Reading Comprehension (History)

1. The produc-on of histories of India has become very frequent in recent years and may
well call for some explana-on. Why so many and why this one in par-cular? The reason is a
two-fold one: changes in the Indian scene requiring a re-interpreta-on of the facts and
changes in aBtudes of historians about the essen-al elements of Indian history. These two
considera-ons are in addi-on to the normal fact of fresh informa-on, whether in the form
of archaeological discoveries throwing fresh light on an obscure period or culture, or the
revela-ons caused by the opening of archives or the release of private papers. The changes
in the Indian scene are too obvious to need emphasis. Only two genera-ons ago Bri-sh rule
seemed to most Indian as well as Bri-sh observers likely to extend into an indefinite future;
now there is a teenage genera-on which knows nothing of it. Changes in the aBtudes of
historians have occurred everywhere, changes in aBtudes to the content of the subject as
well as to par-cular countries, but in India, there have been some special features. Prior to
the Bri-sh, Indian historiographers were mostly Muslims, who relied, as in the case of Sayyid
Ghulam Hussain, on their own recollec-on of events and on informa-on from friends and
men of affairs. Only a few like Abul Fazal had access to official papers. These were personal
narra-ves of events, varying in value with the nature of the writer. The early Bri-sh writers
were officials. In the 18th century they were concerned with some aspect of Company policy,
or like Robert Orme in his Military Transac-ons gave a straight narra-ve in what was
essen-ally a con-nua-on of the Muslim tradi-on. In the early 19th century, the writers were
s-ll, with two notable excep-ons, officials, but they were now engaged in chronicling, in
varying moods of zest, pride, and awe, the rise of the Bri-sh power in India to supremacy.
The two excep-ons were James Mill, with his cri-cal aBtude to the Company and John
Marchman, the Bap-st missionary. But they, like the officials, were Anglo-centric in their
aBtude, so that the history of modern India in their hands came to be the history of the rise
of the Bri-sh in India. The official school dominated the wri-ng of Indian history un-l we get
the first professional historian’s approach. Ramsay Muir and P. E. Roberts in England and H.
H. Dodwell in India. Then Indian historians trained in the English school joined in, of whom
the most dis-nguished was Sir Jadunath Sarkar and the other notable writers: Surendra Nath
Sen, Dr Radhakumud Mukherji, and Professor Nilakanta Shastri. They, it may be said,
restored India to Indian history, but their bias was mainly poli-cal. Finally, have come the
na-onalists who range from those who can find nothing good or true in the Bri-sh to
sophis-cated historical philosophers like K. M. Panikkar. Along the types of historians with
their varying bias have gone changes in the aBtude to the content of Indian history. Here
Indian historians have been influenced both by their local situa-on and by changes of
thought elsewhere. It is this field that this work can claim some a_en-on since it seeks to
break new ground, or perhaps to deepen a freshly turned furrow in the field of Indian history.
The early official historians were content with the glamour and drama of poli-cal history
from Plassey to the Mu-ny, from Dupleix to the Sikhs. But when the raj was se_led down,
glamour departed from poli-cs, and they turned to the less glorious but more solid ground
of administra-on. Not how India was conquered but how it was governed was the theme of
this school of historians. It found its archpriest in H. H. Dodwell, its priestess in Dame Lilian
Penson, and its chief shrine in the Volume VI of the Cambridge History of India. Meanwhile,
in Britain other currents were moving, which led historical study into the economic and
social fields. R. C. Du_ entered the first of these currents with his Economic History of India
to be followed more recently by the whole group of Indian economic historians. W. E.
Moreland extended these studies to the Mughal Period. Social history is now being
increasingly studied and there is also of course a school of na-onalist historians who see
modern Indian history in terms of the rise and the fulfilment of the na-onal movement. All
these approaches have value, but all share in the quality of being compartmental. It is not
enough to remove poli-cal history from its pedestal of being the only kind of history worth
having if it is merely to put other types of history in its place. Too exclusive an a_en-on to
economic, social, or administra-ve history can be as sterile and misleading as too much
concentra-on on poli-cs. A whole subject needs a whole treatment for understanding. A
historian must dissect his subject into its elements and then fuse them together again into
an integrated whole. The true history of a country must contain all the features just cited but
must present them as parts of a single consistent theme.

(1) Which of the following may be the closest in meaning to the statement
‘restored India to Indian history’?
A. Indian historians began wri-ng Indian history.
B. Trained historians began wri-ng Indian history.
C. Wri-ng India-centric Indian history began.
D. Indian history began to be wri_en in India.

(2) Which of the following is the closest implica-on of the statement ‘to break new
ground, or perhaps to deepen a freshly turned furrow’?
A. Dig afresh or dig deeper.
B. Start a new stream of thought or help establish a recently emerged
perspec-ve.
C. Begin or conduct further work on exis-ng archaeological sites to unearth
new evidence.
D. Begin wri-ng a history free of any biases.

(3) Historians moved from wri-ng poli-cal history to wri-ng administra-ve history
because:
A. aBtudes of the historians changed.
B. the raj was se_led down.
C. poli-cs did not retain its past glamour.
D. administra-ve history was based on solid ground.

(4) According to the author, which of the following is not among the aBtudes of
historians mapping Indian history?
A. Wri-ng history as personal narra-ves.
B. Wri-ng history with poli-cal bias.
C. Wri-ng non-poli-cal history due to lack of glamour.
D. Wri-ng history by dissec-ng elements and integra-ng them again.

2. Right through history, imperial powers have clung to their possessions to death.
Why, then, did Britain in 1947 give up the jewel in its crown, India? For many
reasons. The independence struggle exposed the hollowness of the white man’s
burden. Provincial self-rule since 1935 paved the way for full self-rule. Churchill
resisted independence, but the Labour government of Atlee was an--imperialist by
ideology. Finally, the Royal Indian Navy mu-ny in 1946 raised fears of a second
Sepoy mu-ny, and convinced Bri-sh waverers that it was safer to withdraw
gracefully. But poli-co-military explana-ons are not enough. The basis of empire
was always money. The end of empire had much to do with the fact that Bri-sh
imperialism had ceased to be profitable. World War II lek Britain victorious but
deeply indebted, needing Marshall Aid and loans from the World Bank. This
cons-tuted a strong financial case for ending the no-longer profitable empire.
Empire building is expensive. The US is spending one billion dollars a day in
opera-ons in Iraq that fall well short of full-scale imperialism. Through the centuries,
empire building was costly, yet constantly undertaken because it promised high
returns. The investment was in armies and conquest. The returns came through
plunder and taxes from the conquered. No immorality was a_ached to imperial loot
and plunder. The biggest conquerors were typically revered (hence -tles like
Alexander the Great, Akbar the Great, and Peter the Great). The bigger and richer
the empire, the more the plunderer was admired. This mindset gradually changed
with the rise of new ideas about equality and governing for the public good, ideas
that culminated in the French and American revolu-ons. Robert Clive was
impeached for making a li_le money on the side, and so was Warren Has-ngs. The
white man’s burden came up as a new moral ra-onale for conquest. It was
supposedly for the good of the conquered. This led to much muddled hypocrisy. On
the one hand, the empire needed to be profitable. On the other hand, the white
man’s burden made brazen loot impossible. An addi-onal factor deterring loot was
the 1857 Sepoy Mu-ny. Though crushed, it reminded the Bri-sh vividly that they
were a -ny ethnic group who could not rule a gigan-c subcon-nent without the
support of important locals. Aker 1857, the Bri-sh stopped annexing one princely
state aker another, and instead treated the princes as allies. Land revenue was fixed
in absolute terms, partly to prevent local unrest and partly to promote the no-on of
the white man’s burden. The empire proclaimed itself to be a protector of the Indian
peasant against exploita-on by Indian elites. This was denounced as hypocrisy by
na-onalists like Dadabhoy Naoroji in the 19th century, who complained that land
taxes led to an enormous drain from India to Britain. Objec-ve calcula-ons by
historians like Angus Maddison suggest a drain of perhaps 1.6 percent of Indian
Gross Na-onal Product in the 19th century. But land revenue was more or less fixed
by the Raj in absolute terms, and so it’s real value diminished rapidly with infla-on in
the 20th century. By World War II, India had ceased to be a profit centre for the
Bri-sh Empire. Historically, conquered na-ons paid taxes to finance fresh wars of the
conqueror. India itself was asked to pay a large sum at the end of World War I to
help repair Britain’s finances. But, as shown by historian Indivar Kamtekar, the
independence movement led by Gandhiji changed the poli-cal landscape and made
mass taxa-on of India increasingly difficult. By World War II, this had become
poli-cally impossible. Far from taxing India to pay for World War II, Britain actually
began paying India for its contribu-on of men and goods. Troops from white
dominions like Australia; Canada and New Zealand were paid for en-rely by these
countries, but Indian costs were shared by the Bri-sh government. Britain paid in
the form of nonconver-ble sterling balances, which mounted swikly. The conqueror
was paying the conquered, undercuBng the profitability on which all empire is
founded. Churchill opposed this and wanted to tax India rather than owe it money.
But he was overruled by Indian hands who said India would resist payment and
paralyze the war effort. Leo Amery, Secretary of State for India, said that when you
 are driving in a taxi to the sta-on to catch a life-or-death train, you do not loudly
announce that you have doubts whether to pay the fare. Thus, World War II
converted India from a debtor to a creditor with over one billion pounds in sterling
balances. Britain, meanwhile, became the biggest debtor in the world. It’s not worth
ruling over people you are afraid to tax.

(1) Why didn’t Britain tax India to finance its World War II efforts?
A. Australia, Canada and New Zealand had offered to pay for Indian troops.
B. India has already paid a sufficiently large sum during World War I.
C. It was afraid that if India refused to pay, Britain’s war efforts would be
jeopardized.
D. The Bri-sh empire was built on the premise that the conqueror pays the
conquered.

(2) What was the main lesson the Bri-sh learned from the Sepoy Mu-ny of 1857.
A. That the local princes were allies, not foes.
B. That the land revenue from India would decline drama-cally.
C. That the Bri-sh were a small ethnic group.
D. That India would be increasingly difficult to rule.

