Waiting for the Rain Questions & Answers | Class 8 English | CBSE NCERT

(a) — He opened his eyes with the hope that it would rain at least that day.

(b) — Whether or not it rains, a farmer's day begins early; his work is tied to the land, not to convenience.

(b) — The sun was beginning to rise, "glowing crimson like fire."

jowar; dhal

Velu was hardworking and devoted to his land. He cultivated it season after season, and "throughout the year he worked, never thinking of rest or taking a holiday" — for nearly six years since he got his own piece of land.

As a farmer, his crop and livelihood depended on rain. Hoping for rain, his first act was to check the sky — and there was not a cloud, which worried him.

(b) — "At the end of summer, the rains didn't come," and days, weeks and months passed without rain.

(a) — The extract states the fields lay untended and "the earth hardened, crusted and cracked."

(c) — With cracked, barren land and no crop possible, the only thing the farmers had left was the daily hope that the rains would come.

False — Velu and his neighbours all waited, and all the fields lay untended; the whole farming community was affected.

Through the words "Days, weeks and months passed, and still there was no rain," showing that the villagers' waiting stretched endlessly through the seasons.

'Forlorn' means sad and neglected. The land looked as miserable and uncared-for as the farmers felt — the writer uses the word to make the barren earth share the villagers' sorrow.

(b) — Someone said astrologers could tell them what would please the heavens so that rain would be sent down.

(b) — He reasoned that since rain always came naturally in earlier years, talking to astrologers could not be what brought rain.

(b) — "He decided to go to the weather office in the city and talk to someone" — to get a practical answer about when it would rain.

dust

Even the weather office could not tell him when it would rain — the officials themselves exclaimed, "We are at a loss ourselves!" With both faith and science unable to explain the drought, Velu had no answer anywhere and returned dejected.

Yes, in part — he looked for a practical, rational answer instead of blindly following superstition. Going to the weather office showed a scientific spirit, though in this case even the experts could not predict the rain.

(a) — Though aged and wrinkled, her sparkling eyes showed a lively, warm spirit.

(b) — Puzzled by her smile in those hard times, he asked, "What are you smiling at, Amma?"

(b) — When Velu said, "Without the rains, there's nothing to smile about," she accepted his words and her smile faded.

Amma

It shows how deeply depressed he is — the drought has taken away all his joy, so much so that he cannot understand how anyone can smile when there is no rain.

She is cheerful and warm-hearted — she smiles even during a drought — yet she is also understanding and humble, letting Velu's grief dim her own smile out of sympathy rather than arguing with him.

(b) — He felt that despite his honesty and hard work, the rainless season was an undeserved punishment, leaving him unable to till the land or feed his family.

(a) — Without rain he could not till the land, no crop would grow, and he asked bitterly, "How shall I feed my family?"

(b) — She said, "Perhaps you have worked too hard," hinting that the farmer was not the only one who needed rest.

six

Because without rain the land lay hard, crusted and cracked. He could not till the dry earth, and until he tilled it, no crop could be sown or grown.

It shows that Velu believed a farmer's duty is ceaseless work — resting seemed like a fault to him. He could not yet imagine that work and rest must balance, for both man and land.

(b) — She says "The earth works, too, when you plough, and sow, and plant," implying the land is a labourer who needs rest like any worker.

(c) — She says the earth has worked "for years, centuries, in fact, thousands of years."

(b) — Calling him "my son" shows her warm, caring, motherly attitude towards the younger man.

False — She spoke "softly, smiling," gently persuading Velu rather than scolding him.

She asks, "Shouldn't someone let the land rest a bit?" — pointing out that while Velu can rest when old and tired, the ever-working earth is never given a holiday.

Her gentle, loving manner kept Velu listening instead of taking offence. Wisdom offered with kindness persuades better than anger — which is why Velu slowly opened his mind to her idea.

(b) — He said, "Rest? Let the land rest? I don't understand," looking at her puzzled.

(b) — She says, "Nature is a mother to all of us. To you and to me. And to the trees, the water and the soil."

(b) — "She takes care to give her children the rest they need."

old

She includes Velu, herself, and "the trees, the water and the soil" — all living and non-living things — showing that everything on earth is Nature's child, equally deserving of her care.

The difficulty is that people like Velu "don't realise that the earth is old" and needs rest. It is a difficulty because until people understand this, they will keep overworking the land and blame the drought instead of seeing Nature's wisdom.

