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    Act I

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    Chapter 1
    [MADHAV'S House]

    MADHAV. What a state I am in! Before he came, nothing mattered;
    I felt so free. But now that he has come, goodness knows from
    where, my heart is filled with his dear self, and my home will be
    no home to me when he leaves. Doctor, do you think he--

    PHYSICIAN. If there's life in his fate, then he will live long.
    But what the medical scriptures say, it seems--

    MADHAV. Great heavens, what?

    PHYSICIAN. The scriptures have it: "Bile or palsey, cold or gout
    spring all alike."

    MADHAV. Oh, get along, don't fling your scriptures at me; you
    only make me more anxious; tell me what I can do.

    PHYSICIAN. [Taking snuff] The patient needs the most scrupulous

    MADHAV. That's true; but tell me how.

    PHYSICIAN. I have already mentioned, on no account must he be
    let out of doors.

    MADHAV Poor child, it is very hard to keep him indoors all day

    PHYSICIAN. What else can you do? The autumn sun and the damp
    are both very bad for the little fellow--for the scriptures have

    "In wheezing, swoon or in nervous fret,
    In jaundice or leaden eyes--"

    MADHAV. Never mind the scriptures, please. Eh, then we must
    shut the poor thing up. Is there no other method?

    PHYSICIAN. None at all: for, "In the wind and in the sun--"

    MADHAV. What will your "in this and in that" do for me now? Why
    don't you let them alone and come straight to the point? What's
    to be done then? Your system is very, very hard for the poor
    boy; and he is so quiet too with all his pain and sickness. It
    tears my heart to see him wince, as he takes your medicine.

    PHYSICIAN. effect. That's why the sage Chyabana observes: "In
    medicine as in good advices, the least palatable ones are the
    truest." Ah, well! I must be trotting now. [Exit]

    [GAFFER enters]

    MADHAV. Well, I'm jiggered, there's Gaffer now.

    GAFFER. Why, why, I won't bite you.

    MADHAV. No, but you are a devil to send children off their

    GAFFER. But you aren't a child, and you've no child in the
    house; why worry then?

    MADHAV. Oh, but I have brought a child into the house.

    GAFFER. Indeed, how so?

    MADHAV. You remember how my wife was dying to adopt a child?

    GAFFER. Yes, but that's an old story; you didn't like the idea.

    MADHAV. You know, brother, how hard all this getting money in
    has been. That somebody else's child would sail in and waste all
    this money earned with so much trouble--Oh, I hated the idea.
    But this boy clings to my heart in such a queer sort of way--

    GAFFER. So that's the trouble! and your money goes all for him
    and feels jolly lucky it does go at all.

    MADHAV. Formerly, earning was a sort of passion with me; I
    simply couldn't help working for money. Now, I make money and as
    I know it is all for this dear boy, earning becomes a joy to me.

    GAFFER. Ah, well, and where did you pick him up?

    MADHAV. He is the son of a man who was a brother to my wife by
    village ties. He has had no mother since infancy; and now the
    other day he lost his father as well.

    GAFFER. Poor thing: and so he needs me all the more.

    MADHAV. The doctor says all the organs of his little body are at
    loggerheads with each other, and there isn't much hope for his
    life. There is only one way to save him and that is to keep him
    out of this autumn wind and sun. But you are such a terror!
    What with this game of yours at your age, too, to get children
    out of doors!

    GAFFER. God bless my soul! So I'm already as bad as autumn wind
    and sun, eh! But, friend, I know something, too, of the game of
    keeping them indoors. When my day's work is over I am coming in
    to make friends with this child of yours. [Exit]

    [AMAL enters]

    AMAL. Uncle, I say, Uncle!

    MADHAV. Hullo! Is that you, Amal?

    AMAL. Mayn't I be out of the courtyard at all?

    MADHAV. No, my dear, no.

    AMAL. See, there where Auntie grinds lentils in the quirn, the
    squirrel is sitting with his tail up and with his wee hands he's
    picking up the broken grains of lentils and crunching them.
    Can't I run up there?

