TNPSC English Study Material - All prose in Single pdf

 

TNPSC English Study Material - All Prose

TNPSC English Study material - All prose in Single Pdf

TNPSC English Study Materials Group 2, 2A, 4

TNPSC English Study Materials PDF

TNPSC English Study Material -  All Poem in Single PDF

The Nose-Jewel - C. Rajagopalachari

 

The Nose-Jewel By C. Rajagopalachari (Source TN Textbook)

 

Ramayya was a simple man living in the town. He lived with his wife in a nice house made of tiled roofs. He was not rich but he could take care of his family.

 

     Two sparrows built a nest in a nice spot in the roof of Ramayya's house and the mother-bird laid her eggs in it.

 

    “My dear," began the male sparrow.

 

    “And what do you want now?" asked his wife.

 

     "Why does the lady of this house always quarrel with her husband?"

 

  "How am I to know?" said the female bird. “Let us mind our own business."

 

  "You are always self-centred," said the male sparrow and added, "Should we not help this poor Ramayya?"

 

The female sparrow said with disdain, "Let me see what help you can do for him. Please do not talk about what does not concern us. See that the cat does not come near our nest. That would be enough for you and me."

 

Somewhere in the muck-heap lay a diamond nose-jewel. The male bird picked it up and came to the nest with the shining stud in his beak and said to his wife: "Look! Do you like this?

 

The wife-bird replied, "What am I to do with diamond nose studs or with ear-rings? Find some grub; the young ones are hungry."

 

The bird dropped the diamond stud on the floor and went out in search of little worms for the young ones.

 

Ramayya's wife noticed the jewel as she was sweeping the floor. She picked it up with delight and wore it.

 

Ramayya questioned her angrily, "How did you get this diamond-stud?"

 

"I found it lying here yesterday and took it. That is all."

 

"We should go and handover it to the village magistrate. If tomorrow the police should come and search our house, it will be disgrace to us?"

 

In Meenakshi Ammal's house nearby, the talk went thus: "I forgot and left it in the bathroom. Kuppayi, the servant woman must have swept it out. She is very careless and ignorant."

 

The mother, Meenakshi Ammal, consoled her little girl saying, "Let us search and find it. Don't tell father yet. He would go into a rage if he knew that you had lost the diamond nose-stud."

 

"What is the secret you are whispering?" asked Ramanatham.

 

The loss of the jewel had to be admitted. Soon the whole village knew about it. The maid-servant Kuppayi was suspected by everyone to have stolen it.

 

The police came and searched her hut, but could find nothing.

 

Ramayya's heart was in a flutter. Ramayya's wife put the stud away in her box. She soon developed a severe fever and was confined to her bed. No one thought of searching their house.

 

The he-sparrow said, "Look at the fun, my dear, the lady of this house is scared and is down with fever."

 

"Nice fun indeed!" said the she-sparrow. "The poor woman is in a panic. The fever may be the end of her."

 

"And a good thing too," said the cruel male sparrow.

 

"It is all your doing you brought and threw it here and tempted her," said the female bird.

 

       The male bird answered gravely, "Did I tell her to steal the thing? This is bound to happen when human are being greedy.”

 

“Rightly said, we should never be greedy for what belongs to others". "Come, let us go now and bring some worms for the young ones.” And the two flew out.

 

       Ramayya and his wife spend the rest of life in fear of being caught. The diamond Nose Jewel may still be with them, but the fear of getting caught was even more.

The Woman on Platform 8 - Ruskin Bond

 The Woman on Platform 8 By Ruskin Bond (Source TN Textbook)

 

It was my second year at boarding school, and I was sitting on platform no. 8 at Ambala station waiting for the northern bound train. I think I was about twelve at the time. My parents considered me old enough to travel alone and I had arrived by bus at Ambala early in the evening. Now there was a wait till midnight before my train arrived. Most of the time I had been pacing up and down the platform, browsing at the bookstall, or feeding broken biscuits to stray dogs: trains came and went, and the platform would be quiet for a while and then, when a train arrived it would be an inferno of heaving, shouting, agitated human bodies. As the carriage doors opened, a tide of people would sweep down upon the nervous little ticket-collector at the gate and every time this happened I would be caught in the rush and swept outside the station. Now tired of this game and of ambling about the platform, I sat down on my suitcase and gazed dismally across the railway tracks.

