The poet who said that guru was the Second Buddha ?->(Show Answer!)

1. The poet who said that guru was the Second Buddha

Answer: G.Sankara Kurup

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MCQ-> Read the following passage carefully and answer the question given below it.Certain words/phrases have been printed in bold to help you locate them while answering some of the questions.Once upon a time a dishonest King had a man call the Valuer in his court. The Valuer set the price which ought to be paid for horses and elephants and the other animals.He also set the price on jewellery and gold.and things of that kind.This man was honest and just and set the proper price to be paid to the owners of the goods.The King however was not pleased with this Valuer because he was honest ‘If I had another sort of a man as Valuer I might gain more riches, he thought One day the King saw a stupid miserly peasant come into the place yard.The King sent for the fellow and asked him if he would like to be Valuer.The peasant said he would like the position.So the King had him made Valuer He sent the honest Valuer away from the place.Then the peasant began to set the prices on horses and elephants upon gold and jewels.He did not know their value so he would say anything he chose.As the King had made him Valuer the People had to sell their goods for the price he set. By and by a horse-dealer brought five hundred horses to the court of this King.The Valuer came and said they were worth a mere measure of rice and the horses to be put in the palace stables. The horse-dealer went then to see the honest man who had been the Valuer and told him what had happened.’What shall I do ?’ asked the horses-dealer “I think you can give a present to the Valuer which will make him “Go to him and give him a fine present then say to him You said the horses are worth a measure of rice,but now tell what a measure of rice is worth ! Can you value that standing in your place by the King ?’ If he says he can go with him to the King and I will be there too” The horses-dealer thought this was a good idea.So he took a fine present to the Valuer and said what the other man had told him to say.The stupid Valuer took the present,and said,”Yes, I can go before the King with you and tell what a measure of rice is worth.I can go before the King with you and tell what a measure of rice is worth. I can value now. Well let us go at once” said the horses-dealer.So they went before the king and his ministers in the palace.The horses-dealer bowed down before the King and said “O King I have learned that a measure of rice is the value of my five hundred horses.But will the King be pleased to ask the Valuer what had happened asked,How now Valuer what are five hundred horses worth ? “A measure of rice O King !” said he “very good then ! If five hundred horses are worth a measure of rice what is the measure of rice worth ?” The measure of rice is worth your whole city” replied the foolish fellow The minister clapped their hands laughing and saying “What a foolish Valuer! How can such a man hold that office ? We used to think this great city was beyond price but this man says it is worth only a measure of rice.Then the King was ashamed and drove out the foolish fellow “I tried to please the King by setting a low price on the horses and now see what has happened to me !’ said the Valuer as he ran away from the laughing crowd.Who did the King appoint as the new Valuer ?
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MCQ-> Read the following passage and answer the questions. Passage: An old man with steel rimmed spectacles and very dusty clothes sat by the side of the road. There was a pontoon bridge across the river and carts, trucks, and men, women and children were crossing it. The mule-drawn carts staggered up the steep bank from the bridge with soldiers helping to push against the spokes of the wheels. The trucks ground up and away heading out of it all and the peasants plodded along in the ankle deep dust. But the old man sat there without moving. He was too tired to go any farther. It was my business to cross the bridge, explore the bridgehead beyond and find out to what point the enemy had advanced. I did this and returned over the bridge. There were not so many carts now and very few people on foot, but the old man was still there. "Where do you come from?" I asked him. "From San Carlos," he said, and smiled. That was his native town and so it gave him pleasure to mention it and he smiled. "I was taking care of animals." he explained. "Oh," I said, not quite understanding. "Yes," he said, "I stayed. you see, taking care of animals. I was the last one to leave the town of San Carlos." He did not look like a shepherd nor a herdsman and I looked at his black dusty clothes and his gray dusty face and his steel rimmed spectacles and said. "What animals were they?" "Various animals." he said. and shook his head. "I had to leave them." I was watching the bridge and the African looking country of the Ebro Delta wondering how long now it would be before we would see the enemy.. "What animals were they?" I asked. "There were three animals altogether," he explained. "There were two goats and a cat and then there were four pairs of pigeons." "And you had to leave them?" I asked. "Yes. Because of the artillery. The captain told me to go because of the artillery." "And you have no family?" I asked, watching the far end of the bridge where a few last carts were hurrying down the slope of the bank. "No," he said, "only the animals I stated. The cat, of course, will be all right. A cat can look out for itself. but I cannot think what will become of the others." "What politics have you?" I asked. "I am without politics," he said. "I am seventy-six years old. I have come twelve kilometers now and I think now I can go no further." "This is not a good place to stop," I said. "If you can make it, there are trucks up the road where it forks for Tortosa." "I will wait a while," he said, "and then I will go. Where do the trucks go?" "Towards Barcelona," I told him.Where was the old man coming from?
