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Prepared by:
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 This book is dedicated to
my beloved mother,

“Bina Jha”
Wherever she is, I know she is watching over us, blessing us with her
love and guidance. Her strength, kindness, and wisdom continue to
inspire me every day. This work is a tribute to her everlasting
presence in my heart.

Avishek Jha Classes

 ///SEM 2 CCF///

Index
CHAPTER TOPICS PAGE NO.
NO.
01 How Do I Love Thee [Poem] 1-3
02 Lucy Gray [Poem] 4 - 10
03 Anthem For Doomed Youth [Poem] 11 - 13
04 The Thief’s Story [Prose] 14 - 19
05 The Last Leaf [Prose] 20 - 30
06 Ram Mohan Roy [Prose] 31 - 34
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POETRY HOW DO I LOVE THEE

-- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

An Introduction to Elizabeth Barrett Browning:

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (6 March 1806-29 June 1861) was a renowned poet and a
candidate for poet laureate after William Wordsworth's death. She is best known for her
Sonnets from the Portuguese (1850), love poems to her husband Robert Browning, who
called her 'my little Portuguese' due to her dark appearance. Born near Durham, she was
educated at home and began writing an epic about Marathon at age 11. In 1821, she developed
a spine disease, and the family moved to London, where she socialized with literary figures
like Wordsworth and Alfred Lord Tennyson. In 1845, poet Robert Browning wrote to her
praising his poems, and they fell in love. Elizabeth's father disapproved, but she had a
personal fortune, and they married in 1846. They settled in Casa Guidi, Florence, where she
improved her health and gave birth to a son, Robert.

An Introduction to How Do I Love Thee:

Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "How Do I Love Thee" is a renowned sonnet from her
collection 'Sonnets from the Portuguese,' published in 1850. The poem delves into the
speaker's profound affection for her beloved, portraying it as an all-encompassing force
that transcends boundaries. It beautifully captures the timeless nature of true love,
suggesting that even death cannot diminish its intensity.

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Sonnets from the Portuguese 43:
How do I love thee?
(Text)
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose hostel.
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

[Foot note: 1. thee: you (old use) (ত োমোকে). 2. by sun and candle-light. by day
and night (দিবোরোত্র)... 3. as men strive for right: as freedom fighters struggling
for gaining freedom (তেমন স্বোধীণ ো সংগ্রোমীরো স্বোধীণ োর জনয লকে). 4. old
griefs: a reference to the griefs related to the deaths of the poetess's mother and
brother. (েদবর মো ও ভোইকের মৃ য যক োকের প্রদ ইদি েরো হকেকে) 5. childhood
faith: innocent faith of childhood. (শ কবর দনষ্পোপ আস্থো ও দবশ্বোস) 6. last
saints: religious faiths, now despised by the poetess..(শ কেসব ধমীে দবশ্বোসগুদলকে
েদব ব ত মোকন পদর যোগ েকরকেন।)]

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■ The Paraphrase of How Do I Love Thee:
How much do I love you? I'll count all the ways I do. I love you to the edges of my soul,
when it reaches out for the unseen goals of eternity and oneness with God. I love you as you
need to be loved every day, whether during the day or the evening. I love you by my free
choice, like those who choose to do the right thing. I love you without self-regard, like those
who don't brag about their own accomplishments. I love you with the passion I used to feel
for my old sufferings, and for the religion of my childhood. I love you with a love I thought
I had lost when I lost faith in my saints. I love you with my every breath, smile, and tear,
and I will for the rest of my life. And if God brings us to heaven, I'll love you even more in
the afterlife.
▪ Summary of How Do I Love Thee:
The speaker begins the poem by asking the question, "How do I love thee?" and responding
with, "Let me count the ways." One may assume that the speaker is either musing out loud
– as one might do when writing a letter – or responding to a lover who may have posed such
a question. The entire sonnet addresses this lover, "thee," who may also be considered the
listener. As it is known that Elizabeth Barrett Browning dedicated this poem to her husband,
she is assumed to be the speaker addressing her husband.
The speaker describes all the ways in which she loves her husband. Her love is multifaceted,
as it can be compared to many aspects of life. Initially, she describes her love as a powerful
force of her soul, so great that she attempts to measure it in three-dimensional terms.
Next, she illustrates a quieter love that sustains her in her daily life, just as the light of
the sun illuminates her days. She then compares her love to the experiences of mankind as
a whole, portraying her love as free, pure, and humble, just as decent people strive to do
good in the world without the expectation of reward or praise. She then compares her love
to the passionate intensity with which she once tried to overcome her past pains as well as
the way in which she believed in good things as a child. Lastly, she compares her love to what
she once felt for people she used to revere but have somehow fallen out of her favour. Near
the poem's conclusion, she states that her every breath, smile, and tear is a reflection of
her love for her husband. The speaker concludes the sonnet by telling her husband that, if
God allows it, she will love him even more after she is gone.

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LUCY GRAY
POETRY
-- William Wordsworth

An Introduction to William Wordsworth:

William Wordsworth, an English poet whose Lyrical Ballads (1798), co-written with Samuel
Taylor Coleridge, helped spark the English Romantic movement, was born in Cockermouth,
Cumberland, En- gland, on April 7, 1770, and died in Rydal Mount, Westmorland, on April
23, 1850. Wordsworth married Mary Hutchinson in 1802, and their life there inspired his
greatest poetry, including 'I wandered Lonely as a Cloud' and 'Ode: Intimations of
Immortality'. In 1813, the Wordsworth’s moved to Rydal Mount, Ambleside, where he
continued to write poetry, including The Excursion (1814) and The River Duddon (1820). How-
ever, his conservatism annoyed radical friends. Wordsworth died on 23 April 1850 and was
buried in Grasmere churchyard. His autobiographical poem, The Prelude, was published
shortly after his death.

An Introduction to Lucy Gray:

William Wordsworth composed the poem "Lucy Gray" in 1799 and included it in his collection
of "Lyrical Ballads". It tells the story of Lucy Gray, a little girl who perished after venturing
outside one evening during a storm.

** Wordsworth's surroundings in snow and his sister's recollection of a true event that took
place in Halifax served as the poem's inspiration. Wordsworth's statement, "Written at
Goslar in Germany in 1799. It was founded on a circumstance told me by my sister, of a
little girl who, not far from Halifax in Yorkshire, was bewildered in a snow-storm. Her
footsteps were traced by her parents to the middle of the lock of a canal, and no other
vestige of her, backward or forward, could be traced. The body however was found in the
canal." The first appearance of Lucy Gray was in Volume 2 of the "Lyrical Ballads" edition in
1800.

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Lucy Gray
(Text)
Oft1 I had heard of Lucy Gray:
And, when I crossed the wild²
I chanced3 to see at break of day4
The solitary2 child.

No mate6, no comrade7 Lucy knew;

She dwelt8 on a wide moor9,
--The sweetest thing10 that ever grew
Beside a human door!