 

Trolleys rolled past me and I was conscious of the cries of the various vendors -the men who sold curds and lemon, the sweet meat. seller, the newspaper boy- but I had lost interest in all that went on along the busy platform, and continued to stare across the railway tracks, feeling bored and a little lonely.

 

'Are you all alone, my son?' asked a soft voice close behind me.

 

I looked up and saw a woman standing near me. She was leaning over, and I saw a pale face, and dark kind eyes. She wore no jewels, and was dressed very simply in a white sari

 

“Yes, I am going to school,” I said, and stood up respectfully; she seemed poor, but there was a dignity about her that commanded respect.

 

‘I have been watching you for some time,’ she said 'Didn't your parents come to see you off,'

 

 'I don't live here; I said. 'I had to change trains Anyway, I can travel alone.'

 

 ‘I am sure you can.’ she said, and I liked her for saying that and I also liked her for the simplicity of her dress and for her deep soft voice and the serenity of her face.

 

  ‘Tell me, what is your name?' she asked

 

    'Arun.’ I said.

 

     'And how long do you have to wait for your train?'

 

    'About an hour, I think. It comes at twelve o'clock.’

 

    Then come with me and have something to eat'

 

   I was going to refuse out of shyness and suspicion, but she took me by the hand, and then I felt it would be silly to pull my hand away. She told a coolie to look after my suitcase, and then she led me away down the platform. Her hand was gentle, and she held mine neither too firmly nor too lightly. I looked up at her again. She was not young. And she was not old. She must have been over thirty but, had she been fifty, I think she would have looked much the same.

 

She took me into the station dining-room, ordered tea and and samosas and jalebies, and at once I began to thaw and take a new interest in this kind woman. The strange encounter had little effect on my appetite. I was a hungry school boy, and l ate as much as I could in as polite a manner as possible. She took obvious pleasure in watching me eat, and I think it was the food that strengthened the bond between us and cemented our friendship, for under the influence of the tea and sweets I began to talk quite freely, and told her about my school, my friends, my likes and dislikes. She questioned me quietly from time to time, but preferred listening; she drew me out very well, and I had soon forgotten that we were strangers. But she did not ask me about my family or where I lived, and I did not ask her where she lived. I accepted her for what she had been to me — a quiet, kind and gentlewoman who gave sweets to a lonely boy on a railway platform...

 

After about half-an-hour we left the dining-room and began walking back along the platform An engine was shunting up and down beside platform No.8 and as it approached, a boy leapt off the platform and ran across the rails, taking a short cut to the next platform. He was at a safe distance from the engine, and there was no danger unless he had fallen; but as he leapt across the rails, the woman clutched my arm. Her fingers dug into my flesh, and I winced with pain. I caught her fingers and looked up at her, and I saw a spasm of pain and fear and sadness pass across her face. She watched the boy as he climbed other platform, and it was not until he had disappeared in the crowd that she relaxed her hold on my arm. She smiled at me reassuringly, and took my hand again: but her fingers trembled against mine.

 

'He was all right.' I said, feeling that it was she who needed reassurance.

 

She smiled gratefully at me and pressed my hand. We walked together in silence until we reached the place where I had left my suitcase, one of my schoolfellows, Satish, a boy of about my age, had turned up with his mother.

 

 'Hello, Arun!’ he called. 'The train's coming in late, as usual. Did you know we have a new Headmaster this year?'

 

We shook hands, and then he turned to his mother and said: 'This is Arun, mother. He is one of my friends, and the best bowler in the class.’

 

'l am glad to know that,' said his mother, a large imposing woman who wore spectacles. She looked at the woman who led my hand and said: 'And I suppose you're Arun's mother?'

