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Question
“A slumber did my spirit seal,” says the poet. That is, a deep sleep ‘closed off’ his soul (or mind). How does the poet react to his loved one’s death? Does he feel bitter grief? Or does he feel a great peace?
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Solution
Though his loved one's death has left the poet numb and the “common human fears” no longer affected him, his reaction cannot be labelled as “bitter grief”. This is because by the end of the poem, we come to know that the poet imagines her to be a part of nature, rotating with the earth on its axis. He takes consolation from the fact that she is still alive in the nature and is beyond life's trials. This promotes the idea that he feels a “great peace” of mind. Thus, we can conclude that the poet's feelings are ambiguous.
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1. I first met Private Quelch at the training depot. A man is liable to acquire in his firs week of Army life - together with his uniform, rifle and equipment- a nickname. Anyone who saw Private Quelch, lanky, stooping, frowning through horn-rimmed spectacles, understood why he was known as the Professor. Those who had any doubts on the subject lost them after five minutes' conversation with him.
2. I remember the first lesson we had in musketry. We stood in an attentive circle while a Sergeant, a man as dark and sun-dried as raisins, wearing North-West Frontier ribbons, described the mechanism of a service rifle.
3. "The muzzle velocity or speed at which the bullet leaves the rifle", he told us, "is
well over two thousand feet per second."
4. A voice interrupted. "Two thousand, four hundred and forty feet per second." It
was the Professor.
5. "That's right," the Sergeant said without enthusiasm, and went on lecturing. When he had finished, he asked us questions; and, perhaps in the hope of revenge, he turned with his questions again and again to the Professor. The only result was to enhance the Professor's glory. Technical definitions, the parts of a rifle, its use and care, he had them all by heart.
6. The Sergeant asked, "Have you had any training before?"
7. The Professor answered with a phrase that was to become familiar to all of us. "No, Sergeant. It's all a matter of intelligent reading."
8. That was our introduction to him. We soon learned more about him. He saw to that. He meant to get on, he told us. He had the brains. He was sure to get a commission, before long. As a first step, he meant to get a stripe.
9. In pursuit of his ambition he worked hard. We had to give him credit for that. He borrowed training manuals and stayed up late at nights reading them. He badgered the instructors with questions. He drilled with enthusiasm, and on route marches he was not only miraculously tireless but infuriated us all with his horrible heartiness. "What about a song, chaps?" is not greeted politely at the end of thirty miles. His salute at the pay table was a model to behold. When officers were in sight he would swing his skinny arms and march to the canteen like a Guardsman.
10. And day in and day out, he lectured to us in his droning, remorseless voice on every aspect of human knowledge. At first we had a certain respect for him, but soon we lived in terror of his approach. We tried to hit back at him with clumsy sarcasms and practical jokes. The Professor scarcely noticed; he was too busy working for his stripe.
11. Each time one of us made a mistake the Professor would publicly correct him. Whenever one of us shone, the Professor outshone him. When, after a hard morning's work of cleaning out our hut, we listened in silence to the Orderly Officer's praise, the Professor would break out with a ringing, dutifully beaming, "Thank you, sir!" And how superior, how condescending he was. It was always,
"Let me show you, fellow," or, "No, you'll ruin your rifle that way, old man."
12. We used to pride ourselves on aircraft recognition. Once, out for a walk, we heard the drone of a plane flying high overhead. None of us could even see it in the glare of the sun. Without even a glance upward the Professor announced, "That, of course, is a North American Harvard Trainer. It can be unmistakably identified by the harsh engine note, due to the high tip speed of the airscrew."
What could a gang of louts like us do with a man like that? 13. None of us will ever forget the
drowsy summer afternoon which was such a turning-point in the Professor's life.
14. We were sprawling contentedly on the warm grass while Corporal Turnbull was taking a lesson on the hand grenade.
15. Corporal Turnbull was a young man, but he was not a man to be trifled with. He had come back from Dunkirk with all his equipment correct and accounted for and his kitten in his pocket. He was
our hero, and we used to tell each other that he was so tough that you could hammer nails into him without his noticing it.
16. _"The outside of a grenade, as you can see," Corporal Turnbull was saying, "is divided up into a large number of fragments to assist segmentation"
17. "Forty-four"
18. "What's that?" The Corporal looked over his shoulder
19. "Forty-four segments." The Professor beamed at him.
20. The Corporal said nothing, but his brow tightened. He opened his mouth to
resume.