You yet may spy11 the fawn12 at play,

The bare13 upon the green;14
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy15 night--

You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your mother through the snow."

"That, Father! will I gladly do:

"Tis16 scarcely17 afternoon--
The minster18-clock has just struck two,
And yonder19 is the moon!"

At this the father raised his hook,

And snapped20 a faggot²¹-band;
He plied22 his work; --and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.

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Not blither23 is the mountain roe:24
With many a wanton25 stroke
Her feet disperse26 the powdery snow,
That rises27 up like smoke.

The storm came on before its time:

She wandered28 up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb:
But never reached the town.

The wretched29 parents all that night

Went shouting far and wide;30
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve31 them for a guide.32

At day-break33 on a hill they stood

That overlooked34 the moor;
And thence35 they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong36 from their door.

They wept--and, turning homeward37, cried,

"In heaven we all shall meet;"
--When in the snow the mother spied38
The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge

They tracked39 the footmarks small,40
And through the broken hawthorn41 hedge,42
And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open field they crossed:

The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.

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They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank:43
And further there were none!

--Yet some maintain44 that to this day)

She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome45 wild.

O'er46 rough and smooth she trips47 along,

And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles48 in the wind.

[1799]

Summary of Lucy Gray:

Stanza 1:
In this stanza, the poet says that lie had often heard of Lucy Gray and wanted to see the
beautiful girl. One day, the poet saw the girl early in the morning. She was an innocent and
pure child. She lived with her parents on a wild moor. The poet liked the beautiful girl.

Stanza 2:
In these lines, the poet says that Lucy lived all alone. She had no friends. She lived on wild
fields. Lucy was the child of nature. Nature was her friend. She was so beautiful that no child
like her was born in the house of a man. She was very lovely and beautiful.

Stanza 3:
In these lines, the poet is describing his sad feelings over the untimely death of Lucy. The
wild field is still there, where the deer play happily. The hare is also seen jumping over the
green grass, but Lucy is no longer present there. Lucy is absent because she died in the
snowstorm. The same deer and hare are still playing, but the sweet and beautiful face of
Lucy has disappeared.

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Stanza 4 & 5:
In these stanzas, the poet is describing how Lucy's father asked her to go to the town and
bring her mother back home. Lucy's father hoped that the night would be stormy; therefore,
he advised her to take a lantern with her to guide her mother through the snow. Lucy told
her father that it was still midday and it was not very late. She said that the clock of the
church had struck only two, and the moon could be seen in the sky. She assured her father
that she would go to the town and help her mother come back home.

Stanza 6:
In this stanza, the poet says that after Lusy's father asked Lucy to go to the town to bring
her mother back home, he became busy with his work. He raised his hook and cut a bundle of
sticks. He knew that Lucy was an obedient girl, and she would go to the town. Lucy took the
lantern in her hand and went away to help her mother come back home from the town.

Stanza 7:
In these lines, the poet tells us how Lucy went with a lantern in her hand to help her mother
come back home from a nearby town. She was jumping over the snow. The poet compares
Lucy to a mountain roe. Lucy was in a playful mood. She was dispersing the powdery snow
with her feet, which was rising like smoke. The poet is describing the innocent character of
Lucy.

Stanza 8:
In these lines, the poet is describing how Lucy lost her way in the hills when the snowstorm
came. Unfortunately, the storm came before time, and Lucy lost her way. She walked over
the hills and, in the fields, but could not find her way back home. Lucy wandered into the hills
and died in the snow.

Stanza 9 & 10:

In these lines, the poet tells us that when Lucy did not return home, the parents went into
the hills in search of their daughter and shouted for her, but they did not find any trace of
the girl. There was neither sight nor sound of Lucy. Their condition was very pitiable. Early
in the morning, they climbed the hill from where they could look at the wild moor. From
above, they saw a wooden bridge at a short distance from the door of their house. They
walked to the bridge to find some trace of Lucy Gray.

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Stanza 11 & 12:
In the morning, when Lucy's mother saw Lucy's footprints in the snow, she cried and said
that they would meet their child in heaven, as there was no hope left for them to meet the
girl in this world. Following the footprints of Lucy, they climbed down the hill. They did not
miss even a single mark. They passed through the broken hawthorn hedge and by the long
stone wall until they reached an open field.

Stanza 13:
Following the footprints of Lucy, her parents came to an open field. They could see Lucy's
footprints clearly. They reached a wooden bridge.

Stanza 14:
In these lines, the poet is describing how Lucy's parents went on following the footmarks
along the snowy bank of the stream until they came to the wooden bridge. The bank of the
stream was covered with snow, and Lucy's prints were clearly visible there. They went on
following until they reached the middle of the wooden bridge on the stream. From this spot
onward the footprints could not be seen any further.

Stanza 15 & 16:

In these lines, the poet is describing the tragic death of Lucy. She is no longer living in the
world, yet there are some people who do not believe that she has died. They think that Lucy
is alive because they have often seen her walking and singing in the wild fields. She sings a
song and never looks back. The people also believe that the sweet song of Lucy Gray can be
heard when the wind is blowing. The poet means to say that Lucy has become a part of nature
after her death.