 

I opened my mouth to make some explanation, but before I could say anything the woman replied: 'Yes I am Arun's mother.'

 

I was unable to speak a word. I looked quickly up at the woman, but she did not appear to be at all embarrassed, and was smiling at Satish’s mother.

 

Satish's mother said: 'It’s such a nuisance having to wait for the train right in the middle of the night. But one can’t let the child wait here alone. Anything can happen to a boy at a big station like this, there are so many suspicious characters hanging about. These days one has to be very careful of strangers.'

 

'Arun can travel alone though,' said the woman beside me, and somehow I felt grateful to her for saying that. I had already forgiven her for lying: and besides, I had taken an instinctive dislike to Satish's mother.

 

'Well, be very careful Arun,' said Satish's mother looking sternly at me through her spectacles. 'Be very careful when your mother is not with you, and never talk to strangers!'

 

I looked from Satish's mother to the woman who had given me tea and sweets, and then back at Satish's mother.

 

'I like strangers,’ I said.

 

Satish's mother definitely staggered a little, as obviously she was not used to being contradicted by small boys. 'There you are, you see! If you don't watch over them all the time, they'll walk straight into trouble. Always listen to what your mother tells you,’ she said wagging a fat little finger at me. 'And never, never talk to strangers.'

 

I glared resentfully at her, and moved closer to the woman who had befriended me. Satish was standing behind his mother, grinning at me, and delighting in my clash with his mother. Apparently he was on my side.

 

The station bell clanged, and the people who had till now been squatting resignedly on the platform began hustling about.

 

'Here it comes,' shouted Satish, as the engine whistle shrieked and the front lights played over the rails.

 

The train mowed slowly into the station, the engine hissing and sending out waves of steam. As it came to a stop, Satish jumped on the footboard of a lighted compartment and shouted, 'Come on, Arun, this one's empty!' and I picked up my suitcase and made a dash for the open door.

 

We placed ourselves at the open windows, and the two women stood outside on the platform, talking up to us. Satish's mother did most of the talking.

 

‘No don't jump on and off moving trains, as you did just now,' she said. 'And don't stick your heads out of the windows, and don't eat any rubbish on the way.’ She allowed me to share the benefit of her advice, as she probably didn't think my 'mother' a very capable person. She handed Satish a bag of fruit, a cricket bat and a big box of chocolates, and told him to share the food with me. Then she stood back from the window to watch how my 'mother' behaved.

 

I was smarting under the patronizing tone of Satish's mother, who obviously thought mine a very poor family: and I did not intend giving the other woman away. I let her take my hand in hers, but I could think of nothing to say. I was conscious of Satish's mother staring at us with hard, beady eyes, and I found myself hating her with a firm, unreasoning hate. The guard walked up the platform, blowing his whistle for the train to leave. I looked straight into the eyes of the woman who held my hand, and she smiled in a gentle understanding way. I leaned out of the window then, and put my lips to her cheek, and kissed her.

 

The carriage jolted forward, and she drew her hand away.

 

'Goodbye, mother!’ said Satish, as the train began to move slowly out of the station. Satish and his mother waved to each other.

 

'Good-bye,’I said to the other woman, *goodbye — mother ...'

 

I didn't wave or shout, but sat still in front of the window, gazing at the woman on the platform. Satish's mother was talking to her, but she didn't appear to be listening; she was looking at me, as the train took me away. She stood there on the busy platform, a pale sweet woman in white, and I watched her until she was lost in the milling crowd.

My Reminiscence - Rabindranath Tagore

 

My Reminiscence By Rabindranath Tagore (Source TN Textbook)

 

When I returned home from the outset of my second voyage to England, my brother Jyotirindra and sister-in-law were living in a river-side villa at Chandernagore, and there I went to stay with them.

 

The Ganges again! Again those ineffable days and nights, languid with joy, sad with longing, attuned to the plaintive babbling of the river along the cool shade of its wooded banks. This Bengal sky-full of light, this south breeze, this flow of the river, this right royal laziness, this broad leisure stretching from horizon to horizon and from green earth to blue sky, all these were to me as food and drink to the hungry and thirsty. Here it felt indeed like home, and in these I recognised the ministrations of a Mother.