21. "And by the way, Corporal." We were all thunder-struck.
22. The Professor was speaking again. "Shouldn't you have started off with the five characteristics of the grenade? Our instructor at the other camp always used to do that, you know."
23. In the silence that followed a dark flush stained the tan of the Corporal's face. "Here," he said at last, "you give this lecture". As if afraid to say any more, he tossed the grenade to the Professor. Quite unabashed, Private Quelch climbed to his feet and with the attitude of a man coming into his birth-right gave us an unexceptionable lecture on the grenade.
24. The squad listened in a cowed, horrified kind of silence. Corporal Turnbull stood and watched, impassive, except for a searching intentness of gaze. When the lecture was finished he said, "Thank you, Private Quelch. Fall in with the others now." He did not speak again until we had fallen in and were waiting to be dismissed. Then he addressed us. 25. "As some of you may have heard," he began deliberately, "the platoon officer has asked me to nominate one of you for…." He paused and looked lingeringly up and down the ranks as if seeking final confirmation of decision.
26. So this was the great moment! Most of us could not help glancing at Private Quelch, who stood rigidly to attention and stared straight in front of him with an expression of self-conscious innocence.
27. ______"…..for permanent cookhouse duties, I've decided that Private Quelch is just the man for the job."
28. Of course, it was a joke for days afterwards; a joke and joy to all of us.
29. I remember, though.............
30. My friend Trower and I were talking about it a few days later. We were returning from the canteen to our own hut.
31. Through the open door, we could see the three cooks standing against the wall as if at bay; and from within came the monotonous beat of a familiar voice.
32. "Really. I must protest against this abominably unscientific and unhygienic method of peeling potatoes. I need to only draw your attention to the sheer waste of vitamin values.............."
33. We fled.
About the Author
Alexander Baron (1917-1999) has written many novels, including 'There's no Home',
' The Human Kind', 'Queen of the East', 'Seeing Life' and The How Life', along with
film scripts and television plays. He started life as an Asstt. Editor of The Tribune and
later edited the 'New Theater.' He served in the army during the Second World War.
Dr. Wood, the capable general practitioner, has been requested to solve this case. He gathers information about the murder from the inmates or the house. The information is presented in two parts.
Parts A: Background story by Arthur Conan Doyle
Parts B: Conversation between Dr. Wood and Cecil Barker
Part A
Background Story
The village of Birlstone is a small and very ancient cluster of half-timbered cottages on the northern border of the county of Sussex. For centuries it had remained unchanged but its picturesque appearance has attracted well-to-do residents. A number of small shops have come into being to meet the wants of the increased population.
About half a mile from the town, standing in an old park famous for its huge beech trees, was the ancient Manor House, with its many gables and its small diamond paned windows. The only approach to the house was over a drawbridge, the chains and windlass of which had been rusted and broken. The family consisted of only two individuals - John Douglas and his wife. Douglas was cheery and genial to all and had acquired great popularity among the villagers. He appeared to have plenty of money. Thus, it came about that John Douglas had, within five years, won himself quite a reputation in Birlstone. His wife was a beautiful woman, tall, dark and slender, younger than her husband; a disparity which seemed in no way to mar the contentment of their family life. It was remarked sometimes, that the confidence between the two did not appear to be complete. There were signs sometimes of some nerve strain upon the part of Mrs. Douglas.
Cecil Barker, was a frequent and welcome visitor at Manor House, Barker was an easy going, free handed gentleman.
It was on Jan 6th at 11:45 that the alarm reached the small local police station that John Douglas had been murdered. Dr. Wood seemed to be unnerved and troubled.
Part B
Conversation between Dr. Wood and Cecil Barker
Dr. Wood : We will touch nothing until my superiors arrive. {He spoke in a hushed voice, stating at the dreadful head)
C.Barker : Nothing has been touched untilnow.
Dr. Wood : When did this happen?
C.Barker : It was just half-past eleven. I was sitting by the fire in my bedroom when I heard the gun shot. In thirty seconds I was in the room.
Dr. Wood : Wasthedooropen?
C.Barker : Yes, it was open. Poor Douglas was lying as you see him.
Dr. Wood : Did you see anyone?
C. Barker : No, I heard Mrs. Douglas coming down the stains behind me, and I rushed out 1 to prevent her from seeing this dreadful sight.
Dr. Wood : But I have heard that the drawbridge is kept up all night.