(3) Which of the following was NOT a reason for the emergence of the ‘white man’s
burden’ as a new ra-onale for empire-building in India?
A. The emergence of the idea of the public good as an element of governance.
B. The decreasing returns from imperial loot and increasing costs of conquest.
C. The weakening of the immorality a_ached to an emperor’s loo-ng
behaviour.
D. A growing awareness of the idea of equality among peoples.

(4) Which of the following best captures the meaning of the ‘white man’s burden’,
as it is used by the author?
A. The Bri-sh claim to a civilizing mission directed at ensuring the good of the
na-ves.
B. The inspira-on for the French and American revolu-ons.
C. The resource drain that had to be borne by the home country’s white
popula-on.
D. An impera-ve that made open loo-ng of resources impossible.

(5) Which of the following best captures the meaning of the ‘white man’s burden’,
as it is used by the author?
A. The Bri-sh claim to a civilizing mission directed at ensuring the good of the
na-ves.
B. The inspira-on for the French and American revolu-ons.
C. The resource drain that had to be borne by the home country’s white
popula-on.
D. An impera-ve that made open loo-ng of resources impossible.

3. The difficul-es historians face in establishing cause-and-effect rela-ons in the history of

human socie-es are broadly similar to the difficul-es facing astronomers, climatologists,
ecologists, evolu-onary biologists, geologists, and palaeontologists. To varying degrees
each of these fields is plagued by the impossibility of performing replicated, controlled
experimental interven-ons, the complexity arising from enormous numbers of variables,
the resul-ng uniqueness of each system, the consequent impossibility of formula-ng
universal laws, and the difficul-es of predic-ng emergent proper-es and future
behaviour. Predic-on in history, as in other historical sciences, is most feasible on large
spa-al scales and over long -mes, when the unique features of millions of small-scale
brief events become averaged out. Just as I could predict the sex ra-o of the next 1,000
new-borns but not the sexes of my own two children. the historian can recognize factors
that made inevitable the broad outcome of the collision between American and Eurasian
socie-es aker 13,000 years of separate developments, but not the outcome of the 1960
U.S. presiden-al elec-on. The details of which candidate said what during a single
televised debate in October 1960 could have given the electoral victory to Nixon instead
of to Kennedy, but no details of who said what could have blocked the European conquest
of Na-ve Americans.
How can students of human history profit from the experience of scien-sts in other
historical sciences? A methodology that has proved useful involves the compara-ve
method and so-called natural experiments. While neither astronomer studying galaxy
forma-on nor human historians can manipulate their systems in controlled laboratory
experiments, they both can take advantage of natural experiments, by comparing
systems differing in the presence or absence (or in the strong or weak effect) of some
puta-ve causa-ve factor. For example, epidemiologists, forbidden to feed large amounts
of salt to people experimentally, have s-ll been able to iden-fy effects of high salt intake
by comparing groups of humans who already differ greatly in their salt intake: and cultural
anthropologists, unable to provide human groups experimentally with varying resource
abundances for many centuries, s-ll study long-term effects of resource abundance on
human socie-es by comparing recent Polynesian popula-ons living on islands differing
naturally in resource abundance.
The student of human history can draw on many more natural experiments than just
comparisons among the five inhabited con-nents. Comparisons can also u-lize large
islands that have developed complex socie-es in a considerable degree of isola-on (such
as Japan, Madagascar. Na-ve American Hispaniola, New Guinea, Hawaii, and many
others), as well as socie-es on hundreds of smaller islands and regional socie-es within
each of the con-nents. Natural experiments in any field, whether in ecology or human
history, are inherently open to poten-al methodological cri-cisms. Those include
confounding effects of natural varia-on in addi-onal variables besides the one of
interest, as well as problems in inferring chains of causa-on from observed correla-ons
between variables. Such methodological problems have been discussed in great detail for
some of the historical sciences. In par-cular, epidemiology, the science of drawing
inferences about human diseases by comparing groups of people (oken by retrospec-ve
historical studies), has for a long -me successfully employed formalized procedures for
dealing with problems similar to those facing historians of human socie-es.

In short, I acknowledge that it is much more difficult to understand human history than
to understand problems in fields of science where history is unimportant and where
fewer individual variables operate. Nevertheless, successful methodologies for analysing
historical problems have been worked out in several fields. As a result, the histories of
 dinosaurs, nebulae, and glaciers are generally acknowledged to belong to fields of science
rather than to the humani-es.

(1) Why do islands with considerable degree of isola-on provide valuable insights
into human history?
a. Isolated islands may evolve differently, and this difference is of interest to us.
b. Isolated islands increase the number of observa-ons available to historians.
c. Isolated islands, differing in their endowments and size may evolve differently
and this difference can be a_ributed to their endowments and size.
d. Isolated islands. differing in their endowments and size, provide a good
comparison to large islands such as Eurasia, Africa, Americas, and Australia.
e. Isolated islands, in so far as they are inhabited, arouse curiosity about how
human beings evolved there.

(2) According to the author, why is predic-on difficult in history?

a. Historical explana-ons are usually broad so that no predic-on is possible.
b. Historical outcomes depend upon a large number of factors and hence
predic-on is difficult for each case.
c. Historical sciences, by their very nature, are not interested in a mul-tude of
minor factors, which might be important in a specific historical outcome.
d. Historians are interested in evolu-on of human history and hence are only
interested in long-term predic-ons.
e. Historical sciences suffer from the inability to conduct controlled experiments
and therefore have explana-ons based on a few long-term factors.

(3) According to the author, which of the following statements would be true?
a. Students of history are missing significant opportuni-es by not conduc-ng any
natural experiments.
b. Complex socie-es inhabi-ng large islands provide great opportuni-es for
natural experiments.
c. Students of history are missing significant opportuni-es by not studying an
adequate variety of natural experiments.
d. A unique problem faced by historians is their inability to establish cause and
effect rela-onships.
e. Cultural anthropologists have overcome the problem of confounding variables
through natural experiments.

4. To summarize the Classic Maya collapse, we can tenta-vely iden-fy five strands. I
acknowledge, however, that Maya archaeologists s-ll disagree vigorously among
themselves in part, because the different strands evidently varied in importance among
different parts of the Maya realm; because detailed archaeological studies are available
for only some Maya sites; and because it remains puzzling why most of the Maya
heartland remained nearly empty of popula-on and failed to recover aker the collapse
and aker re-growth of forests.
With those caveats, it appears to me that one strand consisted of popula-on growth
outstripping available resources: a dilemma similar to the one foreseen by Thomas
Malthus in 1798 and being played out today in Rwanda, Hai- and elsewhere. As the
archaeologist David Webster succinctly puts it, “Too many farmers grew too many crops
on too much of landscape.” Compounding that mismatch between popula-on and
resources was the second strand: the effects of deforesta-on and hillside erosion, which
caused a decrease in the amount of useable farmland at a -me when more rather than
less farmland was needed, and possibly exacerbated by an anthropogenic drought
resul-ng from deforesta-on, by soil nutrient deple-on and other soil problems, and by
the struggle to prevent bracken ferns from overrunning the fields.

The third strand consisted of increased figh-ng, as more and more people fought over
fewer resources. Maya warfare, already endemic, peaked just before the collapse. That is
not surprising when one reflects that at least five million people, perhaps many more,
were crammed into an area smaller than the US state of Colorado (104,000 square miles).
That warfare would have decreased further the amount of land available for agriculture,
by crea-ng no-man’s lands between principali-es where it was now unsafe to farm.
Bringing ma_ers to a head was the strand of climate change. The drought at the -me of
the Classic collapse was not the first drought that the Maya had lived through, but it was
the most severe. At the -me of previous droughts, there were s-ll uninhabited parts of
the Maya landscape, and people at a site affected by drought could save themselves by
moving to another site. However, by the -me of the Classic collapse the landscape was
now full, there was no useful unoccupied land in the vicinity on which to begin anew, and
the whole popula-on could not be accommodated in the few areas that con-nued to
have reliable water supplies.
As our fikh strand, we have to wonder why the kings and nobles failed to recognize and
solve these seemingly obvious problems undermining their society. Their a_en-on was
evidently focused on their short-term concerns of enriching themselves, waging wars,
erec-ng monuments, compe-ng with each other, and extrac-ng enough food from the
peasants to support all those ac-vi-es. Like most leaders throughout human history, the
Maya kings and nobles did not heed long-term problems, insofar as they perceived them.
Finally, while we s-ll have some other past socie-es to consider before we switch our
a_en-on to the modern world, we must already he struck by some parallels between the
Maya and the past socie-es. As on Mangareva, the Maya environmental and popula-on
problems led to increasing warfare and civil strife. Similarly, on Easter Island and at Chaco
Canyon, the Maya peak popula-on numbers were followed swikly by poli-cal and social
collapse. Paralleling the eventual extension of agriculture from Easter Island’s coastal
lowlands to its uplands, and from the Members floodplain to the hills, Copan’s
inhabitants also expanded from the floodplain to the more fragile hill slopes, leaving
them with a larger popula-on to feed when the agricultural boom in the hills went bust.
Like Easter Island chiefs erec-ng ever larger statues, eventually crowned by pukao, and
like Anasazi elite trea-ng themselves to necklaces of 2,000 turquoise beads, Maya kings
sought to outdo each other with more and more impressive temples, covered with
thicker and thicker plaster — reminiscent in turn of the extravagant conspicuous
consump-on by modern American CEOs. The passivity of Easter chiefs and Maya kings in
the face of the real big threats to their socie-es completes our list of disquie-ng parallels.

(1) According to the passage, which of the following best represents the factor that has
been cited by the author in the context of Rwanda and Hai-?
A. Various ethnic groups compe-ng for land and other resources.
B. Various ethnic groups compe-ng for limited land resources.
C. Various ethnic groups figh-ng with each other.
 D. Various ethnic groups compe-ng for poli-cal power.
E. Various ethnic groups figh-ng for their iden-ty.

(2) By an anthropogenic drought, the author means:

A. a drought caused by lack of rains.
B. a drought caused due to deforesta-on.
C. a drought caused by failure to prevent bracken ferns from overrunning the
fields.
D. a drought caused by ac-ons of human beings.
E. a drought caused by climate changes.

