Text for Class XII, 12th, West Bengal Council of Higher Send Education
((WBCHSE), West Bengal.
Strong Roots by APJ Abdul Kalam – Text for Class XII, 12th, West Bengal Council of Higher Send Education ((WBCHSE), West Bengal.
Strong Roots
By APJ Abdul Kalam
About the author:
Avul Pakir Jainulabdeen Abdul Kalam (1931-2015) was one of the pioneers of aerospace engineering in India. For a major part of his life he worked as a scientist in Indian space programmes. Some of his famous works are India 2020, Ignited Minds, Wings of Fire. He was the President of India from 2002 to 2007.
“Strong Roots” is an extract from Dr. Kalam’s autobiography “Wings of Fire”. In this extract, he talks about his childhood in his hometown. The piece presents a delightful sketch of the author’s early life and the development of his spiritual growth.
The Text of Strong Roots
I was born into a middle-class Tamil family in the island town of Rameswaram in the erstwhile Madras state. My father, Jainulabdeen, had neither much formal education nor much wealth; despite these disadvantages, he possessed great innate wisdom and a true generosity of spirit. He had an ideal helpmate in my mother, Ashiamma. I do not recall the exact number of people she fed every day, but l am quite certain that far more outsiders ate with us than all the members of our own family put together.
My parents were widely regarded as an ideal couple. My mother’s lineage was the more distinguished, one of her forebears having been bestowed the title of ‘Bahadur’ by the British.
I was one of many children – a short boy with rather undistinguished looks, born to tall and handsome parents. We lived in our ancestral house, which was built in the middle of the 19th century. It was a fairly large pucca house, made of limestone and brick, on the Mosque Street in Rameswaram. My austere father used to avoid all inessential comforts and luxuries. However, all necessities were provided for, in terms of food, medicine or clothing. In fact, I would say mine was a very secure childhood, materially and emotionally.
I normally ate with my mother, sitting on the floor of the kitchen. She would place a banana leaf before me, on which she then ladled rice and aromatic sambar, a variety of sharp, home-made pickle and a dollop of fresh coconut chutney.
The Shiva temple, which made Rameswaram so famous to pilgrims, about a ten-minute walk from our house. Our locality was predominantly Muslim, but there were quite a lot of Hindu families too, living amicably with their Muslim neighbours. There was a very old mosque in our locality when father would take me for evening prayers. I had not the faintest idea of the meaning of the Arabic prayers chanted, but I was totally convinced that they reached God. When my father came out of the mosque after the prayers, people of different religions would be sitting outside, waiting for him. Many of them offered bowls of water to my father, who would dip his fingertips in them and say a prayer. This water was then carried home for invalids. I also remember people visiting our home to offer thanks after being cured. Father always smiled and asked them to thank Allah, the merciful.
The high priest of Rameswaram temple, Pakshi Lakshmana Sastry, was a very lose friend of my father’s. One of the most vivid memories of my early childhood is of the two men, each in traditional attire, discussing spiritual matters. When I was old enough to ask questions, I asked my father about the relevance of prayer. My father told me there was nothing mysterious about prayer. Rather, prayer made possible a communion of the spirit between people. “When you pray, he said, “you transcend your body and become a part of the cosmos, which knows no division of wealth, age, caste, or creed.
My father could convey complex spiritual concepts in very simple, down-to-earth Tamil. He once told me, “In his own time, in his own place, in what he really is, and in the stage he has reached-good or bad-every human being is a specific element within the whole of the manifest divine Being. So why be afraid of difficulties, sufferings and problems? When troubles come, try to understand the relevance of your sufferings. Adversity always presents opportunities for introspection.”
“Why don’t you say this to the people who come to you for help and advice?” I asked my father. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked straight into my eyes. For quite some time he said nothing, as if he was judging my capacity to comprehend his words. Then he answered in a low, deep voice. His answer filed me with a strange energy and enthusiasm: “Whenever human beings find themselves alone, as a natural reaction, they start looking for company. Whenever they are in trouble, they look for someone to help them. Whenever they reach an impasse, they look to someone to show them the way out. Every recurrent anguish, longing, and desire finds its own special helper. For the people who come to me in distress, I am but a go-between in their effort to propitiate demonic forces with prayers and offerings. This is not a correct approach at all and should never be followed. One must understand the difference between a fear-ridden vision of destiny and the vision that enables us to seek the enemy of fulfilment within ourselves.”