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[Foot note: 1. Oft: often (প্রোে ই) 2. Wild: forest; here upland hedges. (উন্মযক্ত বনভূ দম) 3.
Chanced: luckily, accidentally. (ভোগযক্রকম; হঠোৎ) 4. break of day: dawn. (তভোর) 5.
solitary: lonely; companionless (দনিঃসি) 6. mate: companion (সিী) 7. Comrade: friend;
work-mate (বন্ধয ; সহেমী). 8. dwelt: lived (বোস ের ). 9. moor: a tract of open
uncultivated upland (পদ উচ্চভূ দম). 10. sweetest thing: Lucy (লযদস তগ্র) 11. spy:
notice; see, observe. (লক্ষ্য েরো; পেতকবক্ষ্ণ েরো) 12. Fawn: a young deer in its first year
(হদরণ োবে) 13. hare: rabbit. (খরকগো ) 14. green: green grass. (সবযজ ঘোসজদম) 15.
stormy: windy; gusty (ঝঞ্ঝোপূণত) 16. Tis: It is (এটি) 17. scarcely: barely; only just.
(সকবমোত্র) 18. Minster: A Church of Cathedral status (েযোদিড্রোল চোচত) 19. Yonder: the
far distance. (সযিকূ র) 20. Snapped: broke with cracking sond. (স কে ভোঙো) 21. Faggot:
a bundle of sticks bound together as fuel. (জ্বোলোনী েোকঠর গোাঁট) 22. plied: worked steadily.
(এে নোগোকে েোজ েকর চলকলন) 23. blither: long-winded talk with no real substance.
(অ য যদক্ত) 24. roe: roe deer (এে প্রেোর হদরণ) 25. Wanton: lively; playful. (প্রোণন্ত ও
দচন্তোহীণ), 26. scatter: state something strongly to be the case; assert (েদেকে তিওেো),
27. rises: goes up (উদি হে), 28. Wandered: walked or moved aimlessly. (লক্ষ্যহীণ ভ্রমণ)
29. Wretched: unhappy, sad (িযিঃখী) 30. far and wide: over a large area. (িূর- িূরোন্ত পেতন্ত)
31. serve: assist (সোহোেয েরো) 32. Guide: path finder (দিে দনকিত ে) 33. day-break:
dawn (তভোর) 34. Overlooked: had a view of from above. (উচ্চ স্থোন তিকে দ্রষ্টবয) 35.
Thence: from there (তসখোন তিকে) 36. Furlong: an eighth of a mile, 220 yards (এে
মোইকলর এে-অষ্টমোং বো ২২০ গজ) 37. home want: towards home (গৃহমযখী) 38.
Spied: spotted (লক্ষ্য েকরদেল) 38. steep: rising or falling sharply; almost perpendicular.
(খোেো) 39. tracked: followed. (অনযসরণ েকরদেল) 40. footmarks small: referring to
Lucy's footmarks. (লযদসর পোকের দচহ্ন) 41. hawthorn: a thorny shrub or tree of the rose
family, with white, pink, or red blossom and small dark red fruits (েোাঁটোগোে দবক ষ) 42.
hedge: a fence or boundary formed by closely growing bushes or shrubs. (ক্ষ্যদ্র বৃক্ষ্দনদমত
তবেো) 43. plank: a long, thin, flat piece of timber; here, it refers to the wooden bridge
(েোকঠর পোটো ন; একক্ষ্কত্র েোকঠর তস য র েিো বলো হকেকে). 44. maintain: state
something strongly to be the case; assert (দস্থর দবশ্বোস েরো). 45. lonesome: remote and
unfrequented (দবজন; জনসমোগমহীণ), 46. O'er: over (ওপকর) 47. trips: walks, runs, or
dances with quick light steps. (তেোট তেোট লোফ দিকে তেোটো) 48. whistles: makes a clear,
high-pitched sound. (দ স দিকে েোে)]

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AnTHEm fOR DOOmED YOUTH

POETRY
-- Wilfred Owen

An Introduction to Wilfred Owen:

Wilfred Owen, born in 1893 in Shropshire, England, to Thomas and Susan Owen, received his
education in Birkenhead before moving to Shrewsbury, where he graduated from Shrewsbury
Technical College in 1911. Initially working as a lay assistant to a Church of England vicar,
Owen started writing poetry. He enlisted in the army in 1915 and served in France during
World War I, where he was hospitalized for a concussion and diagnosed with shell shock.
Collaborating with Siegfried Sassoon, Owen's poetry flourished, depicting the harsh reali-
ties of war. Despite being awarded the Military Cross for bravery, Owen tragically died in
November 1918, just before the war's end.

An Introduction to Anthem for Doomed Youth:

Wilfred Owen penned "Anthem for Doomed Youth" in 1917 while recovering in a hospital
from injuries and trauma sustained during World War I. The poem mourns the tragic loss of
young lives in war, vividly portraying the brutal sensory experiences of combat. It critiques
the superficial and ceremonial aspects associated with war, symbolized by the term
"Anthem" in the title, suggesting that traditional tributes such as church bells, prayers, and
choirs fail to capture the true essence of war. Regarded as one of Owen's most renowned
works, "Anthem for Doomed Youth" stands alongside "Dulce et Decorum Est" as a poignant
testament to the harsh realities of war.

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Anthem for Doomed Youth
(Text)
What passing-bells1 for these who die as cattle2?
— Only the monstrous3 anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering4 rifles5 rapid rattle6
Can patter7 out their hasty8 orisons9.
No mockeries10 now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning11 save the choirs,12 —
The shrill13, demented14 choirs of wailing15 shells;
And bugles16 calling for them from sad shires17.

What candles may be held to speed them all?

Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers18 of goodbyes.
The pallor19 of girls' brows shall be their pall20;
Their flowers the tenderness21 of patient minds,
And each slow dusk22 a drawing-down of blinds.

[Foot note: 1. bells that is rung at a funeral ceremony. অন্ত্যেষ্টি অনুষ্ঠান্ত্ন বাজান্ত্না ঘন্টা।
2. bovine animals, especially domesticated members of the genus Bos. Here it refers to the
soldiers. গবাষ্টি পশু; এন্ত্েন্ত্ে তরুণ সৈষ্টনকিল। 3. shocking or revolting outrageous:
হতবাককারী। 4. disordered speech production characterized principally by blocks or
spasms interrupting the rhythm থমন্ত্ক থমন্ত্ক ধ্বষ্টনত হন্ত্ে এমন।. 5. occurring within a
short time; happening speedily: দ্রুত। 6.to give out or cause a rapid succession of short,
sharp sounds, as in consequence of agitation and repeated concussions কককশ দ্রুত ধ্বষ্টন।
7. meaningless, rapid talk; mere chatter; gabble. অথক হীণ বকবকানী ৪. speedy; quick;
hurried. দ্রুত। 9. prayers. প্রাথক ণা। 10. ridicules, contempt’s, or derisions বেঙ্গ করা। 11.
sorrowing or lamentation. ষ্টবষন্ন ষ্টবলাপ। 12. company of singers, especially an organized
group employed in church service. গীজকায় ৈংগীত পষ্টরন্ত্বশনকারী গান্ত্নর িল। 13. high-
pitched and piercing in sound quality. তীক্ষ্ণ উচ্চস্বর। 14. crazy; insane; mad. উন্মাি।
15.making a mournful sound, as a siren, music, the wind, etc ষ্টবলাপকারী কান্না। 16. brass

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wind instrument resembling ga cornet and sometimes having keys or valves, used typically
for sounding military signals. ৈামষ্টরক ৈংন্ত্কত প্রিানকারী ষ্টবউগল বাষ্টশ। 17. counties
in England. ইংলোন্ত্ের গ্রামে এলাকা। 18. glimmers. ঝলক। 19. unusual of extreme
paleness, as from fear, ill health, or death; wanness. ফ্োকান্ত্শ।। 20.coffin. কষ্টফ্ন।
21.gentleness and kindness ককামলতা। 22. twilight, nightfall; sunset. কগাধূলী।]

Summary of Anthem for Doomed Youth:

The poem ironically compares the sounds of war to the choir and bells which usually sound
at funerals.

It also compares familiar funeral practices to the bleak farewells of young men who should
have their whole lives in front of them. In doing so, Wilfred Owen seems to show the futility
of religion at this time while also demonstrating the brutality of war.

In the first stanza the speaker asks what "passing bells" (the bell ringing we are accustomed
to hearing at funerals) there are for slaughtered soldiers. The remainder of the stanza is
an angry response to this question, with the various brutal sounds of war including gunshots
and shells-being compared ironically to choirs, prayers and bells.

