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SECTION 3

PROSE AND POETRY

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Unit 1
The Leopard
Ruskin Bond

I first saw the leopard when I was crossing the small stream at the bottom of the hill.
The ravine was so deep that for most of the day it remained in shadow. This encouraged many birds and
animals to emerge from cover during daylight hours. Few people ever passed that way: only milkmen
and charcoal-burners from the surrounding villages.
As a result, the ravine had become a little haven of wildlife, one of the few natural sanctuaries left near
Mussoorie, a hill- station in northern India.
Below my cottage was a forest of oak and maple and Himalayan rhododendron. A narrow path twisted
its way down through the trees, over an open ridge where red sorrel grew wild, and then steeply down
through a tangle of wild raspberries, creeping vines and slender bamboo.
At the bottom of the hill the path led on to a grassy verge, surrounded by wild dog roses. (It is
surprising how closely the flora of the lower Himalayas, between 5,000 to 8,000 feet, resembles
that of the English countryside.)
The stream ran close by the verge, tumbling over smooth pebbles, over rocks worn yellow with
age, on its way to the plains and to the little Song River and finally to the sacred Ganges.
When I first discovered the stream it was early April and the wild roses were flowering—small white
blossoms lying in clusters.
I walked down to the stream almost every day, after two or three hours of writing.
I had lived in cities too long, and had returned to the hills to renew myself, both physically and
mentally. Once you have lived with mountains for any length of time, you belong to them, and must
return again and again.
Nearly every morning, and sometimes during the day, I heard the cry of the barking deer. And in the
evening, walking through the forest, I disturbed parties of pheasant. The birds went gliding down the
ravine on open, motionless wings. I saw pine martens and a handsome red fox, and I recognized the
footprints of a bear.
As I had not come to take anything from the forest, the birds and animals soon grew accustomed to my
presence; or possibly they recognized my footsteps. Aftersome time, my approach did not disturb them.
The langurs in the oak and rhododendron trees, who would at first go leaping through the branches at
my approach, now watched me with some curiosity as theymunched the tender green shoots of the oak.
The young ones scuffled and wrestled like boys, while their parents groomed each other’s coats,
stretching themselves out on the sunlit hillside. But one evening, as I passed, I heard them chattering
in the trees, and I knew I was not the cause of their excitement.
As I crossed the stream and began climbing the hill, the grunting and chattering increased, as though the
langurs were trying to warn me of some hidden danger. A shower of pebbles came rattling down the
steep hillside, and I looked up to see a sinewy, orange-gold leopard poised on a rock about twenty feet
above me.
It was not looking towards me, but had its head thrust attentively forward, in the direction of the
ravine. Yet it must have sensed my presence, because it slowly turned its head and looked down at
me.
It seemed a little puzzled at my presence there; and when, to give myself courage, I clapped my hands
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sharply, the leopard sprang away into the thickets, making absolutely no sound as it melted into the
shadows.
I had disturbed the animal in its quest for food. But a little after I heard the quickening cry of a barking
deer as it fled through the forest. The hunt was still on.
The leopard, like other members of the cat family, is nearing extinction in India, and I was surprised
to find one so close to Mussoorie. Probably the deforestation that had been taking place in the
surrounding hills had driven the deer into this green valley; and the leopard, naturally, had followed.
It was some weeks before I saw the leopard again, although I was often made aware of its presence. A
dry, rasping cough sometimes gave it away. At times I feltalmost certain that I was being followed.
Once, when I was late getting home, and the brief twilight gave way to a dark, moonless night, I was
startled by a family of porcupines running about in a clearing. I looked around nervously, and saw two
bright eyes staring at me from a thicket. I stood still, my heart banging away against my ribs. Then the
eyes danced away, and Irealized that they were only fireflies.
In May and June, when the hills were brown and dry, it was always cool and green near the stream,
where ferns and maidenhair and long grasses continued to thrive.
Downstream I found a small pool where I could bathe, and a cave with water dripping from the roof,
the water spangled gold and silver in the shafts of sunlightthat pushed through the slits in the cave roof.
‘He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.’ Perhaps David
had discovered a similar paradise when he wrote those words; perhaps I, too, would write good
words. The hill-station’s summer visitors had not discovered this haven of wild and green things. I was
beginning to feel thatthe place belonged to me, that dominion was mine.
The stream had at least one other regular visitor, a spotted forktail, and though it did not fly away at my
approach it became restless if I stayed too long, and then it would move from boulder to boulder
uttering a long complaining cry.
I spent an afternoon trying to discover the bird’s nest, which I was certain contained young ones,
because I had seen the forktail carrying grubs in her bill. The problem was that when the bird flew
