateful to leave it to starve. Son, I can't say 'No' to you. I never thought I'd live to see another day."" ""Can I ride back with Mill-wheel and see if I can find it?"" ""Tell your Ma I said you can go."" He sidled back to the table and sat down. His mother was pouring coffee for everyone. He said, ""Ma, Pa says I can go bring back the fawn."" She held the coffee pot in mid-air. ""What fawn?"" ""The fawn belonging to the doe we killed. We used the doe's liver to draw out the poison and save Pa."" She gasped. ""Well, for pity sake—"" ""Pa says it would be ungrateful to leave it to starve."" Doc Wilson said, ""That's right, Ma'am. Nothing in the world comes quite free. The boy's right and his daddy's right."" Mill-wheel said, ""He can ride back with me. I'll help him find it."" She set down the pot helplessly. ""Well, if you'll give it your milk—we've got nothing else to feed it."" Mill-wheel said, ""Come on, boy. We've got to get riding."" Ma Baxter asked anxiously, ""You'll not be gone long?"" Jody said, ""I'll be back before dinner for sure."" Mill-wheel mounted his horse and pulled Jody up behind him. He said to Mill-wheel, ""Do you think the fawn's still there? Will you help me find him?"" ""We'll find him if he's alive. How you know it's a he?"" ""The spots were all in a line. On a doe-fawn, Pa says the spots are every which way…"" II Jody gave himself over to thoughts of the fawn. They passed the abandoned clearing. He said, ""Cut to the north, Mill-wheel. It was up here that Pa got bitten by the snake and killed the doe and I saw the fawn."" Suddenly Jody was unwilling to have Mill-wheel with him. If the fawn was dead, or could not be found, he could not have his disappointment seen. And if the fawn was there, the meeting would be so lovely and so secret that he could not endure to share it. He said, ""It's not far now, but the scrub is very thick for a horse. I can make it on foot."" ""But I'm afraid to leave you, boy. Suppose you got lost or got bitten by the snake, too?"" ""I'll take care. It might take me a long time to find the fawn, if he's wandered. Leave me off right here."" ""All right, but you take it easy now. You know north here, and east?"" ""There, and there. That tall pine makes a bearing."" ""So long."" ""So long, Mill-wheel. I'm obliged."" He waited for the sound of the hooves to end, then cut to the right. The scrub was still. Only his own crackling of twigs sounded across the silence. He wondered for an instant if he had mistaken his direction. Then a buzzard rose in front of him and flapped into the air. He came into the clearing under the oaks. Buzzards sat in a circle around the carcass of the doe. They turned their heads on their long scrawny necks and hissed at him. He threw his bough at them and they flew into an adjacent tree. The sand showed large cat prints but the big cats killed fresh, and they had left the doe to the carrion birds. He parted the grass at the place where he had seen the fawn. It did not seem possible that it was only yesterday. The fawn was not there. He circled the clearing. There was no sound, no sign. The buzzards clacked their wings, impatient to return to their business. He returned to the spot where the fawn had emerged and dropped on all fours, studying the sand for the small hoof prints. The night's rain had washed away all tracks except those of cat and buzzards. III Movement directly in front of him startled him so that he tumbled backward. The fawn lifted its face to his. It turned its head with a wide, wondering motion and shook him through with the stare of its liquid eyes. It was quivering. It made no effort to rise or run. Jody could not trust himself to move. He whispered, ""It's me."" The fawn lifted its nose, scenting him. He reached out one hand and laid it on the soft neck. The touch made him delirious. He moved forward on all fours until he was close beside it. He put his arms around its body. A light convulsion passed over it but it did not stir. He stroked its sides as gently as though the fawn were a china deer and he might break it. Its skin was very soft. It was sleek and clean and had a sweet scent of grass. He rose slowly and lifted the fawn from the ground. Its legs hung limply. They were surprisingly long and he had to hoist the fawn as high as possible under his arm. He was afraid that it might kick and bleat at sight and smell of its mother. He skirted the clearing and pushed his way into the thicket. It was difficult to fight through with his burden. The fawn's legs caught in the bushes and he could not lift his own with freedom. He tried to shield its face from prickling vines. Its head bobbed with his stride. His heart thumped with the marvel of its acceptance of him. He reached the trail and walked as fast as he could until he came to the intersection with the road home. He stopped to rest and set the fawn down on its dangling legs. It wavered on them. It looked at him and bleated. He said, enchanted, ""I'll carry you after I get my breath."" He remembered his father saying that a fawn would follow if it had first been carried. He started away slowly. The fawn stared after him. He came back to it and stroked it and walked away again. It took a few wobbling steps toward him and cried piteously. It was willing to follow him. It belonged to him. It was his own. He was