(3) According to the passage, the drought at the -me of Maya collapse had a different
impact compared to the droughts earlier because:
A. the Maya kings con-nued to be extravagant when common people were
suffering.
B. it happened at the -me of collapse of leadership among Mayas.
C. it happened when the Maya popula-on had occupied all available land suited
for agriculture.
D. it was followed by internecine warfare among Mayans.
E. irreversible environmental degrada-on led to this drought.

(4) According to the author, why is it difficult to explain the reasons for Maya collapse?
A. Copan inhabitants destroyed all records of that period.
B. The constant deforesta-on and hillside erosion have wiped out all traces of the
Maya kingdom.
C. Archaeological sites of Mayas do not provide any consistent evidence.
D. It has not been possible to ascertain which of the factors best explains as to why
the Maya civiliza-on collapsed.
E. At least five million people were crammed into a small area.

(5) Which factor has not been cited as one of the factors causing the collapse of Maya
society?
A. Environmental degrada-on due to excess popula-on
B. Social collapse due to excess popula-on
C. Increased warfare among Maya people
D. Climate change
E. Obsession of Maya popula-on with their own short-term concerns

5. The story begins as the European pioneers crossed the Alleghenies and started to se_le
in the Midwest. The land they found was covered with forests. With incredible effort they
felled the trees, pulled the stumps, and planted their crops in the rich, loamy soil. When
they finally reached the western edge of the place, we now call Indiana, the forest
stopped and ahead lay a thousand miles of the great grass prairie. The Europeans were
puzzled by this new environment. Some even called it the “Great Desert”.
It seemed un-llable. The earth was oken very wet, and it was covered with centuries of
tangled and ma_ed grasses. With their cast iron plow, the se_lers found that the prairie
sod could not be cut, and the wet earth stuck to their ploughshares. Even a team of the
best oxen bogged down aker a few years of tugging. The iron plow was a useless tool to
farm the prairie soil. The pioneers were stymied for nearly two decades. Their western
march was halted, and they filled in the eastern regions of the Midwest. In 1837, a
blacksmith in the town of Grand Detour, Illinois, invented a new tool. His name was John
Deere, and the tool was a plow made of steel. It was sharp enough to cut through ma_ed
grasses and smooth enough to cast off the mud. It was a simple tool, the “sod buster”
that opened the great prairies to agricultural development.
Sauk County, Wisconsin is the part of that prairie where I have a home. It is named aker
the Sauk Indians. In 1673, Father Marque_e was the first European to lay his eyes upon
their land. He found a village laid out in regular pa_erns on a plain beside the Wisconsin
River. He called the place Prairie du Sac. The village was surrounded by fields that had
provided maize, beans, and squash for the Sauk people for genera-ons reaching back
into the unrecorded -me.
When the European se_lers arrived at the Sauk prairie in 1837, the government forced
the na-ve Sauk people west of the Mississippi River. The se_lers came with John Deere’s
new inven-on and used the tool to open the area to a new kind of agriculture.
They ignored the tradi-onal ways of the Sauk Indians and used their sod-bus-ng tool for
plan-ng wheat. Ini-ally, the soil was generous, and the farmers thrived. However, each
year the soil lost more of its nurturing power. It was only thirty years aker the Europeans
arrived with their new technology that the land was depleted. Wheat farming became
uneconomic, and tens of thousands of farmers lek Wisconsin seeking new land with sod
to bust.
It took the Europeans and their new technology just one genera-on to make their
homeland into a desert. The Sauk Indians who knew how to sustain themselves on the
Sauk prairie land were banished to another kind of desert called a reserva-on. And they
even forgot about the techniques and tools that had sustained them on the prairie for
genera-ons unrecorded. And that is how it was that three deserts were created-
Wisconsin, the reserva-on, and the memories of a people. A century later, the land of
the Sauks is now populated by the children of a second wave of European farmers who
learned to replenish the soil through the regenera-ve powers of dairying, ground cover
crops and animal manures. These third and fourth genera-on farmers and townspeople
do not realise, however, that a new se_ler is coming soon with an inven-on as powerful
as John Deere’s plow.
The new technology is called ‘bereavement counselling’. It is a tool forged at the great
state university, an innova-ve technique to meet the needs of those experiencing the
death of a loved one, a tool that can “process” the grief of the people who now live on
the Prairie of the Sauk. As one can imagine the final days of the village of the Sauk Indians
before the arrival of the se_lers with John Deere’s plow, one can also imagine these final
days before the arrival of the first bereavement counsellor at Prairie du Sac. In these final
days, the farmers and the townspeople mourn at the death of a mother, brother, son, or
friend. The bereaved is joined by neighbours and kin. They meet grief together in
lamenta-on, prayer, and song. They call upon the words of the clergy and surround
themselves in community.
It is in these ways that they grieve and then go on with life. Through their mourning they
are assured of the bonds between them and renewed in the knowledge that this death
is a part of the Prairie of the Sauk. Their grief is common property, anguish from which
the community draws strength and gives the bereaved the courage to move ahead.
It is into this prairie community that the bereavement counsellor arrives with the new
grief technology. The counsellor calls the inven-on a service and assures the prairie folk
of its effec-veness and superiority by invoking the name of the great university while
displaying a diploma and cer-ficate. At first, we can imagine that the local people will be
puzzled by the bereavement counsellor’s claim. However, the counsellor will tell a few of
them that the new technique is merely to assist the bereave d’s community at the -me
of death. To some other prairie folk who are isolated or forgo_en, the counsellor will
approach the County Board and advocate the right to treatment for these unfortunate
souls. This right will be guaranteed by the Board’s decision to reimburse those too poor
to pay for counselling services. There will be others, schooled to believe in the innova-ve
new tools cer-fied by universi-es and medical centres, who will seek out the
bereavement counsellor by force of habit. And one of these people will tell a bereaved
neighbour who is unschooled that unless his grief is processed by a counsellor, he will
probably have major psychological problems in later life. Several people will begin to use
the bereavement counsellor because, since the County Board now taxes them to ensure
access to the technology, they will feel that to fail to be counselled is to waste their
money, and to be denied a benefit, or even a right.
Finally, one day, the aged father of a Sauk woman will die. And the next-door neighbour
will not drop by because he doesn’t want to interrupt the bereavement counsellor. The
woman’s kin will stay home because they will have learned that only the bereavement
counsellor knows how to process grief the proper way. The local clergy will seek technical
assistance from the bereavement counsellor to learn the correct form of service to deal
with guilt and grief. And the grieving daughter will know that it is the bereavement
counsellor who really cares for her because only the bereavement counsellor comes
when death visits this family on the Prairie of the Sauk.
It will be only one genera-on between the bereavement counsellor arrives and the
community of mourners disappears. The counsellor’s new tool will cut through the social
fabric, throwing aside kinship, care, neighbourly obliga-ons, and community ways of
coming together and going on. Like John
Deere’s plow, the tools of bereavement counselling will create a desert where a
community once flourished. And finally, even the bereavement counsellor will see the
impossibility of restoring hope in clients once they are genuinely alone with nothing but
a service for consola-on. In the inevitable failure of the service, the bereavement
counsellor will find the deserts even in herself.

(1) Which one of the following best describes the approach of the author?
A. Comparing experiences with two innova-ons tried, in order to illustrate the
failure of both.
B. Presen-ng community perspec-ves on two technologies which have had
nega-ve effects on people.
C. Using the nega-ve outcomes of one innova-on to illustrate the likely outcomes
of another innova-on.
D. Contras-ng two contexts separated in -me, to illustrate how ‘deserts’ have
arisen.

(2) According to the passage, bereavement handling tradi-onally involves.

a. the community bereavement counsellors working with the bereaved to help
him/her overcome grief.
b. the neighbours and kin joining the bereaved and mee-ng grief together in
mourning and prayer.
c. using techniques developed systema-cally in formal ins-tu-ons of learning, a
trained counsellor helping the bereaved cope with grief.
d. the Sauk Indian Chief leading the community with rituals and rites to help lessen
the grief of the bereaved.

(3) Due to which of the following reasons, according to the author, will the
bereavement counsellor find the deserts even in herself?
a. Over a period of -me, working with Sauk Indians who have lost their kinship
and rela-onships, she becomes one of them.
b. She is working in an environment where the disappearance of community
mourners makes her work place a social desert.
c. Her efforts at grief processing with the bereaved will fail as no amount of
professional service can make up for the loss due to the disappearance of
community mourners.
d. She has been working with people who have se_led for a long -me in the
Great Desert.

(4) According to the author, the bereavement counsellor is.

a. a friend of the bereaved helping him or her handle grief.
b. an advocate of the right to treatment for the community.
c. kin of the bereaved helping him/her handle grief.
d. a formally trained person helping the bereaved handle grief.

(5) The Prairie was a great puzzlement for the European pioneers because
a. it was covered with thick, un-llable layers of grass over a vast stretch.
b. it was a large desert immediately next to lush forests.
c. it was rich cul-vable land lek fallow for centuries.
d. it could be easily -lled with iron plow.

(6) Which of the following does the ‘desert’ in the passage refer to?
a. Prairie soil depleted by cul-va-on of wheat.
b. Reserva-ons in which na-ve Indians were rese_led.
c. Absence of, and emp-ness in, community kinship and rela-onships.
d. All of the above.

(7) According to the author, people will begin to u-lise the service of the
bereavement counsellor because:
a. new County regula-ons will make them feel it is a right, and if they don’t use
it, it would be a loss.
b. the bereaved in the community would find her a helpful friend.
c. she will fight for subsistence allowance from the County Board for the poor
among the bereaved.
d. grief processing needs tools cer-fied by universi-es and medical centres.

(8) Which one of the following parallels between the plow and bereavement
counselling is not claimed by the author?
a. Both are innova-ve technologies.
 b. Both result in migra-on of the communi-es into which the innova-ons are
introduced.
c. Both lead to ‘deserts’ in the space of only one genera-on.
d. Both are tools introduced by outsiders entering exis-ng communi-es.