    MADHAV. No, my darling, no.

    AMAL. Wish I were a squirrel!--it would be lovely. Uncle, why
    won't you let me go about?

    MADHAV. Doctor says it's bad for you to be out.

    AMAL. How can the doctor know?

    MADHAV. What a thing to say! The doctor can't know and he reads
    such huge books!

    AMAL. Does his book-learning tell him everything?

    MADHAV. Of course, don't you know!

    AMAL [With a sigh] Ah, I am so stupid! I don't read books.

    MADHAV. Now, think of it; very, very learned people are all like
    you; they are never out of doors.

    AMAL. Aren't they really?

    MADHAV. No, how can they? Early and late they toil and moil at
    their books, and they've eyes for nothing else. Now, my little
    man, you are going to be learned when you grow up; and then you
    will stay at home and read such big books, and people will notice
    you and say, "he's a wonder."

    AMAL. No, no, Uncle; I beg of you by your dear feet--I don't
    want to be learned, I won't.

    MADHAV. Dear, dear; it would have been my saving if I could have
    been learned.

    AMAL. No, I would rather go about and see everything that there

    MADHAV. Listen to that! See! What will you see, what is there
    so much to see?

    AMAL. See that far-away hill from our window--I often long to go
    beyond those hills and right away.

    MADHAV. Oh, you silly! As if there's nothing more to be done
    but just get up to the top of that hill and away! Eh! You don't
    talk sense, my boy. Now listen, since that hill stands there
    upright as a barrier, it means you can't get beyond it. Else,
    what was the use in heaping up so many large stones to make such
    a big affair of it, eh!

    AMAL. Uncle, do you think it is meant to prevent your crossing
    over? It seems to me because the earth can't speak it raises its
    hands into the sky and beckons. And those who live far and sit
    alone by their windows can see the signal. But I suppose the
    learned people--

    MADHAV. No, they don't have time for that sort of nonsense.
    They are not crazy like you.

    AMAL. Do you know, yesterday I met someone quite as crazy as I

    MADHAV. Gracious me, really, how so?

    AMAL. He had a bamboo staff on his shoulder with a small bundle
    at the top, and a brass pot in his left hand, and an old pair of
    shoes on; he was making for those hills straight across that
    meadow there. I called out to him and asked, "Where are you
    going?" He answered, "I don't know, anywhere!" I asked again,
    "Why are you going?" He said, "I'm going out to seek work."
    Say, Uncle, have you to seek work?

    MADHAV. Of course I have to. There's many about looking for

    AMAL. How lovely! I'll go about, like them too, finding things
    to do.

    MADHAV. Suppose you seek and don't find. Then--

    AMAL. Wouldn't that be jolly? Then I should go farther! I
    watched that man slowly walking on with his pair of worn out
    shoes. And when he got to where the water flows under the fig
    tree, he stopped and washed his feet in the stream. Then he took
    out from his bundle some gram-flour, moistened it with water and
    began to eat. Then he tied up his bundle and shouldered it
    again; tucked up his cloth above his knees and crossed the
    stream. I've asked Auntie to let me go up to the stream, and eat
    my gram-flour just like him.

    MADHAV. And what did your Auntie say to that?

    AMAL. Auntie said, "Get well and then I'll take you over there."
    Please, Uncle, when shall I get well?

    MADHAV. It won't be long, dear.

    AMAL. Really, but then I shall go right away the moment I'm well

    MADHAV. And where will you go?

    AMAL. Oh, I will walk on, crossing so many streams, wading
    through water. Everybody will be asleep with their doors shut in
    the heat of the day and I will tramp on and on seeking work far,
    very far.

    MADHAV. I see! I think you had better be getting well first;

    AMAL. But then you won't want me to be learned, will you, Uncle?

    MADHAV. What would you rather be then?

    AMAL. I can't think of anything just now; but I'll tell you
    later on.

