(English Medium) ICSE Class 10 - CISCE Question Bank Solutions for English 1 (English Language)

That huge bell never stopped ringing. It got us out of bed, it summoned us for meals, it rang between class periods, it sent us unwillingly to bed.

One morning it failed to ring, or rather, there was no bell to ring. Someone had removed it, and it wasn't found till late in the afternoon.

What a glorious day! As there was no bell to rouse us, everyone got up late, and there was no morning PT. Some of us missed breakfast too. The teachers got confused and mixed up their classes. How could the school manage without it? Confusion reigned.

Of course, no one owned up. It could have meant expulsion. Some suspicion fell on the Sports Captain because of our aversion to morning PT, but nothing could be proved.

No one was very anxious to find the bell - we were quite happy without it - but it was finally discovered hanging from a branch of one of the trees. ‘It may have been Mr. Sharma,' surmised Brian. Mr. Sharma, our Maths teacher, was known to walk in his sleep. And sleepwalkers did funny things sometimes. 

‘It could be Mool Chand himself,’ suggested Cyrus Satralkar.

Mool Chand was the school chowkidar, who also had the job of banging the brass bell at appointed times.

‘Why would he throw it away?’

‘He must be as fed up with ringing it as we are of hearing it.’ This was my theory. ‘Perhaps he wants a rise in salary.’

The identity of the culprit remained a mystery. Happily, the senior Hockey team went on a winning spree against all corners, and our month-end exits were restored.

But soon there was another sensation.

A girl was admitted to our class!

The boys were scandalized. No girl had ever studied in our school before. We protested.

‘What’s the problem?’ asked Mr. Knight, our class master. ‘Haven’t you seen a girl before?’

‘But - but. Sir ...’ Tata was our spokesman. ‘How will we concentrate on our studies?’

‘When did you ever concentrate on your studies, Tata?’

‘Are we going co-ed, sir?’ Adams wanted to know.

‘Not at all,’ said Mr. Knight. ‘This is a special case. She is the school accounts manager’s daughter, and he can’t afford the Girls school fees. So, I’m sure you’ll make her feel very welcome.’

The accountant was a popular man who also ran the school’s tuck shop and allowed most of us a certain amount of credit. All our objections faded away. At first, Sunita, our new entrant, was a bit of a distraction because, although she was very shy and demure, she had lovely curly hair, bright eyes, pink cheeks and a smile for everyone. All the boys were very polite and attentive to her and Brian in particular was always ready to help her.

Ashamanja Babu lived in a small flat in Bhowanipore. A clerk in the registry department of Lajpat Rai Post Office, Ashamanja Babu was fortunate as he could walk to his office in seven minutes flat without having to fight his way into the buses and trains of Calcutta. He lived a rather carefree life as he was not the kind of person to sit and brood about what might have been had fate been kinder to him. On the whole, he was quite content with his lot. Two Hindi films and fish twice a week-these were enough to keep him happy. The only thing that 10 perturbed him at times was his lack of companionship. A bachelor with few friends and relatives, he often wished he had a dog to keep him company. It need not be a huge Alsatian like the one owned by the Talukdars, who lived two houses down the lane; it could be any ordinary little dog which would follow him around·morning and evening, wag its tail when he came home from work and obey his orders faithfully. Ashamanja Babu's secret desires were that he would speak to his dog in English.

'Stand up', 'Sit down', 'Shake hands' - how nice it 20 would be if his dog obeyed such commands! That would make him really happy.

On a cloudy day marked by a steady drizzle, Ashamanja Babu went to the market in Hashimara to buy some oranges. At one end of the market, beside a stunted kul tree, sat a man. As their eyes met, the man smiled. Was he a beggar? His clothes made him look like one. Ashamanja Babu noticed at least five sewn-on patches on his trousers and jacket. But the man didn't have a begging bowl. Instead, by his side was a shoe-box with a 30 little pup sticking its head out of it.

'Good morning!' said the man in English. Ashamanja Babu was obliged to return the greeting.

'Buy dog? Dog buy? Very good dog.' The man had taken the pup out of the box and had put it down on the ground. 'Very cheap. Very good. Happy dog.'
The pup shook the raindrops off its coat, looked at Ashamanja Babu and wagged its minuscule two-inch tail. Ashamanja Babu moved closer to the pup, crouched ' on the ground and stretched out his hand. The pup gave 40 his ring finger a lick with its pink tongue. Nice, friendly dog.

'How much? What price?'

'Ten rupees.'

A little haggling and the price came down to seven rupees. Ashamanja Babu paid the money, put the pup back in the shoe-box, closed the lid to save it from the drizzle, and turned homewards, forgetting all about the oranges.

One day I found the pond occupied by several buffaloes. Their keeper, a boy a little older than me, was swimming about in the middle. Instead of climbing out on the bank, he would pull himself up on the back of one of his buffaloes, stretch his naked brown body out on the animal’s glistening hide, and start singing to himself.

When he saw me staring at him from across the pond, he smiled, showing gleaming white teeth in a dark face. He invited me to join him in a swim. I told him I couldn’t swim, and he offered to teach me.

His name was Ramu, and he promised to give me swimming lessons every afternoon, and so it was during the afternoons — especially summer afternoons when everyone was asleep — that we usually met. Before long I was able to swim across the pond to sit with Ramu astride a contented buffalo.

Sometimes I would slip into the water. Emerging in shades of green and khaki, I would sneak into the house through the bathroom and bathe under the tap before getting into my clothes.

One afternoon Ramu and I found a small tortoise in the mud, sitting over a hole in which it had laid several eggs. I presented the tortoise to Grandfather. He had a weakness for tortoises, and was pleased with this addition to his menagerie, giving it a large tub of water all to itself, with an island of rocks in the middle. If one of the dogs bothered it too much, it would draw its head and legs into its shell and defy all its attempts at rough play.

Ramu came from a family of bonded labourers and had received no schooling. But he was well-versed in folklore and knew a great deal about birds and animals.

“Many birds are sacred,” said Ramu, as we watched a blue jay swoop down from a peepul tree and carry off a grasshopper.

Both Ramu and Grandfather were of the opinion that we should be more gentle with birds and animals and should not kill so many of them.

“It is also important that we respect them, said Grandfather. We must acknowledge their rights. Birds and animals are finding it more difficult to survive, because we are trying to destroy both them and their forests.”

Ramu and I spent long summer afternoons at the pond. I still remember him with affection, though we never saw each other again after I left Dehra.