C. Barker : Yee,it was up until l lowered it.
Dr. Wood : Then how could any murderer have got away? It ls out of question! Mr Douglas must have shot himself.
C. Barker : That was our first idea. But see! The diamond paned window is open to its full extent.
Dr. Wood : I think someone stood there while trying to get out.
C. Barker : You mean that someone waded across the moat?
Dr. Wood : Exactly!
C. Barker : I agree with you.
Dr. Wood : But what I ask you ls, how did he even get into the house at all if the bridge was up?
C. Barker : Ah, that's the question.
Dr. Wood : At what time was the bridge raised?
C. Barker : It was nearly 6 O'clock.
Dr. Wood : Then it comes to this, if anyone came from outside -if they did-they must have got in across the bridge before six and had been in hiding ever since. The man was waiting. He shot him, when he got the chance.
She lighted another match, and then she found herself sitting under a beautiful Christmas-tree. It was larger and more beautifully decorated than the one which she had seen through the glass door at the rich merchant’s. Thousands of tapers were burning upon the green branches, and colored pictures, like those she had seen in the show- windows, looked down upon it all. The little one stretched out her hand towards them, and the match went out.
The Christmas lights rose higher and higher, till they looked to her like the stars in the sky. Then she saw a star fall, leaving behind it a bright streak of fire. “Someone is dying,” thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only one who had ever loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star falls, a soul was going up to God.
Read the extract given below and answer the question that follow.
Why did the girl think that “Someone is dying” ?
The women came out on the shore, and made for the stepping—?stones. They had plenty to laugh and bicker about, as they approached the river in a noisy crowd. They girded up their skirts, so as to jump from stone to stone, and they clanked their sickles and forks together over their shoulders to have ease of movement. They shouted their quarrels above the gush of the river. Noise frightens crocodiles. The big mugger did not move, and all the women crossed in safety to the other bank. Here they had to climb a steep hillside to get at the grass, but all fell to with a will, and sliced away at it wherever there was foothold to be had. Down below them ran the broad river, pouring powerfully out from its deep narrow pools among the cold cliffs and shadows, spreading into warm shallows, lit by kingfishers. Great turtles lived there, and mahseer weighing more than a hundred pounds. Crocodiles too. Sometimes you could see them lying out on those slabs of clay over there, but there were none to be seen at the moment.
Read the extract given below and answer the question that follow.
What were they doing on the hill?
Sibia sprang.
From boulder to boulder she came leaping like a rock goat. Sometimes it had seemed difficult to cross these stones, especially the big gap in the middle where the river coursed through like a bulge of glass. But now she came on wings, choosing her footing in midair without even thinking about it, and in one moment she was beside the shrieking woman. In the boiling bloody water, the face of the crocodile, fastened round her leg, was tugging to and fro, and smiling. His eyes rolled on to Sibia. One slap of the tail could kill her. He struck. Up shot the water, twenty feet, and fell like a silver chain. Again! The rock jumped under the blow. But in the daily heroism of the jungle, as common as a thorn tree, Sibia did not hesitate. She aimed at the reptile’s eyes. With all the force of her little body, she drove the hayfork at the eyes, and one prong went in—right in— while its pair scratched past on the horny cheek. The crocodile reared up in convulsion, till half his lizard body was out of the river, the tail and nose nearly meeting over his stony back. Then he crashed back, exploding the water, and in an uproar of bloody foam he disappeared. He would die. Not yet, but presently, though his death would not be known for days; not till his stomach, blown with gas, floated him. Then perhaps he would be found upside down among the logs at the timber boom, with pus in his eye. Sibia got arms round the fainting woman, and somehow dragged her from the water.
Read the extract given below and answer the question that follow.
Describe how Sibia flew to save the woman.
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The story of an ant’s life sounds almost untrue.
The underlined phrase means
Why did Chandni hate the rope round her neck?
“A sharp V-shaped line had formed between her eyebrows.” What does it suggest to you about Rukku Manni’s mood?
Why were the red chilli kept in the backyard?
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When and why did she go to the U.S.? Who did she marry?
With your partner list out the happenings, the speaker is worried about.
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When do strange questions strike the poet?
Who says this to whom and why?
“But is it right, my son, to keep mum and not say what you consider just and fair?”
Complete the following sentences from memory choosing a phrase from those given in brackets.
The first time I took a chance I got ____________
What was the effect on Mr Gessler of the author’s remark about a certain pair of boots?
