INDIAN WRITING IN ENGLISH

UNIT - I POETRY
Toru Dutt : Our Casuarina Tree
Nissim Ezekiel : Night of the Scorpion
A.K. Ramanujan : Of Mothers, Among Other things
UNIT - II PROSE
J.Nehru : The Glory has Departed
M.K.Gandhi : Voluntary Poverty
UNIT - III FICTIONAL SHORT STORY
SUDHA MURTHY: How I Taught My Grandmother to Read
SUDHA MURTHY: Heart of Gold
SUDHA MURTHY: ‘I Will Do It’
 UNIT - I POETRY
CHAPTER:1 Our Casuarina Tree- Toru Dutt

Our Casuarina Tree

LIKE a huge Python, winding round and round
The rugged trunk, indented deep with scars,
Up to its very summit near the stars,
A creeper climbs, in whose embraces bound
No other tree could live. But gallantly
The giant wears the scarf, and flowers are hung
In crimson clusters all the boughs among,
Whereon all day are gathered bird and bee;
And oft at nights the garden overflows
With one sweet song that seems to have no close,
Sung darkling from our tree, while men repose.

When first my casement is wide open thrown

At dawn, my eyes delighted on it rest;
Sometimes, and most in winter,—on its crest
A gray baboon sits statue-like alone
Watching the sunrise; while on lower boughs
His puny offspring leap about and play;
And far and near kokilas hail the day;
And to their pastures wend our sleepy cows;
And in the shadow, on the broad tank cast
By that hoar tree, so beautiful and vast,
The water-lilies spring, like snow enmassed.

But not because of its magnificence

Dear is the Casuarina to my soul:
Beneath it we have played; though years may roll,
O sweet companions, loved with love intense,
For your sakes, shall the tree be ever dear.
Blent with your images, it shall arise
In memory, till the hot tears blind mine eyes!
What is that dirge-like murmur that I hear
Like the sea breaking on a shingle-beach?
It is the tree’s lament, an eerie speech,
That haply to the unknown land may reach.

Unknown, yet well-known to the eye of faith!

 Ah, I have heard that wail far, far away
In distant lands, by many a sheltered bay,
When slumbered in his cave the water-wraith
And the waves gently kissed the classic shore
Of France or Italy, beneath the moon,
When earth lay trancèd in a dreamless swoon:
And every time the music rose,—before
Mine inner vision rose a form sublime,
Thy form, O Tree, as in my happy prime
I saw thee, in my own loved native clime.

Therefore I fain would consecrate a lay

Unto thy honor, Tree, beloved of those
Who now in blessed sleep for aye repose,—
Dearer than life to me, alas, were they!
Mayst thou be numbered when my days are done
With deathless trees—like those in Borrowdale,
Under whose awful branches lingered pale
“Fear, trembling Hope, and Death, the skeleton,
And Time the shadow;” and though weak the verse
That would thy beauty fain, oh, fain rehearse,
May Love defend thee from Oblivion’s curse.

Summary Stanza Wise & Analysis by Toru Dutt

Introduction

In this poem, Toru Dutt talks at length about a casuarina tree that used to be in her
childhood garden. She celebrates the beauty and majesty of this tree, and remembers
happy childhood memories associated with it. Finally, she tries to immortalize the
casuarina tree through the power of her poetry and love. The poem is of fifty-five lines,
divided into five stanzas. The rhyme scheme of each stanza is ABBACDDCEEE.

Stanza 1

LIKE a huge Python, winding round and round

The rugged trunk, indented deep with scars,
Up to its very summit near the stars,
A creeper climbs, in whose embraces bound
No other tree could live. But gallantly
The giant wears the scarf, and flowers are hung
In crimson clusters all the boughs among,
Whereon all day are gathered bird and bee;
And oft at nights the garden overflows
With one sweet song that seems to have no close,
Sung darkling from our tree, while men repose.

The poet describes a Casuarina tree. She says that a creeper, like a huge python, winds
round and round the rugged trunk of the tree which is marked deep with scars. The
creeper climbs up to its very top near the stars. No other tree could survive this creeper.
But the giant casuarina tree bravely wears the creeper as if it were a scarf.

Crimson flowers bloom in groups in the branches where all day birds and bees gather.
And at night in the garden, a sweet song that seems to have no end is sung in the dark
from this tree, while men sleep. The poet describes the casuarina tree in this stanza.

Stanza 2

When first my casement is wide open thrown

At dawn, my eyes delighted on it rest;
Sometimes, and most in winter,—on its crest
A gray baboon sits statue-like alone
Watching the sunrise; while on lower boughs
His puny offspring leap about and play;
And far and near kokilas hail the day;
And to their pastures wend our sleepy cows;
And in the shadow, on the broad tank cast
By that hoar tree, so beautiful and vast,
The water-lilies spring, like snow enmassed.
When the poet throws her window wide open at dawn, her eyes are delighted to see the
casuarina tree. Sometimes, mostly in winter, a gray baboon sits statue-like alone on top of
the tree, watching the sunrise. On the lower branches, his little babies leap about and
play. Far and near kokilas hail the day while sleepy cows go to their pastures. The
casuarina tree casts a shadow on the big tank by the beautiful and vast ho-ar tree. Here,
water-lilies bloom like snow. The poet narrates the various sights she has seen on and
near the casuarina tree.

Stanza 3

But not because of its magnificence

Dear is the Casuarina to my soul:
Beneath it we have played; though years may roll,
O sweet companions, loved with love intense,
 For your sakes, shall the tree be ever dear.
Blent with your images, it shall arise
In memory, till the hot tears blind mine eyes!
What is that dirge-like murmur that I hear
Like the sea breaking on a shingle-beach?
It is the tree’s lament, an eerie speech,
That haply to the unknown land may reach.
But the Casuarina tree is not dear to the poet’s soul just because of its magnificence. She
has played beneath it many years ago with sweet companions whom she really loved. The
tree will always be dear to her for their sake. The tree appears in her memory along with
her old companions’ images and this makes hot tears fall from the poet’s eyes.

Her friends are now dead, which is why the memory is so sad to her. She hears a
mournful murmur like the sea against a pebbled beach. She says is the tree’s lament, a
ghostly speech that may by chance reach the unknown land. She feels as though the tree
is mourning her dead friends too.

Stanza 4

Unknown, yet well-known to the eye of faith!

Ah, I have heard that wail far, far away
In distant lands, by many a sheltered bay,
When slumbered in his cave the water-wraith
And the waves gently kissed the classic shore
Of France or Italy, beneath the moon,
When earth lay trancèd in a dreamless swoon:
And every time the music rose,—before
Mine inner vision rose a form sublime,
Thy form, O Tree, as in my happy prime
I saw thee, in my own loved native clime.