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MCQ-> The teaching and transmission of North Indian classical music is, and long has been, achieved by largely oral means. The raga and its structure, the often breathtaking intricacies of talc, or rhythm, and the incarnation of raga and tala as bandish or composition, are passed thus, between guru and shishya by word of mouth and direct demonstration, with no printed sheet of notated music, as it were, acting as a go-between. Saussure’s conception of language as a communication between addresser and addressee is given, in this model, a further instance, and a new, exotic complexity and glamour.These days, especially with the middle class having entered the domain of classical music and playing not a small part ensuring the continuation of this ancient tradition, the tape recorder serves as a handy technological slave and preserves, from oblivion, the vanishing, elusive moment of oral transmission. Hoary gurus, too, have seen the advantage of this device, and increasingly use it as an aid to instructing their pupils; in place of the shawls and other traditional objects that used to pass from shishya to guru in the past, as a token of the regard of the former for the latter, it is not unusual, today, to see cassettes changing hands.Part of my education in North Indian classical music was conducted via this rather ugly but beneficial rectangle of plastic, which I carried with me to England when I was a undergraduate. Once cassette had stored in it various talas played upon the tabla, at various tempos, by my music teacher’s brother-in law, Hazarilalii, who was a teacher of Kathak dance, as well as a singer and a tabla player. This was a work of great patience and prescience, a one-and-a-half hour performance without my immediate point or purpose, but intended for some delayed future moment who I’d practise the talas solitarily.This repeated playing our of the rhythmic cycles on the tabla was inflected by the noises-an hate auto driver blowing a horn; the sound bf overbearing pigeons that were such a nuisance on the banister; even the cry of a kulfi seller in summer —entering from the balcony of the third foot flat we occupied in those days, in a lane in a Bombay suburb, before we left the city for good. These sounds, in turn, would invade, hesitantly, the ebb and flow of silence inside the artificially heated room, in a borough of West London, in which I used to live as an undergraduate. There, in the trapped dust, silence and heat, the theka of the tabla, qualified by the imminent but intermittent presence of the Bombay subrub, would come to life again. A few years later, the tabla and, in the background, the pigeons and the itinerant kulfi seller, would inhabit a small graduate room in Oxford.cThe tape recorder, though, remains an extension of the oral transmission of music, rather than a replacement of it. And the oral transmission of North Indian classical music remains, almost uniquely, testament to the fact that the human brain can absorb, remember and reproduces structures of great complexity and sophistication without the help of the hieroglyph or written mark or a system of notation. I remember my surprise on discovering the Hazarilalji- who had mastered Kathak dance, tala and North Indian classical music, and who used to narrate to me, occasionally, compositions meant for dance that were grant and intricate in their verbal prosody, architecture and rhythmic complexity- was near illustrate and had barely learnt to write his name in large and clumsy letters.Of course, attempts have been made, throughout the 20th century, to formally codify and even notate this music, and institutions set up and degrees created, specifically to educate students in this “scientific” and codified manner. Paradoxically, however, this style of teaching has produced no noteworthy student or performer; the most creative musicians still emerge from the guru-shishya relationship, their understanding of music developed by oral communication.The fact that North Indian classical music emanates from, and has evolved through, oral culture, means that this music has a significantly different aesthetic, aw that this aesthetic has a different politics, from that of Western classical music) A piece of music in the Western tradition, at least in its most characteristic and popular conception, originates in its composer, and the connection between the two, between composer and the piece of music, is relatively unambiguous precisely because the composer writes down, in notation, his composition, as a poet might write down and publish his poem. However far the printed sheet of notated music might travel thus from the composer, it still remains his property; and the notion of property remains at the heart of the Western conception of “genius”, which derives from the Latin gignere or ‘to beget’.The genius in Western classical music is, then, the originator, begetter and owner of his work the printed, notated sheet testifying to his authority over his product and his power, not only of expression or imagination, but of origination. The conductor is a custodian and guardian of this property. IS it an accident that Mandelstam, in his notebooks, compares — celebratorily—the conductor’s baton to a policeman’s, saying all the music of the orchestra lies mute within it, waiting for its first movement to release it into the auditorium?The raga — transmitted through oral means — is, in a sense, no one’s property; it is not easy to pin down its source, or to know exactly where its provenance or origin lies. Unlike the Western classical tradition, where the composer begets his piece, notates it and stamps it with his ownership and remains, in effect, larger than, or the father of, his work, in the North India classical tradition, the raga — unconfined to a single incarnation, composer or performer — remains necessarily greater than the artiste who invokes it.This leads to a very different politics of interpretation and valuation, to an aesthetic that privileges the evanescent moment of performance and invocation over the controlling authority of genius and the permanent record. It is a tradition, thus, that would appear to value the performer, as medium, more highly than the composer who presumes to originate what, effectively, cannot be originated in a single person — because the raga is the inheritance of a culture.The author’s contention that the notion of property lies at the heart of the Western conception of genius is best indicated by which one of the following?