6. The persistent pa_erns in the way na-ons fight reflect their cultural and historical
tradi-ons and deeply rooted aBtudes that collec-vely make up their strategic culture.
These pa_erns provide insights that go beyond what can be learnt just by comparing
armaments and divisions. In the Vietnam War, the strategic tradi-on of the United States
called for forcing the enemy to fight a massed ba_le in an open area, where superior
American weapons would prevail. The United States was trying to re-fight World War II
in the jungles of Southeast Asia, against an enemy with no inten-on of doing so.
Some Bri-sh military historians describe the Asian way of war as one. of indirect a_acks,
avoiding frontal a_acks meant to overpower an opponent. This traces back to Asian
history and geography the great distances and harsh terrain have oken made it difficult
to execute the sort of open field clashes allowed by the flat terrain and rela-vely compact
size of Europe. A very different strategic tradi-on arose in Asia.
The bow and arrow were metaphors for an Eastern way of war. By its nature, the arrow
is an indirect weapon. Fired from a distance of hundreds of yards, it does not necessitate
immediate physical contact with the enemy. Thus, it can be fired from hidden posi-ons.
When fired from behind a ridge, the barrage seems to come out of nowhere, taking the
enemy by surprise. The tradi-on of this kindof figh-ng is captured in the classical
strategic wri-ngs of the East. The 2,000 years' worth of Chinese wri-ngs on war
cons-tutes the most subtle wri-ngs on the subject in any language. Not un-l Clausewitz,
did the West produce a strategic theorist to match the sophis-ca-on of Sun-tzu, whose
Art of War was wri_en 2,300 years earlier.
In Sun-tzu and other Chinese wri-ngs, the highest achievement of arms is to defeat an
adversary without figh-ng. He wrote "To win one hundred victories in one hundred
ba_les is not the acme of skill. To subdue the enemy without figh-ng is the supreme
excellence." Actual combat is just one among many means towards the goal of subduing
an adversary. War contains too many surprises to be a first resort. It can lead to ruinous
losses, as has been seen -me and again. It can have the unwanted effect of inspiring
heroic efforts in an enemy, as the United States learned in Vietnam and as the Japanese
found out aker Pearl Harbour.
Aware of the uncertain-es of a military campaign, Sun-tzu advocated war only aker the
most thorough prepara-ons. Even then it should be quick and clean. Ideally, the army is
just an instrument to deal the final blow to an enemy already weakened by isola-on, poor
morale, and disunity. Ever since Sun-tzu, the Chinese have been seen as masters of
subtlety who take measured ac-ons to manipulate an adversary without his knowledge.
The dividing line between war and peace can be obscure. Low level violence oken is the
backdrop to a larger strategic campaign. The unwiBng vic-m. Focused on the day-to-day
events, never realizes what's happening to him un-l it's too late. History holds many
examples. The Viet Cong. lured French and U.S. infantry deep into the jungle. Weakening
their morale over several years. The mobile army of the United States was designed to
fight on the plains of Europe, where it could quickly move unhindered from one spot to
the next. The jungle did more than make quick movement impossible; broken down into
smaller units and sca_ered in isolated bases, US forces were deprived of the feeling of
support and protec-on that ordinarily comes from being part of a big army.
The isola-on of U.S. troops in Vietnam was not just a logis-cal detail something that could
be overcome by, for instance, bringing in reinforcements by helicopter. In big army
reinforcements are readily available. It was Napoleon who realized the extraordinary
effects on morale that come from being part of a larger forma-on. Just the knowledge of
it lowers the soldier's fear and increases his aggressiveness. In the jungle and on isolated
bases, this feeling was removed. The thick vegeta-on slowed down the reinforcements
and made it difficult to find stranded units. Soldiers felt they were on their own.
More important, by altering the way the war was fought, the Viet Cong stripped the
United States of its belief in the inevitability of victory, as it had done to the French before
them. Morale was high when these armies first went to Vietnam. Only aker many years
of debilita-ng and demoralizing figh-ng did Hanoi launch its decisive a_acks, at
Dienbienphu in 1954 and against Saigon in 1975. It should be recalled that in the final
push to victory the North Vietnamese abandoned their jungle guerrilla tac-cs completely,
commiBng their en-re army of twenty divisions to pushing the South Vietnamese into
collapse. This final ba_le, with the enemy's army all in one place, was the one that the
United States had desperately wanted to fight in 1965. When it did come out into the
open in 1975, Washington had already withdrawn its forces and there was no possibility
of interven-on.
The Japanese early in World War II used a modern form of the indirect a_ack. One that
relied on stealth and surprise for its effect. At Pearl Harbour, in the Philippines, and in
Southeast Asia, stealth and surprise were a_ained by sailing under radio silence so that
the navy's movements could not be tracked. Moving troops aboard ships into Southeast
Asia made it appear that the Japanese army was also "invisible." A_acks against Hawaii
and Singapore seemed, to the American and Bri-sh defenders, to come from nowhere.
In Indonesia and the Philippines, the Japanese a_ack was even faster than the German
blitz against France in the West.
The greatest military surprises in American history have all been in Asia. Surely there is
something going on here beyond the purely technical difficul-es of detec-ng enemy
movements. Pearl Harbour, the Chinese interven-on in Korea, and the Tet offensive in
Vietnam all came out of a tradi-on of surprise and stealth. U.S. technical intelligence-
the loca-on of enemy units and their movements-was greatly improved aker each
surprise, but with no no-ceable improvement in the American ability to foresee or
prepare what would happen next. There is a cultural divide here, not just a technical one.
Even when it was possible to track an army with intelligence satellites. As when Iraq
invaded Kuwait or when Syria and Egypt a_acked Israel, surprise was achieved. The
United States was stunned by Iraq's a_ack on Kuwait even though it had satellite pictures
of Iraqi troops massing at the border.
The excep-on that proves the point that cultural differences obscure the West's
understanding of Asian behaviour was the Soviet Union's 1979 invasion of Afghanistan.
This was fully an-cipated and understood in advance. There was no surprise because the
United States understood Moscow's worldview and thinking. It could an-cipate Soviet
ac-on almost as well as the Soviets themselves, because the Soviet Union was really a
Western country.
The difference between the Eastern and the Western way of war is striking. The West's
great strategic writer, Clausewitz, linked war to poli-cs, as did Sun-tzu. Both were
opponents of militarism, of turning war over to the generals. But there all similarity ends.
Clausewitz wrote that the way to achieve a larger poli-cal purpose is through destruc-on
of the enemy's army. Aker observing Napoleon conquer Europe by smashing enemy
armies to bits, Clausewitz made his famous remark in ‘On War’ (1932) that combat is the
con-nua-on of poli-cs by violent means. Morale and unity are important, but they
should be harnessed for the ul-mate ba_le. If the Eastern way of war is embodied by the
stealthy archer, the metaphorical Western counterpart is the swordsman charging
forward seeking a decisive showdown, eager to administer the blow that will obliterate
the enemy once and for all. In this view, war proceeds along a fixed course and occupies
a finite extent of -me, like a play in three acts with a beginning, a middle, and an end.
The end, the final scene, decides the issue for good.
When things don't work out quite this way, the Western military mind feels tremendous
frustra-on. Sun-tzu's great disciples. Mao Zedong and Ho Chi Minh are respected in Asia
for their clever use of indirec-on and decep-on to achieve an advantage over stronger
adversaries. But in the West their approach is seen as underhanded and devious. To the
American strategic mind, the Viet Cong guerrilla did not fight fairly. He should have come
out into the open and fought like a man, instead of hiding in the jungle and sneaking
around like a cat in the night.

(1) According to the author, the main reason for the U.S. losing the Vietnam war
was.
a. the Vietnamese understood the local terrain be_er.
b. the lack of support for the war from the American people.
c. the failure of the U.S. to mobilize its military strength.
d. their inability to fight a war on terms other than those they understood well.

(2) Which of the following statements does not describe the' Asian' way of war?
a. Indirect a_acks without frontal a_acks.
b. The swordsman charging forward to obliterate the enemy once and for all.
c. Manipula-on of an adversary without his knowledge.
d. Subduing an enemy without figh-ng.

(3) Which of the following is not one of Sun-tzu's ideas?

A. Actual combat is the principal means of subduing an adversary.
B. War should be undertaken only aker thorough prepara-on.
C. War is linked to poli-cs.
D. War should not be lek to the generals alone.

(4) The difference in the concepts of war of Clausewitz and Sun-tzu is best
characterized by:
a. Clausewitz's support for militarism as against Sun-tzu's opposi-on to it.
b. their rela-ve degrees of sophis-ca-on.
c. their aBtude to guerrilla warfare.
d. their differing concep-ons of the structure, -me, and sequence of a war.

(5) To the Americans, the approach of the Viet Cong seemed devious because:
a. the Viet Cong did not fight like men out in the open.
b. the Viet Cong allied with America's enemies.
c. the Viet Cong took strategic advice from Mao Zedong.
d. the Viet Cong used bows and arrows rather than conven-onal weapons.
 (6) According to the author, the greatest military surprises in American history
have been in Asia because:
a. the Americans failed to implement their military strategies many miles away
from their own country.
b. the Americans were unable to use their technologies like intelligence
satellites effec-vely to detect enemy movements.
c. the Americans failed to understand the Asian culture of war that was based
on stealth and surprise.
d. Clausewitz is inferior to Sun-tzu.

7. In 1787, the twenty-eighth year of the reign of King George III, the Bri-sh Government
sent a fleet to colonize Australia. Never had a colony been founded so far from its parent
state, or in such ignorance of the land it occupied There has been no reconnaissance. In
1770 Captain James Cook had made landfall on the unexplored east coast of this u_erly
enigma-c con-nent stopped for a short while at a place named Botany Bay and gone
north again. Since then, no ship had called – not a word, not an observa-on, for 17 years,
each one of which was exactly like the thousands that had preceded it, locked in its
historical immensity of blue heat, blush, sandstone, and the measured booming of glassy
pacific rollers.