The poet says that the lament might be unknown, but it is familiar to those faithful to the
tree and the memories made beneath it. She has heard that wail in faraway distant lands
by sheltered bays. She has heard it when the water-spirit slept in his cave and the waves
gently rolled against the classic shore of France and Italy, beneath the moon when the
earth was dreamlessly sleeping.

And every time the poet heard this music, she saw a sublime form in her inner vision.
This form was that of the casuarina tree in the happy days of her youth. She saw the tree
in her beloved native climate. Therefore, even when she is far away from home, the
image of the casuarina tree brings great comfort to her.
Stanza 5

Therefore I fain would consecrate a lay

Unto thy honor, Tree, beloved of those
Who now in blessed sleep for aye repose,—
Dearer than life to me, alas, were they!
Mayst thou be numbered when my days are done
With deathless trees—like those in Borrowdale,
Under whose awful branches lingered pale
“Fear, trembling Hope, and Death, the skeleton,
And Time the shadow;” and though weak the verse
That would thy beauty fain, oh, fain rehearse,
May Love defend thee from Oblivion’s curse.

Therefore, the poet would eagerly create something for the tree’s honour. The tree was
loved by companions who were dearer to her than life, but they are now dead. When the
poet dies, she wants the casuarina tree to be counted among deathless trees such as those
in Borrowdale. This refers to the trees of Borrowdale that have been immortalized in
poetry by William Wordsworth.

Wordsworth wrote these lines for their awful branches- “Fear, trembling Hope, and
Death, the skeleton,/ And Time the shadow;” The poet says that although her poetry for
the beauty of the casuarina tree is weak compared to that of a great poet’s like
Wordsworth’s, she will eagerly repeat it. She wishes that the power of love will defend
the casuarina tree from oblivion’s curse, or from being forgotten forever.

Conclusion

In this poem, a casuarina tree becomes the reminder of the poet’s childhood and the
happiness she experienced with people who are now long gone. Even though she is far
away from home and the tree, its memory continues to bring comfort to her, and she
wishes for the world to remember her beloved casuarina tree forever.
 CHAPTER:2
Night of the Scorpion - Nissim Ezekiel

Night of the Scorpion

I remember the night my mother

was stung by a scorpion. Ten hours
of steady rain had driven him
to crawl beneath a sack of rice.

Parting with his poison - flash

of diabolic tail in the dark room -
he risked the rain again.

The peasants came like swarms of flies

and buzzed the name of God a hundred times
to paralyse the Evil One.

With candles and with lanterns

throwing giant scorpion shadows
on the mud-baked walls
they searched for him: he was not found.
They clicked their tongues.
With every movement that the scorpion made his poison moved in Mother's blood, they
said.

May he sit still, they said

May the sins of your previous birth
be burned away tonight, they said.
May your suffering decrease
the misfortunes of your next birth, they said.
May the sum of all evil
balanced in this unreal world

against the sum of good

become diminished by your pain.
May the poison purify your flesh
of desire, and your spirit of ambition,
they said, and they sat around
on the floor with my mother in the centre,
the peace of understanding on each face.
More candles, more lanterns, more neighbours,
more insects, and the endless rain.
My mother twisted through and through,
groaning on a mat.
My father, sceptic, rationalist,
trying every curse and blessing,
powder, mixture, herb and hybrid.
He even poured a little paraffin
upon the bitten toe and put a match to it.
I watched the flame feeding on my mother.
I watched the holy man perform his rites to tame the poison with an incantation.
After twenty hours
it lost its sting.

My mother only said

Thank God the scorpion picked on me
And spared my children.

Night of the Scorpion Poem Summary & stanza wise Explanation

Introduction

The poem Night of the Scorpion by Nissim Ezekiel is about an incident that the poet has
not forgotten in his life. It was a night when a scorpion bit his mother and all the
superstitious villagers did irrational things rather than helping her.
The poem exposes the superstitions that dominate the minds of Indians and also the
motherhood of a lady who just only of her children even in the worst condition. The
poem has no rhyme scheme. It has eight stanzas with a different number of lines in each.
Stanza 1

I remember the night my mother

was stung by a scorpion. Ten hours
of steady rain had driven him
to crawl beneath a sack of rice.
In stanza 1, the poet says that he remembers well that night when her mother was stung
by a scorpion. The poet is of the views that the heavy rain which lasted for 10 hours
made the scorpion crawl beneath a sack of rice. The last phrase shows the poet’s
sympathy towards the scorpion.

Stanza 2

Parting with his poison - flash

of diabolic tail in the dark room -
he risked the rain again.
In stanza 2, the poet says that after biting his mother with its diabolic (monstrous tail), the
scorpion went back to rain outside again. The poet here shows sympathy as well as anger
towards the scorpion. He is angry when he talks about its biting and sympathetic when he
talks about its going to rain again.

Stanza 3

The peasants came like swarms of flies

and buzzed the name of God a hundred times
to paralyse the Evil One.
Hearing about the incident, the villagers rush to the poet’s home. However, he is not
happy with them and calls them swarms of flies who buzz the name of God a hundred
times to paralyse the Evil One.

Stanza 4

With candles and with lanterns

throwing giant scorpion shadows
on the mud-baked walls
they searched for him: he was not found.
They clicked their tongues.
With every movement that the scorpion made his poison moved in Mother's blood, they
said.

The poet then explains how the villagers searched for the scorpion. According to him, the
villagers began searching for the scorpion and their shadows themselves seemed to be
like a giant scorpion on the mud-baked walls.

The villagers begin searching for the scorpion because they believe that the poison
spreads across the body with the movement of scorpion so if the latter is stopped and
paralysed, the poison effect can also be controlled.
This is a superstition and Nissim knows that well. This is why he hates the coming of
villagers to his home. The stanza also depicts the Indianess that prevails in a number of
other poems as well.

Stanza 5

May he sit still, they said

May the sins of your previous birth
be burned away tonight, they said.
May your suffering decrease
the misfortunes of your next birth, they said.
May the sum of all evil
balanced in this unreal world

Having failed in finding the scorpion, they begin giving their own interpretation to the
biting of the scorpion. Some of them said that his mother’s sins which she committed in
her previous birth (as believed in Hinduism) have been forgiven.

The others assumed that she is going to die and said that the pain that she is suffering
from will decrease the troubles in her next birth. Some others put forward that her good
deeds will be balanced against her bad deeds because of the bite of the scorpion.

Stanza 6

against the sum of good

become diminished by your pain.
May the poison purify your flesh

of desire, and your spirit of ambition,

they said, and they sat around
on the floor with my mother in the centre,
the peace of understanding on each face.
Some others said that the poison will purify and refresh her flesh of desire and her spirit
of ambition. All of them seemed to be in peace because of their thoughts.