 

That was not so very long ago, and yet time has wrought many changes. Our little riverside nests, clustering under their surrounding greenery, have been replaced by mills which now, dragon-like, everywhere rear their hissing heads, belching forth black smoke. In the midday glare of modern life even our hours of mental siesta have been narrowed down to the lowest limit, and hydra-headed unrest has invaded every department of life. Maybe, this is for the better, but I, for one, cannot account it wholly to the good.

 

      These lovely days of mine at the riverside passed by like so many dedicated lotus blossoms floating down the sacred stream. Some rainy afternoons I spent in a veritable frenzy, singing away old Vaishnava songs to my own tunes, accompanying myself on a harmonium. On other afternoons, we would drift along in a boat, my brother Jyotirindra accompanying my singing with his violin. And as, beginning with the Puravi,[50] we went on varying the mode of our music with the declining day, we saw, on reaching the Behaga,[50] the western sky close the doors of its factory of golden toys, and the moon on the east rise over the fringe of trees.

 

    Then we would row back to the landing steps of the villa and seat ourselves on a quilt spread on the terrace facing the river. By then a silvery peace rested on both land and water, hardly any boats were about, the fringe of trees on the bank was reduced to a deep shadow, and the moonlight glimmered over the smooth flowing stream.

 

The villa we were living in was known as ‘Moran’s Garden’. A flight of stone-flagged steps led up from the water to a long, broad verandah which formed part of the house. The rooms were not regularly arranged, nor all on the same level, and some had to be reached by short flights of stairs. The big sitting room overlooking the landing steps had stained glass windows with coloured pictures.

 

One of the pictures was of a swing hanging from a branch half-hidden in dense foliage, and in the checkered light and shade of this bower, two persons were swinging; and there was another of a broad flight of steps leading into some castle-like palace, up and down which men and women in festive garb were going and coming. When the light fell on the windows, these pictures shone wonderfully, seeming to fill the river-side atmosphere with holiday music. Some far-away long-forgotten revelry seemed to be expressing itself in silent words of light; the love thrills of the swinging couple making alive with their eternal story the woodlands of the river bank.

 

The topmost room of the house was in a round tower with windows opening to every side. This I used as my room for writing poetry. Nothing could be seen from thence save the tops of the surrounding trees, and the open sky. I was then busy with the Evening Songs and of this room I wrote:

 

     There, where in the breast of limitless space clouds are laid to sleep, I have built my house for thee, O Poesy!

 

Sir Issac Newton - The Ingenious Scientist - Nathaniel Hawthorne

 

Sir Issac Newton - The Ingenious Scientist By Nathaniel Hawthorne (Source TN Textbook)

 

On Christmas-day, in the year 1642, Isaac Newton was born at the small village of Woolsthorpe in England. Little did his mother think, when she beheld her new-born babe, that he was destined to explain many matters which had been a mystery ever since the creation of the world.

 

Isaac's father being dead, Mrs. Newton was married again to a clergyman, and went to reside at North Witham. Isaac was left to the care of his good old grandmother, who was very kind to him, and sent him to school. In his early years, Isaac was chiefly remarkable for his ingenuity in all mechanical occupations. He had a set of little tools, and saws of various sizes, manufactured by himself. With the aid of these, Isaac contrived to make many curious articles, at which he worked with so much skill, that he seemed to have been born with a saw or chisel in his hand.

 

The neighbors looked with vast admiration at the things which Isaac manufactured. And his old grandmother, I suppose, was never weary of talking about him.

 

"He'll make a capital workman, one of these days," she would probably say. "No fear but what Isaac will do well in the world, and be a rich man before he dies."

 

Some of his friends, no doubt, advised Isaac's grandmother to apprentice him to a clockmaker; for, besides his mechanical skill, the boy seemed to have a taste for mathematics, which would be very useful to him in that profession. And then, in due time, Isaac would set up for himself, and would manufacture curious clocks, like those that contain sets of dancing figures, which issue from the dial-plate when the hour is struck; or like those, where a ship sails across the face of the clock, and is seen tossing up and down on the waves, as often as the pendulum vibrates.