Now, this coast was to witness a new colonial experiment, never tried before, not
repeated since, an unexplored con-nent would become a jail. The space around it, the
very air and sea, the whole transparent labyrinth of the South pacific, would become a
wall 14,000 miles thick.
The late 18th century abounded in schemes of social goodness thrown off by its
burgeoning sense of revolu-on. But here, the process was to be reversed: not utopia, but
Dystopia; not Rousseau’s natural man moving in moral grace amid free social contract,
but man coerced, deracinated, in chains. Other parts of the Pacific, especially Tahi-,
might seem to conform Rousseau. But the intellectual patrons of Australia, in its first
colonial years, were Hobbes and Sade.
In their most sanguine moments, the authori-es hoped that it would eventually swallow
a whole class-the “criminal class”, whose existence was one of the prime sociological
beliefs of late Georgian and early Victorian England. Australia was se_led to defend
English property not from the frog-ea-ng invader across the Channel but from the
marauder within. English lawmakers wished not only to get rid of the “Criminal class”
but, if possible, to forget about it. Australia was a Cloaca, invisible, its contents filthy and
unnameable.
To most Englishmen this place seemed not just a mutant society but another planet-an
exiled world, summed up in its popular name, “Botany Bay”. It was remote and
anomalous to its white creators. It was strange but close, as the unconscious to the
conscious mind. There was as yet no such thing as “Australian” history or culture. For its
first forty years, everything that happened in the thief-colony was English. In the whole
period of convict transporta-on, the Crown shipped more than 160,000 men, women,
and children (due to defects in the records, the true number will never be precisely
known) in bondage to Australia. This was the largest forced exile of ci-zens at the behest
of a European government in pre-modern history. Nothing in earlier penology compares
with it. In Australia, England drew the sketch for our own century’s vaster and more
terrible fresco of repression the Gulag. No other country had such a birth, and its pangs
may be said to have begun on the akernoon of January 26, 1788, when a fleet of eleven
vessels carrying 1,030 people, including 548 male and 188 female convicts, under the
command of captain Arthur Phillip in his flagship Sirius, entered Port Jackson or, as it
would presently be called, Sydney Harbour.

(1) When the author refers to “the marauder within”, he is referring to:
(a) the working class.
(b) the lower class.
(c) the criminal class.
(d) the Loch Ness monster.

(2) According to the passage, the intellectual mentors of Australia could be:
(a) Hobbes and Cook
(b) Hobbes and Sade
(c) Phillip and Jackson
(d) Sade and Phillip

(3) Which of the following does not describe what the English regarded Australia to be:
(a) a mutant society.
(b) an exiled world.
(c) an enigma-c con-nent.
(d) a new fron-er.

8. Understanding where you are in the world is a basic survival skill, which is why we,
like most species come hard-wired with specialized brain areas to create cognitive
maps of our surroundings. Where humans are unique, though, with the possible
exception of honeybees, is that we try to communicate this understanding the
world with others. We have a long history of doing this by drawing maps – the
earliest version yet discovered were scrawled on cave walls 14,000 years ago.
Human cultures have been drawing them on stone tablets, papyrus, paper and now
computer screens ever since.
Given such a long history of human map-making, it perhaps surprising that is only
within the last few hundred years that north has been consistently considered to be
at the top. In fact, for much of human history, north almost never appeared at the
top, according to Jerry Brotton, a map historian... “North was rarely put at the top
for the simple fact that north is where darkness comes from,” he says. “West is also
very unlikely to be put at the top because west is where the sun disappears.”
Confusingly, early Chinese maps seem to buck this trend. But, Brotton, says, even
though they did have compasses at the time, that isn’t the reason that they placed
north at the top. Early Chinese compasses were actually oriented to point south,
which was considered to be more desirable than deepest darkest north. But in
Chinese maps, the emperor, who lived in the north of the country was always put at
the top of the map, with everyone else, his loyal subjects, looking up towards him.
“In Chinese culture the Emperor looks south because it’s where the winds come
from, it’s a good direction. North is not very good but you are in a position of the
subjection to the emperor, so you look up to him,” says Brotton.
Given that each culture has a very different idea of who, or what, they should look
up to its perhaps not surprising that there is very little consistency in which way
early maps pointed. In ancient Egyptian times the top of the world was east, the
position of sunrise. Early Islamic maps favoured south at the top because most of
the early Muslim cultures were north of Mecca, so they imagined looking up (south)
towards it Christian maps from the same era (called Mappa Mundi) put east at the
top, towards the Garden of Eden and with Jerusalem in the centre.
So when did everyone get together and decide that north was the top? It’s tempting
to put it down to European explorers like Christopher Columbus and Ferdinand
Magellan who were navigating by the North Star. But Brotton argues that these
early explorers didn’t think of the world like that at all. “When Columbus describes
the world it is in accordance with east being at the top,” he says “Columbus says he
is going towards paradise, so his mentality is from a medieval mappa mundi.” We’ve
got to remember, adds Brotton, that at the time, “no one knows what they are
doing and where they are going.”
(1) Which one of the following best describes what the passage is trying to do?
A. It questions on explanation about how maps are designed.
B. It corrects a misconception about the way maps are designed.
C. It critiques a methodology used to create maps.
D. It explores some myths about maps.

(2) Early maps did NOT put north at the top for all the following reasons EXCEPT
A. North was the source of darkness
B. South was favoured by some emperors
C. East and south were more important for religious reasons for some
civilisations
D. East was considered by some civilisations to be a more positive direction

(3) According to the passage, early Chinese maps placed north at the top because
A. the Chinese invented the compass and were aware of magnetic north.
B. they wanted to show respect to the emperor.
C. the Chinese emperor appreciated the winds from the south.
D. north was considered the most desirable direction.

(4) It can be inferred from the passage that European explorers like Columbus and
Magellan
A. set the precedent for north-up maps.
B. navigated by the compass.
C. used an eastward orientation for religious reasons.
D. navigated with the help of early maps.

(5) Which one of the following about the northern orientation of modern maps is
asserted in the passage
A. The biggest contributory factor was the understanding of magnetic north
B. The biggest contributory factor was the role of European explorers
C. The biggest contributory factor was the influence of Christian maps
D. The biggest contributory factor is not stated in the passage

(6) The role of natural phenomena in influencing map-making conventions is seen

most clearly in
 A. early Egyptian maps
B. early Islamic maps
C. early Chinese maps
D. early Christian maps

9. Despite their fierce reputation, Vikings may not have always been the plunderers
and pillages popular culture imagines them to be. In fact, they got their start trading
in northern European markets, researchers suggest.
Combs carved from animal antlers, as well as comb manufacturing waste and raw
antler material has turned up at three archaeological sites in Denmark, including a
medieval marketplace in the city of Ribe. A team of researchers from Denmark and
the U.K. hoped to identify the species of animal to which the antlers once belonged
by analysing collagen proteins in the samples and comparing them across the animal
kingdom, Laura Geggel reports for LiveScience. Somewhat surprisingly, molecular
analysis of the artifacts revealed that some combs and other material had been
carved from reindeer antlers.... Given that reindeer (Rangifer tarandus) don't live in
Denmark, the researchers posit that it arrived on Viking ships from Norway. Antler
craftsmanship, in the form of decorative combs, was part of Viking culture. Such
combs served as symbols of good health, Geggel writes. The fact that the animals
shed their antlers also made them easy to collect from the large herds that
inhabited Norway.
Since the artifacts were found in marketplace areas at each site it's more likely that
the Norsemen came to trade rather than pillage. Most of the artifacts also date to
the 780s, but some are as old as 725. That predates the beginning of Viking raids on
Great Britain by about 70 years. (Traditionally, the so-called "Viking Age" began with
these raids in 793 and ended with the Norman conquest of Great Britain in l066.)
Archaeologists had suspected that the Vikings had experience with long maritime
voyages [that] might have preceded their raiding days. Beyond Norway, these
combs would have been a popular industry in Scandinavia as Wela: It' s possible that
the antler combs represent a larger trade network, where the Norsemen supplied
raw material to craftsmen in Denmark and elsewhere.
(1) The primary purpose of the passage is:
A. to explain the presence of reindeer antler combs in Denmark.
B. to contradict the widely-accepted beginning date for the Viking Age in
Britain, and propose an alternate one.
C. to challenge the popular perception of Vikings as raiders by using
evidence that suggests their early trade relations with Europe.
D. to argue that besides being violent pillages, Vikings were also skilled
craftsmen and efficient traders.

(2) The evidence - "Most of the artifacts also date to the 780s, but some are as
old as 725" — has been used in the passage to argue that:
A. the beginning date of the Viking Age should be changed from 793 to 725.
B. the Viking raids started as early as 725.
C. some of the antler artifacts found in Denmark and Great Britain could have
come from Scandinavia.
D. the Vikings' trade relations with Europe pre-dates the Viking raids.
 (3) All of the following hold true for Vikings EXCEPT
A. Vikings brought reindeer from Norway to Denmark for trade purposes.
B. Before becoming the raiders of northern Europe, Vikings had trade relations
with European nations.
C. Antler combs, regarded by the Vikings as a symbol of good health, were part
of the Viking culture.
D. Vikings, once upon a time, had trade relations with Denmark and
Scandinavia.