Stanza 7

More candles, more lanterns, more neighbours,

more insects, and the endless rain.
My mother twisted through and through,
groaning on a mat.
My father, sceptic, rationalist,
trying every curse and blessing,
powder, mixture, herb and hybrid.
He even poured a little paraffin
upon the bitten toe and put a match to it.
I watched the flame feeding on my mother.
I watched the holy man perform his rites to tame the poison with an incantation.
After twenty hours
it lost its sting.
More and more people come with candles & lanterns. His mother is however crying and
rolling on the mat with severe pain but nobody cares for her except for his father who
is a sceptic, rationalist. He leaves no stone unturned to cure her.
He uses powder, mixture, herb and hybrid to help her recover from the pain. He even
poured a little paraffin upon the bitten toe and then fires it up. The poet watches the
flames of fire burning on the skin of his mother.He also watches the holy man perform
his rites to tame the poison with an incantation. The phrase again refers to superstitious
people of his village who believe in irrational measures to cure a person. His mother
ultimately recovers from the poison after 24 hours.

Stanza 8

My mother only said

Thank God the scorpion picked on me
And spared my children.
The last line is quite emotional and heart touching. It reflects the motherhood of a lady.
The poet says that after recovering from the poison, his mother’s words were Thank God
the scorpion picked on me and spared my children. Even in such condition, his mother
remains more concerned about the safety and health of her children.

CONCLUSION

The poet dramatizes a battle of ideas fought at night in lamplight between good and evil;
between darkness and light; between rationalism and blind faith. And out of this
confusion, there arises an unexpected winner – the selfless love of a mother.The poem
thus brings out the mother’s love and sacrificial thoughts – the maternal instinct, as well
as beautifully describes the superstitions and ignorant practices followed by the villagers.
 CHAPTER:3
Of Mothers, Among Other things- A.K. Ramanujan

I smell upon this twisted blackbone tree

the silk and whitepetal of my mother’s youth.
From her earrings three diamonds
splash a handful of needles,
and I see my mother run back
from rain to the crying cradles.

The rains tack and sew

with broken threads the rags
of the tree tasseled light.
But her hands are a wet eagle’s
two black-pink crinkled feet,
one talon crippled in a garden-
trap set for a mouse. Her saris
do not cling: they hang, loose
feather of a one time wing.

My cold parchment tongue licks bark

in the mouth when I see her four
still sensible fingers slowly flex
to pick a grain of rice from the kitchen floor.

Introduction

The poem Of Mothers Among Other Things written by AK Ramanujan is about a

mother’s struggle and her sacrifices for her children. The title itself of the poem holds a
very deep meaning.

In order to understand the meaning of the title, we will divide it into two parts, “Of
Mothers” and “Among Other Things”. The phrase “Of mothers” depicts that the poem is
about motherhood. The poet has talked about his own mother in the poem. However, all
the mothers face the same hurdles in their lives and hence the poem is for all the mothers.
The second part “among other things” is confusing and can have different meanings. It
can be a depiction of the younger generation which considers mothers as ordinary
commodities and do not have any emotions for them.

It can also mean that the poet has talked about many struggles but here, he will
particularly talk about the hardships of motherhood. The title can have a different
meaning, but it is clear that the poem is about motherhood and its hardships. So, let us go
through the lines in order to understand what the poet has to say in the poem.

Stanza 1

I smell upon this twisted blackbone tree

the silk and whitepetal of my mother’s youth.
From her earrings three diamonds
splash a handful of needles,
and I see my mother run back
from rain to the crying cradles.

The first part of the poem deals with the youth of the poet’s mother. The poet says that he
smells silk and whitepetal of his mother’s youth upon this twisted blackbone tree.

“Smelling upon” here means remembering. “Twisted blackbone” tree here refers to the
present condition of poet’s mother who is probably bent now because of her old age like
an old tree with a bent stem. “Silk and whitepetal” depict the softness and beauty of his
mother in her youth.

So, the poet says that while seeing his old mother (who is bent like an old tree), he
remembers her youth when she was soft, beautiful and charming.

Next, the poet says that during her youth days, there were beautiful
diamond earrnings in her ears which would splash i.e. sparkle a handful of needles i.e.
the rays of sun. Here, again, the poet is describing the beauty of his mother. Colourful
rays reflecting from the earrings depict the glow that poet’s mother had.

Next, the poet sees i.e. remembers his mother running back from rain to the crying
cradles. “Crying cradles” refer to the young children (including the poet himself). This
line brings into light the struggle of his mother even in her youth. Rain symbolises
hardships. His mother would use to care for her children even if she herself was
suffering.

Stanza 2

The rains tack and sew

with broken threads the rags
of the tree tasseled light.
But her hands are a wet eagle’s
two black-pink crinkled feet,
one talon crippled in a garden-
trap set for a mouse. Her saris
do not cling: they hang, loose
feather of a one time wing.
The second part deals with the next phase of poet’s mother – her middle age. The first
line is a little bit difficult and jumbled, so we will rearrange it and discuss it word by
word. The poet says that the rain tacked and sew the rags of the tree with broken
threads of tasseled light.
“Tack” means a long stitch used to fasten fabrics together temporarily, prior to permanent
sewing. “Rag” means an old piece of cloth usually torn from a larger piece. “Tree” refers
to the same twisted blackbone tree (mentioned in the first line of the poem. “Rags of tree”
thus means mother’s weak body. “Tassel” refers to the thread used for knotting.
“Tasseled light” refers to the sun rays which penetrates through the cracks of the tree or
its leaves, or even the branches. Here they mean hope, energy and enthusiasm

So, the line means that the rain (here symbolises difficulties and hardships) tried to stitch
(stop) poet’s weak mother, her daily activities and her enthusiasm.

However her hands were like a wet eagle’s two black-pink crinkled feet. “Crinkled”
means rough and having creases. “Black-pink” symbolises eagle’s struggle which puts its
life in danger in order to feed its young ones.

Hence, the hands of poet’s mother are compared with the feet of eagle. The poet is trying
to say that hardships tried to stop his mother. However faced them boldly and did
everything for her children without thinking for herself.

Next, the poet says that one talon (claw, here it means her foot) of her mother
was crippled in a garden trap set for mouse. Here, the poet is telling that she literally
sacrificed herself for her children. While in the garden, she happened to put one of her
feet on the mouse trap which crippled her.

Note that, the foot of his mother is called as talon and not foot which depicts that the poet
is continuing imagining his mother as the eagle (which puts its life in danger for its
chicks).