In the second stanza the speaker asks where the candles are "to speed them all". The
ceremonial aspects of funerals such as candles and flowers are shown to be absent in this
stanza. Instead, Owen shows how these rituals of death are replaced by grieving girls left
behind, and the darkness descending as the soldiers die on the battle field.

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SHORT THE THIEf’S STORY

STORY -- Ruskin Bond

▪ An Introduction to Ruskin Bond:

Often referred to as the Indian 'William Wordsworth,' Ruskin Bond was born in Kasauli in
1934, in what was then the Punjab Province. Raised amidst the Himalayas, Bond spent his
formative years in various places, including Jamnagar, Dehradun, and Shimla. While he
pursued his primary studies in England, his heart remained in India, particularly with the
Himalayas. Bond began showcasing his literary prowess early, writing his first novel, 'Room
On The Roof,' at just 17. The novel, set in and around the Himalayas, won him the prestigious
'John Llewellyn Rhys Prize. Bond's writing, spanning over five decades, focuses heavily on
the local Himalayan elements, vividly capturing the region's beauty and ethos. His works,
comprising over 100 short stories, essays, novels, and numerous children's books, blend
unassuming humour with profound wisdom, reflecting his deep love for nature and people.
Bond's writings have garnered both critical acclaim and a dedicated global following,
inspiring generations of writers. Several of his stories, including 'The Night Train at Deoli,'
'Time Stops at Shamli,' and 'Our Trees Still Grow in Dehra,' are part of school curricula
across India. Despite his numerous accolades, including the Sahitya Akademi Award and the
Padma Shri, Bond remains a modest and reclusive literary figure, residing near Dehradun
with his adopted family.

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The Thief's Story
(Text)
I was still a thief when I met Anil. And though only 15, 1 was an experienced and fairly
successful hand.
Anil was watching a wrestling match when I approached him. He was about 25 — a tall, lean
fellow — and he looked easy-going, kind and simple enough for my purpose. I hadn't had
much luck of late and thought I might be able to get into the young man's confidence.
"You look a bit of a wrestler yourself," I said. A little flattery helps in making friends.
"So do you," he replied, which put me off for a moment because at that time I was rather
thin.
"Well," I said modestly, "I do wrestle a bit."
"What's your name?"
"Hari Singh." I lied. I took a new name every month. That kept me ahead of the police and
my former employers.
After this introduction, Anil talked about the well-oiled wrestlers who were grunting, lifting
and throwing each other about. I didn't have much to say. Anil walked away. I followed casually.
"Hello again," he said.
I gave him my most appealing smile. "I want to work for you," I said.
"But I can't pay you."

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I thought that over for a minute. Perhaps I had misjudged my man. I asked, "Can you feed
me?"
"Can you cook?"
"I can cook," I lied again.
"If you can cook, then maybe I can feed you."
He took me to his room over the Jumna Sweet Shop and told me I could sleep on the balcony.
But the meal I cooked that night must have been terrible because Anil gave it to a stray dog
and told me to be off. But I just hung around, smiling in my most appealing way, and he
couldn't help laughing.
Later, he patted me on the head and said never mind, he'd teach me to cook. He also taught
me to write my name and said he would soon teach me to write whole sentences and to add
numbers. I was grateful. I knew that once I could write like an educated man there would be
no limit to what I could achieve.
It was quite pleasant working for Anil. I made the tea in the morning. and then would take
my time buying the day's supplies, usually making a profit of about a rupee a day. I think he
knew I made a little money this way but he did not seem to mind.

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Anil made money by fits and starts. He would borrow one week, lend the next. He kept
worrying about his next cheque, but as soon as it arrived, he would go out and celebrate. It
seems he wrote for magazines — a queer way to make a living!
One evening he came home with a small bundle of notes, saying he had just sold a book to a
publisher. At night, I saw him tuck the money under the mattress.
I had been working for Anil for almost a month and, apart from cheating on the shopping,
had not done anything in my line of work. I had every opportunity for doing so. Anil had
given me a key to the door. and I could come and go as I pleased. He was the most trusting
person I had ever met.
And that is why it was so difficult to rob him. It's easy to rob a greedy man, because he can
afford to be robbed; but it's difficult to rob a careless man — sometimes he doesn't even
notice he's been robbed and that takes all the pleasure out of the work.
Well, it's time I did some real work, I told myself; I'm out of practice. And if I don't take the
money, he'll only waste it on his friends. After all, he doesn't even pay me...

Anil was asleep. A beam of moonlight stepped over the balcony and fell on the bed. I sat up
on the floor, considering the situation. If I took the money, I could catch the 10.30 Express
to Lucknow. Slipping out of the blanket, I crept up to the bed. Anil was sleeping peacefully.
His face was clear and unlined; even I had more marks on my face, though mine were mostly
scars.
My hand slid under the mattress, searching for the notes. When I found them. I drew them
out without a sound. Anil sighed in his sleep and turned on his side, towards me. I was startled
and quickly crawled out of the room.
When I was on the road, I began to run. I had the notes at my waist, held there by the string
of my pyjamas. I slowed down to a walk and counted the notes: 600 rupees in fifties! I could
live like an oil-rich Arab for a week or two.

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When I reached the station, I did not stop at the ticket office (I had never bought a ticket in
my life) but dashed straight to the platform. The Lucknow Express was just moving out. The
train had still to pick up speed and I should have been able to jump into one of the carriages,
but I hesitated — for some reason I can't explain — and I lost the chance to get away.
When the train had gone, I found myself standing alone on the deserted platform. I had no
idea where to spend the night. I had no friends, believing that friends were more trouble
than help. And I did not want to make anyone curious by staying at one of the small hotels
near the station. The only person I knew really well was the man I had robbed. Leaving the
station, I walked slowly through the bazaar.
In my short career as a thief, I had made a study of men's faces when they had lost their
goods. The greedy man showed fear; the rich man showed anger; the poor man showed
acceptance. But I knew that Anil's face, when he discovered the theft, would show only a
touch of sadness. Not for the loss of money, but for the loss of trust.
I found myself in the maidan and sat down on a bench. The night was chilly — it was early
November — and a light drizzle added to my discomfort. Soon it was raining quite heavily.
My shirt and pyjamas stuck to my skin, and a cold wind blew the rain across my face.