upstream I had difficulty in following her rapidly enough as the rocks were sharp and slippery.
Eventually I decorated myself with bracken fronds and, after slowly making my way upstream, hid
myself in the hollow stump of a tree at a spot where the forktail often disappeared. I had no intention
of robbing the bird: I was simply curious to seeits home.
By crouching down, I was able to command a view of a small stretch of the stream and the sides of
the ravine; but I had done little to deceive the forktail, who continued to object strongly to my
presence so near her home.
I summoned up my reserves of patience and sat perfectly still for about ten minutes. The forktail
quietened down. Out of sight, out of mind. But where had she gone? Probably into the walls of the
ravine where I felt sure, she was guarding hernest.
I decided to take her by surprise, and stood up suddenly, in time to see not the forktail on her
doorstep, but the leopard bounding away with a grunt of surprise! Two urgent springs, and it had
crossed the stream and plunged into the forest.
I was as astonished as the leopard, and forgot all about the forktail and her nest. Had the leopard
been following me again? I decided against this possibility. Only man-eaters follow humans, and, as
far as I knew, there had never been a man-eaterin the vicinity of Mussoorie.
During the monsoon the stream became a rushing torrent, bushes and small trees were swept away,
and the friendly murmur of the water became a threatening boom. I did not visit the place too often, as
there were leeches in the long grass.
One day I found the remains of a barking deer which had only been partly eaten. I wondered why the
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leopard had not hidden the rest of his meal, and decided that it must have been disturbed while eating.
Then, climbing the hill, I met a party of hunters resting beneath the oaks. They asked me if I had seen a
leopard. I said I had not. They said they knew there was a leopard in the forest.
Leopard skins, they told me, were selling in Delhi at over 1,000 rupees each. Of course there was a ban
on the export of skins, but they gave me to understand that there were ways and means. . . . I thanked
them for their information and walked on,feeling uneasy and disturbed.
The hunters had seen the carcass of the deer, and they had seen the leopard’s pug- marks, and they kept
coming to the forest. Almost every evening I heard their guns banging away; for they were ready to
fire at almost anything.
‘There’s a leopard about,’ they always told me. ‘You should carry a gun.’‘I don’t have one,’ I said.
There were fewer birds to be seen, and even the langurs had moved on. The red fox did not show
itself; and the pine martens, who had become quite bold, now dashed into hiding, at my approach. The
smell of one human is like the smell of anyother.
And then the rains were over and it was October; I could lie in the sun, on sweet- smelling grass, and
gaze up through a pattern of oak leaves into a blinding blue heaven. And I would praise God for leaves
and grass and the smell of things, the smell of mint and bruised clover, and the touch of things—the
touch of grass and airand sky, the touch of the sky’s blueness.
I thought no more of the men. My attitude towards them was similar to that of the denizens of the forest.
These were men, unpredictable, and to be avoided if possible.
On the other side of the ravine rose Pari Tibba, Hill of the Fairies: a bleak, scrub- covered hill where
no one lived.
It was said that in the previous century Englishmen had tried building their houses on the hill, but the
area had always attracted lightning, due to either the hill’s location or due to its mineral deposits; after
several houses had been struck by lightning, the settlers had moved on to the next hill, where the town
now stands.
To the hillmen it is Pari Tibba, haunted by the spirits of a pair of ill-fated loverswho perished there in a
storm; to others it is known as Burnt Hill, because of its scarred and stunted trees.
One day, after crossing the stream, I climbed Pari Tibba—a stiff undertaking, because there was no
path to the top and I had to scramble up a precipitous rock-face with the help of rocks and roots that
were apt to come loose in my groping hand.
But at the top was a plateau with a few pine trees, their upper branches catching the wind and
humming softly. There I found the ruins of what must have been the houses of the first settlers—just a
few piles of rubble, now overgrown with weeds,sorrel, dandelions and nettles.
As I walked through the roofless ruins, I was struck by the silence that surrounded me, the absence of
birds and animals, the sense of complete desolation.
The silence was so absolute that it seemed to be ringing in my ears. But there was something else of
which I was becoming increasingly aware: the strong feline odour of one of the cat family.
I paused and looked about. I was alone. There was no movement of dry leaf or loose stone. The ruins
were for the most part open to the sky. Their rotting rafters had collapsed, jamming together to form
a low passage like the entrance to a mine;and this dark cavern seemed to lead down into the ground.
The smell was stronger when I approached this spot, so I stopped again and waited there, wondering
if I had discovered the lair of the leopard, wondering if the animal was now at rest after a night’s
hunt.
Perhaps he was crouching there in the dark, watching me, recognizing me, knowing me as the man
who walked alone in the forest without a weapon.
I like to think that he was there, that he knew me, and that he acknowledged my visit in the
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friendliest way: by ignoring me altogether.

