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Question
Lights were shining from every window, and there was a savoury smell of roast goose, for it was New-year’s eve—yes, she remembered that. In a corner, between two houses, one of which projected beyond the other, she sank down and huddled herself together. She had drawn her little feet under her, but she could not keep off the cold; and
she dared not go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take home even a penny of money. Her father would certainly beat her; besides, it was almost as cold at home as here, for they had only the roof to cover them, through which the wind howled, although the largest holes had been stopped up with straw and rags. Her little hands were almost frozen with the cold. Ah! perhaps a burning match might be some good, if she could draw it from the bundle and strike it against the wall, just to warm her fingers. She drew one out—“scratch!” how it sputtered as it burnt! It gave a warm, bright light, like a little candle, as she held her hand over it. It was really a wonderful light. It seemed to the little girl that she was sitting by a large iron stove, with polished brass feet and a brass ornament. How the fire burned! and seemed so beautifully warm that the child stretched out her feet as if to warm them, when, lo! the flame of the match went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the half-burnt match in her hand.
Read the extract given below and answer the question that follow.
Why could the girl not go home?
Solution
The little girl did not dare to go home, for she had sold no matches, and could not take home even a penny of money. Her father would certainly beat her for earning no money.
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RELATED QUESTIONS
- 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 papers 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 Vishweshwara is the ultimate punya. This old lady also believed in this, andher 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 is 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 the
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 so she identified herself with the novel's protagonist. 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 thetemple courtyard, where we children would also gather to play hide and seek. Shewould discuss the latest episode with her friends. At that time, I never understoodwhy there was so much of debate about the story.
- Once I went for a wedding with my cousins to the neighbouring village. In thosedays, 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 of situations. What had happened? I was worried.
- 'Avva, is everything fine? Are you alright?'
- 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. He 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. One thing 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 almost 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 to 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 alphabet 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 the alphabet? All your hair is grey, your hands are wrinkled, you wear spectacles and you have so much work 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 pooja place and made me sit down on a stool. She gifted me a frock. Then she did
something unusual. She bent down and touched my feet. I was surprised and taken aback. Elders never touched the feet of youngsters. We have always touched the feet of God, elders and teachers. We considered 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 granddaughter; 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 the title Kashi Yatre by Triveni and the publisher's
name immediately . - I knew, then, that my student had passed with flying colours.
About the Author
Sudha Murty was born in 1950 in Shiggaon in North Karnataka. A prolific writer in Kannada, she has written seven novels, four technical books, three travelogues and two collections of short stories. Her previous English book 'Wise and Otherwise' has
been translated into thirteen Indian languages. Her stories deal with common lives and human values such as charity, kindness and self-realisation. As a sensitive writer, she writes about the suffering of the people. The main characters in all her
books are highly educated, non compromising, highly principled women.
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