The Axe by R K Narayan
The Axe
by R.K. Narayan
An astrologer passing through the village
foretold that Velan would live in a three-storeyed house surrounded by many
acres of garden. At this everybody gathered round young Velan and made fun of
him. For Koppal did not have a more ragged and godforsaken family than Velan’s.
His father
had mortgaged every bit of property he had, and worked, with his whole family,
on other people’s lands in return for a few annas a week . . . A three-storeyed
house for Velan indeed! . . . But the scoffers would have congratulated the
astrologer if they had seen Velan about thirty or forty years later. He became
the sole occupant of Kumar Baugh—that palatial house on the outskirts of
Malgudi town.
When he was eighteen Velan left home. His father
slapped his face one day for coming late with the midday-meal, and he did that
in the presence of others in the field. Velan put down the basket, glared at
his father and left the place. He just walked out of the village, and walked on
and on till he came to the town. He starved for a couple of days, begged
wherever he could and arrived in Malgudi, where after much knocking about, an
old man took him on to assist him in laying out a garden. The garden existed
only in the mind of the gardener. What they could see now was acre upon acre of
weed-covered land.
Velan’s
main business consisted in destroying all the vegetation he saw. Day after day
he sat in the sun and tore up by hand the unwanted plants. And all the jungle
gradually disappeared and the land stood as bare as a football field. Three
sides of the land were marked off for an extensive garden, and on the rest was
to be built a house. By the time the mangoes had sprouted they were laying the
foundation of the house. About the time the margosa sapling had shot up a
couple of yards, the walls were also coming up.
The flowers—hibiscus, chrysanthemum, jasmine,
roses and canna—in the front park suddenly created a wonderland one early
summer. Velan had to race with the bricklayers. He was now the chief gardener,
the old man he had come to assist having suddenly fallen ill. Velan was proud
of his position and responsibility. He keenly watched the progress of the
bricklayers and whispered to the plants as he watered them, ‘Now look sharp,
young fellows.
The building is going up and up every day. If it
is ready and we aren’t, we shall be the laughingstock of the town.’ He heaped
manure, aired the roots, trimmed the branches and watered the plants twice a
day, and on the whole gave an impression of hustling nature; and nature seemed
to respond. For he did present a good-sized garden to his master and his family
when they came to occupy the house.
The house proudly held up a dome. Balconies with intricately carved woodwork hung down from the sides of the house; smooth, rounded pillars, deep verandas, chequered marble floors and spacious halls, ranged one behind another, gave the house such an imposing appearance that Velan asked himself, ‘Can any mortal live in this? I thought such mansions existed only in Swarga Loka.’ When he saw the kitchen and the dining room he said, ‘Why, our whole village could be accommodated in this eating place alone!’ The house-builder’s assistant told him, ‘We have built bigger houses, things costing nearly two lakhs.
What is this house? It has hardly cost
your master a lakh of rupees. It is just a little more than an ordinary house,
that is all . . .’ After returning to his hut Velan sat a long time trying to
grasp the vision, scope and calculations of the builders of the house, but he
felt dizzy. He went to the margosa plant, gripped its stem with his fingers and
said, ‘Is this all, you scraggy one? What if you wave your head so high above
mine? I can put my fingers around you and shake you up like this. Grow up, little
one, grow up. Grow fat. Have a trunk which two pairs of arms can’t hug, and go
up and spread. Be fit to stand beside this palace; otherwise I will pull you
out.’
When the margosa tree came up approximately to
this vision, the house had acquired a mellowness in its appearance. Successive
summers and monsoons had robbed the paints on the doors and windows and
woodwork of their brightness and the walls of their original colour, and had
put in their place tints and shades of their own choice. And though the house
had lost its resplendence, it had now a more human look. Hundreds of parrots
and mynas and unnamed birds lived in the branches of the margosa, and under its
shade the master’s great-grandchildren and the (younger) grandchildren played
and quarrelled.
The master walked about leaning on a staff. The
lady of the house, who had looked such a blooming creature on the inauguration
day, was shrunken and grey and spent most of her time in an invalid’s chair on
the veranda, gazing at the garden with dull eyes. Velan himself was much
changed. Now he had to depend more and more upon his assistants to keep the
garden in shape. He had lost his parents, his wife and eight children out of
fourteen. He had managed to reclaim his ancestral property, which was now being
looked after by his sons-in-law and sons. He went to the village for Pongal,
New Year’s and Deepavali, and brought back with him one or the other of his
grandchildren, of whom he was extremely fond.