light-headed with his joy. He wanted to fondle it, to run and romp with it, to call to it to come to him. He dared not alarm it. He picked it up and carried it in front of him over his two arms. It seemed to him that he walked without effort. His arms began to ache and he was forced to stop again. When he walked on, the fawn followed him at once. He allowed it to walk a little distance, then picked it up again. The distance home was nothing. He could have walked all day and into the night, carrying it and watching it follow. He was wet with sweat but a light breeze blew through the June morning, cooling him. The sky was as clear as spring water in a blue china cup. He came to the clearing. It was fresh and green after the night's rain. He fumbled with the latch and was finally obliged to set down the fawn to manage it. Then, he had an idea — he would walk into the house, into Penny's bedroom, with the fawn walking behind him. But at the steps, the fawn balked and refused to climb them. He picked it up and went to his father. Penny lay with closed eyes. Jody called, ""Pa Look!"" Penny turned his head. Jody stood beside him, the fawn clutched hard against him. It seemed to Penny that the boy's eyes were as bright as the fawn's. He said, ""I'm glad you found him."" Jody then went to the kitchen. The fawn wobbled after him. A pan of morning's milk stood in the kitchen safe. The cream had risen on it. He skimmed the cream into a jug. He poured milk into a small gourd. He held it out to the fawn. It butted it suddenly, smelling the milk. He saved it precariously from spilling over the floor. It could make nothing of the milk in the gourd. He dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn's soft wet mouth. It sucked greedily. When he withdrew them, it bleated frantically and butted him. He dipped his fingers again and as the fawn sucked, he lowered them slowly into the milk. The fawn blew and sucked and snorted. It stamped its small hoofs impatiently. As long as he held his fingers below the level of the milk, the fawn was content. It closed its eyes dreamily. It was ecstasy to feel its tongue against his hand. Its small tail flicked back and forth. The last of the milk vanished in a swirl of foam and gurgling.",How did Jody look after the fawn after he accepted the responsibility for doing this?,"Jody gave the fawn milk from his own share and fed it like a mother, dipping his fingers in the milk and letting the fawn suck them.",Reasoning "I Jody allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fawn. He could not keep it out of his mind. He had held it, in his dreams, in his arms. He slipped from the table and went to his father's bedside. Penny lay at rest. His eyes were open and clear, but the pupils were still dark and dilated. Jody said, ""How are you feeling, Pa?"" ""Just fine, son. Old Death has gone thieving elsewhere. But wasn't it a close shave!"" ""I agree."" Penny said, ""I'm proud of you, boy, the way you kept your head and did what was needed."" ""Pa-"" ""Yes, son."" ""Pa, do you recollect the doe and the fawn?"" ""I can never forget them. The poor doe saved me, that's certain."" ""Pa, the fawn may be out there yet. It might be hungry and very scared."" ""I suppose so."" ""Pa, I'm a big boy now and don't need to drink milk. Why don't I go and see if I can find the fawn?"" ""And bring it here?"" ""And raise it."" Penny lay quiet, staring at the ceiling. ""Boy, you've got me hemmed in."" ""It won't take much to raise it, Pa. It'll soon start eating leaves and acorns."" ""You are smarter than boys of your age."" ""We took its mother, and it wasn't to blame."" ""Surely it seems ungrateful to leave it to starve. Son, I can't say 'No' to you. I never thought I'd live to see another day."" ""Can I ride back with Mill-wheel and see if I can find it?"" ""Tell your Ma I said you can go."" He sidled back to the table and sat down. His mother was pouring coffee for everyone. He said, ""Ma, Pa says I can go bring back the fawn."" She held the coffee pot in mid-air. ""What fawn?"" ""The fawn belonging to the doe we killed. We used the doe's liver to draw out the poison and save Pa."" She gasped. ""Well, for pity sake—"" ""Pa says it would be ungrateful to leave it to starve."" Doc Wilson said, ""That's right, Ma'am. Nothing in the world comes quite free. The boy's right and his daddy's right."" Mill-wheel said, ""He can ride back with me. I'll help him find it."" She set down the pot helplessly. ""Well, if you'll give it your milk—we've got nothing else to feed it."" Mill-wheel said, ""Come on, boy. We've got to get riding."" Ma Baxter asked anxiously, ""You'll not be gone long?"" Jody said, ""I'll be back before dinner for sure."" Mill-wheel mounted his horse and pulled Jody up behind him. He said to Mill-wheel, ""Do you think the fawn's still there? Will you help me find him?"" ""We'll find him if he's alive. How you know it's a he?"" ""The spots were all in a line. On a doe-fawn, Pa says the spots are every which way…"" II Jody gave himself over to thoughts of the fawn. They passed the abandoned clearing. He said, ""Cut to the north, Mill-wheel. It was up here that Pa got bitten by the snake and killed the doe and I saw the fawn."" Suddenly Jody was unwilling to have Mill-wheel with him. If the fawn was dead, or could not be found, he could not