Finally, the poet describes the weakness of his mother. According to him, the saris of his
mother do not cling (fit her) and rather hang (as she has become weak) like the loose
feather (weak wings) of a one time wing (the eagle which spent its only life for its young
ones).
Stanza 3

My cold parchment tongue licks bark

in the mouth when I see her four
still sensible fingers slowly flex
to pick a grain of rice from the kitchen floor.

The final part of the poem describes the last phase of poet’s mother – her old age. The
poet says that his cold (emotionless) and parchment (harsh) tongue licks bark (dry
surface) in the mouth while seeing her four sensible (working) fingers (as she has lost of
her fingers) flexing (bending) slowly to pick a grain of rice from the kitchen floor.

This part holds the theme of the poem i.e. the way we people treat our mothers without
understanding them. The poet says that he is feeling guilty because he used to talk
harshly to his mother (when he was young) and could not understand her sacrifices for
them.

Now he feels sorrowful when he sees the condition of his old mother who is very weak
but still tries to do all the work. The poem ends on a sad note and gives the message of
love for all the mothers.
CONCLUSION:

The poem begins with the speaker smelling the images of his mother’s youth. She was
soft, flower-like, and silken. That couldn’t last forever though. As she aged, she met with
adversity, seen through the rain imagery. It tried to tie her up, but she was an eagle and
fought through it. But, that wasn’t the end of her troubles.

One very poignant moment in the poem shows the mother, like an eagle, getting one
talon trapped in a mousetrap. She lost that finger/talon. The poem concludes with all the
images of the previous stanzas come together to depict the mother, in her current, older
state, reaching down to “pick a grain of rice from the kitchen floor.” The son sees her
whole history in this movement.

UNIT - II PROSE
 CHAPTER:1
J.Nehru : The Glory has Departed
'A glory has departed': Nehru’s forgotten speech on Gandhi’s assassination

'Ultimately, the hand of a child of his struck him down', said the first prime
minister, referring to Godse in the Constituent Assembly on February 2, 1948.

Jawaharlal Nehru’s extempore broadcast on All India Radio announcing the news of
Mahatma Gandhi’s assassination on January 30, 1948, “The light has gone out of our
lives and there is darkness everywhere” is justifiably famous and well-known.

But Nehru made an even greater speech in the Constituent Assembly three days later, on
February 2, 1948. In the AIR broadcast, Nehru described Gandhiji’s assassin as a
“madman”:
"A madman has put an end to his life, for I can only call him mad who did it, and yet
there has been enough of poison spread in this country during the past years and months,
and this poison has had an effect on people’s minds. We must face this poison, we must
root out this poison, and we must face all the perils that encompass us, and face them not
madly or badly, but rather in the way that our beloved teacher taught us to face them."

This call to respond to Gandhi’s assassination in Gandhian fashion, as Arudra Burra

points out, is much more pronounced in the February 2 speech. In one especially striking
line, Nehru says:

“Yet he must have suffered, suffered for the failing of this generation whom he had
trained, suffered because we went away from the path that he had shown us, and
ultimately the hand of a child of his – for he, after all, is as much a child of his as any
other Indian – the hand of that child of his struck him down."

In an age where it is so easy to be “anti-national”, it is a line well worth pondering.

Full text of Nehru’s speech to the Constituent Assembly on February 2, 1948:

***

It is customary in this House to pay some tribute to the eminent departed, to say some
words of praise and condolence. I am not quite sure in my own mind if it is exactly fitting
for me or for any others of this House to say much on this occasion for I have a sense of
utter shame both as an individual and as head of the government of India that we should
have failed to protect the greatest treasure we possessed.

It is our failure in the past many months, to give protection to many an innocent man,
woman and child. It may be that that burden and task was too great for us or for any
government; nevertheless, it is a failure, and today the fact that this mighty person, whom
we honoured and loved beyond measure, has gone because we could not give him
adequate protection is shame for all of us. It is shame to me as an Indian that an
Indian should have raised his hand against him, it is shame to me as a Hindu that a
Hindu should have done this deed and done it to the greatest Indian of the day and
the greatest Hindu of the age.

We praise people in well-chosen words and we have some kind of measure for greatness.
How shall we praise him and how shall we measure him, because he was not of the
common clay that all of us are made of? He came, lived a fairly long span of life, and has
passed away. No words of praise of ours in this House are needed, for he has had greater
praise in his life than any living man in history and during these two or three days since
his death he has had the homage of the world. What can we add to that? How can we
praise him? – how can we who have been children of his, and perhaps more intimately
children of his than the children of his body, for we have all been in some greater or
smaller measure the children of his spirit, unworthy as we were?

A glory has departed

A glory has departed and the sun that warmed and brightened our lives has set and we
shiver in the cold and dark. Yet he would not have us feel this way after all the glory that
we saw, for all these years that man with divine fire changed us also, and, such as we are,
we have been moulded by him during these years and out of that divine fire many of us
also took a small spark which strengthened and made us work to some extent on the lines
that he fashioned; and so if we praise him our words seem rather small and if we praise
him to some extent we praise ourselves.

Great men and eminent men have monuments in bronze and marble set up for them, but
this man of divine fire managed in his lifetime to become enmeshed in millions and
millions of hearts so that all of us have become somewhat of the stuff that he was made
of, though to an infinitely lesser degree. He spread out over India, not in palaces only or
in select places or in assemblies, but in very hamlet and hut of the lowly and of those who
suffer. He lives in the hearts of millions and he will live for immemorial ages.

What then can we say about him except to feel humble on this occasion? To praise him
we are not worthy, to praise him whom we could not follow adequately or sufficiently. It
is almost doing him an injustice just to pass him by with words when he demanded work
and labour and sacrifice from us in large measure. He made this country during the last
thirty years or more attain to heights of sacrifice which in that particular domain have
never been equalled elsewhere. He succeeded in that, yet ultimately things happened
which, no doubt, made him suffer tremendously, though his tender face never lost its
smile and he never spoke a harsh word to anyone. Yet he must have suffered, suffered
for the failing of this generation whom he had trained, suffered because we went
away from the path that he had shown us, and ultimately the hand of a child of his –
for he, after all, is as much a child of his as any other Indian – the hand of that child
of his struck him down.

The living flame

Long ages afterward history will judge of this period that we have passed through. It will
judge of the successes and failures. We are too near to be proper judges of and
understand what has happened and what has not happened. All we know is that there was
glory and that it is no more. All we know is that for the moment there is darkness: not so
dark, certainly, because when we look into our hearts we still find the living flame
which he lighted there, and if those living flames exist there will not be darkness in
this land and we shall be able with out effort, praying with him and following his path,
to illumine this land again, small as we are, but still with the fire that he instilled into us.