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I went back to the bazaar and sat down in the shelter of the clock tower. The clock showed
midnight. I felt for the notes. They were damp from the rain.
Anil's money. In the morning, he would probably have given me two or three rupees to go to
the cinema, but now I had it all. I couldn't cook his meals, run to the bazaar or learn to write
whole sentences any more.
I had forgotten about them in the excitement of the theft. Whole sentences, I knew, could
one day bring me more than a few hundred rupees. It was a simple matter to steal — and
sometimes just as simple to be caught. But to be a really big man, a clever and respected
man, was something else. I should go back to Anil, I told myself, if only to learn to read and
write.
I hurried back to the room feeling very nervous, for it is much easier to steal something
than to return it undetected. I opened the door quietly, then stood in the doorway, in clouded
moonlight. Anil was still asleep. I crept to the head of the bed, and my hand came up with
the notes. I felt his breath on my hand. I remained still for a minute. Then my hand found
the edge of the mattress, and slipped under it with the notes.
I awoke late next morning to find that Anil had already made the tea. He stretched out his
hand towards me. There was a fifty-rupee note between his fingers. My heart sank. I thought
I had been discovered.
"I made some money yesterday," he explained. "Now you'll be paid regularly."
My spirits rose. But when I took the note, I saw it was still wet from the night's rain.
"Today we'll start writing sentences," he said.
He knew. But neither his lips nor his eyes showed anything. I smiled at Anil in my most
appealing way. And the smile came by itself, without any effort.
RUSKIn BOnD
GLOSSARY
flattery: insincere praise
modestly: without boasting: in a humble way
grunting: making low guttural sounds
appealing: attractive
unlined: (here) showing no sign of worry or anxiety

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SHORT THE LAST LEAf

STORY -- O’ Henry

An Introduction to O' Henry:

William Sydney Porter's early years were shaped by his upbringing in North Carolina, where
he immersed himself in books and received education from his aunt's school. His uncle
guided him into pharmacy, a path he pursued at the young age of nineteen. By twenty, he
had relocated to Texas, where he juggled multiple occupations such as ranching, banking,
drafting, and journalism, all while nurturing his passion for writing. Despite his promising
start as a writer for the Houston Post following his first marriage to Athol Estes, his life
took a tumultuous turn when he was accused of embezzlement. Fleeing to Honduras, he
returned upon learning of Estes' tragic demise from tuberculosis. This marked the
beginning of a challenging period for Porter, as he spent the next three years in prison. It
was during this time that he penned numerous stories under various pen names, most
notably "Ο. Henry." Following his release, Porter relocated to New York City, where he
penned the bulk of his renowned short stories. Sadly, his life was cut short at age forty-
seven, likely due to complications stemming from his struggles with alcoholism.

An Introduction to The Last Leaf:

O. Henry's 1907 short story "The Last Leaf" is about a young artist named Johnsy who falls
victim to a pneumonia epidemic that hits New York City. As Johnsy counts the ivy leaves
falling off the vine outside her window, she superstitiously believes she will die when the last
leaf falls; miraculously, the last leaf withstands two nights of rain and wind, by which point
Johnsy has regaired her health. However, Johnsy learns from her roommate Sue that their
elderly neighbour painted the leaf on the wall two nights earlier; in the process, he develops
a deadly case of pneumonia.
"The Last Leaf" was first published in The Trimmed Lamp and Other Stories.

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The Last Leaf
(Text)
In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken
themselves into small strips called “places.” These “places” make strange angles and
curves. One street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable
possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should,
in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been
paid on account!
So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north
windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported
some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth avenue, and became a “colony.”
At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. “Johnsy” was
familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at
the table d'hôte of an Eighth street “Delmonico's,” and found their tastes in art, chicory
salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.
That was in May. In November a cold, unseen stranger, whom the doctors called Pneumonia,
stalked about the colony, touching one here and there with his icy fingers. Over on the east
side this ravager strode boldly, smiting his victims by scores, but his feet trod slowly
through the maze of the narrow and moss-grown “places.”
Mr. Pneumonia was not what you would call a chivalric old gentleman. A mite of a little
woman with blood thinned by California zephyrs was hardly fair game for the red-fisted,
short-breathed old duffer. But Johnsy he smote; and she lay, scarcely moving, on her painted
iron bedstead, looking through the small Dutch window-panes at the blank side of the next
brick house.
One morning the busy doctor invited Sue into the hallway with a shaggy, gray eyebrow.
“She has one chance in—let us say, ten,” he said, as he shook down the mercury in his clinical
thermometer. “And that chance is for her to want to live. This way people have of lining-up
on the side of the undertaker makes the entire pharmacopeia look silly. Your little lady has
made up her mind that she's not going to get well. Has she anything on her mind?”
“She—she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples some day,” said Sue.

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“Paint? —bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking about twice—a man, for
instance?”
“A man?” said Sue, with a jew's-harp twang in her voice. “Is a man worth—but, no, doctor;
there is nothing of the kind.”
“Well, it is the weakness, then,” said the doctor. “I will do all that science, so far as it may
filter through my efforts, can accomplish. But whenever my patient begins to count the
carriages in her funeral procession, I subtract 50 per cent. from the curative power of
medicines. If you will get her to ask one question about the new winter styles in cloak
sleeves, I will promise you a one-in-five chance for her, instead of one in ten.”
After the doctor had gone Sue went into the workroom and cried a Japanese napkin to a pulp.
Then she swaggered into Johnsy's room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.
Johnsy lay, scarcely making a ripple under the bedclothes, with her face toward the window.
Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.
She arranged her board and began a pen-and-ink drawing to illustrate a magazine story.
Young artists must have their way to Art by drawing pictures for magazine stories that
young authors write to pave their way to Literature.
As Sue was sketching a pair of elegant horseshow riding trousers and a monocle on the
figure of the hero, an Idaho cowboy, she heard a low sound, several times repeated. She went
quickly to the bedside.
Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting—counting
backward.
“Twelve,” she said, and a little later “eleven”; and then “ten,” and “nine”; and then “eight”
and “seven,” almost together.
Sue looked solicitously out the window. What was there to count? There was only a bare,
dreary yard to be seen, and the blank side of the brick house twenty feet away. An old, old
ivy vine, gnarled and decayed at the roots, climbed half way up the brick wall. The cold breath
of autumn had stricken its leaves from the vine until its skeleton branches clung, almost
bare, to the crumbling bricks.
“What is it, dear?” asked Sue.

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“Six,” said Johnsy, in almost a whisper. “They're falling faster now. Three days ago there
were almost a hundred. It made my head ache to count them. But now it's easy. There goes
another one. There are only five left now.”
“Five what, dear? Tell your Sudie.”
“Leaves. On the ivy vine. When the last one falls, I must go, too. I've known that for three
days. Didn't the doctor tell you?”
“Oh, I never heard of such nonsense,” complained Sue, with magnificent scorn. “What have
old ivy leaves to do with your getting well? And you used to love that vine so, you naughty
girl. Don't be a goosey. Why, the doctor told me this morning that your chances for getting
well real soon were—let's see exactly what he said—he said the chances were ten to one!
Why, that's almost as good a chance as we have in New York when we ride on the street cars
or walk past a new building. Try to take some broth now, and let Sudie go back to her
drawing, so she can sell the editor man with it, and buy port wine for her sick child, and pork
chops for her greedy self.”
“You needn't get any more wine,” said Johnsy, keeping her eyes fixed out the window. “There
goes another. No, I don't want any broth. That leaves just four. I want to see the last one
fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too.”
“Johnsy, dear,” said Sue, bending over her, “will you promise me to keep your eyes closed,
and not look out the window until I am done working? I must hand those drawings in by
tomorrow. I need the light, or I would draw the shade down.”
“Couldn't you draw in the other room?” asked Johnsy, coldly.
“I'd rather be here by you,” said Sue. “Besides, I don't want you to keep looking at those silly
ivy leaves.”
“Tell me as soon as you have finished,” said Johnsy, closing her eyes, and lying white and still
as a fallen statue, “because I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of
thinking. I want to turn lose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one
of those poor, tired leaves.”
“Try to sleep,” said Sue. “I must call Behrman up to be my model for the old hermit miner.
I'll not be gone a minute. Don't try to move ’till I come back.”
Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor beneath them. He was past sixty
and had a Michael Angelo's Moses beard curling down from the head of a satyr along the