 

      Indeed, there was some ground for supposing that Isaac would devote himself to the manufacture of clocks; since he had already made one, of a kind which nobody had ever heard of before. It was set a-going, not by wheels and weights, like other clocks, but by the dropping of water. This was an object of great wonderment to all the people in the neighborhood; and it must be confessed that there are few boys, or men either, who could contrive to tell what o'clock it is, by means of a bowl of water.

 

Besides the water-clock, Isaac made a sun-dial. Thus his grandmother was never at a loss to know the hour; for the water-clock would tell it in the shade, and the dial in the sunshine. The sun-dial is said to be still in existence at Woolsthorpe, on the corner of the house where Isaac dwelt.

 

Isaac possessed a wonderful faculty of acquiring knowledge by the simplest means. For instance, what method do you suppose he took, to find out the strength of the wind?. He jumped against the wind; and by the length of his jump, he could calculate the force of a gentle breeze, a brisk gale, or a tempest. Thus, even in his boyish sports, he was continually searching out the secrets of philosophy.

 

Not far from his grandmother's residence there was a windmill, which operated on a new plan. Isaac was in the habit of going thither frequently, and would spend whole hours in examining its various parts. While the mill was at rest, he pried into its internal machinery. When its broad sails were set in motion by the wind, he watched the process by which the mill-stones were made to revolve, and crush the grain that was put into the hopper. After gaining a thorough knowledge of its construction, he was observed to be unusually busy with his tools.

 

       It was not long before his grandmother, and all the neighborhood, knew what Isaac had been about. He had constructed a model of the windmill. Though not so large, I suppose as one of the box-traps which boys set to catch squirrels, yet every part of the mill and its machinery was complete. Its little sails were neatly made of linen, and whirled round very swiftly when the mill was placed in a draught of air. Even a puff of wind from Isaac's mouth, or from a pair of bellows, was sufficient to set the sails in motion. And what was most curious if a handful of grains of wheat were put into the little hopper, they would soon be converted into snow-white flour.

A Birthday Letter - Jawaharlal Nehru

 

A Birthday Letter By Jawaharlal Nehru (Source TN Textbook)

 

 

 

Central Prison, Naini October 26, 1930

My dear Indira,

On your birthday you have been in the habit of receiving presents and good wishes. Good wishes you will still have in full measure, but what present can I send you from Naini Prison? My presents cannot be very material or solid. They can be of the mind and spirit. Things that even the high walls of prison cannot stop.

You know sweetheart, how I dislike sermonising and doling out good advice. I have always thought that the best way to find out what is right and what is not right, what should be done and what should not be done, is not by giving a sermon, but by talking and discussing, and out of discussion sometimes a little bit of truth comes out. I have liked my talks with you and we have discussed many things, but the world is wide and beyond our world lie other wonderful and mysterious worlds. None of us need ever be bored or imagine that we have learned everything worth learning and become very wise.

But what am I to do then? A letter can hardly take the place of a talk; at best it is a one-sided affair. Imagine that I have made a suggestion to you for you to think over, as if we really were having a talk.

      In history we read of great periods in the life of nations, of great men and women. Do you remember how fascinated you were when you first read the story of Joan of Arc, and how your ambition was to be something like her? Ordinary men and women are not usually heroic. They think of their bread and butter, of their children, of their household worries and the like. But a time comes when a whole people become interested in a great cause. Then history helps even simple, ordinary men and women to become heroes. Great leaders have something in them which inspires a whole people and makes them do great deeds. In India a great leader, full of love for all who suffer and eager to help them, has inspired our people to great actions and noble sacrifice. He has helped to make the starving, the poor and the oppressed free and happy.

 

Bapuji is in prison, but the magic of his message has stolen the hearts of India’s millions. Men and women, and even little children, come out of their little shells and become India’s soldiers of freedom. In India today we are making history, and you and I are fortunate to see this happening before our eyes and to take some part ourselves in this great drama.