Perhaps I had made him confident—too confident, too careless, too trusting of thehuman in his midst.
I did not venture any further; I was not out of my mind. I did not seek physical contact, or even another
glimpse of that beautiful sinewy body, springing from rock to rock. It was his trust I wanted, and I
think he gave it to me.
But did the leopard, trusting one man, make the mistake of bestowing his trust on others? Did I, by
casting out all fear—my own fear, and the leopard’s protective fear —leave him defenseless?
Because next day, coming up the path from the stream, shouting and beating drums, were the hunters.
They had a long bamboo pole across their shoulders; and slung from the pole, feet up, head down,
was the lifeless body of the leopard, shot in the neck and in the head.
‘We told you there was a leopard!’ they shouted, in great good humour. ‘Isn’t he afine specimen?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He was a beautiful leopard.’
I walked home through the silent forest. It was very silent, almost as though the birds and animals knew
that their trust had been violated.
I remembered the lines of a poem by D. H. Lawrence; and, as I climbed the steep and lonely path to
my home, the words beat out their rhythm in my mind: ‘There was room in the world for a mountain
lion and me.’

Glossary:
Ravine: Narrow Valley
Sanctuary: Shelter
Curiosity: Interest
Extinction: Loss
Pasture: Grazing Land
Precipitous: Steep
Denizens: A person, animal, or plant that lives or is found in a particular place
Glimpse: Sight

Ex: 1. Choose the correct option:

1. The author first saw the leopard when …
(a) he was climbing the hill (b) it was caught by hunters (c) he was crossing the
stream (d) he was going after forktail
2. When the author discovered the stream, it was month of …
(a) May (b) June (c) February (d) April
3. The … was a regular visitor of the stream.
(a) Forktail (b) Tiger (c) lion (d) sparrow
4 Leopared skins are sold in ….
(a) Delhi (b) Kolkatta (c) Lucknow (d) Mumbai
5 . ….. is called Hill of Fairies
(a) Pari Hill (b) Angel Tibba (c) God Hill (d) Pari Tibba
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Ex: 2. Answer the following questions:

1. Describe the valley where the leopard lived.

2. Why did the author return to mountains?
3. Why didn’t his approach disturb the birds and animals?
4. What happened when the leopard sensed the author’s presence?
5. What did the author do to find forktails’s home?
6. What was the hunters’ advice to the author?
7. What was the author’s attitude towards men?

Suggested Speaking Skills Topics (For 30 Marks of PA in LAB)

1. Beauty of Nature
2. Cruelty towards Animals
3. Environment Conservation
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UNIT 2 After Twenty Years

O'Henry
The policeman on the beat moved up the avenue impressively. The impressiveness was habitual and not for show,
for spectators were few. The time was barely 10 o'clock at night, but chilly gusts of wind with a taste of rain in them
had well nigh depeopled the streets.

Trying doors as he went, twirling his club with many intricate and artful movements, turning now and then to cast his
watchful eye adown the pacific thoroughfare, the officer, with his stalwart form and slight swagger, made a fine
picture of a guardian of the peace. The vicinity was one that kept early hours. Now and then you might see the lights
of a cigar store or of an all-night lunch counter; but the majority of the doors belonged to business places that had
long since been closed.

When about midway of a certain block the policeman suddenly slowed his walk. In the doorway of a darkened
hardware store a man leaned, with an unlighted cigar in his mouth. As the policeman walked up to him the man
spoke up quickly.

"It's all right, officer," he said, reassuringly. "I'm just waiting for a friend. It's an appointment made twenty years ago.
Sounds a little funny to you, doesn't it? Well, I'll explain if you'd like to make certain it's all straight. About that long
ago there used to be a restaurant where this store stands--'Big Joe' Brady's restaurant."

"Until five years ago," said the policeman. "It was torn down then."

The man in the doorway struck a match and lit his cigar. The light showed a pale, square-jawed face with keen eyes,
and a little white scar near his right eyebrow. His scarfpin was a large diamond, oddly set.

"Twenty years ago to-night," said the man, "I dined here at 'Big Joe' Brady's with Jimmy Wells, my best chum, and
the finest chap in the world. He and I were raised here in New York, just like two brothers, together. I was eighteen
and Jimmy was twenty. The next morning I was to start for the West to make my fortune. You couldn't have dragged
Jimmy out of New York; he thought it was the only place on earth. Well, we agreed that night that we would meet
here again exactly twenty years from that date and time, no matter what our conditions might be or from what
distance we might have to come. We figured that in twenty years each of us ought to have our destiny worked out
and our fortunes made, whatever they were going to be."