have his disappointment seen. And if the fawn was there, the meeting would be so lovely and so secret that he could not endure to share it. He said, ""It's not far now, but the scrub is very thick for a horse. I can make it on foot."" ""But I'm afraid to leave you, boy. Suppose you got lost or got bitten by the snake, too?"" ""I'll take care. It might take me a long time to find the fawn, if he's wandered. Leave me off right here."" ""All right, but you take it easy now. You know north here, and east?"" ""There, and there. That tall pine makes a bearing."" ""So long."" ""So long, Mill-wheel. I'm obliged."" He waited for the sound of the hooves to end, then cut to the right. The scrub was still. Only his own crackling of twigs sounded across the silence. He wondered for an instant if he had mistaken his direction. Then a buzzard rose in front of him and flapped into the air. He came into the clearing under the oaks. Buzzards sat in a circle around the carcass of the doe. They turned their heads on their long scrawny necks and hissed at him. He threw his bough at them and they flew into an adjacent tree. The sand showed large cat prints but the big cats killed fresh, and they had left the doe to the carrion birds. He parted the grass at the place where he had seen the fawn. It did not seem possible that it was only yesterday. The fawn was not there. He circled the clearing. There was no sound, no sign. The buzzards clacked their wings, impatient to return to their business. He returned to the spot where the fawn had emerged and dropped on all fours, studying the sand for the small hoof prints. The night's rain had washed away all tracks except those of cat and buzzards. III Movement directly in front of him startled him so that he tumbled backward. The fawn lifted its face to his. It turned its head with a wide, wondering motion and shook him through with the stare of its liquid eyes. It was quivering. It made no effort to rise or run. Jody could not trust himself to move. He whispered, ""It's me."" The fawn lifted its nose, scenting him. He reached out one hand and laid it on the soft neck. The touch made him delirious. He moved forward on all fours until he was close beside it. He put his arms around its body. A light convulsion passed over it but it did not stir. He stroked its sides as gently as though the fawn were a china deer and he might break it. Its skin was very soft. It was sleek and clean and had a sweet scent of grass. He rose slowly and lifted the fawn from the ground. Its legs hung limply. They were surprisingly long and he had to hoist the fawn as high as possible under his arm. He was afraid that it might kick and bleat at sight and smell of its mother. He skirted the clearing and pushed his way into the thicket. It was difficult to fight through with his burden. The fawn's legs caught in the bushes and he could not lift his own with freedom. He tried to shield its face from prickling vines. Its head bobbed with his stride. His heart thumped with the marvel of its acceptance of him. He reached the trail and walked as fast as he could until he came to the intersection with the road home. He stopped to rest and set the fawn down on its dangling legs. It wavered on them. It looked at him and bleated. He said, enchanted, ""I'll carry you after I get my breath."" He remembered his father saying that a fawn would follow if it had first been carried. He started away slowly. The fawn stared after him. He came back to it and stroked it and walked away again. It took a few wobbling steps toward him and cried piteously. It was willing to follow him. It belonged to him. It was his own. He was light-headed with his joy. He wanted to fondle it, to run and romp with it, to call to it to come to him. He dared not alarm it. He picked it up and carried it in front of him over his two arms. It seemed to him that he walked without effort. His arms began to ache and he was forced to stop again. When he walked on, the fawn followed him at once. He allowed it to walk a little distance, then picked it up again. The distance home was nothing. He could have walked all day and into the night, carrying it and watching it follow. He was wet with sweat but a light breeze blew through the June morning, cooling him. The sky was as clear as spring water in a blue china cup. He came to the clearing. It was fresh and green after the night's rain. He fumbled with the latch and was finally obliged to set down the fawn to manage it. Then, he had an idea — he would walk into the house, into Penny's bedroom, with the fawn walking behind him. But at the steps, the fawn balked and refused to climb them. He picked it up and went to his father. Penny lay with closed eyes. Jody called, ""Pa Look!"" Penny turned his head. Jody stood beside him, the fawn clutched hard against him. It seemed to Penny that the boy's eyes were as bright as the fawn's. He said, ""I'm glad you found him."" Jody then went to the kitchen. The fawn wobbled after him. A pan of morning's milk stood in the kitchen safe. The cream had risen on it. He skimmed the cream into a jug. He poured milk into a small gourd. He held it out to the fawn. It butted it suddenly, smelling the milk. He saved it precariously from spilling over the floor. It could make nothing of the milk in the gourd. He dipped his fingers in the milk