(b) — "The land lies undisturbed, staring at the sky, resting" — the drought gives the tired earth a chance to recover.

(b) — After its rest, the land "will spring back into activity, fresh and ready for your crop."

(b) — It means Nature has her own wisdom and knows what is best — better than humans do.

resting

She made him see the rainless season not as a punishment but as a healing rest for the tired land. The land, like a weary worker, was lying at peace and would return refreshed for the next crop.

I think her advice is wise and very relevant today. Soil that is cultivated round the year loses its fertility; periods of rest (like leaving fields fallow) restore it. Overworked people, too, need rest to be productive again.

(b) — After the old woman walked away, Velu too rose and walked towards his village and home.

(b) — If the old woman was right, his beloved land was "breathing peacefully, taking a break from the constant, ceaseless year-round cultivation."

(b) — 'Ceaseless' means continuous; for nearly six years Velu had cultivated the land season after season without a break.

False — He thought of his land "if he were to believe the old woman," showing he was still turning the idea over in his mind, not fully convinced.

It shows Velu's deep attachment — the land was his own for nearly six years and had never failed him, so he loved it like a member of the family and worried about it like one.

It personifies the land as a living being that rests and recovers. Just as a tired person sleeps peacefully, the drought-stricken land lies calm, gathering strength for the season ahead.

(b) — He felt "a cool breeze on his back," the first sign of the coming change.

(b) — "He felt a tiny drop on his shoulder," looked up, and saw the clouds gathering in the distance.

(b) — At the promise of "sweet, fragrant rain," Velu ran home laughing and happy.

sweet, fragrant

For Velu, the first rain after months of drought means life — crops, food and hope. Calling it sweet and fragrant captures the smell of the first drops on dry earth and the joy it brings.

The story ends with the very thing Velu waited for — the rain finally arrives, and he runs home laughing and happy. The ending confirms the old woman's wisdom that "Nature knows a thing or two": the land has rested, and now rain returns to it. The message is that we must trust Nature's rhythm; even delays have their purpose.

Velu is a hardworking farmer. His first thought on opening his eyes was, "I hope it rains at least today" — showing how much his life depended on rain.

Since getting his own piece of land six years earlier, he had cultivated it season after season — harvesting jowar one season and dhal the next — never thinking of rest or a holiday.

Scanning the morning sky, he found not a cloud. The cloudless sky gave no hope of rain, so the day looked unpromising for a farmer desperate for showers.

Without rain, the earth "hardened, crusted and cracked." Until the soil softened, it could not be ploughed or sown, so the fields lay untended.

Someone suggested talking to astrologers, who could tell them what would please the heavens to send down rain. Velu did not agree, arguing that rains had come all those years without such consultations.

He went to the weather office to ask when the rain would come. The officials said they were "at a loss ourselves" — despite so many favourable conditions, there was no rain — so he learned nothing and came back dejected.

Tired and thirsty, he rested under a large tree whose shade was cool and inviting. There he met an old woman who was also sitting there, sheltering from the sun.

Because for Velu there was "nothing to smile about" without the rains; he could not understand anyone being cheerful during a drought.

He wondered what he had done to deserve the drought. Without rain he could not till the land, no crop would grow, and he bitterly asked how he would feed his family.

She meant that Velu had overworked not only himself but also his land. Just as he needed rest, the earth too had worked ceaselessly and needed a break.

Work was his nature and pride — he had "only done what any hard-working farmer would do." Being idle during the first rainless season in six years troubled him more than the drought itself.

She said "The earth works, too, when you plough, and sow, and plant" — every act of cultivation makes the land labour, and it has worked for centuries, thousands of years.

Because Nature cares for everyone and everything — Velu, the old woman herself, the trees, the water and the soil — like a mother who gives her children the rest they need.

The difficulty is that people do not realise that the earth is old and needs rest. They see the drought as a punishment instead of understanding Nature's wisdom.

The land is left alone, lying undisturbed, "staring at the sky, resting." When the rains come, it will spring back into activity, fresh and ready for the crop.

He began to think of his beloved land not as ruined but as breathing peacefully, taking a break from the constant, ceaseless year-round cultivation — and admitted, "Perhaps she is right."

'Forlorn' means sad and neglected; 'dejected' means sad and disappointed; 'ceaseless' means continuous without stopping; 'barren' means infertile, producing nothing. (Any two.)