"It sounds pretty interesting," said the policeman. "Rather a long time between meets, though, it seems to me.
Haven't you heard from your friend since you left?"
"Well, yes, for a time we corresponded," said the other. "But after a year or two we lost track of each other. You see,
the West is a pretty big proposition, and I kept hustling around over it pretty lively. But I know Jimmy will meet me
here if he's alive, for he always was the truest, stanchest old chap in the world. He'll never forget. I came a thousand
miles to stand in this door to-night, and it's worth it if my old partner turns up."

The waiting man pulled out a handsome watch, the lids of it set with small diamonds.

"Three minutes to ten," he announced. "It was exactly ten o'clock when we parted here at the restaurant door."

"Did pretty well out West, didn't you?" asked the policeman.
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"You bet! I hope Jimmy has done half as well. He was a kind of plodder, though, good fellow as he was. I've had to
compete with some of the sharpest wits going to get my pile. A man gets in a groove in New York. It takes the West
to put a razor-edge on him."

The policeman twirled his club and took a step or two.

"I'll be on my way. Hope your friend comes around all right. Going to call time on him sharp?"

"I should say not!" said the other. "I'll give him half an hour at least. If Jimmy is alive on earth he'll be here by that
time. So long, officer."

"Good-night, sir," said the policeman, passing on along his beat, trying doors as he went.

There was now a fine, cold drizzle falling, and the wind had risen from its uncertain puffs into a steady blow. The few
foot passengers astir in that quarter hurried dismally and silently along with coat collars turned high and pocketed
hands. And in the door of the hardware store the man who had come a thousand miles to fill an appointment,
uncertain almost to absurdity, with the friend of his youth, smoked his cigar and waited.

About twenty minutes he waited, and then a tall man in a long overcoat, with collar turned up to his ears, hurried
across from the opposite side of the street. He went directly to the waiting man.

"Is that you, Bob?" he asked, doubtfully.

"Is that you, Jimmy Wells?" cried the man in the door.

"Bless my heart!" exclaimed the new arrival, grasping both the other's hands with his own. "It's Bob, sure as fate. I
was certain I'd find you here if you were still in existence. Well, well, well--twenty years is a long time. The old gone,
Bob; I wish it had lasted, so we could have had another dinner there. How has the West treated you, old man?"

"Bully; it has given me everything I asked it for. You've changed lots, Jimmy. I never thought you were so tall by
two or three inches."

"Oh, I grew a bit after I was twenty." "Doing

well in New York, Jimmy?"

"Moderately. I have a position in one of the city departments. Come on, Bob; we'll go around to a place I know of,
and have a good long talk about old times."

The two men started up the street, arm in arm. The man from the West, his egotism enlarged by success, was
beginning to outline the history of his career. The other, submerged in his overcoat, listened with interest.

At the corner stood a drug store, brilliant with electric lights. When they came into this glare each of them turned
simultaneously to gaze upon the other's face.

The man from the West stopped suddenly and released his arm.

"You're not Jimmy Wells," he snapped. "Twenty years is a long time, but not long enough to change a man's nose
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from a Roman to a pug."

"It sometimes changes a good man into a bad one," said the tall man. "You've been under arrest for ten minutes,
'Silky' Bob. Chicago thinks you may have dropped over our way and wires us she wants to have a chat with you.
Going quietly, are you? That's sensible. Now, before we go on to the station here's a note I was asked to hand you.
You may read it here at the window. It's from Patrolman Wells."

The man from the West unfolded the little piece of paper handed him. His hand was steady when he began to read,
but it trembled a little by the time he had finished. The note was rather short.

"Bob: I was at the appointed place on time. When you struck the match to light your cigar I saw it was the
face of the man wanted in Chicago. Somehow I couldn't do it myself, so I went around and got a plain
clothes man to do the job.”

JIMMY.

.”