and thrust them into the fawn's soft wet mouth. It sucked greedily. When he withdrew them, it bleated frantically and butted him. He dipped his fingers again and as the fawn sucked, he lowered them slowly into the milk. The fawn blew and sucked and snorted. It stamped its small hoofs impatiently. As long as he held his fingers below the level of the milk, the fawn was content. It closed its eyes dreamily. It was ecstasy to feel its tongue against his hand. Its small tail flicked back and forth. The last of the milk vanished in a swirl of foam and gurgling.",How does Jody’s mother react when she hears that he is going to bring the fawn home? Why does she react in this way?,"She is shocked and worried because they were too poor to afford feeding the fawn. However, she considered it a humane task.",Factor ,,,Unknown Context 7,Question,Answer,Unknown " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.","“Cambridge was my metaphor for England.” To the writer, (i) Cambridge was a reputed university in England. (ii) England was famous for Cambridge. (iii) Cambridge was the real England.",(iii) Cambridge was the real England.,Unknown " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.",The writer phoned Stephen Hawking’s house (i) from the nearest phone booth. (ii) from outside a phone booth. (iii) from inside a phone booth.,(iii) from inside a phone booth,Unknown " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.","Every time he spoke to the scientist, the writer felt guilty because (i) he wasn’t sure what he wanted to ask. (ii) he forced the scientist to use his voice synthesiser. (iii) he was face to face with a legend.",(ii) he forced the scientist to use his voice synthesiser.,Factor " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.","“I felt a huge relief… in the possibilities of my body.” In the given context, the highlighted words refer to (i) shifting in the wheelchair, turning the wrist. (ii) standing up, walking. (iii) speaking, writing.","(i) shifting in the wheelchair, turning the wrist.",Unknown " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.","Did the prospect of meeting Stephen Hawking make the writer nervous? If so, why?","Yes, the writer was nervous when he went to meet Stephen Hawking as he was fed up with people asking him to be brave. Moreover, he was face to face with a legendary figure.",Boolean " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.","Did he at the same time feel very excited? If so, why?","Stephen Hawking was also totally paralysed, yet he had made great achievements. The writer suddenly felt weak all over, being himself disabled. But it gave him enough strength to do better.",Boolean " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.",Guess the first question put to the scientist by the writer.,"The writer asked the scientist, 'You have been very brave, haven’t you?'",Unknown " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.","Stephen Hawking said, 'I’ve had no choice.' Does the writer think there was a choice? What was it?",The writer thinks that Hawking had a choice. He had to choose to live creatively despite his paralysis so that he might keep his mind preoccupied.,Reasoning " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.",“I could feel his anguish.” What could be the anguish?,"Hawking’s anguish was that he found it difficult to find the correct words to express on his computer. He felt tired, which disappointed him. Hence, the writer could read his anguish on Stephen’s face.",Reasoning " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.",What endeared the scientist to the writer so that he said he was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world?,"Stephen liked the writer’s frankness. His face reflected unmatched beauty. Without being sentimental, he mentioned that he felt annoyed when someone came to disturb him in his work.",Reasoning " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.",Read aloud the description of the beautiful man. Which is the most beautiful sentence in the description?,"Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man.' The most beautiful sentence is 'incandescence of a man.'",Unknown " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.","If 'the lantern' is the man, what would its 'walls' be?",Its walls are like a case made of shadows.,Reasoning " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.",What is housed within the thin walls?,The eternal soul is housed within the thin walls.,Reasoning " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.",What general conclusion does the writer draw from this comparison?,Each of us is an eternal soul; the body is not such an essential thing.,Reasoning " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.",What is the scientist’s message for the disabled?,They should concentrate on what they are good at. Olympics for the Handicapped are a waste of time. They should make the best use of their abilities and trust in God.,Reasoning " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.",Why does the writer refer to the guitar incident? Which idea does it support?,"The disabled must not try to overreach themselves, as Hawking had tried to play the guitar, which was larger than his own size. He felt defeated and then dejected, leading him to destroy it one night. This supports the idea that one should focus on achievable goals.",Factor " Cambridge was my metaphor for England, and it was strange that when I left it had become altogether something else, because I had met Stephen Hawking there. It was on a walking tour through Cambridge that the guide mentioned Stephen Hawking, ‘poor man, who is quite disabled now, though he is a worthy successor to Issac Newton, whose Chair he has at the university.’ And I started, because I had quite forgotten that this most brilliant and completely paralyzed astrophysicist, the author of A Brief History of Time, one of the biggest best-sellers ever, lived here. When the walking tour was done, I rushed to a phone booth and, almost tearing the cord so it could reach me outside, phoned Stephen Hawking’s house. There was his assistant on the line and I told him I had come in a wheelchair from India (perhaps he thought I had propelled myself all the way) to write about my travels in Britain. I had to see Professor Hawking — even ten minutes would do. “Half an hour, he said. “From three-thirty to four. And suddenly I felt weak all over. Growing up disabled, you get fed up with people asking you to be brave, as if you have a courage account on which you are too lazy to draw a cheque. The only thing that makes you stronger is seeing somebody like you, achieving something huge. Then you know how much is possible and you reach out further than you ever thought you could. “I haven’t been brave, said his disembodied computer-voice, the next afternoon. “I’ve had no choice. Surely, I wanted to say, living creatively with the reality of his disintegrating body was a choice? But I kept quiet, because I felt guilty every time I spoke to him, forcing him to respond. There he was, tapping at the little switch in his hand, trying to find the words on his computer with the only bit of movement left to him, his long, pale fingers. Every so often, his eyes would shut in frustrated exhaustion. And sitting opposite him I could feel his anguish, the mind buoyant with thoughts that came out in frozen phrases and sentences stiff as corpses. “A lot of people seem to think that disabled people are chronically unhappy, I said. “I know that’s not true myself. Are you often laughing inside? About three minutes later, he responded, “I find it amusing when people patronize me. “And do you find it annoying when someone like me comes and disturbs you in your work? The answer flashed. “Yes. Then he smiled his one-way smile and I knew, without being sentimental or silly, that I was looking at one of the most beautiful men in the world. A first glimpse of him is shocking, because he is like a still photograph — as if all those pictures of him in magazines and newspapers have turned three-dimensional. Then you see the head twisted sideways into a slump, the torso shrunk inside the pale blue shirt, the wasted legs; you look at his eyes which can speak, still, and they are saying something huge and urgent — it is hard to tell what. But you are shaken because you have seen something you never thought could be seen. Before you, like a lantern whose walls are worn so thin you glimpse only the light inside, is the incandescence of a man. The body, almost irrelevant, exists only like a case made of shadows. So that I, no believer in eternal souls, know that this is what each of us is; everything else an accessory. “What do you think is the best thing about being disabled? I had asked him earlier. “I don’t think there is anything good about being disabled. “I think, I said, “you do discover how much kindness there is in the world. “Yes, he said; it was a disadvantage of his voice synthesizer that it could convey no inflection, no shades or tone. And I could not tell how enthusiastically he agreed with me. Every time I shifted in my chair or turned my wrist to watch the time — I wanted to make every one of our thirty minutes count — I felt a huge relief and exhilaration in the possibilities of my body. How little it mattered then that I would never walk, or even stand. I told him how he had been an inspiration beyond cliche for me, and, surely, for others — did that thought help him? “No, he said; and I thought how foolish I was to ask. When your body is a claustrophobic room and the walls are growing narrower day by day, it doesn’t do much good to know that there are people outside smiling with admiration to see you breathing still. “Is there any advice you can give disabled people, something that might help make life better? “They should concentrate on what they are good at; I think things like the disabled Olympics are a waste of time. “I know what you mean. I remembered the years I’d spent trying to play a Spanish guitar considerably larger than I was; and how gleefully I had unstringed it one night. The half-hour was up. “I think I’ve annoyed you enough, I said, grinning. “Thank you for ... “Stay. I waited. “Have some tea. I can show you the garden. The garden was as big as a park, but Stephen Hawking covered every inch, rumbling along in his motorized wheelchair while I dodged to keep out of the way. We couldn’t talk very much; the sun made him silent, the letters on his screen disappearing in the glare. An hour later, we were ready to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I could not kiss him or cry. I touched his