Velan was perfectly contented and happy. He
demanded nothing more of life. As far as he could see, the people in the big
house too seemed to be equally at peace with life. One saw no reason why these
good things should not go on and on for ever. But Death peeped around the
corner.
From the servants’ quarters whispers
reached the gardener in his hut that the master was very ill and lay in his
room downstairs (the bedroom upstairs so laboriously planned had to be
abandoned with advancing age). Doctors and visitors were constantly coming and
going, and Velan had to be more than ever on guard against ‘flower-pluckers’.
One midnight he was awakened and told that the master was dead. ‘What is to
happen to the garden and to me? The sons are no good,’ he thought at once.
The moment they saw Velan they said, ‘Old
gardener? Don’t be up to any tricks. We know the sort you are. We will sack you
if you don’t behave yourself.’ Velan found life intolerable. These people had
no regard for a garden. They walked on flower beds, children climbed the fruit
trees and plucked unripe fruits, and they dug pits on the garden paths. Velan
had no courage to protest.They ordered him about, sent him on errands, made him
wash the cow and lectured to him on how to grow a garden. He detested the whole
business and often thought of throwing up his work and returning to his
village. But the idea was unbearable: he couldn’t live away from his plants.
Fortune, however, soon favoured him. The tenants left. The house was locked up
for a few years. Occasionally one of the sons of the late owner came round and
inspected the garden. Gradually even this ceased. They left the keys of the
house with Velan.
Occasionally a prospective tenant came down, had
the house opened and went away after remarking that it was in ruins—plaster was
falling off in flakes, paint on doors and windows remained only in a few small
patches and white ants were eating away all the cupboards and shelves . . . A
year later another tenant came, and then another, and then a third. No one
remained for more than a few months. And then the house acquired the reputation
of being haunted.
Even the owners dropped the
practice of coming and seeing the house. Velan was very nearly the master of
the house now. The keys were with him. He was also growing old.Although he did
his best, grass grew on the paths, weeds and creepers strangled the flowering
plants in the front garden. The fruit trees yielded their load punctually. The
owners leased out the whole of the fruit garden for three years.
When the mood seized him (about once a
year) he opened the house and had the floor swept and scrubbed. But gradually
he gave up this practice. He was too old to bother about these things.
Years and years passed without
any change. It came to be known as the ‘Ghost House’, and people avoided it.
Velan found nothing to grumble about in this state of affairs. It suited him
excellently. Once a quarter he sent his son to the old family in the town to
fetch his wages. There was no reason why this should not have gone on indefinitely.
But one day a car sounded its horn angrily at the gate. Velan hobbled up with
the keys.
‘There is a small side-gate,’ said
Velan meekly.
Velan had to fetch a spade and clear
the vegetation which blocked the entrance. The gates opened on rusty hinges,
creaking and groaning.
They threw open all the doors and windows, went through the house keenly examining every portion and remarked, ‘Did you notice the crack on the dome? The walls too are cracked . . . There is no other way. If we pull down the old ramshackle carefully we may still be able to use some of the materials, though I am not at all certain that the wooden portions are not hollow inside . . . Heaven alone knows what madness is responsible for people building houses like this.’
They went round the garden and said,
‘We have to clear every bit of this jungle. All this will have to go . . .’
Some mighty person looked Velan up and down and said, ‘You are the gardener, I
suppose? We have not much use for a garden now. All the trees, except half a
dozen on the very boundary of the property, will have to go. We can’t afford to
waste space. This flower garden . . . H’m, it is . . . old-fashioned and crude,
and apart from that the front portion of the site is too valuable to be wasted
. . .’
There was much bustle and activity, much coming and going, and Velan retired to his old hut. When he felt tired he lay down and slept; at other times he went round the garden and stood gazing at his plants. He was given a fortnight’s notice. Every moment of it seemed to him precious, and he would have stayed till the last second with his plants but for the sound of an axe which stirred him out of his afternoon nap two days after he was given notice. The dull noise of a blade meeting a tough surface reached his ears. He got up and rushed out. He saw four men hacking the massive trunk of the old margosa tree. He let out a scream: ‘Stop that!’ He took his staff and rushed at those who were hacking. They easily avoided the blow he aimed. ‘What is the matter?’ they asked.
‘But it is the company’s orders. What can we do? We shall be dismissed if we don’t obey, and someone else will do it.’
Velan stood thinking for a while and said, ‘Will
you at least do me this good turn? Give me a little time. I will bundle up my
clothes and go away. After I am gone do what you like.’ They laid down their axes
and waited.