He felt a cool breeze on his back, then a tiny drop of rain on his shoulder, and then, looking up, saw the clouds gathering in the distance.

As Velu approaches the village in the evening, the rain finally arrives — a cool breeze, a tiny drop, gathering clouds and the promise of lightning, thunder and sweet, fragrant rain. Velu runs home laughing and happy.

The story teaches that Nature, like a mother, knows what her children need. The rainless season, which seemed a curse, was the land's much-needed rest — so we should trust Nature's wisdom rather than despair.

Velu's reaction reveals a hardworking, honest and dutiful farmer. He is rational — he rejects consulting astrologers and instead takes his question to the weather office, trusting practical enquiry. He is also deeply responsible, worrying above all about feeding his family. Yet he is initially rigid, equating goodness with ceaseless labour and finding it "hard not to be able to work." His willingness to listen to the old woman and admit "perhaps she is right" shows that beneath his bitterness lies an open, humble mind.

The old woman teaches gently, not by lecturing. She listens while Velu pours out his bitterness, then offers a single thought-provoking hint — "Perhaps you have worked too hard." When he reacts angrily, she speaks "softly, smiling," and explains with motherly affection, addressing him as "my son." She uses simple images he can understand: the earth that works when he ploughs and sows, the mother who gives her children rest, and the land lying undisturbed, "staring at the sky, resting." Finally, she plants trust — "Nature knows a thing or two... go home" — and leaves him to reflect, so Velu arrives at the truth himself.

The old woman's view is scientifically sound as well as wise. Velu himself, a strong man, admits he shall "work and never rest until I am too old" — yet even he cannot farm the rock-hard, cracked earth without rain. If a strong farmer needs rest, the earth that has worked "for years, centuries, in fact, thousands of years" surely does too. Land cultivated ceaselessly, season after season, loses its nutrients and vitality. The rainless season, therefore, is not a punishment but the land's holiday — it lies undisturbed, gathers strength, and "will spring back into activity, fresh and ready for your crop" when the rains return.

An old woman fits the story's message perfectly. Nature itself is described as a mother, so it is fitting that a motherly figure — who calls Velu "my son" and speaks "softly, smiling" — reveals Nature's ways. Her age represents accumulated experience, close to the earth and its rhythms, while her gentle feminity mirrors the nurturing side of Nature. Unlike the astrologers (superstition) or the weather office (technical knowledge without answers), she offers lived wisdom, and her humble shade-tree conversation succeeds where officialdom failed.

The story shows that a farmer's life hangs directly on nature: rain or no rain, he wakes early, and without rain he cannot till, sow or feed his family. It shows farmers' endurance — living "entirely on hope" through months of drought — and their honest labour. At the same time, it suggests that the farmer's relationship with nature should be a partnership, not a battle. Velu overworked his land, thinking only of yield; the story urges farmers to respect nature's rhythm, letting the land rest so it can stay fertile and productive.

The old woman's insight underlies modern sustainable farming. When land lies fallow, its nutrients rebuild, soil organisms recover, and moisture is conserved, so the next season's crop grows "fresh and ready." Alternating crops — as Velu did with jowar and dhal — and allowing natural rest periods prevents soil exhaustion, reduces dependence on chemicals, and keeps the land productive for generations. A rested, healthy soil also supports the trees, water and insects around it. Thus, respecting nature's cycles of work and rest keeps the whole ecosystem balanced and the harvest dependable.

The mood of waiting is built through accumulating details of time and barrenness. Velu's first waking thought is of rain; the sky holds "not a cloud." Then the waiting is stretched out — "Days, weeks and months passed, and still there was no rain." The fields lie untended, the earth "hardened, crusted and cracked," and the land looks forlorn. The villagers' helpless remedies — astrologers, the weather office — come to nothing, and even the officials are "at a loss." By the time Velu sits dejected under the tree, the reader shares the community's despair, making the final rain feel like a release.

At the beginning, Velu is anxious, bitter and hopeless. He scans a cloudless sky, mutters that it doesn't look encouraging, feels punished despite his honest work, and asks despairingly how he will feed his family. He sees the drought only as loss — "it is hard not to be able to work." At the end, he is peaceful and joyful. He has accepted the old woman's wisdom, thinking tenderly of his land resting and breathing peacefully, and admitting "perhaps she is right." When the first drop falls, he runs home "laughing and happy" — a complete transformation from despair to trust and joy.