If we are to be India’s soldiers, we have to respect India’s honour, and that honour is a sacred trust. It is no easy matter to decide what is right and what is not. One little test I shall ask you to apply whenever you are in doubt. Never do anything in secret or anything that you would wish to hide. For the desire to hide anything means that you are afraid, and fear is a bad thing and unworthy of you. Be brave, and all the rest follows.

You know that in our great Freedom Movement, under Bapuji’s leadership, there is no room for secrecy or hiding. We have nothing to hide. We are not afraid of what we do or what we say. We work in the sun and in the light. Even so in our private lives let us make friends with the sun and work in the light and do nothing secretly and if you do so, my dear, you will grow up a child of the light, unafraid and serene and unruffled, whatever may happen.

I have written a very long letter to you. And yet there is so much I would like to tell you. How can a letter contain it? Good-bye, little one, and may you grow up into a brave soldier in India’s service.

With all my love and good wishes.  

Your loving father,

Little Cyclone: The Story of a Grizzly Cub - William Temple Hornaday

 

Little Cyclone: The Story of a Grizzly Cub By

William Temple Hornaday (Source TN Textbook)

 

          We find little kids hugging their teddies and not parting from them even when they sleep. Perhaps the warm and furry appearance of the bear attracts them and offers them comfort.They love the doll so much that they spend their time feeding it, dressing it up and holding it to their bosom.

     Little kids cry when they are separated from their mothers. Mothers too would not allow their children to be taken away from them.

How do you think animals would behave when they are isolated from their families?

 

        Here is an interesting story of a young grizzly bear which proved its strength and grit, not wishing to be cowed down or dominated by other bigger bears.

 

 

       Little Cyclone is a grizzly cub from Alaska, who earned his name by the vigour of his resistance to ill-treatment. When his mother was fired at, on a timbered hillside facing Chilkat River, he and his brother ran away as fast as their stumpy little legs could carry them. When they crept where they had last seen her, they thought her asleep; and cuddling up close against her yet warm body they slept peacefully until morning.

 

         Before the early morning sun had reached their side of the mountains, the two orphans were awakened by the rough grasp of human hands. Valiantly they bit and scratched, and bawled aloud with rage. One of them made a fight so fierce and terrible that his nervous captor let him go, and that one is still on the Chilkoot.

       Although the other cub fought just as desperately, his captor seized him by the hind legs, dragged him backwards, occasionally swung him around his head, and kept him generally engaged until ropes were procured for binding him. When finally established, with collar, chain and post, in the rear of the saloon in Porcupine City, two-legged animals less intelligent than himself frequently and violently prodded the little grizzly with a long pole "to see him fight." Barely in time to save him from insanity, little Cyclone was rescued by the friendly hands of the Zoological Society's field agent, placed in a comfortable box, freed from all annoyance, and shipped to New York.

          He was at that time as droll and roguish-looking a grizzly cub as ever stepped. In a grizzly-gray full moon of fluffy hair, two big black eyes sparkled like jet beads, behind a pudgy little nose, absurdly short for a bear. Excepting for his high shoulders, he was little more than a big bale of gray fur set up on four posts of the same material.

 

      But his claws were formidable, and he had the true grizzly spirit.

        The Bears' Nursery at the New York Zoological Park is a big yard with a shade tree, a tree to climb, a swimming pool, three sleeping dens, and a rock cliff. It never contains fewer than six cubs, and sometimes eight.

        Naturally, it is a good test of courage and temper to turn a new bear into that roistering crowd. Usually a newcomer is badly scared during his first day in the Nursery, and very timid during the next. But grizzlies are different. They are born full of courage and devoid of all sense of

fear.

 

         When little Cyclone's travelling box was opened, and he found himself free in the Nursery, he stalked deliberately to the centre of the stage, halted, and calmly looked about him. His air and manner said as plainly as English: "I'm a grizzly from Alaska, and I've come to stay. If any of you fellows think there is anything coming to you from me, come and take it."