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body of an imp. Behrman was a failure in art. Forty years he had wielded the brush without
getting near enough to touch the hem of his Mistress's robe. He had been always about to
paint a masterpiece, but had never yet begun it. For several years he had painted nothing
except now and then a daub in the line of commerce or advertising. He earned a little by
serving as a model to those young artists in the colony who could not pay the price of a
professional. He drank gin to excess, and still talked of his coming masterpiece. For the
rest he was a fierce little old man, who scoffed terribly at softness in any one, and who
regarded himself as especial mastiff-in-waiting to protect the two young artists in the
studio above.
Sue found Behrman smelling strongly of juniper berries in his dimly lighted den below. In
one corner was a blank canvas on an easel that had been waiting there for twenty-five years
to receive the first line of the masterpiece. She told him of Johnsy's fancy, and how she
feared she would, indeed, light and fragile as a leaf herself, float away when her slight hold
upon the world grew weaker.
Old Behrman, with his red eyes plainly streaming, shouted his contempt and derision for
such idiotic imaginings.
“Vass!” he cried. “Is dere people in de world mit der foolishness to die because leafs dey
drop off from a confounded vine? I haf not heard of such a thing. No, I will not bose as a
model for your fool hermit-dunderhead. Vy do you allow dot silly pusiness to come in der
prain of her? Ach, dot poor leetle Miss Yohnsy.”
“She is very ill and weak,” said Sue, “and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of
strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But
I think you are a horrid old—old flibbertigibbet.”
“You are just like a woman!” yelled Behrman. “Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you.
For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace
in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Someday I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve
shall all go away. Gott! yes.”
Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill,
and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully
at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent,
cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the
hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.

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When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning, she found Johnsy with dull, wide-
open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.
“Pull it up; I want to see,” she ordered, in a whisper.
Wearily Sue obeyed.
But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong
night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last on the vine. Still
dark green near its stem, but with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution
and decay, it hung bravely from a branch some twenty feet above the ground.
“It is the last one,” said Johnsy. “I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the
wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time.”
“Dear, dear!” said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, “think of me, if you won't
think of yourself. What would I do?”
But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making
ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly
as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.
The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging
to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again
loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch
eaves.
When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.
The ivy leaf was still there.
Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her
chicken broth over the gas stove.
“I've been a bad girl, Sudie,” said Johnsy. “Something has made that last leaf stay there to
show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring me a little broth now, and
some milk with a little port in it, and—no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some
pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook.”
An hour later she said:
“Sudie, someday I hope to paint the Bay of Naples.”
The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left.

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“Even chances,” said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. “With good nursing
you'll win. And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is—some
kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute.
There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable.”
The next day the doctor said to Sue: “She's out of danger. You've won. Nutrition and care
now—that's all.”
And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue
and very useless woolen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all.
“I have something to tell you, white mouse,” she said. “Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-
day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him on the morning of the
first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through
and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then
they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and
some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colours mixed on it, and—look
out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered
or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece—he painted it there
the night that the last leaf fell.”
Summary of The Last Leaf:
"The Last Leaf" opens with a description of the winding streets of Greenwich Village, New
York City, where artists flock to find low. cost apartments with north-facing windows and
Dutch-style gables After they meet at a restaurant, Sue and Johnsy, the story's
protagonists, discover they have similar tastes in art, food, and fashion.
Greenwich Village is a haven for poor artists and bohemian young people, and O. Henry
depicts a vibrant creative community. However, the "starving artist" existence has its costs,
such as poor living conditions, shortage of food, and exposure to cold and sickness. It's also
worth noting that Greenwich Village has historically been home to a large portion of New
York's lesbian and gay population-a fact which becomes significant in light of Henry's
implication that the two female protagonists may be romantically involved.
In May they get a studio apartment together in Greenwich Village. By November, a
pneumonia pandemic has hit New York. Johnsy, being used to California's warmer weather,
falls ill. A doctor assesses her, and informs Sue that Johnsy's chances of survival are one
in ten, largely because she has lost the will to live.

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SEMESTER II – CCF [NEW SYLLABUS]
AEC / COM. ENGLISH SEM. 2 / C.U.
In Johnsy's room, Sue works on an illustration for a magazine. She hears Johnsy quietly
counting the leaves left on the old and struggling ivy vine that clings to the brick of the
neighbouring building Johnsy says there are only six lefts, and she has known now for three
days that she will die when the last leaf falls.
Sue asks her not to speak such nonsense and commands her to go to sleep. Sue goes
downstairs to ask old Behrman to pose for her drawing, Sixty-year-old Behrman is a
painter, but he has never found success. He always speaks of creating a masterpiece, but he
never starts it. He drinks heavily and feels he has a special responsibility to protect the
young women who live upstairs. Sue tells him about Johnsy's superstitious belief that her
life is connected to ivy leaves. Behrman laments and denounces such foolishness.
Johnsy is asleep, so Sue lowers the window shade. In the other room, she and Behrman look
unhappily at the rain and snow and wind threatening the final ivy leaves. Behrman poses and
Sue draws him.
In the morning, Johnsy asks Sue to raise the shade. Miraculously, a single leaf remains
attached to the vine, having withstood the night's storms. Johnsy says it will surely fall by
night, and then she too will die. But the leaf doesn't fall. In the morning, Sue raises the shade
to reveal that the leaf is still attached. Johnsy stares at the leaf for some timereveal then
asks Sue for some broth; she now believes the leaf is there to remind her that it is sin to
wish to die.
The doctor visits and says Johnsy's chance are now fifty-fifty. He tells Sue he must now visit
Behrman, who has a critical case of pneumonia and needs to be taken to hospital.
The next day the doctor says that Johnsy is beyond any danger. Behrman, however, passed
away after having been ill for only two days.
That afternoon, Sue goes to Johnsy and puts an arm around her. Sue explains that Behrman
died; two days earlier the building janitor found Behrman in his room helpless with pain. He
was soaked through with rain, and the janitor wondered why he would have been out in the
miserable night. He then found a lantern still lit, a ladder, and a palette with green and
yellow paints on it.
Sue asks Johnsy if she ever wondered why the last leaf never moved with the wind. It's
because Behrman painted it the night the actual last leaf fell, and he contracted pneumonia
in the process. It was Behrman's greatest masterpiece, Sue says.