10. The Indian government has announced an international competition to design a

National War Memorial in New Delhi, to honour all of the Indian soldiers who
served in the various wars and counter-insurgency campaigns from 1947 onwards.
The terms of the competition also specified that the new structure would be built
adjacent to the India Gate – a memorial to the Indian soldiers who died in the First
World War. Between the old imperialist memorial and the proposed nationalist one,
India’s contribution to the Second World War is airbrushed out of existence.
The Indian government’s conception of the war memorial was not merely
absentminded. Rather, it accurately reflected the fact that both academic history
and popular memory have yet to come to terms with India’s Second World War,
which continues to be seen as little more than mood music in the drama of India’s
advance towards independence and partition in 1947. Further, the political
trajectory of the post-war subcontinent has militated against popular remembrance
of the war. With partition and the onset of the India-Pakistan rivalry, both of the
new nations needed fresh stories for self-legitimisation rather than focusing on
shared wartime experiences.
However, the Second World War played a crucial role in both the independence and
partition of India. The Indian army recruited, trained and deployed some 2.5 million
men, almost 90,000 of which were killed and many more injured. Even at the time,
it was recognised as the largest volunteer force in the war.
India’s material and financial contribution to the war was equally significant. India
emerged as a major military-industrial and logistical base for Allied operations in
south-east Asia and the Middle East. This led the United States to take considerable
interest in the country’s future, and ensured that this was no longer the preserve of
the British government. Other wartime developments pointed in the direction of
India’s independence. In a stunning reversal of its long-standing financial
relationship with Britain, India finished the war as one of the largest creditors to the
imperial power.
Such extraordinary mobilization for war was achieved at great human cost, with the
Bengal famine the most extreme manifestation of widespread wartime deprivation.
The costs on India’s home front must be counted in millions of lives.
Indians signed up to serve on the war and home fronts for a variety of reasons.
Many were convinced that their contribution would open the doors to India’s
freedom. The political and social churn triggered by the war was evident in the
massive waves of popular protest and unrest that washed over rural and urban India
in the aftermath of the conflict. This turmoil was crucial in persuading the Attlee
government to rid itself of the incubus of ruling India. Seventy years on, it is time
that India engaged with the complex legacies of the Second World War. Bringing the
 war into the ambit of the new national memorial would be a fitting – if not overdue
– recognition that this was India’s War.
(1) In the first paragraph, the author laments the fact that
A. the new war memorial will be built right next to India Gate.
B. there is no recognition of the Indian soldiers who served in the Second
World War.
C. funds will be wasted on another war memorial when we already have the
India Gate memorial.
D. India lost thousands of human lives during the Second World War

(2) The author lists all of the following as outcomes of the Second World War
EXCEPT:
A. US recognition of India's strategic location and role in the war.
B. Large-scale deaths in Bengal as a result of deprivation and famine.
C. Independence of the subcontinent and its partition into two countries.
D. The large financial debt India owed to Britain after the war.

(3) The phrase “mood music” is used in the second paragraph to indicate that the
Second World War is viewed as:
A. Setting the stage for the emergence of the India–Pakistan rivalry in the
subcontinent.
B. a backdrop to the subsequent independence and partition of the region.
C. a part of the narrative on the ill-effects of colonial rule on India.
D. a tragic period in terms of loss of lives and national wealth.

(4) The author suggests that a major reason why India has not so far acknowledged
its role in the Second World War is that it:
A. wants to forget the human and financial toll of the War on the country
B. has been focused on building an independent, non-colonial political
identity.
C. views the War as a predominantly Allied effort, with India playing only a
supporting role.
D. blames the War for leading to the momentous partition of the country.

(5) The author claims that omitting mention of Indians who served in the Second
World War from the new National War Memorial is:
A. a reflection of misplaced priorities of the post-independence Indian
governments.
B. a reflection of the academic and popular view of India’s role in the War.
C. appropriate as their names can always be included in the India Gate
memorial.
D. is something which can be rectified in future by constructing a separate
memorial.

11. War, natural disasters and climate change are destroying some of the world's most
precious cultural sites. Google is trying to help preserve these archaeological
wonders by allowing users access to 3D images of these treasures through its site.
But the project is raising questions about Google's motivations and about who
should own the digital copyrights. Some critics call it a form of "digital colonialism."
When it comes to archaeological treasures, the losses have been mounting. ISIS
blew up parts of the ancient city of Palmyra in Syria and an earthquake hit Bagan, an
ancient city in Myanmar, damaging dozens of temples, in 2016. In the past, all
archaeologists and historians had for restoration and research were photos,
drawings, remnants and intuition.
But that's changing. Before the earthquake at Bagan, many of the temples on the
site were scanned. . . . [These] scans . . . are on Google's Arts & Culture site. The
digital renditions allow viewers to virtually wander the halls of the temple, look up-
close at paintings and turn the building over, to look up at its chambers. . . . [Google
Arts & Culture] works with museums and other non-profits . . . to put high-quality
images online.
The images of the temples in Bagan are part of a collaboration with CyArk, a non-
profit that creates the 3D scanning of historic sites. . . . Google . . . says [it] doesn't
make money off this website, but it fits in with Google's mission to make the world's
information available and useful.
Critics say the collaboration could be an attempt by a large corporation to wrap
itself in the sheen of culture. Ethan Watrall, an archaeologist, professor at Michigan
State University and a member of the Society for American Archaeology, says he's
not comfortable with the arrangement between CyArk and Google. . . . Watrall says
this project is just a way for Google to promote Google. "They want to make this
material accessible so people will browse it and be filled with wonder by it," he says.
"But at its core, it's all about advertisements and driving traffic." Watrall says these
images belong on the site of a museum or educational institution, where there is
serious scholarship and a very different mission. . . .
[There's] another issue for some archaeologists and art historians. CyArk owns the
copyrights of the scans — not the countries where these sites are located. That
means the countries need CyArk's permission to use these images for commercial
purposes.
Erin Thompson, a professor of art crime at John Jay College of Criminal Justice in
New York City, says it's the latest example of a Western nation appropriating a
foreign culture, a centuries-long battle. . . . CyArk says it copyrights the scans so no
one can use them in an inappropriate way. The company says it works closely with
authorities during the process, even training local people to help. But critics like
Thompson are not persuaded. . . . She would prefer the scans to be owned by the
countries and people where these sites are located.
(1) Based on his views mentioned in the passage, one could best characterise Dr.
Watrall as being:
A. opposed to the use of digital technology in archaeological and cultural
sites in developing countries.
B. dismissive of laypeople’s access to specialist images of archaeological and
cultural sites.
C. uneasy about the marketing of archaeological images for commercial use
by firms such as Google and CyArk.
D. critical about the links between a non-profit and a commercial tech
platform for distributing archaeological images.
 (2) By “digital colonialism”, critics of the CyArk–Google project are referring to the
fact that:
A. CyArk and Google have been scanning images without copyright permission
from host countries.
B. the scanning process can damage delicate frescos and statues at the sites.
C. countries where the scanned sites are located do not own the scan
copyrights.
D. CyArk and Google have not shared the details of digitisation with the host
countries.

(3) Which of the following, if true, would most strongly invalidate Dr. Watrall’s
objections?
A. Google takes down advertisements on its website hosting CyArk’s scanned
images.
B. There is a ban on CyArk scanning archaeological sites located in other
countries.
C. CyArk does not own the copyright on scanned images of archaeological
sites.
D. CyArk uploads its scanned images of archaeological sites onto museum
websites only.

(4) In Dr. Thompson’s view, CyArk owning the copyright of its digital scans of
archaeological sites is akin to:
A. tourists uploading photos of monuments onto social media.
B. the seizing of ancient Egyptian artefacts by a Western museum.
C. the illegal downloading of content from the internet.
D. digital platforms capturing users’ data for market research.

(5) Of the following arguments, which one is LEAST likely to be used by the
companies that digitally scan cultural sites?
A. It enables people who cannot physically visit these sites to experience them.
B. It helps preserve precious images in case the sites are damaged or
destroyed.
C. It allows a large corporation to project itself as a protector of culture.
D. It provides images free of cost to all users.

12. British colonial policy . . . went through two policy phases, or at least there were two
strategies between which its policies actually oscillated, sometimes to its great
advantage. At first, the new colonial apparatus exercised caution, and occupied
India by a mix of military power and subtle diplomacy, the high ground in the middle
of the circle of circles. This, however, pushed them into contradictions. For,
whatever their sense of the strangeness of the country and the thinness of colonial
presence, the British colonial state represented the great conquering discourse of
Enlightenment rationalism, entering India precisely at the moment of its greatest
unchecked arrogance. As inheritors and representatives of this discourse, which
carried everything before it, this colonial state could hardly adopt for long such a
self-denying attitude. It had restructured everything in Europe—the productive
system, the political regimes, the moral and cognitive orders—and would do the
 same in India, particularly as some empirically inclined theorists of that generation
considered the colonies a massive laboratory of utilitarian or other theoretical
experiments. Consequently, the colonial state could not settle simply for eminence
at the cost of its marginality; it began to take initiatives to introduce the logic of
modernity into Indian society. But this modernity did not enter a passive society.
Sometimes, its initiatives were resisted by pre-existing structural forms. At times,
there was a more direct form of collective resistance. Therefore the map of
continuity and discontinuity that this state left behind at the time of independence
was rather complex and has to be traced with care.
Most significantly, of course, initiatives for . . . modernity came to assume an
external character. The acceptance of modernity came to be connected,
ineradicably, with subjection. This again points to two different problems, one
theoretical, the other political. Theoretically, because modernity was externally
introduced, it is explanatorily unhelpful to apply the logical format of the ‘transition
process’ to this pattern of change. Such a logical format would be wrong on two
counts. First, however subtly, it would imply that what was proposed to be built was
something like European capitalism. (And, in any case, historians have forcefully
argued that what it was to replace was not like feudalism, with or without
modificatory adjectives.) But, more fundamentally, the logical structure of
endogenous change does not apply here. Here transformation agendas attack as an
external force. This externality is not something that can be casually mentioned and
forgotten. It is inscribed on every move, every object, every proposal, every
legislative act, each line of causality. It comes to be marked on the epoch itself. This
repetitive emphasis on externality should not be seen as a nationalist initiative that
is so well rehearsed in Indian social science. . . .
Quite apart from the externality of the entire historical proposal of modernity, some
of its contents were remarkable. . . . Economic reforms, or rather alterations . . . did
not foreshadow the construction of a classical capitalist economy, with its necessary
emphasis on extractive and transport sectors. What happened was the creation of a
degenerate version of capitalism—what early dependency theorists called the
‘development of underdevelopment’.
(1) All of the following statements about British colonialism can be inferred from the
first paragraph, EXCEPT that it:
A. was at least partly an outcome of Enlightenment rationalism.
B. faced resistance from existing structural forms of Indian modernity.
C. was at least partly shaped by the project of European modernity.
D. allowed the treatment of colonies as experimental sites.

(2) All of the following statements, if true, could be seen as supporting the
arguments in the passage, EXCEPT:
A. the introduction of capitalism in India was not through the transformation
of feudalism, as happened in Europe.
B. modernity was imposed upon India by the British and, therefore, led to
underdevelopment.
C. throughout the history of colonial conquest, natives have often been
experimented on by the colonisers.
D. the change in British colonial policy was induced by resistance to modernity
in Indian society.
 (3) “Consequently, the colonial state could not settle simply for eminence at the
cost of its marginality; it began to take initiatives to introduce the logic of
modernity into Indian society.” Which of the following best captures the sense
of this statement?
A. The colonial state’s eminence was unsettled by its marginal position;
therefore, it developed Indian society by modernising it.
B. The colonial enterprise was a costly one; so to justify the cost it began to
take initiatives to introduce the logic of modernity into Indian society.
C. The colonial state felt marginalised from Indian society because of its own
modernity; therefore, it sought to address that marginalisation by bringing
its modernity to change Indian society.
D. The cost of the colonial state’s eminence was not settled; therefore, it took
the initiative of introducing modernity into Indian society.