Presently Velan came out of his hut with a bundle
on his head. He looked at the tree-cutters and said, ‘You are very kind to an
old man. You are very kind to wait.’ He looked at the margosa and wiped his
eyes. ‘Brothers, don’t start cutting till I am really gone far, far away.’
The tree-cutters squatted on the ground and
watched the old man go. Nearly half an hour later his voice came from a
distance, half-indistinctly: ‘Don’t cut yet. I am still within hearing. Please
wait till I am gone farther.’
I Multiple Choice Questions:
Q.1. The author of the story The Axe is .............
(d) Twenty
Ans: (c) Eighteen
II. Say whether the statements given below are True or False:
1. Velan left home because of the villagers.
Answers:
III Short Answer Type Questions
Q8. What did Velan request the tree cutters in the end?
Ans: In the end Velan requested the tree cutters not to cut the trees until he was far away from that place.
name of haunted house.
IV. Long Answer Questions
Q. 1. Why is 'margosa tree' is given so much importance in the story?
Answer: We come to know in the story that 'margosa' tree is very dear to dear to Velan, the protagonist of the story. He plants this tree along with others but at the end of the story, this tree is destined to be felled.He requests the fellers to fell the tree after he has left. It is not simply 'margosa' tree but anything that is created. We do the creation with the hope that it will remain forever but the truth is that creation is associated with destruction also.
Answer: The message that R.K. Narayan wants to give the reader is that people have nothing to do with tender things like gardening or beauty of the garden or personal emotions of the people. Everything centers around earning money and people sacrifice such things for money without a second thought.
Q. 3. Draw a character sketch of Velan.
V. Use the words and phrases in each of the following in order to bring out the difference in meaning:
He lives in seventh storey so he uses lift.
He told us a story about ghosts.
(ii) sole, soul
My father is the sole distributor of Orient Fans in my city.
The Soul leaves the body after death.
(iii) ragged, rugged
Answer
You are very rich. Why do you come to college in ragged clothes?
My motorcycle is rugged bike. You can drive it on any terrain.
(iv) latter, later
Mohan and Sohan are my friend but latter (Sohan) is my fast friend.
I will talk to you later because I am busy now.
(v) rob, robe
A man with gun tried to rob me of my money but a police van happened to come there and the man ran away.
The king sat on the throne wearing his royal robe.
(vi) mood, mud
I am not in the mood of singing a song.
It was raining and motorcycle skidded in the mud.
(viii) beside, besides
My son was sitting beside me and singing a song.
Besides two trucks, he has five buses also.
(vii) cost, cast
This shirt cost me ten dollars.
He cast the fishing line in the pond
(ix) floor, flour
The man fell from the fifth floor and died.
I need corn flour for this recipe.
(x) land, lend
The plane of the PM will land at this place.
Will you lend me five thousand rupees for a week.
Summary of the Axe
by
R.K. Narayan
The Axe is a story of a boy named Velan who left his home when he was 18 because his father slapped him in front of village people. He reaches Malgudi where a gardener puts him as his assistant. When he was a child, an astrologer had predicted about him that he would live in a three storeyed house but people made a fun of him. He assisted the old gardener in his idea of a big garden, It was a very big garden in acres of land and a big house too was being built. Finally a three storeyed house surrounded by a big garden was ready. In the meantime, gardener had suddenly fallen ill and he becomes the chief gardener. He enjoys his position and looks after the garden. He was happy and contented with is life now. The owner of the house was weak and leaned on the staff and his wife was an invalid. One he came to know that the owner of the house had passed away. The sons were no good. They quarreled among themselves and began to live in another house. A tenant settled in the house but he had no regard for the garden and spoiled the plants but his fortune favoured him, the tenant leaves the home and the house is left abandoned. The sons came occasionally to check the house. They left the key of the house with him. It remained unoccupied for a very long time and began to be called a ghost house. he had become old by now. Since his hut was leaking, he began to live in the front varandah. Occasionally, he opened the house and swept it but since he had become weak, he left it altogether. One day a party comes and carefully examines the house and leaves. Very soon, one of the sons tells him to leave the house because the house was sold to a company and they will pull down the house and rage the garden. Velan had to retire to his old hut. The house began to be pulled down and stared felling of the trees. One day he saw his beloved margosa tree being cut. He had planted this tree with his hands. He requested the workers not to cut the tree but they said it was company's order. The he decodes to leave the place and requests the workers to cut the trees when has gone far away.
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