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COMPULSORY ENGLISH (AEC) B.A | B.SC | B.COM
SEMESTER II – CCF [NEW SYLLABUS]
AEC / COM. ENGLISH SEM. 2 / C.U.
Meanings of the difficult words from the lesson "The Last Leaf":

S. No. Words Meanings

1. Artist A person who creates paintings or drawings as a profession or hobby

Two upright lengths of wood, metal, or rope, used for climbing up or
2. Ladder
down something
3. Storey A level of a building
An infection of the air sacs in one or both the lungs characterised by
4. Pneumonia
severe cough with fever and breathing difficulty
To look at something or someone for a long time, especially in surprise
5. Gazing
or admiration, or because you are thinking about something else
Unhappy because you are thinking about problems or unpleasant things
6. Worry
that might happen
A substance, especially in the form of a liquid or a pill, that is a
7. Medicine
treatment for illness or injury
8. Interest The feeling of wanting to know or learn about something or someone
9. Fashion A popular or the latest style of clothing, hair, decoration, or behaviour
Emit a clear, high-pitched sound by forcing breath through a small hole
10. Whistle
between one's lips or teeth
11. Whisper Speak very softly using one's breath rather than one's throat
12. Backward In reverse of the usual direction or order
13. Shedding Of a tree or other plant allow leaves or fruit to fall to the ground
14. Anxious In a manner resulting from or revealing anxiety
Any plant that grows along the ground, around another plant, or up a
15. Creeper
wall using extending stems or branches
A woody evergreen Eurasian climbing plant, typically having shiny, dark
16. Ivy
green five-pointed leaves

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AEC / COM. ENGLISH SEM. 2 / C.U.
The season of the year between summer and winter, lasting from
September to November north of the equator and from March to May
17. Autumn
south of the equator, when fruits and crops become ready to eat and
are picked, and leaves fall
18. Finality The quality of being finished and therefore not able to be changed
19. Nonsense Spoken or written words that have no meaning or make no sense
Being sure of your abilities or having trust in people, plans, or the
20. Confident
future
21. Soup A usually hot, liquid food made from vegetables, meat, or fish
A piece of material, especially cloth, that hangs across a window or
22. Curtain
opening to make a room or part of a room dark or private
A declaration or assurance that one will do something or that a
23. Promise
particular thing will happen
24. Rush A situation in which you have to hurry or move somewhere quickly
A work of art such as a painting, film, or book that is made with great
25. Masterpiece
skill
26. Temperature The measured amount of heat in a place or in the body
Walk quietly and carefully with one's heels raised and one's weight on
27. Tiptoe
the balls of the feet
Look quickly and furtively at something, especially through a narrow
28. Peep
opening
An opening in the wall or roof of a building or vehicle, fitted with glass
29. Window
in a frame to admit light or air and allow people to see out
A violent disturbance of the atmosphere with strong winds and usually
30. Storm
rain, thunder, lightning, or snow
31. Fierce Strong and powerful
32. Reluctant In an unwilling and hesitant way

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AEC / COM. ENGLISH SEM. 2 / C.U.
33. Feeble voice In a weak tone or low voice
34. Cling To stick onto or hold something or someone tightly
35. Depress Unhappy and without hope
36. Gloomy Not expecting or believing anything good in a situation
A strip of plastic, wood, or metal with a row of long, narrow parts along
37. Comb
one side, which is used to arrange or hold the hair
To look at or consider a person or thing carefully and in detail to
38. Examine
discover something about them
39. Recover Return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength
40. Afraid Feeling fear or anxiety; frightened
A person who is receiving medical care, esp. in a hospital, or who is
41. Patient
cared for by a particular doctor or dentist when necessary
42. Janitor A person whose job is to look after a building
Shaking slightly and uncontrollably as a result of being cold,
43. Shiver
frightened, or excited
An object with short pieces of stiff hair, plastic, or wire attached to a
44. Brush
base or handle, used for cleaning, arranging your hair, or painting
45. Aside To one side; out of the way
46. Ill Not feeling well or suffering from a disease

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COMPULSORY ENGLISH (AEC) B.A | B.SC | B.COM
SEMESTER II – CCF [NEW SYLLABUS]
AEC / COM. ENGLISH SEM. 2 / C.U.

RAm mOHAn ROY

ESSAY
-- Rabindranath Tagore

An Introduction to Rabindranath Tagore:

Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) was a multifaceted Bengali artist renowned for his
contributions to literature, music, drama, and painting, profoundly influencing Bengali arts.
He was also an educator. Awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913, Tagore was the first
non-European recipient, highlighting his global impact. Although knighted by the British
monarchy in 1915, he famously renounced the Knighthood in 1919 to protest the British
government's brutal actions in Jallianwallabagh against unarmed Indians. Tagore's patriotic
Bengali songs inspired nationalist sentiment during India's struggle for independence, with
his compositions adopted as the national anthems of India, Bangladesh, and Sri Lanka.

An Introduction to Ram Mohan Roy:

In his numerous essays, Tagore urges readers to rediscover the inherent strength of
traditional Indian knowledge, which he sees as vital in the struggle against British
colonialism. One notable essay is "Ram Rohan Roy," first published in Viva-Bharati News in
March 1933, commemorating the centenary of Ram Mohan Roy's death. In this piece, Tagore
underscores the importance of acknowledging the debt owed to Ram Mohan Roy, a pivotal
figure in bringing about modernity in India. Tagore's essay emphasizes Roy's role in shaping
India's intellectual landscape, advocating for a reconnection with India's rich heritage to
propel the nation forward.

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AEC / COM. ENGLISH SEM. 2 / C.U.
Ram Mohan Roy
(Text)
It takes time to understand and appreciate1 any rare2 personality3 who comes at an age when
his country has lost itself and contradicts4 its own majesty5. His voice sounds painfully
discordant6 only because the people have allowed the strings7 of their own instrument8 to
slacken9 and fail to make them harmonize10 with the music of truth which once originated
in the sublime11 height of their nature.
Ram Mohan Roy was one such man who had been rudely12 rejected13 by his country which
refused14 to be reminded15 of the responsibility16 of its great inheritance17 while clinging
with desperate infatuations18 to its degeneracy19. But the occasion was urgent20 and
therefore his appearance in the midst of an angry annoyance21 was inevitable22. He came to
represent the change of season which must follow the long indigence23 of drought24 and
bring the wealth of shower which inspires in the heart of a parched-up25 bareness26 a
magnificence27 of life, it seems like a bewildering28 surprise, such a shifting of scene, and
its fullness of meaning must wait to be unfolded29 till the harvest30 ripens and the reapers31
no longer hesitate to acknowledge it. Ram Mohan came to his countrymen as an unwelcome32
accident stupendously33 out of proportion34 to his surroundings35, and yet he was the man
for whom our history has been watching through the night, the man who was to represent
in his life the complete significance of the spirit and mission of the land to which he
belonged36. It was a lonely life, but it had for its comrades37 the noble path-seekers38 who
preceded39 him in India, whose courage40 was supreme41 in their adventure42 of truth.
It is a matter of infinite43 wonder44 that at an obscures45 age of narrow provincialism46 Ram
Mohan should be able to bring, as a gift to his people who did not understand him, the mind
that in its generous47 sympathy and understanding comprehended48 the best aspiration49 of
the East and West, the mind that opened to itself the confluences50 of cultures on which
have ever come sailing great epochs51 of civilization. The vision of the modern age with its
multitude52 of claims and activities shone clear before his mind's eye and it was, he who
truly introduced it to his country before that age itself completely found its own mind.