    MADHAV. Very well. But mind you, you aren't to call out and
    talk to strangers again.

    AMAL. But I love to talk to strangers!

    MADHAV. Suppose they had kidnapped you?

    AMAL. That would have been splendid! But no one ever takes me
    away. They all want me to stay in here.

    MADHAV. I am off to my work--but, darling, you won't go out,
    will you?

    AMAL. No, I won't. But, Uncle, you'll let me be in this room by
    the roadside.

    [Exit MADHAV]

    DAIRYMAN. Curds, curds, good nice curds.

    AMAL. Curdseller, I say, Curdseller.

    DAIRYMAN. Why do you call me? Will you buy some curds?

    AMAL. How can I buy? I have no money.

    DAIRYMAN. What a boy! Why call out then? Ugh! What a waste of

    AMAL. I would go with you if I could.

    DAIRYMAN. With me?

    AMAL. Yes, I seem to feel homesick when I hear you call from far
    down the road.

    DAIRYMAN. [Lowering his yoke-pole] Whatever are you doing here, my

    AMAL. The doctor says I'm not to be out, so I sit here all day

    DAIRYMAN. My poor child, whatever has happened to you?

    AMAL. I can't tell. You see I am not learned, so I don't know
    what's the matter with me. Say, Dairyman, where do you come

    DAIRYMAN. From our village.

    AMAL. Your village? Is it very far?

    DAIRYMAN. Our village lies on the river Shamli at the foot of
    the Panch-mura hills.

    AMAL. Panch-mura hills! Shamli river! I wonder. I may have
    seen your village. I can't think when though!

    DAIRYMAN. Have you seen it? Been to the foot of those hills?

    AMAL. Never. But I seem to remember having seen it. Your
    village is under some very old big trees, just by the side of the
    red road--isn't that so?

    DAIRYMAN. That's right, child.

    AMAL. And on the slope of the hill cattle grazing.

    DAIRYMAN. How wonderful! Aren't there cattle grazing in our
    village! Indeed, there are!

    AMAL. And your women with red sarees fill their pitchers from
    the river and carry them on their heads.

    DAIRYMAN. Good, that's right. Women from our dairy village do
    come and draw their water from the river; but then it isn't
    everyone who has a red saree to put on. But, my dear child,
    surely you must have been there for a walk some time.

    AMAL. Really, Dairyman, never been there at all. But the first
    day doctor lets me go out, you are going to take me to your

    DAIRYMAN. I will, my child, with pleasure.

    AMAL. And you'll teach me to cry curds and shoulder the yoke
    like you and walk the long, long road?

    DAIRYMAN. Dear, dear, did you ever? Why should you sell curds?
    No, you will read big books and be learned.

    AMAL. No, I never want to be learned--I'll be like you and take
    my curds from the village by the red road near the old banyan
    tree, and I will hawk it from cottage to cottage. Oh, how do you
    cry--"Curd, curd, good nice curd!" Teach me the tune, will you?

    DAIRYMAN. Dear, dear, teach you the tune; what an idea!

    AMAL. Please do. I love to hear it. I can't tell you how queer
    I feel when I hear you cry out from the bend of that road,
    through the line of those trees! Do you know I feel like that
    when I hear the shrill cry of kites from almost the end of the

    DAIRYMAN. Dear child, will you have some curds? Yes, do.

    AMAL. But I have no money.

    DAIRYMAN. No, no, no, don't talk of money! You'll make me so
    happy if you have a little curds from me.

    AMAL. Say, have I kept you too long?

    DAIRYMAN. Not a bit; it has been no loss to me at all; you have
    taught me how to be happy selling curds. [Exit]

    AMAL. [Intoning] Curds, curds, good nice curds--from the dairy
    village--from the country of the Panch-mura hills by the Shamli
    bank. Curds, good curds; in the early morning the women make the
    cows stand in a row under the trees and milk them, and in the
    evening they turn the milk into curds. Curds, good curds.
    Hello, there's the watchman on his rounds. Watchman, I say, come
    and have a word with me.