shoulder and wheeled out into the summer evening. I looked back; and I knew he was waving, though he wasn’t. Watching him, an embodiment of my bravest self, the one I was moving towards, the one I had believed in for so many years, alone, I knew that my journey was over. For now.",The writer expresses his great gratitude to Stephen Hawking. What is the gratitude for?,"The writer is grateful to Stephen Hawking for sharing his thoughts and experiences, which provided inspiration and insight into living creatively despite physical limitations.",Reasoning ,,,Unknown Context 8,Question,Answer,Unknown "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",Why is the author not able to see Bijju?,"Due to mist on the hillsides, the author can hear Bijju calling his sister but can’t see him.",Factor "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",What are the two ways in which the hills appear to change when the mist comes up?,"The mist covers the hillsides with extreme silence. Moreover, it conceals the hills with darkness.",Reasoning "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",When does the monsoon season begin and when does it end?,Monsoon season begins in the end of June and ends in the end of August.,Unknown "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",How do you prepare to face the monsoon?,"To prepare to face the monsoon, we purchase raincoats etc.",Reasoning "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",Which hill-station does the author describe in this diary entry?,Mussoorie,Reasoning "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",For how many days does it rain without stopping?,It rained for 8 or 9 days without stopping.,Reasoning "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",What does the author do on these days?,The author has no way to go outside. He has to sit in the room and look out of the window.,Reasoning "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",Where do the snakes and rodents take shelter? Why?,"The snakes and rodents took shelter in the attics, houses, godowns as all the burrows and holes were filled with rain water.",Factor "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",What did the author receive in the mail?,He received a cheque.,Reasoning "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND","Look carefully at the diary entries for June 24-25, August 2 and March 23. Now write down the changes that happen as the rains progress from June to March.","In the beginning of monsoon in June, the rainfall was less, temperature was warm, humidity but not much cold on the hillsides. But mist is seen all over there. Once the monsoon set in late July and early August heavy all night rain-showers are felt. It was a tropical downpour. At the end of winter in March the black clouds overcast the sky, It hailed for half an hour. There were snow and snow everywhere changing from 24-25 June to March 23.",Unknown "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",Why did the grandmother ask the children not to kill the chuchundar?,The grandmother asked the children not to kill the chuchundar as it has been treated lucky.,Factor "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",What signs do we find in Nature which show that the monsoons are about to end?,"When the lush monsoon growth reaches its peak and seeds of the cobra lily turn red, these signs show that monsoons are about to end.",Reasoning "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",Complete the following sentences. (i) Bijju is not seen but his voice is heard because ……………,(i) …………..there was mist all around over hills,Factor "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",Complete the following sentences. (ii) The writer describes the hill station and valley as …….,(ii) paradise,Reasoning "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",Complete the following sentences. (iii) The leopard was successful in …………….. but had to flee when,(iii) …..lifting up a dog………. Bijju’s mother approached there.,Unknown "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",Complete the following sentences. (iv) The minivets are easily noticed because ……..,(iv) ………they have bright colours,Factor "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",Complete the following sentences. (v) It looks like a fashion display on the slopes when,(v) ……. different flowers rear their heads from the rocks,Unknown "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND","Complete the following sentences. (vi) During the monsoon season, snakes and rodents are found in roofs and attics because",(vi) …… their holes get overflooded with rain.,Factor "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND","‘Although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain,' (i) Why has the writer used the word ‘springing’?","(i) The roof has many holes, moreover it is not a plain one. That’s why the writer has used this word",Factor "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND","‘Although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain,' (ii) How is the writer untouched by the rain?",(ii) The rain is not directly pouring on the writer.,Reasoning "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND","‘Although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain,' (iii) How is the