He was perhaps the greatest symbol of the India of the past, and, may I say, of the
India of the future, that we could have. We stand in this perilous age of the present
between that past and the future to be, and we face all manner of perils, and the greatest
peril is sometimes a lack of faith that comes to us, the sinking of the heart and of the
spirit that comes to us when we see ideals go overboard, when we see the great things
that we talked about somehow pass into empty words and life taking a different course.
Yet I do believe that perhaps this period will pass soon enough.

Great as this man of God was in his life, he has been greater in his death, and I have no
shadow of a doubt that by his death he has served the great cause as he served it
throughout his life. We mourn him, we shall always mourn him, because we are human
and cannot forget our valued master; but I know that he would not like us to mourn him.
No tears came to his eyes when his dearest and closest went away, only the firm resolve
to persevere, to serve the great cause that he had chosen. So he would chide us if we
merely mourn. That is a poor way of doing homage to him.

The only way is to express our determination, to pledge ourselves anew, to conduct
ourselves so and to dedicate ourselves to the great task which he undertook and which he
accomplished to such a large extent. So we have to work, we have to labour, we have to
sacrifice, and thus prove to some extent at least worthy followers of his…
Root out the evil

This happening, this tragedy, is not merely the isolated act of a madman. It comes out of
a certain atmosphere of violence and hatred that has prevailed in this country for many
months and years, and more especially in the past few months. That atmosphere envelops
us and surrounds us, and if we are to serve the cause he put before us we have to face this
atmosphere, to combat it, struggle against it, and root out the evil of hatred and violence.

So far as this government is concerned I trust they will spare no means, spare no effort to
tackle it, because if we do not do that, if we in our weakness or for any other reason that
we may consider adequate do not take effective means to stop this violence, to stop this
spreading of hatred by word of mouth or writing or act, then, indeed, we are not worthy
of being in this government, we are not certainly worthy of being his followers, and we
are not worthy of even saying words of praise for this great soul who has departed.

So that on this occasion or any other when we think of this master who has gone, let us
always think of him in terms of work and labour and sacrifice, in terms of fighting evil
wherever we see it, in terms of holding to the truth, as he put it before us, and if we do so,
however unworthy we may be, we shall at least have done our duty and paid the proper
homage to his spirit.

He has gone, and all over India there is a feeling of having been left desolate and forlorn.
All of us sense that feeling and I do not know when we shall be able to get rid of it. And
yet, together with that feeling, there is also a feeling of proud thanksgiving that it has
been given to us of this generation to be associated with this mighty person.

In the ages to come, centuries and maybe millenniums after us, people will think of this
generation when this man of God trod the earth and will think of us who, however small,
could also follow his path and probably tread on that holy ground where his feet had
been. Let us be worthy of him, let us always be so.
 CHAPTER:2
M.K.Gandhi : Voluntary Poverty

Voluntary Poverty.

There is no universal definition of voluntary poverty. Poverty is often seen as a social

problem. As a social problem it is considered an undesirable condition. It is assumed that
no one wants to live in poverty. Poverty is forced on people. It is involuntary. The poor
are victims of structural, social, and cultural conditions beyond their power to change.

An example of a structural condition that creates poverty is unemployment. When

factories lay off workers, and the educated and the skilled do not have jobs, people
become poor because they are unable to meet their needs. Even when there are plenty of
jobs available, a few may remain poor because they do not want to work. When this
happens, poverty is seen as resulting from personality flaws. Cultural anthropologists
have argued that poverty, like culture, can be transmitted from one generation to the next.
Not only is poverty transferable from generation to generation, there is also the Matthew
effect—the poor get poorer.

At the social level, strict definitions of poverty are needed when poverty is to be
remedied through charity or public assistance programs. These definitions enable
policymakers, welfare organizations, and others to help those considered poor to
overcome poverty. Most welfare programs have elaborate methods of means testing to
determine if an individual is poor or not.

When poverty is voluntarily practiced, individual-level definitions apply. In particular,

when individuals who practice voluntary poverty live together in a community, they
develop their own norms with respect to the consumption of various material goods and
services. These norms are often shaped by the concept of simplicity. Voluntary simplicity
involves the notion that in order to improve quality of life, one needs to shift from a
consumption-oriented lifestyle toward a simple lifestyle. This lifestyle often involves
working the land for subsistence in an ecologically friendly manner.

At times, groups and communities who have led a life of voluntary simplicity have had
to face barriers and restraints that limited their ability to practice voluntary simplicity.
Occasionally, such restraints have been met with collective action against imposers of
such restrictions. For example, during the early 19th century, when the livelihood of
several skilled cloth finishers was threatened by the introduction of shearing frames in the
cloth mills of Yorkshire, they attacked and destroyed the mills. Similar attacks became
commonplace and developed into the well-known Luddism movement.
Voluntary simplicity is an essential component of voluntary poverty. It is possible to have
a few luxuries even when people practice voluntary simplicity as a guiding principle in
their lives. However, many groups may consider possession of small excesses over what
is needed as undesirable. They may choose to move from simplicity to poverty. Thus, in
many instances voluntary poverty is seen as an extreme form of voluntary simplicity.

The notion of voluntary poverty is contained in ancient religions such as Buddhism and
Jainism. Even today, several communities, such as the Amish, Mennonites, and Quakers
in North America, practice voluntary poverty. The members of the Catholic Worker
Movement founded by Dorothy Day and Peter Maurin at the start of the Great Depression
strongly observed voluntary poverty as a lifestyle. Today, over 185 Catholic Worker
communities in the United States remain committed to the practice of voluntary poverty.

The idea of voluntary poverty is the guiding principle of the Catholic Worker movement
in America. The Catholic Worker movement in the United States combines anarchism
with Roman Catholic teachings. The movement attempts to reveal the negative effects of
consumerism promoted by capitalist markets on physical and mental well being.
Consumer markets perpetuate the illusion that unlimited material consumption is
necessary for gaining happiness. The Catholic Worker movement views this illusion as
dangerous and attempts to show instead that voluntary withdrawal from excess material
consumption brings happiness and meaning to one’s life. This path of voluntary poverty,
they argue, enables us to live with dignity and empowers us to follow our conscience.
The ability to listen to our inner voice and to make decisions accordingly is referred to as
the “primacy of conscience” within the Catholic Worker movement.

The emphasis on voluntary poverty within the Catholic Worker movement is associated
with other key values, such as Christian personalism and the principle of subsidiarity. It is
easier to know, value, establish relationships, and care for others when one is disengaged
from amassing property and material goods. Furthermore, by remaining poor, helping
each other, and forming communities, it is possible to limit the influence of state and
bureaucratic hierarchies in our daily lives. This belief is called “principle of subsidiarity”
within the Catholic Worker movement. Thus within the Catholic Worker movement, the
idea of voluntary poverty plays a crucial role in living a Christian life.