        Little Czar, a very saucy but good-natured European brown bear cub, walked up and aimed a sample blow at Cyclone's left ear. Quick as a flash, outshot Cyclone's right paw, as only a grizzly can strike, and caught the would-be hazer on the side of the head. Amazed and confounded, Czar fled in wild haste. Next in order, a black bear cub, twice the size of Cyclone, made a pass at the newcomer, and he too received so fierce a countercharge that he ignominiously quit the field and scrambled to the top of the cliff.

       Cyclone conscientiously met every attack, real or feigned, that was made upon him. In less than an hour it was understood by every bear in the Nursery that, that queer-looking gray fellow with the broad head and short nose could strike quick and hard, and that he could fight any other bear on three seconds' notice.

       From that time on Cyclone's position has been assured. He is treated with the respect that a good forearm inspires, but being really a fine-spirited, dignified little grizzly, he attacks no one, and never has

had a fight.

 

Water – The Elixir of Life - Sir C.V. Raman

 

 Water – The Elixir of Life By Sir C.V. Raman (Source TN Textbook)

         Man has through the ages sought in vain for an imaginary elixir of life, the divine Amrita, a draught of which was thought to confer immortality. But the true elixir of life lies near our hands; for it is the commonest of all liquids, plain water! I remember one day standing on the line which separates the Libyan Desert from the Valley of the Nile in Egypt.

 

      On one side was visible a sea of billowing sand without a speck of green or a single living thing anywhere on it. On the other side lay one of the greatest, most fertile and densely populated areas to be found anywhere on the earth, teeming with life and vegetation. What made this wonderful difference? Why, it is the water of the river Nile flowing down to the Mediterranean from its sources a couple of thousands of miles away. Geologists tell us that the entire soil of the Nile valley is the creation of the river itself, brought down as the finest silt in its flood waters, from the highlands of Abyssinia and from remote Central Africa, and laid down through the ages in the trough through which the Nile flows into the sea. Egypt, in fact, was made by its river. Its ancient civilization was created and is sustained by the life-giving waters which come down year after year with unfailing regularity.

 

I give this example and could give many others to emphasis that this common substance which we take for granted in our everyday life is the most potent and the most wonderful thing on the face of our earth. It has played a role of vast significance in shaping the course of the earth’s history and continues to play the leading role in the drama of life on the surface of our planet.

        There is nothing which adds so much to the beauty of the countryside as water, be it just a little stream trickling over the rocks or a little pond by the wayside, where the cattle quench their thirst of an evening. The rainfed tanks that are so common in South India – Alas! often so sadly neglected in their maintenance – are a cheering sight when they are full. They are, of course, shallow, but this is less evident since the water is silt-laden and throws the light back, and the bottom does not therefore show up. These tanks play a vital role in South Indian agriculture. Some of these tanks are surprisingly large and it is a beautiful sight to see the sun rise or set over one of them. Water in a landscape may be compared to the eyes in a human face. It reflects the mood of the hour, being bright and gay when the sun shines, turning to dark and gloomy when the sky is overcast.

 

      One of the most remarkable facts about water is its power to carry silt or finely divided soil in suspension. This is the origin of the characteristic colour of the water in rainfed tanks. This colour varies with the nature of the earth in the catchment area and is most vivid immediately after a fresh inflow following rain. Swiftly flowing water can carry fairly large and heavy particles. The finest particles, however, remain floating within the liquid in spite of their greater density and are carried to great distances. Such particles are, of course, extremely small, but their number is also great and incredibly large amounts of solid matter can be transported in this way.

 

When silt-laden water mixes with the salt water of the sea, there is rapid precipitation of the suspended matter. This can be readily seen when one travels by steamer down a great river to the deep sea. The colour of the water changes successively from the muddy red or brown of silt through varying shades of yellow and green finally to the blue of the deep sea. That great tracts of land have been formed by silt thus deposited is evident on an examination of the soil in alluvial areas. Such land, consisting as it does of finely divided matter, is usually very fertile.