In the story, the old woman says Nature is a mother to Velu, to her, and to the trees, water and soil — "She takes care to give her children the rest they need." On the surface, this explains the drought: the mother is putting her tired child, the land, to sleep. Deeper, it means that everything in the world is part of one family, nursed by the same Nature, and that her actions — even those that seem cruel, like a failed rain — are acts of care. If we accept her discipline, she restores and provides, as the ending proves when the sweet, fragrant rain finally arrives.

Yes, the title is very appropriate because the whole story revolves around waiting. Velu wakes hoping "it rains at least today"; the villagers' "waiting didn't end" through days, weeks and months; even the weather office cannot end the wait. The title also captures the deeper waiting of the land itself — resting and waiting for the rains to spring back into activity. And the story closes exactly when the wait ends, with the tiny drop on Velu's shoulder. The title thus binds together the farmer's anxiety, the community's hope and the land's need.

Velu, the protagonist of the story, is a small farmer whose whole life is his land. He is honest and hardworking: for nearly six years, ever since he got his own piece of land, he cultivated it season after season — jowar one season, dhal the next — "never thinking of rest or taking a holiday." He is dutiful and responsible; even during the drought his chief worry is not himself but "How shall I feed my family?" Velu is also rational and practical. When someone suggests consulting astrologers, he disagrees — "The rains came all these years without any such consultations" — and instead carries his question to the weather office in the city, showing a scientific temperament. His weakness is that he equates virtue with ceaseless toil: "Can anyone work too hard? I have only done what any hard-working farmer would do. I shall work and never rest until I am too old." The rainless season therefore frustrates and embitters him, making him feel punished despite his honesty. But Velu is also humble enough to listen. Under the tree he opens his heart to a stranger, hears her wisdom, and slowly changes — thinking of his "beloved piece of land" as breathing peacefully, admitting "perhaps she is right," and finally running home "laughing and happy" at the first drop of rain. He grows from a despairing worker into a wiser farmer who respects Nature's rhythm.

The old woman is the wisdom-figure of the story. In appearance she is aged — "her skin was wrinkled" — but her eyes "sparkled when she smiled," revealing a spirit that is cheerful, alive and warm. She is compassionate and a good listener: she lets the bitter, weary Velu pour out his heart, believing he is opening it to her, and never interrupts with judgement. Her way of teaching is gentle — she speaks "softly, smiling," and addresses the young man as "my son," treating a stranger with motherly affection. She is insightful, seeing in one glance what six years of ceaseless ploughing had done: "Perhaps you have worked too hard." Her wisdom is profound yet simply expressed — the earth works when we plough and sow; Nature is a mother who gives her children the rest they need; the drought is the land's holiday, after which it "will spring back into activity, fresh and ready for your crop." She is also humble and trusting in Nature — "Nature knows a thing or two" — and having delivered her message, she quietly walks away, asking nothing in return. She embodies the story's message: true wisdom is gentle, and Nature's ways, rightly understood, are full of care.

The central theme of the story is the wisdom of Nature and the need to trust her rhythm of work and rest. On the surface, it is the story of a drought: Velu, a diligent farmer, waits helplessly through days, weeks and months without rain, while his fields crack and his hopes fade. Astrologers fail him, and even the weather office is "at a loss." The turning point comes when the old woman reinterprets the drought for him: the earth, which works every time we plough and sow, has laboured for thousands of years and is now being given the rest it needs. "Nature is a mother to all of us... She takes care to give her children the rest they need." The message operates on two levels. Environmentally, it teaches sustainable farming — land cannot be exploited ceaselessly; fallow periods restore fertility, and the rested land "will spring back into activity, fresh and ready for your crop." Humanly, it teaches patience and trust — a delay that looks like a punishment may be a blessing in disguise. The ending, in which the sweet, fragrant rain finally falls and Velu runs home laughing, confirms the theme: those who wait with understanding, and treat the earth as a living partner rather than a machine, are rewarded by Nature.