    WATCHMAN. What's all this row you are making? Aren't you afraid
    of the likes of me?

    AMAL. No, why should I be?

    WATCHMAN. Suppose I march you off then?

    AMAL. Where will you take me to? Is it very far, right beyond
    the hills?

    WATCHMAN. Suppose I march you straight to the King?

    AMAL. To the King! Do, will you? But the doctor won't let me
    go out. No one can ever take me away. I've got to stay here all
    day long.

    WATCHMAN. Doctor won't let you, poor fellow! So I see! Your
    face is pale and there are dark rings round your eyes. Your
    veins stick out from your poor thin hands.

    AMAL. Won't you sound the gong, Watchman?

    WATCHMAN. Time has not yet come.

    AMAL. How curious! Some say time has not yet come, and some say
    time has gone by! But surely your time will come the moment you
    strike the gong!

    WATCHMAN. That's not possible; I strike up the gong only when it
    is time.

    AMAL. Yes, I love to hear your gong. When it is midday and our
    meal is over, Uncle goes off to his work and Auntie falls asleep
    reading her Râmayana, and in the courtyard under the shadow of
    the wall our doggie sleeps with his nose in his curled up tail;
    then your gong strikes out, "Dong, dong, dong!" Tell me why does
    your gong sound?

    WATCHMAN. My gong sounds to tell the people, Time waits for
    none, but goes on forever.

    AMAL. Where, to what land?

    WATCHMAN. That none knows.

    AMAL. Then I suppose no one has ever been there! Oh, I do wish
    to fly with the time to that land of which no one knows anything.

    WATCHMAN. All of us have to get there one day, my child.

    AMAL. Have I too?

    WATCHMAN. Yes, you too!

    AMAL. But doctor won't let me out.

    WATCHMAN. One day the doctor himself may take you there by the

    AMAL. He won't; you don't know him. He only keeps me in.

    WATCHMAN. One greater than he comes and lets us free.

    AMAL. When will this great doctor come for me? I can't stick in
    here any more.

    WATCHMAN. Shouldn't talk like that, my child.

    AMAL. No. I am here where they have left me--I never move a
    bit. But when your gong goes off, dong, dong, dong, it goes to
    my heart. Say, Watchman?

    WATCHMAN. Yes, my dear.

    AMAL. Say, what's going on there in that big house on the other
    side, where there is a flag flying high up and the people are
    always going in and out?

    WATCHMAN. Oh, there? That's our new Post Office.

    AMAL. Post Office? Whose?

    WATCHMAN. Whose? Why, the King's surely!

    AMAL. Do letters come from the King to his office here?

    WATCHMAN. Of course. One fine day there may be a letter for you
    in there.

    AMAL. A letter for me? But I am only a little boy.

    WATCHMAN. The King sends tiny notes to little boys.

    AMAL. Oh, how lovely! When shall I have my letter? How do you
    guess he'll write to me?

    WATCHMAN. Otherwise why should he set his Post Office here right
    in front of your open window, with the golden flag flying?

    AMAL. But who will fetch me my King's letter when it comes?

    WATCHMAN. The King has many postmen. Don't you see them run
    about with round gilt badges on their chests?

    AMAL. Well, where do they go?

    WATCHMAN. Oh, from door to door, all through the country.

    AMAL. I'll be the King's postman when I grow up.

    WATCHMAN. Ha! ha! Postman, indeed! Rain or shine, rich or
    poor, from house to house delivering letters--that's very great

    AMAL. That's what I'd like best. What makes you smile so? Oh,
    yes, your work is great too. When it is silent everywhere in the
    heat of the noonday, your gong sounds, Dong, dong, dong,-- and
    sometimes when I wake up at night all of a sudden and find our
    lamp blown out, I can hear through the darkness your gong slowly
    sounding, Dong, dong, dong!