(4) Which one of the following 5-word sequences best captures the flow of the
arguments in the passage?
A. Military power—arrogance—laboratory—modernity—capitalism.
B. Colonial policy—Enlightenment—external modernity—subjection—
underdevelopment.
C. Colonial policy—arrogant rationality—resistance—independence—
development.
D. Military power—colonialism—restructuring—feudalism—capitalism.

(5) Which of the following observations is a valid conclusion to draw from the
author’s statement that “the logical structure of endogenous change does not
apply here. Here transformation agendas attack as an external force”?
A. The endogenous logic of colonialism can only bring change if it attacks and
transforms external forces.
B. Indian society is not endogamous; it is more accurately characterised as
aggressively exogamous.
C. Colonised societies cannot be changed through logic; they need to be
transformed with external force.
D. The transformation of Indian society did not happen organically, but was
forced by colonial agendas.

13. Few realise that the government of China, governing an empire of some 60 million
people during the Tang dynasty (618–907), implemented a complex financial system
that recognised grain, coins and textiles as money. . . . Coins did have certain
advantages: they were durable, recognisable and provided a convenient medium of
exchange, especially for smaller transactions. However, there were also
disadvantages. A continuing shortage of copper meant that government mints could
not produce enough coins for the entire empire, to the extent that for most of the
dynasty’s history, coins constituted only a tenth of the money supply. One of the
main objections to calls for taxes to be paid in coin was that peasant producers who
could weave cloth or grow grain – the other two major currencies of the Tang –
would not be able to produce coins, and therefore would not be able to pay their
taxes. . . .
As coins had advantages and disadvantages, so too did textiles. If in circulation for a
long period of time, they could show signs of wear and tear. Stained, faded and torn
bolts of textiles had less value than a brand new bolt. Furthermore, a full bolt had a
particular value. If consumers cut textiles into smaller pieces to buy or sell
something worth less than a full bolt, that, too, greatly lessened the value of the
textiles. Unlike coins, textiles could not be used for small transactions; as [an
official] noted, textiles could not “be exchanged by the foot and the inch” . . .
But textiles had some advantages over coins. For a start, textile production was
widespread and there were fewer problems with the supply of textiles. For large
transactions, textiles weighed less than their equivalent in coins since a string of
coins . . . could weigh as much as 4 kg. Furthermore, the dimensions of a bolt of silk
held remarkably steady from the third to the tenth century: 56 cm wide and 12 m
long . . . The values of different textiles were also more stable than the fluctuating
values of coins. . . .
The government also required the use of textiles for large transactions. Coins, on
the other hand, were better suited for smaller transactions, and possibly, given the
costs of transporting coins, for a more local usage. Grain, because it rotted easily,
was not used nearly as much as coins and textiles, but taxpayers were required to
pay grain to the government as a share of their annual tax obligations, and official
salaries were expressed in weights of grain. . . .
In actuality, our own currency system today has some similarities even as it is
changing in front of our eyes. . . . We have cash – coins for small transactions like
paying for parking at a meter, and banknotes for other items; cheques and
debit/credit cards for other, often larger, types of payments. At the same time, we
are shifting to electronic banking and making payments online. Some young people
never use cash [and] do not know how to write a cheque . . .
(1) In the context of the passage, which one of the following can be inferred with
regard to the use of currency during the Tang era?
A. Currency usage was similar to that of modern times.
B. Currency that deteriorated easily was not used for official work.
C. Copper coins were more valuable and durable than textiles.
D. Grains were the most used currency because of government
requirements.

(2) According to the passage, the modern currency system shares all the following
features with that of the Tang, EXCEPT that:
A. it uses different materials as currency.
B. its currencies fluctuate in value over time.
C. it uses different currencies for different situations.
D. it is undergoing transformation.

(3) When discussing textiles as currency in the Tang period, the author uses the
words “steady” and “stable” to indicate all of the following EXCEPT:
A. reliable supply.
B. reliable measurements.
C. reliable quality.
D. reliable transportation.
 (4) During the Tang period, which one of the following would not be an
economically sound decision for a small purchase in the local market that is
worth one-eighth of a bolt of cloth?
A. Cutting one-eighth of the fabric from a new bolt to pay the amount.
B. Making the payment with the appropriate weight of grain.
C. Using coins issued by the government to make the payment.
D. Paying with a faded bolt of cloth that has approximately the same value.

14. The sleights of hand that conflate consumption with virtue are a central theme in A
Thirst for Empire, a sweeping and richly detailed history of tea by the historian Erika
Rappaport. How did tea evolve from an obscure "China drink" to a universal
beverage imbued with civilising properties? The answer, in brief, revolves around
this conflation, not only by profit-motivated marketers but by a wide variety of
interest groups. While abundant historical records have allowed the study of how
tea itself moved from east to west, Rappaport is focused on the movement of the
idea of tea to suit particular purposes.
Beginning in the 1700s, the temperance movement advocated for tea as a pleasure
that cheered but did not inebriate, and industrialists soon borrowed this moral
argument in advancing their case for free trade in tea (and hence more open
markets for their textiles). Factory owners joined in, compelled by the cause of a
sober workforce, while Christian missionaries discovered that tea "would soothe
any colonial encounter". During the Second World War, tea service was presented
as a social and patriotic activity that uplifted soldiers and calmed refugees.
But it was tea's consumer-directed marketing by importers and retailers “ and later
by brands “ that most closely portends current trade debates. An early version of
the "farm to table" movement was sparked by anti-Chinese sentiment and concerns
over trade deficits, as well as by the reality and threat of adulterated tea containing
dirt and hedge clippings. Lipton was soon advertising "from the Garden to Tea Cup"
supply chains originating in British India and supervised by "educated Englishmen".
While tea marketing always presented direct consumer benefits (health, energy,
relaxation), tea drinkers were also assured that they were participating in a larger
noble project that advanced the causes of family, nation and civilization. . . .
Rappaport's treatment of her subject is refreshingly apolitical. Indeed, it is a virtue
that readers will be unable to guess her political orientation: both the miracle of
markets and capitalism's dark underbelly are evident in tea's complex story, as are
the complicated effects of British colonialism. . . . Commodity histories are now
themselves commodities: recent works investigate cotton, salt, cod, sugar,
chocolate, paper and milk. And morality marketing is now a commodity as well,
applied to food, "fair trade" apparel and eco-tourism. Yet tea is, Rappaport makes
clear, a world apart “ an astonishing success story in which tea marketers not only
succeeded in conveying a sense of moral elevation to the consumer but also
arguably did advance the cause of civilisation and community.
I have been offered tea at a British garden party, a Bedouin campfire, a Turkish
carpet shop and a Japanese chashitsu, to name a few settings. In each case the
offering was more an idea “ friendship, community, respect “ than a drink, and in
each case the idea then created a reality. It is not a stretch to say that tea marketers
have advanced the particularly noble cause of human dialogue and friendship.
 (1) The author of this book review is LEAST likely to support the view that:
A. tea drinking was sometimes promoted as a patriotic duty.
B. the ritual of drinking tea promotes congeniality and camaraderie.
C. tea drinking has become a social ritual worldwide.
D. tea became the leading drink in Britain in the nineteenth century.

(2) This book review argues that, according to Rappaport, tea is unlike other
"morality" products because it:
A. appealed to a universal group and not just to a niche section of people.
B. had an actual beneficial effect on social interaction and society in general.
C. was actively encouraged by interest groups in the government.
D. was marketed by a wide range of interest groups.

(3) According to this book review, A Thirst for Empire says that, in addition to
"profit-motivated marketers", tea drinking was promoted in Britain by all of the
following EXCEPT:
A. factories to instil sobriety in their labour.
B. tea drinkers lobbying for product diversity.
C. manufacturers who were pressing for duty-free imports.
D. the anti-alcohol lobby as a substitute for the consumption of liquor.

(4) Today, "conflate[Ing] consumption with virtue" can be seen in the marketing of:
A. sustainably farmed foods.
B. ergonomically designed products.
C. travel to pristine destinations.
D. natural health supplements.

15. The Chinese have two different concepts of a copy. Fangzhipin . . . are imitations
where the difference from the original is obvious. These are small models or copies
that can be purchased in a museum shop, for example. The second concept for a
copy is fuzhipin . . . They are exact reproductions of the original, which, for the
Chinese, are of equal value to the original. It has absolutely no negative
connotations. The discrepancy with regard to the understanding of what a copy is
has often led to misunderstandings and arguments between China and Western
museums. The Chinese often send copies abroad instead of originals, in the firm
belief that they are not essentially different from the originals. The rejection that
then comes from the Western museums is perceived by the Chinese as an insult. . . .
The Far Eastern notion of identity is also very confusing to the Western observer.
The Ise Grand Shrine [in Japan] is 1,300 years old for the millions of Japanese people
who go there on pilgrimage every year. But in reality this temple complex is
completely rebuilt from scratch every 20 years. . . .
The cathedral of Freiburg Minster in southwest Germany is covered in scaffolding
almost all year round. The sandstone from which it is built is a very soft, porous
material that does not withstand natural erosion by rain and wind. After a while, it
crumbles. As a result, the cathedral is continually being examined for damage, and
eroded stones are replaced. And in the cathedral's dedicated workshop, copies of
the damaged sandstone figures are constantly being produced. Of course, attempts
are made to preserve the stones from the Middle Ages for as long as possible. But at
some point they, too, are removed and replaced with new stones.
Fundamentally, this is the same operation as with the Japanese shrine, except in this
case the production of a replica takes place very slowly and over long periods of
time. . . . In the field of art as well, the idea of an unassailable original developed
historically in the Western world. Back in the 17th century [in the West], excavated
artworks from antiquity were treated quite differently from today. They were not
restored in a way that was faithful to the original. Instead, there was massive
intervention in these works, changing their appearance. . . .
It is probably this intellectual position that explains why Asians have far fewer
scruples about cloning than Europeans. The South Korean cloning researcher Hwang
Woo-Suk, who attracted worldwide attention with his cloning experiments in 2004,
is a Buddhist. He found a great deal of support and followers among Buddhists,
while Christians called for a ban on human cloning. . . . Hwang legitimised his cloning
experiments with his religious affiliation: 'I am Buddhist, and I have no philosophical
problem with cloning. And as you know, the basis of Buddhism is that life is recycled
through reincarnation. In some ways, I think, therapeutic cloning restarts the circle
of life.'
(1) Based on the passage, which one of the following copies would a Chinese
museum be unlikely to consider as having less value than the original?
A. Pablo Picasso's painting of Vincent van Gogh's original painting, identical
in every respect.
B. Pablo Picasso's photograph of Vincent van Gogh's original painting,
printed to exactly the same scale.
C. Pablo Picasso's miniaturised, but otherwise faithful and accurate painting
of Vincent van Gogh's original painting.
D. Pablo Picasso's painting of Vincent van Gogh's original painting, bearing
Picasso's signature.