The story proves this statement through Velu's own experience. For nearly six years, Velu had cultivated his land without pause — "never thinking of rest or taking a holiday" — harvesting jowar one season and dhal the next. He admits that he, a strong man, intends to "work and never rest until I am too old." The old woman then asks the crucial question: if even a strong farmer needs rest, what about the earth, which "has worked for years, centuries, in fact, thousands of years"? The story's events confirm her words: during the rainless months the land lies "undisturbed, staring at the sky, resting," and when at last the clouds gather, the rain arrives and the land is ready — "fresh and ready for your crop." Nature herself has enforced the holiday that Velu never gave his land. In real life, we can apply this wisdom in many ways. Farmers can leave fields fallow between crops, rotate crops like jowar and dhal, and use compost so the soil is not drained of nutrients. Gardeners can nourish soil rather than force year-round yields. Even in our own lives the principle holds — overworked bodies, like overworked land, lose productivity; rest restores us. And at a larger level, respecting the rest cycles of forests, rivers and groundwater — using nature's gifts without exhausting them — is the basis of a sustainable future.

The story portrays the farmer's life as completely interwoven with nature. Rain or no rain, the farmer wakes early; his sowing, ploughing and harvesting all answer to the seasons. When the rains fail, Velu's world stops: he cannot till, no crop can grow, and he faces the frightening question, "How shall I feed my family?" The villagers live "entirely on hope." At first, Velu relates to nature as a servant to a master who has turned unjust — he feels "punished" despite hard, honest work. The old woman transforms this relationship by revealing nature as a mother: "Nature is a mother to all of us. To you and to me. And to the trees, the water and the soil." A mother's discipline is care, and the drought is her way of resting the tired earth. The values we learn are several: humility — even the weather office is "at a loss," so we must accept that nature is beyond our full control; rationality — Velu rightly rejects superstition (the astrologers) in favour of enquiry; patience and hope — the community endures months of waiting; and above all, respect for nature's rhythms — work must be balanced with rest, for the land as for ourselves. The story's happy ending shows that when we accept nature's ways with understanding, nature rewards us with the "sweet, fragrant rain."

(An imagined diary entry, based on the story.) What a day! This evening, as I approached the village, I felt a cool breeze on my back — after months of hot, dusty air I had almost forgotten what that feels like. Then a tiny drop fell on my shoulder. I looked up and there they were — clouds gathering in the distance. Soon there will be lightning, thunder and sweet, fragrant rain. I ran home laughing like a boy. This morning I could not have imagined laughing at all. For months I woke hoping "it rains at least today," and every day the sky was empty. The fields lay untended, the earth cracked, and I asked myself bitterly what I had done to deserve this — I, who worked hard and honestly all these years. The astrologers had no answers, and even the weather office people said, "We are at a loss ourselves!" Then, under the shade of a large tree outside the village, I met an old woman with sparkling eyes. When I complained that without rain there was nothing to smile about, she said something strange: "Perhaps you have worked too hard." I was angry — can anyone work too hard? — but she spoke so softly, like a mother. She reminded me that the earth works too, every time I plough and sow, and it has worked for thousands of years. "Shouldn't someone let the land rest a bit?" she asked. Nature is a mother, she said, who gives her children the rest they need. Walking home, I thought of my beloved land breathing peacefully at last, resting from my ceaseless cultivation. "Perhaps she is right," I thought — and then the breeze touched my back. Tonight, as the first drops fall on my roof, I understand: the land has slept, and now it wakes fresh, ready for my crop. Tomorrow I will till the earth with joy — and this time, I will let it rest too. — Velu

(An imagined continuation, faithful to the story.) One evening a year later, Velu was walking past the great tree when he saw her again — the old woman, sitting in the cool shade. "Amma!" he cried, touching her feet. "Do you remember me? The farmer who could not smile without rain." Her eyes sparkled. "And now?" she asked, smiling. "Now I smile all the time," laughed Velu. "The rains came that very evening, and my land — it sprang back just as you said, fresh and ready for my crop. I had the best jowar harvest in years." "And you, my son?" she asked. "Have you rested?" Velu sat down beside her. "I have learned from you, Amma. This season, I left one part of my field unploughed. My neighbours laughed and called it waste. But when I sowed the other part, the ploughed-soil was weaker than the rested. Now they ask me my secret." The old woman nodded. "The earth works when you work it. Even the earth needs a holiday." "You said something else that I did not understand then," Velu continued. "You said Nature is a mother. Now I see it — she knew the land needed sleep, so she held back her rain, even while I blamed her. I no longer curse the sky when it delays." The old woman patted his hand. "And the waiting, my son? Was it so hard?" "The waiting taught me the most," said Velu softly. "Rain or no rain, I wake early — but now I wake with trust, not fear. Nature knows a thing or two." The old woman laughed. "Then you have learned everything a farmer must learn," she said, and together they sat in silence, listening to the leaves — and somewhere far off, the promise of rain.