    WATCHMAN. There's the village headman! I must be off. If he
    catches me gossiping with you there'll be a great to do.

    AMAL. The headman? Whereabouts is he?

    WATCHMAN. Right down the road there; see that huge palm-leaf
    umbrella hopping along? That's him!

    AMAL. I suppose the King's made him our headman here?

    WATCHMAN. Made him? Oh, no! A fussy busy-body! He knows so
    many ways of making himself unpleasant that everybody is afraid
    of him. It's just a game for the likes of him, making trouble
    for everybody. I must be off now! Mustn't keep work waiting,
    you know! I'll drop in again to-morrow morning and tell you all
    the news of the town. [Exit]

    AMAL. It would be splendid to have a letter from the King every
    day. I'll read them at the window. But, oh! I can't read
    writing. Who'll read them out to me, I wonder! Auntie reads her
    Râmayana; she may know the King's writing. If no one will, then
    I must keep them carefully and read them when I'm grown up. But
    if the postman can't find me? Headman, Mr. Headman, may I have a
    word with you?

    HEADMAN. Who is yelling after me on the highway? Oh, you
    wretched monkey!

    AMAL. You're the headman. Everybody minds you.

    HEADMAN [Looking pleased] Yes, oh yes, they do! They must!

    AMAL. Do the King's postmen listen to you?

    HEADMAN. They've got to. By Jove, I'd like to see--

    AMAL. Will you tell the postman it's Amal who sits by the window

    HEADMAN. What's the good of that?

    AMAL. In case there's a letter for me.

    HEADMAN. A letter for you! Whoever's going to write to you?

    AMAL. If the King does.

    HEADMAN. Ha! ha! What an uncommon little fellow you are! Ha!
    ha! the King indeed, aren't you his bosom friend, eh! You
    haven't met for a long while and the King is pining, I am sure.
    Wait till to-morrow and you'll have your letter.

    AMAL. Say, Headman, why do you speak to me in that tone of
    voice? Are you cross?

    HEADMAN. Upon my word! Cross, indeed! You write to the King!
    Madhav is devilish swell nowadays. He'd made a little pile; and
    so kings and padishahs are everyday talk with his people. Let me
    find him once and I'll make him dance. Oh, you snipper-snapper!
    I'll get the King's letter sent to your house--indeed I will!

    AMAL. No, no, please don't trouble yourself about it.

    HEADMAN. And why not, pray! I'll tell the King about you and he
    won't be very long. One of his footmen will come along presently
    for news of you. Madhav's impudence staggers me. If the King
    hears of this, that'll take some of his nonsense out of him.

    AMAL. Who are you walking there? How your anklets tinkle! Do
    stop a while, dear, won't you?

    [A GIRL enters]

    GIRL. I haven't a moment to spare; it is already late!

    AMAL. I see, you don't wish to stop; I don't care to stay on
    here either.

    GIRL. You make me think of some late star of the morning!
    Whatever's the matter with you?

    AMAL. I don't know; the doctor won't let me out.

    GIRL. Ah me! Don't then! Should listen to the doctor.
    People'll be cross with you if you're naughty. I know, always
    looking out and watching must make you feel tired. Let me close
    the window a bit for you.

    AMAL. No, don't, only this one's open! All the others are shut.
    But will you tell me who you are? Don't seem to know you.

    GIRL. I am Sudha.

    AMAL. What Sudha?

    SUDHA. Don't you know? Daughter of the flower-seller here.

    AMAL. What do you do?

    SUDHA. I gather flowers in my basket.

    AMAL. Oh, flower gathering! That is why your feet seem so glad
    and your anklets jingle so merrily as you walk. Wish I could be
    out too. Then I would pick some flowers for you from the very
    topmost branches right out of sight.

    SUDHA. Would you really? Do you know more about flowers than I?

    AMAL. Yes, I do, quite as much. I know all about Champa of the
    fairy tale and his seven brothers. If only they let me, I'll go
    right into the dense forest where you can't find your way. And
    where the honey-sipping hummingbird rocks himself on the end of
    the thinnest branch, I will flower out as a champa. Would you be
    my sister Parul?