writer in touch with the rain at the same time?","(iii) The writer is listening to the sound of rain, watching the drippings and feeling the moisture.",Reasoning "A Short Monsoon Diary Some extracts from the diary of a nature lover who enjoys the monsoon in the hills and observes the accompanying changes in the world of flora and fauna. I June 24 The first day of monsoon mist. And it's strange how all the birds fall silent as the mist comes climbing up the hill. Perhaps that's what makes the mist so melancholy; not only does it conceal the hills, it blankets them in silence too. Only an hour ago the trees were ringing with birdsong. And now the forest is deathly still as though it were midnight. Through the mist Bijju is calling to his sister. I can hear him running about on the hillside but I cannot see him. June 25 Some genuine early-monsoon rain, warm and humid, and not that cold high-altitude stuff we've been having all year. The plants seem to know it too, and the first cobra lily rears its head from the ferns as I walk up to the bank and post office. The mist affords a certain privacy. A school boy asked me to describe the hill station and valley in one sentence, and all I could say was: ""A paradise that might have been."" June 27 The rains have heralded the arrival of some seasonal visitors—a leopard, and several thousand leeches. Yesterday after noon the leopard lifted a dog from near the servants' quarter below the school. In the evening it attacked one of Bijju's cows but fled at the approach of Bijju's mother, who came screaming imprecations. As for the leeches, I shall soon get used to a little bloodletting every day. Other new arrivals are the scarlet minivets (the females are yellow), flitting silently among the leaves like brilliant jewels. No matter how leafy the trees, these brightly coloured birds cannot conceal themselves, although, by remaining absolutely silent, they sometimes contrive to go unnoticed. Along come a pair of drongos, unnecessarily aggressive, chasing the minivets away. A tree creeper moves rapidly up the trunk of the oak tree, snapping up insects all the way. Now that the rains are here, there is no dearth of food for the insectivorous birds. II August 2 All night the rain has been drumming on the corrugated tin roof. There has been no storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of a tropical downpour. It helps me to lie awake; at the same time, it doesn't keep me from sleeping. It is a good sound to read by — the rain outside, the quiet within — and, although tin roofs are given to springing unaccountable leaks, there is a feeling of being untouched by, and yet in touch with, the rain. August 3 The rain stops. The clouds begin to break up, the sun strikes the hill on my left. A woman is chopping up sticks. I hear the tinkle of cowbells. In the oak tree, a crow shakes the raindrops from his feathers and caws disconsolately. Water drips from a leaking drainpipe. And suddenly, clean and pure, the song of the whistling thrush emerges like a dark sweet secret from the depths of the ravine. August 12 Endless rain, and a permanent mist. We haven't seen the sun for eight or nine days. Everything damp and soggy. Nowhere to go. Pace the room, look out of the window at a few bobbing umbrellas. At least it isn't cold. August 31 It is the last day of August, and the lush monsoon growth has reached its peak. The seeds of the cobra lily are turning red, signifying that the rains are coming to an end. In a few days the ferns will start turning yellow, but right now they are still firm, green and upright. Ground orchids, mauve lady's slipper and the white butterfly orchids put on a fashion display on the grassy slopes of Landour. Wild dahlias, red, yellow and magenta, rear their heads from the rocky crevices where they have taken hold. Snakes and rodents, flooded out of their holes and burrows, take shelter in roofs, attics and godowns. A shrew, weak of eyesight, blunders about the rooms, much to the amusement of the children. ""Don't kill it,"" admonishes their grandmother. ""Chuchundars are lucky — they bring money!"" And sure enough, I receive a cheque in the mail. Not a very large one, but welcome all the same. October 3 We have gone straight from monsoon into winter rain. Snow at higher altitudes. After an evening hailstorm, the sky and hills are suffused with a beautiful golden light. January 26 Winter Rains in the Hills In the hushed silence of the house when I am quite alone, and my friend, who was here has gone, it is very lonely, very quiet, as I sit in a liquid silence, a silence within, surrounded by the rhythm of rain, the steady drift of water on leaves, on lemons, on roof, drumming on drenched dahlias and window panes, while the mist holds the house in a dark caress. As I pause near a window, the rain stops. And starts again. And the trees, no longer green but grey, menace me with their loneliness. March 23 Late March. End of winter. The blackest cloud I've ever seen squatted over Mussoorie, and then it hailed marbles for half an hour. Nothing like a hailstorm to clear the sky. Even as I write, I see a rainbow forming. RUSKIN BOND",What is the significance of cobra lily in relation to the monsoon season?,"When the cobra lily rears its head from the ferns, it indicates the arrival of the monsoon.",Reasoning