I remember my father starting his day at 4 am by reading the namaz before dawn. After the namaz, he used to walk down to a small coconut grove we owned, about four miles from our home. He would return with about a dozen coconuts tied together thrown over his shoulder, and only then would he have his breakfast. This remained his routine even when he was in his late sixties.
I have, throughout my life, tried to emulate my father in my own world of science and technology. I have endeavoured to understand the fundamental truths revealed to me by my father, and feel convinced that there exists a divine power that can lift one up from confusion, misery, melancholy and failure, and guide one to one’s true place. And once an individual severs his emotional and physical bond, he is on the road to freedom, happiness and peace of mind
Thank You, Ma'am (by Langston Hughes)
She was a large woman with a large purse that had everything in it but hammer and nails. It had a
long strap, and she carried it slung across her shoulder. It was about eleven o’clock at night, and she
was walking alone, when a boy ran up behind her and tried to snatch her purse. The strap broke
with the single tug the boy gave it from behind. But the boy’s weight and the weight of the purse
combined caused him to lose his balance so, intsead of taking off full blast as he had hoped, the
boy fell on his back on the sidewalk, and his legs flew up. the large woman simply turned around
and kicked him right square in his blue-jeaned sitter. Then she reached down, picked the boy up by
his shirt front, and shook him until his teeth rattled.
After that the woman said, “Pick up my pocketbook, boy, and give it here.” She still held him. But
she bent down enough to permit him to stoop and pick up her purse. Then she said, “Now ain’t
you ashamed of yourself?”
Firmly gripped by his shirt front, the boy said, “Yes’m.”
The woman said, “What did you want to do it for?”
The boy said, “I didn’t aim to.”
She said, “You a lie!”
By that time two or three people passed, stopped, turned to look, and some stood watching.
“If I turn you loose, will you run?” asked the woman.
“Yes’m,” said the boy.
“Then I won’t turn you loose,” said the woman. She did not release him.
“I’m very sorry, lady, I’m sorry,” whispered the boy.
“Um-hum! And your face is dirty. I got a great mind to wash your face for you. Ain’t you got
nobody home to tell you to wash your face?”
“No’m,” said the boy.
“Then it will get washed this evening,” said the large woman starting up the street, dragging the
frightened boy behind her.
He looked as if he were fourteen or fifteen, frail and willow-wild, in tennis shoes and blue jeans.
The woman said, “You ought to be my son. I would teach you right from wrong. Least I can do
right now is to wash your face. Are you hungry?”
“No’m,” said the being dragged boy. “I just want you to turn me loose.”
“Was I bothering you when I turned that corner?” asked the woman.
“No’m.”
2
“But you put yourself in contact with me,” said the woman. “If you think that that contact is not
going to last awhile, you got another thought coming. When I get through with you, sir, you are
going to remember Mrs. Luella Bates Washington Jones.”
Sweat popped out on the boy’s face and he began to struggle. Mrs. Jones stopped, jerked him
around in front of her, put a half-nelson about his neck, and continued to drag him up the street.
When she got to her door, she dragged the boy inside, down a hall, and into a large kitchenettefurnished room at the rear of the house. She switched on the light and left the door open. The boy
could hear other roomers laughing and talking in the large house. Some of their doors were open,
too, so he knew he and the woman were not alone. The woman still had him by the neck in the
middle of her room.
She said, “What is your name?”
“Roger,” answered the boy.
“Then, Roger, you go to that sink and wash your face,” said the woman, whereupon she turned
him loose—at last. Roger looked at the door—looked at the woman—looked at the door—and went
to the sink.
Let the water run until it gets warm,” she said. “Here’s a clean towel.”
“You gonna take me to jail?” asked the boy, bending over the sink.
“Not with that face, I would not take you nowhere,” said the woman. “Here I am trying to get
home to cook me a bite to eat and you snatch my pocketbook! Maybe, you ain’t been to your
supper either, late as it be. Have you?”