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AEC / COM. ENGLISH SEM. 2 / C.U.
We in India have occasions to blame our destiny53, we have reasons to deplore54 our past and
despair55 of our future but at the same time we have the right to hope for the best when we
know that Ram Mohan has been born to us. Such a marvellous fact has to be fully realized
by us through series of years, and great as is the glory that it carries in itself, great will
be our shame in proportion if we fail in the least to offer him our best recognition56 even
after a century57 of his death. Let us be worthy58 to own him by our capacity59 to understand
him and willingness to dedicate to him our proud homage60 of gratitude. For a long time, we
have kept him aloof from us as an alien61 and thus proved ourselves small, but the
opportunity has come today when we can show that the country that produces great
messengers of truth knows how greatly to receive them.

1. admire (প্র ংসো েরো) 2. exceptional. (দবরল, বযদ ক্রমী) 3. identity (বযদক্তত্ব) 4. oppose (দবপরী
আচরণ) 5. dignity (গদরমো) 6. inharmonious (অসোমঞ্জসযপূণত) 7. cord. ( োর) 8. device (ডন্ত্রোনযসি) 9.
loosen (দিলো হওেো) 10. coordinate (এে সযকর বোাঁধো) 11. lofty. (উচ্চ, মহোন) 12. in an offensive manner.
(অভদ্রভোকব) 13. refused (প্র যোখযোন েকরদেল) 14. declined (অস্বীেোর) 15. caused (someone) to remember
someone or something (স্মরণ েরো) 16. duty. (ে ত বয; িোদেত্ব) 17. the act of inheriting property.
(উত্তরোদধেোরসূকত্র প্রোপ্ত) 18. strong but not usually lasting feelings of love or attraction. (তমোহ) 19. corruptness.
(অবক্ষ্ে) 20. pressing. (জরুরী) 21. indignation (দবরদক্ত) 22. unavoidable (অদনবোেত; অব যম্ভোবী) 23.
poverty (অদেঞ্চন) 24. dry period. (খরো) 25. very dry, because there has been no rain. (শুল্ক) 26. (অনটন)
27. scarcity. splendour (আেম্বর) 28. perplexing. (হ ভম্ব অবস্থো) 29. revealed (উিঘোটি হওেো) 30.
gathering in of the crops (ফসল েোটো) 31. persons who harvest a crop (ফসল েোকট েোরো) 32. unwanted
(অবোদি ) 33. in a large in amount, size, way that is very surprising, especially by being or degree (দবহ্বলেোরী
দব োল োে) 34. incommensurate with. (আনযপোদ েভোকব অসোমঞ্জসযপূণত) 35. circumstance. (পোদরপোদশ্বতে
পদরকব ।) 36. be connected to (সম্পেী ) 37. companions. (সহকেোদ্ধো) 38. Knowledge-seekers. (জ্ঞোকনর
অকেষণেোরীগণ). 39. went ahead of. (অগ্রজ) 40. bravery (সোহদসে ো) 41. extreme. (চূ েোন্ত) 42. an
unusual and exciting or daring experience. (িযিঃসোহদসে অদভেোন।) 43. boundless (ঠদেকে চয দর েরো) 44.
astonishment (তেোগয) 45. unclear. (সহয েরো, সোমিতয) 46. narrowness of mind or outlook. (খযবই সহজসোধয)
47. giving freely. (অপচে) 48. understand (জেোকনো বো তমোেোকনো) 49. desire; hope; longing. (হোমোগুদে
তিওেো) 50. junction. (চোর হো -পো সহকেোকগ) 51. eras. (উাঁদে মোরল) 52. a large number. (ক্ষ্ দচহ্ন)
53. fate. (েেত ে) 54. abhor. (লম্বো শ্বোস তফলো) 55. give up hope.. (ভী ) 56. acknowledgement. (দ্রু )
57. a period of one hundred years. (দনিঃ কে) 58. the part of the human body below the ribs and above the hips.
(তেোমর।) 59. strike or propel (something) with a sudden quick movement of the fingers. (দ্রু অিযলী সঞ্চোলন)
60. stolen goods. (লযট েরো দ্রবয) 61. run of travel somewhere in a great hurry.. (দ্রু অদ ক্রম েরো)

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SEMESTER II – CCF [NEW SYLLABUS]
AEC / COM. ENGLISH SEM. 2 / C.U.
A Summary of Ram Mohan Roy:

Summary of Paragraph 1:
Rabindranath Tagore reflects on the challenges of understanding and appreciating
individuals who emerge during periods of national decline. He suggests that such figures,
like Ram Mohan Roy, may seem out of place or discordant because the people have lost touch
with the "music of truth" that once defined their nature. Despite this, Tagore implies that
their presence is necessary for societal rejuvenation, likening them to a change of season
after a long drought.

Summary of Paragraph 2:
Ram Mohan Roy is portrayed as a man ahead of his time, rejected by his countrymen who
were reluctant to confront their responsibilities and preferred to cling to degeneracy.
Despite this rejection, Roy's appearance was seen as inevitable and necessary for ushering
in a new era of enlightenment. Tagore compares him to a transformative force that brings
life to a barren landscape, representing the spirit and mission of his land.

Summary of Paragraph 3:
Tagore expresses astonishment at Ram Mohan Roy's ability to grasp and introduce the best
aspirations of both Eastern and Western cultures to his countrymen, despite living in a
time of narrow provincialism. Roy's vision of the modern age, with its advancements and
activities, was clear to him, and he played a significant role in introducing these ideas to
India before the modern age itself fully realized them.

Summary of Paragraph 4:
Tagore reflects on India's tendency to blame destiny, deplore the past, and despair of the
future. However, he believes that India has reason to hope for the best, thanks to the
presence of figures like Ram Mohan Roy. He urges his countrymen to fully realize the
significance of Roy's contributions and to offer him the recognition and gratitude he
deserves. Tagore sees Roy as a great messenger of truth and believes that India has the
opportunity to show its greatness by honouring him appropriately.

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