    SUDHA. You are silly! How can I be sister Parul when I am Sudha
    and my mother is Sasi, the flower-seller? I have to weave so
    many garlands a day. It would be jolly if I could lounge here
    like you!

    AMAL. What would you do then, all the day long?

    SUDHA. I could have great times with my doll Benay the bride,
    and Meni the pussycat and--but I say it is getting late and I
    mustn't stop, or I won't find a single flower.

    AMAL. Oh, wait a little longer; I do like it so!

    SUDHA. Ah, well--now don't you be naughty. Be good and sit
    still and on my way back home with the flowers I'll come and talk
    with you.

    AMAL. And you'll let me have a flower then?

    SUDHA. No, how can I? It has to be paid for.

    AMAL. I'll pay when I grow up--before I leave to look for work
    out on the other side of that stream there.

    SUDHA. Very well, then.

    AMAL. And you'll come back when you have your flowers?

    SUDHA. I will.

    AMAL. You will, really?

    SUDHA. Yes, I will.

    AMAL. You won't forget me? I am Amal, remember that.

    SUDHA. I won't forget you, you'll see. [Exit]

    [A TROOP OF BOYS enter]

    AMAL. Say, brothers, where are you all off to? Stop here a

    BOYS. We're off to play.

    AMAL. What will you play at, brothers?

    BOYS. We'll play at being ploughmen.

    FIRST BOY [Showing a stick] This is our ploughshare.

    SECOND BOY. We two are the pair of oxen.

    AMAL. And you're going to play the whole day?

    BOYS. Yes, all day long.

    AMAL. And you'll come back home in the evening by the road along
    the river bank?

    BOYS. Yes.

    AMAL. Do you pass our house on your way home?

    BOYS. You come out to play with us, yes do.

    AMAL. Doctor won't let me out.

    BOYS. Doctor! Suppose the likes of you mind the doctor. Let's
    be off; it is getting late.

    AMAL. Don't. Why not play on the road near this window? I
    could watch you then.

    THIRD BOY. What can we play at here?

    AMAL. With all these toys of mine lying about. Here you are,
    have them. I can't play alone. They are getting dirty and are
    of no use to me.

    BOYS. How jolly! What fine toys! Look, here's a ship. There's
    old mother Jatai; say, chaps, ain't he a gorgeous sepoy? And
    you'll let us have them all? You don't really mind?

    AMAL. No, not a bit; have them by all means.

    BOYS. You don't want them back?

    AMAL. Oh, no, I shan't want them.

    BOYS. Say, won't you get a scolding for this?

    AMAL. No one will scold me. But will you play with them in
    front of our door for a while every morning? I'll get you new
    ones when these are old.

    BOYS. Oh, yes, we will. Say, chaps, put these sepoys into a
    line. We'll play at war; where can we get a musket? Oh, look
    here, this bit of reed will do nicely. Say, but you're off to
    sleep already.

    AMAL. I'm afraid I'm sleepy. I don't know, I feel like it at
    times. I have been sitting a long while and I'm tired; my back

    BOYS. It's only early noon now. How is it you're sleepy? Listen!
    The gong's sounding the first watch.

    AMAL. Yes, dong, dong, dong, it tolls me to sleep.

    BOYS. We had better go then. We'll come in again to-morrow morning.

    AMAL. I want to ask you something before you go. You are always
    out--do you know of the King's postmen?

    BOYS. Yes, quite well.

    AMAL. Who are they? Tell me their names.

    BOYS. One's Badal, another's Sarat. There's so many of them.

    AMAL. Do you think they will know me if there's a letter for me?

    BOYS. Surely, if your name's on the letter they will find you out.

    AMAL. When you call in to-morrow morning, will you bring one of
    them along so that he'll know me?

    BOYS. Yes, if you like.

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    Chapter 1
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