“There’s nobody home at my house,” said the boy.
“Then we’ll eat,” said the woman, “I believe you’re hungry—or been hungry—to try to snatch my
pockekbook.”
“I wanted a pair of blue suede shoes,” said the boy.
“Well, you didn’t have to snatch my pocketbook to get some suede shoes,” said Mrs. Luella Bates
Washington Jones. “You could of asked me.”
“M’am?”
The water dripping from his face, the boy looked at her. There was a long pause. A very long
pause. After he had dried his face and not knowing what else to do dried it again, the boy turned
around, wondering what next. The door was open. He could make a dash for it down the hall. He
could run, run, run, run, run!
The woman was sitting on the day-bed. After a while she said, “I were young once and I wanted
things I could not get.”
There was another long pause. The boy’s mouth opened. Then he frowned, but not knowing he
frowned.
The woman said, “Um-hum! You thought I was going to say but, didn’t you? You thought I was
going to say, but I didn’t snatch people’s pocketbooks. Well, I wasn’t going to say that.” Pause.
Silence. “I have done things, too, which I would not tell you, son—neither tell God, if he didn’t
already know. So you set down while I fix us something to eat. You might run that comb through
your hair so you will look presentable.”
In another corner of the room behind a screen was a gas plate and an icebox. Mrs. Jones got up
and went behind the screen. The woman did not watch the boy to see if he was going to run now,
nor did she watch her purse which she left behind her on the day-bed. But the boy took care to sit
on the far side of the room where he thought she could easily see him out of the corner of her eye,
if she wanted to. He did not trust the woman not to trust him. And he did not want to be mistrusted
now.
“Do you need somebody to go to the store,” asked the boy, “maybe to get some milk or
something?”
“Don’t believe I do,” said the woman, “unless you just want sweet milk yourself. I was going to
make cocoa out of this canned milk I got here.”
“That will be fine,” said the boy.
She heated some lima beans and ham she had in the icebox, made the cocoa, and set the table.
The woman did not ask the boy anything about where he lived, or his folks, or anything else that
would embarrass him. Instead, as they ate, she told him about her job in a hotel beauty-shop that
stayed open late, what the work was like, and how all kinds of women came in and out, blondes,
red-heads, and Spanish. Then she cut him a half of her ten-cent cake.
“Eat some more, son,” she said.
When they were finished eating she got up and said, “Now, here, take this ten dollars and buy
yourself some blue suede shoes. And next time, do not make the mistake of latching onto my
pocketbook nor nobody else’s—because shoes come by devilish like that will burn your feet. I got to
get my rest now. But I wish you would behave yourself, son, from here on in.”
She led him down the hall to the front door and opened it. “Good-night! Behave yourself, boy!”
she said, looking out into the street.
The boy wanted to say something else other than “Thank you, m’am” to Mrs. Luella Bates
Washington Jones, but he couldn’t do so as he turned at the barren stoop and looked back at the
large woman in the door. He barely managed to say “Thank you” before she shut the door. And he
never saw her again.
Three Questions
Three Questions :
The thought came to a certain king that he would never fail if he knew three things. These three things were: What is the right time to begin something? Which people should he listen to? What is the most important thing for him to do?
The king, therefore, sent messengers throughout his kingdom, promising a large sum of money to anyone who would answer these three questions.
Many wise men came to the king, but they all answered his questions differently.
In reply to the first question, some said the king must prepare a timetable and then follow it strictly. Only in this way, they said, could he do everything at its proper time. Others said that it was impossible to decide in advance the right time for doing something. The king should notice all that was going on, avoid foolish pleasures and always do whatever seemed necessary at that time. Yet others said that the king needed a council of wise men who would help him act at the proper time. This was because one man would find it impossible to decide correctly, without help from others, the right time for every action.
But then others said that there were some things which could be urgent. These things could not wait for the decision of the council. In order to decide the right time for doing something, it is necessary to look into the future. And only magicians could do that. The king, therefore, would have to go to magicians.
In their answers to the second question, some said that the people most necessary to the king were his councillors; others said, the priests. A few others chose the doctors. And yet others said that his soldiers were the most necessary.