Glossary:
on the beat: usual path of a policeman on duty
avenue : road with trees on both sides
habitual : usual
intricate : complicated
chilly: very cold
gust: sudden violent rush of wind
pacific: peaceful
thoroughfare: a street much used by traffic and open at both ends
swagger: walk in a proud manner
vicinity: surroundings, neighbourhood
reassuringly: comfortingly and without any fear
torn down: pulled down, demolished
oddly: strangely
chum: close friend
chap: fellow, man
dragged out: caused to last an unnecessarily long time in
bustling around: moving around quickly
turns up: comes up, arrives
plodder: person who works slowly but earnestly
groove: way of living that becomes a habit
twirled: turned round quickly
club: heavy stick with one thick end
drizzle: rain in many fine drops
astir: in a state of excitement
dismally: gloomy
lasted: existed for more time
egotism: practice of talking about oneself
chat: friendly talk
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Sample Exercises:

Ex: 1. Choose the correct option:

1. The location of the story is near ….
(b) Dehradun (b) Mussoorie (c) Shimla (d) Dharmashala
3. Where was the man standing?
(b) Near general store (b) near medical store (c) near bus stand (d) near
hardware store
4. When was the appointment made ?
(a) Before 20 years (b) before 15 years (c) after 20 years
(d) before 10 years
5. The man was waiting for his __________________.
(b) wife (b) friend (c) brother (d) customer
6. The man and his friend Jimmy belong to ___________ city.
(a) New York (b) London (c) Mumbai (d) Paris
7. What was the time of appointment?
(a) 12 o’clock (b) 11 o’clock (c) 10 o’clock (d) 9 o’clock
8. What did the tall man handed over to Bob?
(a) A book (b) a bag (c) a chocolate (d) a note
9. Who wrote the note?
(a) Bob (b) Jimmy (c) Vera (d) O’Henry

Ex: 2. Answer the following questions:

8. How did the policeman move up the avenue?

9. How was the weather that night?
10. What did the stranger say to the policeman?
11. What was there in place of the store at that spot twenty years ago?
12. Who was the stranger’s friend?
13. Where did they take the last dinner?
14. What kind of man was his friend Jimmy?
15. What did Bob tell the man in the overcoat?
16. Was he really his friend Jimmy Wells?
17. Why was Bob under arrest?
18. Whose note was handed over to Bob in the end?

Suggested Speaking Skills Topics (For 30 Marks of PA in LAB)

1. Friendship
2. What is more important- duty or relations?
3. The choice between Right and Wrong .
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UNIT 3 Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep

Glossary:
Woods : an area of land covered with thick growth of trees
Queer: beyond or deviating from the usual or expected
Farmhouse: a house attached to a farm
Frozen: turned into ice
Harness: an arrangement of leather straps fitted to a draft animal
Flake : a crystal of snow
Promise: a verbal commitment to do something in the future
Sleep : euphemisms for death
Sample Exercise:
Q.1 Where was the speaker going? What stopped him on the way?
Q.2 What according to the speaker will surprise the horse?
Q.3 What does the speaker wish to convey through the phrase “fill up with the snow”?
Q.4 What does the poet says about the owner of the woods?
Q.5 What are the sights and sounds that the poet experiences in the woods?
Q.6 What promises do you think the poet has to keep?
Q.7 What message do the last paragraph convey?
Q. 8 What is the role played by the horse in this poem?

Q. 9 Write a short note on :

(1) Description of nature
(2) Central idea of the poem
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UNIT 4 Where the Mind is Without Fear

Rabindranath Tagore,

“Where the mind is without fear

and the head is held high,
where knowledge is free.
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls.
Where words come out from the depth of truth,
where tireless striving stretches its arms toward perfection.
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost it's way
into the dreary desert sand of dead habit.
Where the mind is led forward by thee
into ever widening thought and action.
In to that heaven of freedom, my father,
LET MY COUNTRY AWAKE!”

―
Glossary:
Fragments- pieces
Head is held high- self respect
Domestic- pertaining to family.
Striving – try hard, motivated.
Tireless - without getting tired
Stream: river
Dreary: dull
Reason: intellect
Dead habit: old customs
Desert – dry area of land
Awake- to get up from sleep

Sample Exercise:
Q.1 What is meant by “mind is without fear and head is held high”. Tick the correct answer.
(i) to be fearless and self respecting
(ii) to be proud of one’s high position .
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(iii) to stand straight and be carefree.

Q. 2. What does the poet mean by “where knowledge is free”?
Q.3. The ‘domestic walls’ are usually associated with safety, comfort and [Link] is the meaning of
‘narrow domestic walls’? Choose the correct answer.
(i) small houses which make us feel cramped
(ii) ideas which are petty and narrow-minded.
iii) a house divided into rooms by walls.
Q.4. What according to the poet do people tirelessly strive towards?
Q.5. How does the poet describe the old habit?
Q.6 How does the poet describe ‘heaven of freedom’?
Q.7. Who does the poet address as ‘thee’ and my father?
Q.8 What kind of freedom does the poet desire for his country?
Q.9 Write a short note on the central idea of the poem.