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MCQ->Emerson said that the poet was landlord, Sealord, airlord. The flight of imagination made the poet master of land, sea and air. But a poet's dream of yesterday becomes today an actual achievement and a reality for all men. Even those who invented, improved and perfected the aeroplane could hardly have dreamt of the possibility of flight into outer space. The passage best supports the statement that:...

MCQ-> Read Ito’ following passage carefully and answer the questions given below it. Certain words are printed in bold to help you locate them while answering sonic of the questions. Once upon a time. there was a shrewd shopkeeper called Makitrand. He had a friend called Mihir, who had saved a lot of money. Mihir was keen on going on a pilgrimage. But he did not know where to leave his precious savings. So he came to Makarand’s shop and said, ‘my friend, I trust you more than anyone. Could you please look after my life’s savings till i return from my pilgrimage Makarand pretended to be deep in thought, and then said, ‘1 would rather not. Money spoils relationships. What if something hap • pens to your money while you are away ? You will no longer be my friend.’ As Mihir stood there by his shop thinking about what his friend had just said, an old woman entered the shup and bought some things. One of the boys helping Makarand, gave her less change than he should have. Makaranc saw this and pretended to scold the boy, he then ordered him to return the remaining money to the woman. Mihir not knowing that this was an act put up by Makarand to make him believe that he was honest, was convinced about his decision and said to Makarand, ‘I have decided. I will leave the money only with you.’ Makarand smiled. Then let us do something. Let’s take the bag of coins and bury it in a place that only you and I will know of. That way, even if something happens to me while you are away, you will know where your money is: Mihir, simple that he was. thought this was a good idea and the two went and hid the bag in a secret place. Mihir left the next day on his pilgrimage. happy his savings Were in safe hands. Six months later, Mihir returned. He dumped his luggage at home and went to dig out his bag of savings. But even though he searched and searched for his valuables, there was no sign of the bag anywhere. In panic, he ran in Makarand, who was busy in his shop. When Mihir asked him about the bitg, Makarand pretended to be surprised. ‘But I did not go that way in all these months. Why don’t you search for it again ?’ he said, putting on his most innocent look. Mihir had no choice but to believe him. Sadly, he went home. On the way, as luck would have it, he met the old woman he had seen in Makarand’s shop. Seeing him sad. she asked him what the matter was. Mihir told her the whole story, Then she smiled and whispered a plan to him. Not long after, the woman came to Makarand’s shop, carrying a big box. ‘Brother, I heard you are a good and honest man. My son went on a pilgrimage many months ago and has still not returned. 1 am worried and have decided to go and loo for him. Will you look after my box of two hundred gold coins while I am away ?Makarand could not believe his luck. He was about to launch into his idea about- hiding the box, when an angry Mihir entered the shop, ‘Where is but before he could complete his sentence, Makarand, afraid of being accused in front of the old woman, said quickly, ‘I forgot. I had seen some pigs digging around there and had removed the bag just to keep it safe. Here it is.’ And he handed Mihir the bag he had stolen many months ago. Now the old woman pretended she was seeing Mihir for the first time, Son, did you also go on a pilgrimage? Could you tell me if you met my son anywhere? His name is Jahangir.’ Mihir, clutching onto his precious bag, said, ‘Yes, Auntie, I met him on the road a few villages away. He was on his way home. He should be here in a week.’ The old woman leaned over and took her box away from Makarand. Thank you. Brother, you have saved me an unnecessary trip. Now, I will need some money to prepare for my son’s welcome,’ she added and the two left the shop. Makarand could only stare at them Open-mouthed,What incident in the passage convinced Mihir that Makarand was indeed an honest man? (A) The incident where he scolded his helper boy for returning less change to the old woman who was a customer in his shop. (B) The fact that Makarand refused to keep Mihir’s money, in the event that it might destroy their friendship. (C) The incident where Makarand told Mihir that he had kept his hag with him as he saw pigs digging at the very spot where the treasure was buried....