To the third question, some said science. Others chose fighting, and yet others religious worship.
As the answers to his questions were so different, the king was not satisfied and gave no reward. Instead, he decided to seek the advice of a certain hermit, who was widely known for his wisdom.
The hermit lived in a wood which he never left. He saw no one but simple people and so the king put on ordinary clothes. Before he reached the hermit’s hut the king left his horse with his bodyguard and went on alone.
As the king came near the hermit’s hut, he saw the hermit digging the ground in front of his hut. He greeted the king and continued digging. The hermit was old and weak and as he worked, he breathed heavily.
The king went up to the hermit and said, “I have come to you, wise hermit, to ask you to answer three questions: How can I learn to do the right thing at the right time? Who are the people I need most? And what affairs are the most important?"
The hermit listened to the king, but did not speak. He went on digging. “You are tired," said the king. “Let me take the spade and work in your place."
“Thanks," said the hermit, giving the king his spade. Then he sat down on the ground.
When the king had dug two beds, he stopped and repeated his questions. The hermit gave no answer, but stood up, stretching out his hand for the spade and said, “Now you rest and let me work." But the king did not give him the spade and continued to dig.
One hour passed, then another. The sun went down behind the trees and at last the king stuck the spade into the ground and said, “I came to you, wise man, for an answer to my questions. If you can give me no answer, tell me so and I will return home."
“Here comes someone running," said the hermit.
The king turned round and saw a bearded man running towards them. His hands were pressed against his stomach from which blood was flowing. When he reached the king he fainted and fell to the ground. The king and the hermit removed the man’s clothing and found a large wound in his stomach. The king washed and covered it with his handkerchief, but the blood would not stop flowing. The king re-dressed the wound until at last the bleeding stopped.
The man felt better and asked for something to drink. The king brought fresh water and gave it to him. By this time the sun had set and the air was cool. The king with the hermit’s help carried the wounded man into the hut and laid him on the bed. The man closed his eyes and lay quiet. The king, tired by his walk and the work he had done, lay down on the floor and slept through the night. When he awoke, it was several minutes before he could remember where he was or who the strange bearded man lying on the bed was.
“Forgive me!" said the bearded man in a weak voice, when he saw that the king was awake.
“I do not know you and have nothing to forgive you for," said the king.
“You do not know me, but 1 know you. 1 am that enemy of yours who swore revenge on you, because you put my brother to death and seized my property. I knew you had gone alone to see that hermit and I made up my mind to kill you on your way home. But the day passed and you did not return. So I left my hiding-place and I came upon your bodyguard who recognised me and wounded me. I escaped from him but I should have died if you had not dressed my wounds. I wished to kill you and you have saved my life. Now, if I live, I will serve you as your most faithful servant and will order my sons to do the same. Forgive me!"
The king was very happy to have made peace with his enemy so easily and to have won him over as a friend. He not only forgave him but said he would send his servants and his own doctor to look after him and he promised to give back the man his property.
Leaving the wounded man, the king went out of the hut and looked round for the hermit. Before going away he wished once more to get answers to his questions. The hermit was on his knees sowing seeds in the beds that had been dug the day before. The king went up to the hermit and said, “For the last time I beg you to answer my questions, wise man."
“You have already been answered!" said the hermit still bending down to the ground and looking up at the king as he stood before him.
“How have I been answered? What do you mean?"
“Do you not see?" replied the hermit. “If you had not pitied my weakness yesterday and had not dug these beds for me, you would have gone away. Then that man would have attacked you and you would have wished you had stayed with me. So the most important time was when you were digging the beds. And I was the most important man and to do me good was your most important business. Afterwards, when the man ran to us, the most important time was when you were caring for him, because if you had not dressed his wounds he would have died without having made peace with you. So he was the most important man and what you did for him was your most important business.
“Remember then, there is only one time that is important and that time is Now. It is the most important time because it is the only time we have any power to act.
“The most necessary person is the person you are with at a particular moment for no one knows what will happen in the future and whether we will meet anyone else. The most important business is to do that person good because we were sent into this world for that purpose alone."LEO TOLSTOY
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