Voluntary poverty is outwardly simple and inwardly rich. In most religions such as
Buddhism and Jainism, voluntary poverty is seen as liberating, enriching, and
empowering. Voluntary poverty is seldom experienced alone. Advocates of voluntary
poverty often oppose rugged individualism. Voluntary poverty is practiced in the
company of others. The objective of simple living is service. One practices voluntary
poverty to better serve the poor. It therefore frees one to work freely and tirelessly.
Hinduism
Hinduism views voluntary poverty only as one among the many strategies for realizing
God, attaining Moksha, or liberation from Samsara. The ultimate aim is to
achieve Moksha. Hinduism recommends four paths toward the attainment of Moksha.
They are love of God (Bhakti), meditation (Raja Yoga), accumulating knowledge (Jnana
Yoga), and through selfless action (Karma). Having chosen a path, one has to instruct
him or herself in pursuing the chosen path of Moksha. This provides opportunities for
individuals to innovate, perfect, and create their own techniques. The goal is to become
adept at Kaushal, or the art of pursuit of Moksha. The focus is on becoming Kaushal, and
the practice of voluntary poverty is believed to aid the learning process.
Thus, voluntary poverty is recommended at various stages of life. The Hindu life is
divided into several stages. At the very first stage past childhood, Brahmacharya
ashrama, one lives the life of a disciplined student. During this stage, voluntary poverty
is essential for disciplining oneself. The second stage is Grihastha Ashrama, when one is
supposed to marry and lead a family life. Toward the end of family life, as one ages, one
enters the stage of Vanaprastha Ashrama (forest dweller). Voluntary poverty is to be
practiced to enable the elderly person to prepare for the final journey, where material
possessions have no meaning. Thus, voluntary poverty is seen as a strategy, one among
many others, to attain spiritual realization, the liberation from Samsara.
Hinduism is not averse to acquiring wealth. Amassing wealth and power (Artha) can be a
goal, especially during the stage of family life. Artha is one of the three prescribed goals
in life. The other two are Kama (seeking pleasure) and attaining Moksha. However,
both Artha and Kama are restricted to the second stage of life. The most important goal is
to attain Moksha; the foundation for it is laid in the first stage of Brahmacharya, when
one practices voluntary poverty.
Other Religious Teachings

Some Muslim subgroups, such as the Sufis, advocate voluntary poverty. Many Muslims
and non-Muslims believe that Sufis are not Muslims. Regardless of their religious
identity, Sufism upholds a life of voluntary poverty. It discourages its followers from
owning material possessions and asks them not to be possessed by material things. Even
in modern religions such as Tenrikyo, founded by Nakayama Miki (1789–1887), the
practice of voluntary poverty is seen as essential for achieving salvation and to relieve
human suffering.

The notion of voluntary poverty is central to biblical teaching. However, it has been
interpreted in different ways. The meaning and understanding of the term poverty vary
more than the meaning and interpretation of the term voluntary. Among the Franciscans,
for example, the term poverty meant denial of all possessions, total nonpossession.
Poverty is to be visible; working and begging were two aspects of poverty.

Among the Dominicans (the Order of Preachers) the vow of poverty does not call for a
life of austerity and sacrifice. Instead, they emphasize the importance of sharing and
friendship with the poor. Voluntary poverty here implies a willingness and openness to
the experience of the poor in order to enter into solidarity with them.

The notion of voluntary poverty is not merely economic and social but also
political. Mahatma Gandhi launched a political movement heavily influenced by the
notion of voluntary poverty. Mahatma Gandhi borrowed the concept of “bread labor”
from Leo Tolstoy, one of Russia’s greatest authors. The concept of “bread labor” implies
that individuals must earn their living by laboring with their own hands, tilling the soil.
As laborers, all enjoy equal status and can come together as a community. He envisioned
armies of nonviolent workers living together in rural surroundings in some form of
cooperative commonwealth living a simple life in harmony with one another. He gave
shape to his vision in organizing the Tolstoy Farm in Johannesburg, South Africa.

Gandhi attempted to politicize the notion of voluntary poverty. Gandhi’s approach to

voluntary poverty called for renunciation of modern technology in favor of a manual-
labor-oriented economy. The basis of his economics, now known as Gandhian
economics, was to protect the village economy and community against capitalistic
penetration by empowering villagers to limit their wants by practicing voluntary poverty.

For Gandhi, individuals who accumulate goods not necessary for immediate use have
stolen from the goods necessary for immediate consumption by others. He urged people
to be mindful of greed and give up their longing for material possessions. He saw worldly
goods being a hindrance to the enjoyment of happiness. Gandhi practiced voluntary
poverty. He believed that he had no right to be fully clothed so long as millions of Indians
could not afford the bare minimum of clothing. In order to emphasize the inherent virtue
of serving the poor, he drew parallels between God and the poor. He called the poor in
India “Daridra Narayan,” the “God who is poor.” For him, practicing voluntary poverty
was godly.

Modern Movements

Following Gandhi, several movements have advocated the downshifting of consumption.

In particular, the Small Is Beautiful movement that was launched in the 1970s focused on
voluntary limitation of consumption, decentralization of production, and use of
intermediate technologies—technology that can easily be purchased and used by ordinary
citizens.

The Green Party, another ecologically friendly movement in the United States, is founded
on 10 key values, including social justice, ecological wisdom, and community-based
economics. These movements appeal to people’s conscience to reduce consumption and
practice voluntary poverty for preserving the environment and to ensure that the current
generation leaves behind a livable environment for the ensuing generations.
In sum, the notion of voluntary poverty has deep roots in ancient religions such as
Hinduism, Christianity, and Buddhism. Voluntary poverty is proposed as a desirable state
of living. The practice of voluntary poverty is often endowed with moral righteousness
whereas involuntary poverty is looked upon as a social and economic problem to be
solved.