(2) Which one of the following statements does not correctly express the similarity
between the Ise Grand Shrine and the cathedral of Freiburg Minster?
A. Both can be regarded as very old structures.
B. Both will one day be completely rebuilt.
C. Both were built as places of worship.
D. Both are continually undergoing restoration.

(3) Which one of the following scenarios is unlikely to follow from the arguments
in the passage?
A. A 17th century British painter would have no problem adding personal
touches when restoring an ancient Roman painting.
B. A 20th century Japanese Buddhist monk would value a reconstructed shrine
as the original.
C. A 17th century French artist who adhered to a Christian worldview would
need to be completely true to the original intent of a painting when
restoring it.
D. A 21st century Christian scientist is likely to oppose cloning because of his
philosophical orientation.
 (4) The value that the modern West assigns to "an unassailable original" has
resulted in all of the following EXCEPT:
A. it discourages them from making interventions in ancient art.
B. it discourages them from carrying out human cloning.
C. it discourages them from simultaneous displays of multiple copies of a
painting.
D. it allows regular employment for certain craftsmen.

16. Interpretations of the Indian past . . . were inevitably influenced by colonial

concerns and interests, and also by prevalent European ideas about history,
civilization and the Orient. Orientalist scholars studied the languages and the texts
with selected Indian scholars, but made little attempt to understand the world-view
of those who were teaching them. The readings therefore are something of a
disjuncture from the traditional ways of looking at the Indian past. . . .
Orientalism [which we can understand broadly as Western perceptions of the
Orient] fuelled the fantasy and the freedom sought by European Romanticism,
particularly in its opposition to the more disciplined Neo-Classicism. The cultures of
Asia were seen as bringing a new Romantic paradigm. Another Renaissance was
anticipated through an acquaintance with the Orient, and this, it was thought,
would be different from the earlier Greek Renaissance. It was believed that this
Oriental Renaissance would liberate European thought and literature from the
increasing focus on discipline and rationality that had followed from the earlier
Enlightenment. . . . [The Romantic English poets, Wordsworth and Coleridge,] were
apprehensive of the changes introduced by industrialization and turned to nature
and to fantasies of the Orient.
However, this enthusiasm gradually changed, to conform with the emphasis later in
the nineteenth century on the innate superiority of European civilization. Oriental
civilizations were now seen as having once been great but currently in decline. The
various phases of Orientalism tended to mould European understanding of the
Indian past into a particular pattern. . . . There was an attempt to formulate Indian
culture as uniform, such formulations being derived from texts that were given
priority. The so-called 'discovery' of India was largely through selected literature in
Sanskrit. This interpretation tended to emphasize non-historical aspects of Indian
culture, for example the idea of an unchanging continuity of society and religion
over 3,000 years; and it was believed that the Indian pattern of life was so
concerned with metaphysics and the subtleties of religious belief that little attention
was given to the more tangible aspects.
German Romanticism endorsed this image of India, and it became the mystic land
for many Europeans, where even the most ordinary actions were imbued with a
complex symbolism. This was the genesis of the idea of the spiritual east, and also,
incidentally, the refuge of European intellectuals seeking to distance themselves
from the changing patterns of their own societies. A dichotomy in values was
maintained, Indian values being described as 'spiritual' and European values as
'materialistic', with little attempt to juxtapose these values with the reality of Indian
society. This theme has been even more firmly endorsed by a section of Indian
opinion during the last hundred years.
It was a consolation to the Indian intelligentsia for its perceived inability to counter
the technical superiority of the west, a superiority viewed as having enabled Europe
 to colonize Asia and other parts of the world. At the height of anti-colonial
nationalism it acted as a salve for having been made a colony of Britain.

(1) It can be inferred from the passage that to gain a more accurate view of a
nation's history and culture, scholars should do all of the following EXCEPT:
A. develop an oppositional framework to grasp cultural differences.
B. examine the complex reality of that nation's society.
C. read widely in the country's literature.
D. examine their own beliefs and biases.

(2) It can be inferred from the passage that the author is not likely to support the
view that:
A. the Orientalist view of Asia fired the imagination of some Western poets.
B. Indian culture acknowledges the material aspects of life.
C. India's culture has evolved over the centuries.
D. India became a colony although it matched the technical knowledge of the
West.

(3) Which one of the following styles of research is most similar to the Orientalist
scholars' method of understanding Indian history and culture?
A. Reading about the life of early American settlers and later waves of
migration to understand the evolution of American culture.
B. Reading 18th century accounts by travellers to India to see how they viewed
Indian life and culture of the time.
C. Studying artefacts excavated at a palace to understand the lifestyle of those
who lived there.
D. Analysing Hollywood action movies that depict violence and sex to
understand contemporary America.

(4) In the context of the passage, all of the following statements are true EXCEPT:
A. Orientalist scholarship influenced Indians.
B. Indian texts influenced Orientalist scholars.
C. India's spiritualism served as a salve for European colonisers.
D. Orientalists' understanding of Indian history was linked to colonial concerns.

17. If history doesn’t follow any stable rules, and if we cannot predict its future course,
why study it? It often seems that the chief aim of science is to predict the future –
meteorologists are expected to forecast whether tomorrow will bring rain or
sunshine; economists should know whether devaluing the currency will avert or
precipitate an economic crisis; good doctors foresee whether chemotherapy or
radiation therapy will be more successful in curing lung cancer. Similarly, historians
are asked to examine the actions of our ancestors so that we can repeat their wise
decisions and avoid their mistakes. But it never works like that because the present
is just too different from the past. It is a waste of time to study Hannibal’s tactics in
the Second Punic War so as to copy them in the Third World War. What worked well
in cavalry battles will not necessarily be of much benefit in cyber warfare. Science is
not just about predicting the future, though. Scholars in all fields often seek to
broaden our horizons, thereby opening before us new and unknown futures. This is
 especially true of history. Though historians occasionally try their hand at prophecy
(without notable success), the study of history aims above all to make us aware of
possibilities we don’t normally consider. Historians study the past not in order to
repeat it, but in order to be liberated from it. Each and every one of us has been
born into a given historical reality, ruled by particular norms and values, and
managed by a unique economic and political system. We take this reality for
granted, thinking it is natural, inevitable and immutable. We forget that our world
was created by an accidental chain of events, and that history shaped not only our
technology, politics and society, but also our thoughts, fears and dreams. The cold
hand of the past emerges from the grave of our ancestors, grips us by the neck and
directs our gaze towards a single future. We have felt that grip from the moment we
were born, so we assume that it is a natural and inescapable part of who we are.
Therefore we seldom try to shake ourselves free, and envision alternative futures.
Studying history aims to loosen the grip of the past. It enables us to turn our head
this way and that, and begin to notice possibilities that our ancestors could not
imagine, or didn’t want us to imagine. By observing the accidental chain of events
that led us here, we realise how our very thoughts and dreams took shape – and we
can begin to think and dream differently. Studying history will not tell us what to
choose, but at least it gives us more options.
(1) Based on the passage, which of the following options would be the most
appropriate for citizens to learn history?
A. British names of streets in India should not be changed.
B. Every street in India should display a plaque that lists all its previous
names.
C. British names of streets in India should be changed to Indian names along
with an explanation of their history.
D. Names of Indian streets should be based on suggestions generated
through an opinion poll.
E. Names of Indian streets should be periodically changed.

(2) Which of the following options is the closest to the essence of the passage?
A. History, unlike Physics, does not help predict future.
B. History deals with long time periods.
C. History documents the past events related to specific people.
D. There is no strict cause and effect relationship in history.
E. History has the potential to make us eclectic.

(3) Read the following sentences:

1. A historian successfully predicted a political crisis based on similar events of
the last century.
2. Using the latest technology, doctors could decipher the microbe causing the
disease.
3. Students who prepared for an examination by perusing past 10 years'
question papers did not do well in the examination.
4. A tribe in Andaman learns to predict epidemic outbreaks by listening to the
stories of how their ancestors predicted the past outbreaks.
 Which of the statement(s) above, if true would contradict the view of the
author?
A. 1 and 2 only
B. 3 and 4 only
C. 2 and 3 only
D. 1 and 4 only
E. 1, 2 and 4 only

Answer key:

(1) 1 2 3 4
C B C D
(2) 1 2 3 4 5
C C B A D
(3) 1 2 3
C B C
(4) 1 2 3 4 5
A D C D E
(5) 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
C B C D A D A B
(6) 1 2 3 4 5 6
D B A D A C
(7) 1 2 3
C B D
(8) 1 2 3 4 5 6
B B B C D A
(9) 1 2 3
C D A
(10) 1 2 3 4 5
B D B B B
(11) 1 2 3 4 5
D C D B C
(12) 1 2 3 4 5
B D C B D
(13) 1 2 3 4
A D D A
(14) 1 2 3 4
D B B A
(15) 1 2 3 4
A D C B
(16) 1 2 3 4
A D D C
(17) 1 2 3
B E D