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The Portrait Of A Lady (Prose)

Prose: The Portrait of a Lady

Author: Khushwant Singh

Warm Up

Nuclear Family or Joint Family
Based on the visuals given above, give five words/phrases each, to describe these two family types.

Nuclear family
Joint family

The Portrait of a Lady

My grandmother, like everybody’s grandmother, was an old woman. She had been old and wrinkled for the twenty years that I had known her. People said that she had once been young and pretty and had even had a husband, but that was hard to believe. My grandfather’s portrait hung above the mantelpiece in the drawing room. He wore a big turban and loose fitting clothes. His long, white beard covered the best part of his chest and he looked at least a hundred years old. He did not look the sort of person who would have a wife or children. He looked as if he could only have lots and lots of grandchildren.

As for my grandmother being young and pretty, the thought was almost revolting. She often told us of the games she used to play as a child. That seemed quite absurd and undignified on her part and we treated it like the fables of the Prophets she used to tell us.

She had always been short and fat and slightly bent. Her face was a criss-cross of wrinkles running from everywhere to everywhere. No, we were certain she had always been as we had known her. Old, so terribly old that she could not have grown older, and had stayed at the same age for twenty years. She could never have been pretty; but she was always beautiful. She hobbled about the house in spotless white with one hand resting on her waist to balance her stoop and the other telling the beads of her rosary. Her silver locks were scattered untidily over her pale, puckered face, and her lips constantly moved in inaudible prayer.

She was beautiful. She was like the winter landscape in the mountains, an expanse of pure white serenity breathing peace and contentment.

Grandmother and Grandson – A Bond of Friendship

My grandmother and I were good friends. My parents left me with her when they went to live in the city and we were constantly together. She used to wake me up in the morning and get me ready for school. She said her morning prayer in a monotonous sing-song while she bathed and dressed me in the hope that I would listen and get to know it by heart; I listened because I loved her voice but never bothered to learn it.

Then she would fetch my wooden slate which she had already washed and plastered with yellow chalk, a tiny earthen ink-pot and a red pen, tie them all in a bundle and hand it to me. After a breakfast of a thick, stale chapatti with a little butter and sugar spread on it, we went to school. She carried several stale chapattis with her for the village dogs.

My grandmother always went to school with me because the school was attached to the temple. The priest taught us the alphabet and the morning prayer. While the children sat in rows on either side of the verandah singing the alphabet or the prayer in a chorus, my grandmother sat inside reading the scriptures. When we had both finished, we would walk back together. This time the village dogs would meet us at the temple door. They followed us to our home growling and fighting with each other for the chapatti we threw to them.

The Turning Point

When my parents were comfortably settled in the city, they sent for us. That was a turning-point in our friendship. Although we shared the same room, my grandmother no longer came to school with me. I used to go to an English school in a motor bus. There were no dogs in the streets and she took to feeding sparrows in the courtyard of our city house.

As the years rolled by, we saw less of each other. For some time she continued to wake me up and get me ready for school. When I came back she would ask me what the teacher had taught me. I would tell her English words and little things of western science and learning, the law of gravity, Archimedes’ Principle, the world being round etc. This made her unhappy. She could not help me with my lessons. She did not believe in the things they taught at the English school and was distressed that there was no teaching about God and the scriptures.

One day, I announced that we were being given music lessons. She said nothing but her silence meant disapproval. She rarely talked to me after that.

University Days and Growing Apart

When I went up to University, I was given a room of my own. The common link of friendship was snapped. My grandmother accepted her seclusion with resignation. She rarely left her spinning-wheel to talk to anyone. From sunrise to sunset she sat by her wheel spinning and reciting prayers.

Only in the afternoon she relaxed for a while to feed the sparrows. While she sat in the verandah breaking the bread into little bits, hundreds of little birds collected round her creating a bedlam of chirruping. Some perched on her legs, others on her shoulders. Some even sat on her head. She smiled but never shooed them away. It used to be the happiest half-hour of the day for her.

Farewell and Return

When I decided to go abroad for further studies, I was sure my grandmother would be upset. I would be away for five years, and at her age one could never tell. But my grandmother could. She was not even sentimental. She came to leave me at the railway station but did not talk or show any emotion. Her lips moved in prayer, her mind was lost in prayer. Her fingers were busy telling the beads of her rosary. Silently she kissed my forehead, and when I left I cherished the moist imprint as perhaps the last sign of physical contact between us.

But that was not so. After five years I came back home and was met by her at the station. She did not look a day older. She still had no time for words, and while she clasped me in her arms I could hear her reciting her prayers. Even on the first day of my arrival, her happiest moments were with her sparrows whom she fed longer and with frivolous rebukes.

The Final Hours

In the evening a change came over her. She did not pray. She collected the women of the neighbourhood, got an old drum and started to sing. For several hours she thumped the sagging skins of the dilapidated drum and sang of the home-coming of warriors. We had to persuade her to stop to avoid overstraining. That was the first time since I had known her that she did not pray.

The next morning she was taken ill. It was a mild fever and the doctor told us that it would go. But my grandmother thought differently. She told us that her end was near. She said that, since only a few hours before the close of the last chapter of her life she had omitted to pray, she was not going to waste any more time talking to us.