The meaning of the term varies widely with the variations in the definition of poverty. In
some cases, the expected level of poverty is high and in other instances it is not. The idea
of voluntary poverty has been politicized. Voluntary poverty is emerging as a necessary
strategy to address modern issues of centralization of production, power, and
disorganization of community life.
 UNIT - III FICTIONAL SHORT STORY
CHAPTER:1
SUDHA MURTHY: How I Taught My Grandmother to Read

When I was a girl of about twelve, I used to stay in a village in north Karnataka with my
grandparents. Those days, the transport system was not very good, so we used to get the
morning paper only in the afternoon. The weekly magazine used to come one day late.
All of us would wait eagerly for the bus, which used to come with the papers, weekly
magazines and the post. At that time, Triveni was a very popular writer in the Kannada
language. She was a wonderful writer. Her style was easy to read and very convincing.
Her stories usually dealt with complex psychological problems in the lives of ordinary
people and were always very interesting. Unfortunately for Kannada literature, she died
very young. Even now, after forty years, people continue to appreciate her novels. One of
her novels, called Kashi Yatre, was appearing as a serial in the Kannada weekly
Karmaveera then. It is the story of an old lady and her ardent desire to go to Kashi or
Varanasi. Most Hindus believe that going to Kashi and worshipping Lord Vishweshvara
is the ultimate punya. This old lady also believed in this, and her struggle to go there was
described in that novel. In the story there was also a young orphan girl who falls in love
but there was no money for the wedding. In the end, the old lady gives away all her
savings without going to Kashi. She says, ‘The happiness of this orphan girl is more
important than worshipping Lord Vishweshwara at Kashi.’ My grandmother, Krishtakka,
never went to school so she could not read. Every Wednesday the magazine would come
and I would read the next episode of this story to her. During that time she would forget
all her work and listen with the greatest concentration. Later, she could repeat the entire
text by heart. My grandmother too never went to Kashi, and she identified herself with
the novel’s protagonist. So more than anybody else she was the one most interested in
knowing what happened next in the story and used to insist that I read the serial out to
her. After hearing what happened next in Kashi Yatre, she would join her friends at the
temple courtyard where we children would also gather to play hide and seek. She would
discuss the latest episode with her friends. At that time, I never understood why there was
so much of debate about the story. Once I went for a wedding with my cousins to the
neighbouring village. In those days, a wedding was a great event. We children enjoyed
ourselves thoroughly. We would eat and play endlessly, savouring the freedom because
all the elders were busy. I went for a couple of days but ended up staying there for a
week. When I came back to my village, I saw my grandmother in tears. I was surprised,
for I had never seen her cry even in the most difficult situations. What had happened? I
was worried. ‘Avva, is everything all right? Are you ok?’ I used to call her Avva, which
means mother in the Kannada spoken in north Karnataka. She nodded but did not reply. I
did not understand and forgot about it. In the night, after dinner, we were sleeping in the
open terrace of the house. It was a summer night and there was a full moon. Avva came
and sat next to me. Her affectionate hands touched my forehead. I realized she wanted to
speak. I asked her, ‘What is the matter?’ ‘When I was a young girl I lost my mother.
There was nobody to look after and guide me. My father was a busy man and got married
again. In those days people never considered education essential for girls, so I never went
to school. I got married very young and had children. I became very busy. Later I had
grandchildren and always felt so much happiness in cooking and feeding all of you. At
times I used to regret not going to school, so I made sure that my children and
grandchildren studied well …’ I could not understand why my sixty-two-year-old
grandmother was telling me, a twelve-year-old, the story of her life in the middle of the
night. But I knew I loved her immensely and there had to be some reason why she was
talking to me. I looked at her face. It was unhappy and her eyes were filled with tears.
She was a good-looking lady who was usually always smiling. Even today I cannot forget
the worried expression on her face. I leaned forward and held her hand. ‘Avva, don’t cry.
What is the matter? Can I help you in any way?’ ‘Yes, I need your help. You know when
you were away, Karmaveera came as usual. I opened the magazine. I saw the picture that
accompanies the story of Kashi Yatre and I could not understand anything that was
written. Many times I rubbed my hands over the pages wishing they could understand
what was written. But I knew it was not possible. If only I was educated enough. I waited
eagerly for you to return. I felt you would come early and read for me. I even thought of
going to the village and asking you to read for me. I could have asked somebody in this
village but I was too embarrassed to do so. I felt so very dependent and helpless. We are
well-off, but what use is money when I cannot be independent?’ I did not know what to
answer. Avva continued. ‘I have decided I want to learn the Kannada alphabets from
tomorrow onwards. I will work very hard. I will keep Saraswati Pooja day during Dassara
as the deadline. That day I should be able to read a novel on my own. I want to be
independent.’ I saw the determination on her face. Yet I laughed at her. ‘Avva, at this age
of sixty-two you want to learn alphabets? All your hair are grey, your hands are wrinkled,
you wear spectacles and you work so much in the kitchen…’ Childishly I made fun of the
old lady. But she just smiled. ‘For a good cause if you are determined, you can overcome
any obstacle. I will work harder than anybody but I will do it. For learning there is no age
bar.’ The next day onwards I started my tuition. Avva was a wonderful student. The
amount of homework she did was amazing. She would read, repeat, write and recite. I
was her only teacher and she was my first student. Little did I know then that one day I
would become a teacher in Computer Science and teach hundreds of students. The
Dassara festival came as usual. Secretly I bought Kashi Yatre which had been published
as a novel by that time. My grandmother called me to the puja place and made me sit
down on a stool. She gave me a gift of a frock material. Then she did something unusual.
She bent down and touched my feet. I was surprised and taken aback. Elders never touch
the feet of youngsters. We have always touched the feet of God, elders and teachers. We
consider that as a mark of respect. It is a great tradition but today the reverse had
happened. It was not correct. She said, ‘I am touching the feet of a teacher, not my grand
daughter; a teacher who taught me so well, with so much of affection that I can read any
novel confidently in such a short period. Now I am independent. It is my duty to respect a
teacher. Is it not written in our scriptures that a teacher should be respected, irrespective
of the gender and age?’ I did return namaskara to her by touching her feet and gave my
gift to my first student. She opened it and read immediately the title Kashi Yatre by
Triveni and the publisher’s name. I knew then that my student had passed with flying
colours.
 CHAPTER:2
SUDHA MURTHY: Heart of Gold