The flow of water has undoubtedly played a great part and a beneficent one in the geological processes by which the soil on the earth’s surface has been formed from the rocks of its crust. The same agency, however, under appropriate conditions, can also play a destructive part and wash away the soil which is the foundation of all agriculture, and if allowed to proceed unchecked can have the most disastrous effect on the life of the country. The problem of soil erosion is one of serious import in various countries and especially in many parts of India. The conditions under which it occurs and the measures by which it can be checked are deserving of the closest study.

       Soil erosion occurs in successive steps, the earliest of which may easily pass unnoticed. In the later stages, the cutting up and washing away of the earth is only too painfully apparent in the formation of deep gullies and ravines which make all agriculture impossible. Sudden bursts of excessively heavy rain resulting in a large run of surplus water are the principal factors in causing soil erosion. Contributory causes are the slope of the land, removal of the natural protective coat of vegetation, the existence of ruts along which the water can flow with rapidly gathering momentum, and the absence of any checks of such flow. Incredibly large quantities of precious soil can be washed away if such conditions exist, as is too often the case.

        The menace which soil erosion presents to the continuance of successful agriculture is an alarming one in many parts of India, calling urgently for attention and preventive action. The terracing of land, construction of bunds to check the flow of water, the practice of contour cultivation and the planting of appropriate types of vegetation are amongst the measure that have been suggested. It is obvious that the aim should be to check the flow of water at the earliest possible stage before it has acquired any appreciable momentum and correspondingly large destructive power.

 

Water is the basis of all life. Every animal or plant contains a substantial proportion of free or combined water in its body, and no kind of physiological activity is possible in which the fluid does not play an essential part. Water is, of course, necessary for animal life, while moisture in the soil is equally imperative for the life and growth of plants and trees though the quantity necessary varies enormously with the species. The conservation and utilization of water is thus fundamental for human welfare. Apart from artesian water the ultimate source in all cases is rain or snowfall. Much of Indian agriculture depends on seasonal rainfall and is therefore very sensitive to any failure or irregularity of the same. The problems of soil erosion and of inadequate or irregular rainfall are closely connected with each other. It is clear that the adoption of techniques preventing soil erosion would also help to conserve and keep the water where it is wanted, in other words, on and in the soil, and such techniques therefore serve a double purpose.

      It is evident, however, that in a country having only a seasonal rainfall, an immense quantity of rain-water must necessarily run off the ground. The collection and utilization of this water is, therefore, of vital importance. Much of it flows down into the streams and rivers and ultimately finds its way to the sea. Incredibly large quantities of the precious fluid are thus lost to the country. The harnessing of our rivers, the waters of which now mostly run to waste, is a great national problem which must be considered and dealt with on national lines. Vast areas of land which at present are mere scrub jungle could be turned into fertile and prosperous country by courageous and well-planned action.

Closely connected with the conservation of water supplies is the problem of afforestation. The systematic planting of suitable trees in every possible or even in impossible areas, and the development of what one can call civilized forests, as distinguished from wild and untamed jungle, is one of the most urgent needs of India. Such plantation would directly and indirectly prove a source of untold wealth to the country. They would check soil erosion and conserve the rainfall of the country from flowing away to waste, and would provide the necessary supplies of cheap fuel, and thus render unnecessary the wasteful conversion of farmyard manure into a form of fuel.

      The measures necessary to control the movement of water and conserve the supplies of it can also serve subsidiary purposes of value to the life of the countryside. By far the cheapest form of internal transport in a country is by boats and barges through canals and rivers. We hear much about programmes of rails and road construction, but far too little about the development of internal waterways in India. Then, again the harnessing of water supplies usually also makes possible the development of hydro-electric power. The availability of electric power would make a tremendous difference to the life of the countryside and enable rural economy to be improved in various directions.

 

          In one sense, water is the commonest of liquids. In another sense, it is the most uncommon of liquids with amazing properties which are responsible for its unique power of maintaining animal and plant life. The investigation of the nature and properties of water is, therefore, of the highest scientific interest and is far from an exhausted field of research.