We protested. But she ignored our protests. She lay peacefully in bed praying and telling her beads. Even before we could suspect, her lips stopped moving and the rosary fell from her lifeless fingers. A peaceful pallor spread on her face and we knew that she was dead.

The Last Rites

We lifted her off the bed and, as is customary, laid her on the ground and covered her with a red shroud. After a few hours of mourning we left her alone to make arrangements for her funeral. In the evening we went to her room with a crude stretcher to take her to be cremated. The sun was setting and had lit her room and verandah with a blaze of golden light.

We stopped half-way in the courtyard. All over the verandah and in her room right up to where she lay dead and stiff wrapped in the red shroud, thousands of sparrows sat scattered on the floor. There was no chirruping. We felt sorry for the birds and my mother fetched some bread for them. She broke it into little crumbs, the way my grandmother used to, and threw it to them. The sparrows took no notice of the bread. When we carried my grandmother’s corpse off, they flew away quietly. Next morning the sweeper swept the bread crumbs into the dustbin.

About the Author

Khushwant Singh is an Indian novelist and lawyer. He studied at St. Stephen’s College, Delhi and King’s College, London. He joined the Indian Foreign Service in 1947. As a writer, he is best known for his keen secularism, sarcasm and love for poetry. He served as the editor of several literary and news magazines as well as two newspapers. Khushwant Singh was awarded with Padma Bhushan in 1974, Padma Vibhushan by the Government of India and Sahitya Akademi Fellowship by Sahitya Academy of India. The Mark of Vishnu, A History of Sikhs, The Train to Pakistan, Success Mantra, We Indians and Death at my Doorstep are some of his brilliant works.

Glossary

mantelpiece – shelf projecting from the wall above a fireplace
absurd – inconsistent/ illogical
fables – tales/stories
hobbled – walked unsteadily
puckered – wrinkled
expanse – wide area
monotonous – unchanging /boring
snapped – broke / cut
seclusion – isolation
bedlam – noisy confusion
perched – sat / rested
rebukes – scoldings
dilapidated – damaged
pallor – an unhealthy pale appearance
shroud – cloth used to wrap a dead person

Comprehension Questions

1. Answer in one or two sentences

a. Describe the grandfather as seen in the portrait.
b. Why was the author left with his grandmother in the village?
c. Where did the author study in his childhood?
d. Why did the grandmother accompany the author to school?
e. What made the dogs follow the grandmother after school hours?
f. Why didn’t the grandmother feel sentimental when the author went abroad for higher education?
g. What was the happiest time of the day for grandmother?

2. Answer in three or four sentences

a. Describe the author’s grandmother.
b. What was the daily routine of the grandmother at home?
c. How is school education in the village different from that in the city?
d. The grandmother appreciated the value of education. Give instances in support of your answer.
e. The grandmother was strong-minded. Justify.
f. How did the grandmother spend the last few hours of her life?

3. Paragraph writing (100–150 words)

a) The grandmother played a vital role in the author’s formative years. Give your own example of how elders have a positive influence on the younger generation. Include examples from the story also.
b) As young Khushwant Singh, write a letter to your parents describing your daily routine expressing your thoughts and feelings about staying in the village.
c) Animals are capable of empathy. Substantiate this statement with examples from the story as well as your own experiences.

Vocabulary

a) Antonyms

Choose the correct antonyms for the given words:
- moist – arid
- frivolous – serious
- omitted – included
- protest – accept
- serenity – anxiety
- scattered – gathered
- monotonous – interesting

b) Compound Words

Fill in the blanks with suitable compound words:
Reeta hurried along the road, dressed in her brand-new dress towards the bus stop. Before sunset, she had to reach the house of her grandmother. But the first half-hour of her travel was slow due to traffic jam. Her homecoming would be regarded with joy. She was overstraining herself to reach the place. When she finally stepped into the courtyard, she was received with a big hug by her kind aunt. She was in time to join the gentlefolk at the village, for a singsong.

c) Match the Columns

A – B – C
mantel – piece – mantelpiece
eye – lashes – eyelashes
water – gate – watergate
bee – hive – beehive
spinning – wheel – spinning-wheel
door – knob – doorknob
toll – gate – tollgate

d) Frame Sentences

i. the thought was almost revolting – The idea of eating raw fish was almost revolting to her.
ii. an expanse of pure white serenity – The snow-covered valley looked like an expanse of pure white serenity.
iii. a turning point – Getting the scholarship was a turning point in his career.
iv. accepted her seclusion with resignation – After retirement, she accepted her seclusion with resignation.
v. frivolous rebukes – The teacher’s frivolous rebukes did not affect the cheerful child.

Grammar

Articles and Determiners

a, an, the, this, that, my, your, his, her, its, our, their, some, few, many, all, every, etc.

Tenses

Simple Present – I write.
Present Continuous – I am writing.
Simple Past – I wrote.
Past Continuous – I was writing.
Present Perfect – I have written.
Past Perfect – I had written.
Future – I will write.

Writing

Notice

Format:
- Enclose in a box
- Do not exceed 50 words
- Be brief
- Include details of the event/programme
- Avoid pronouns
- Use passive form

Message

A short, clear note conveying essential information.

Speech

Topic: Reading Maketh a Complete Man
Format:
- Greet and thank the audience
- Introduce the topic
- Present points with examples
- Conclude with a call to action