This is a true story. I heard it on the radio during one of my visits to the US. It happened
in one of the biggest cities in the world, New York. It was winter. One evening, a worried
mother stood shivering by the road, wearing an old coat. With her was a little girl, thin,
sick-looking with a shaven head. She was wearing an oversize dress which somebody had
probably given to her out of mercy. It was apparent that they were homeless and poor.
The child had a cardboard placard in her hand which said, ‘I am suffering from cancer.
Please help me.’ The mother was carrying a begging bowl. Whenever the traffic lights
turned red they would approach people, stopping them on the road and asking for help.
America is a rich country, but if you are sick and don’t have insurance, then you are lost.
Nobody can support you. People give small amounts of money when they see such pleas
for help. This kind of a scene is not uncommon in India. We see lots of beggars with
small infants in one hand and a begging bowl in another. But in America it is not so
common. People felt bad for this unfortunate mother and child. One day, a policeman was
passing by and saw them. He asked them a few questions and noticed that the child
indeed looked very sick with her swollen eyes and shaven head. He wanted to help, so he
opened his purse. He saw a bundle of notes which he had just drawn from the bank. He
had received a good bonus for the excellent work he had done. He thought, ‘I have a
warm home, a caring wife and a loving son. God has been very kind to me. But these
unfortunate people don’t have any one of these things. It is not their mistake that God has
not been kind to them.’ He remembered the many things he had promised his wife and
son he would buy when he got his bonus. For a while he was in two minds. Then he
decided and gave all the cash which he had drawn from the bank to the woman and said,
‘Please take good care of the child.’ When he reached home his son met him at the
doorstep as usual and hugged him. The house was warm and nice. He sat in front of his
wife, and looking at the snow falling outside, he narrated the whole incident. After
listening to him for a while his wife was silent, then she smiled. But the son was angry.
He said, ‘Dad, how are you sure that they have not cheated you? And even though you
wanted to give some money you could have given some portion. Why did you give
everything?’ The policeman laughed at his son and said, ‘Son, you do not know what
poverty is. I come across such unfortunate people in my work.’ The days passed and
everybody forgot about it. One day a news item in the paper caught the son’s attention:
‘Mother and child caught cheating.’ With great interest he read: ‘A greedy mother used
her healthy child to pose as a cancer patient. She shaved the child’s head, starved her and
dressed her shabbily so that anybody would feel the child was suffering from cancer.
Using this tactic she duped many people. The mother has been arrested.’ The son realized
who these people were and was very upset. When his father came home, he told him as
soon as he entered the house, ‘Dad, you were cheated by that lady and her child who you
thought was a cancer patient. The child is healthy and you gave away your entire bonus to
that child.’ His father did not reply. He sat down, and looked out of the window. There
were children playing outside. Winter was over and summer was setting in. In a calm
voice he said, ‘Son, I am very happy. The child is healthy.’ The boy was surprised. He
thought being a policeman, his father would pick up the phone and talk to the police
station or he would be depressed that he had been cheated and given away so much of
money to a healthy child. But there were no traces of such emotions. He asked, ‘Dad, tell
me, are you not upset?’ His father again gave him the same answer, ‘I am happy that the
child is healthy.’ By that time his wife came with a mug of coffee in her hand. She had
heard the entire conversation. With happiness in her voice she told her son. ‘Son, you are
very fortunate. You have an extraordinary father, who is not angry even though he has
lost a lot of money. You should be proud that your father is happy thinking somebody’s
child is healthy, rather than worrying about his own big bonus. Learn from him. Help
people without expecting anything in return.
 CHAPTER:3
SUDHA MURTHY: ‘I Will Do It’

He was short. He was sharp. He was the brightest boy in his class. His seniors used to ask
him to solve their difficulties in science. He could have gone unnoticed in a crowd, but
once you asked him a question related to Physics or Maths, there was a spark in his eyes.
He could grasp theories of science faster than the speed of light. He came from a poor but
educated family. His father was a high-school teacher and an avid reader of English
literature. He, like all the boys in his class, was trying to get admission into some
engineering college. The brighter ones wanted to study in the Indian Institutes of
Technology, or the IITs. There was an entrance test for IIT. This boy, along with his
friends, applied to appear for the test. They did not have any special books or coaching.
All these IIT aspirants would sit below the shade of a stone mandap close to Chamundi
Hills in the sleepy town of Mysore. He was the guide for the others. While the others
struggled to solve the problems in the question paper, he would smile shyly and solve
them in no time. He sat alone below a tree and dreamt of studying at IIT. It was the
ultimate aim for any bright boy at that age, as it still is today. He was then only sixteen
years old. D-day came. He came to Bangalore, stayed with some relatives and appeared
for the entrance test. He did very well but would only say ‘ok’ when asked. It was the
opposite when it came to food. When he said ‘ok’ it implied ‘bad’, when he said ‘good’ it
implied ‘ok’, when he said ‘excellent’ it implied ‘good’. His principle was never to hurt
anyone. The IIT entrance results came. He had passed with a high rank. What a delight
for any student! He was thrilled. He went to his father who was reading a newspaper.
‘Anna I passed the exam.’ ‘Well done, my boy.’ ‘I want to join IIT.’ His father stopped
reading the paper. He lifted his head, looked at the boy and said with a heavy voice, ‘My
son, you are a bright boy. You know our financial position. I have five daughters to be
married off and three sons to educate. I am a salaried person. I cannot afford your
expenses at IIT. You can stay in Mysore and study as much as you want.’ Indeed it was a
difficult situation for any father to say ‘no’ to his bright son. But circumstances were like
that. It was common then for the man to be the single earning member with a large family
dependent on him. His father was sad that he had to tell the bitter truth to his son. But it
could not be helped. The boy had to understand reality. The teenager was disappointed. It
seemed his dreams had burnt to ashes. He was so near to fulfilling his fondest hope, yet
so far. His heart sank in sorrow. He did not reply. He never shared his unhappiness or
helplessness with anybody. He was an introvert by nature. His heart was bleeding but he
did not get angry with anybody. The day came. His classmates were leaving for Madras,
(now Chennai). They were taking a train from Mysore to Madras. They had shared good
years in school and college together. He went to the station to say goodbye and good luck
to them for their future life. At the station, his friends were already there. They were
excited and talking loudly. The noise was like the chirping of birds. They were all excited
and discussing their new hostels, new courses etc. He was not part of it. So he stood there
silently. One of them noticed and said, ‘You should have made it.’ He did not reply. He
only wished all of them. They waved at him as the train slowly left the platform. He stood
there even after he could no longer see the train or the waving hands. It was the June of
1962 in Mysore city. Monsoon had set in and it was getting dark. It had started to drizzle.
Yet he stood there motionless. He said to himself, without anger or jealousy, ‘All students
from the IITs study well and do big things in life. But it is not the institution, ultimately it
is you and you alone who can change your life by hard work.’ Probably he was not aware
that he was following the philosophy of the Bhagavad Gita: ‘Your best friend is yourself
and your worst enemy is yourself.’ Later he worked very hard, and focused on one thing,
never bothering about his personal life or comforts. He shared his wealth with others. He
never used the help of any caste, community or political connections to go up in life. A
son of a schoolteacher showed other Indians it was possible to earn wealth legally and
ethically. He built a team of people who were equally good. He became a pioneer of
India’s software industry and started the Information Technology wave. Today he has
become an icon of simplicity, uncompromising quality and fairness, apart from being a
philanthropist. He really believes in the motto, ‘Powered by intellect and driven by
values’. He is none other than Infosys founder and present Chairman, Nagavara Ramarao
Narayana Murthy.