I know about saat bhai champa, the seven magnolia-blossom brothers. I feel, if only everyone would set me free, I could go away—inside the very dense forest where the path can’t be seen. On the tips of the frailest boughs where tiny hummingbirds perch, I can blossom as a champa. Will you be my Paruldidi—my elder sister the trumpet flower?

Sudha:What a harebrained idea! How can I be Paruldidi? I’m Sudha after all—the daughter of malini Shashi. Every day I must thread so many garlands . . . If I could sit idle here like you, what fun it would be!

Amal:What would you do all day, then?

Sudha:I have a Benebou doll; I’d arrange her wedding. I have a kitten; with her I’d . . . Let me be off, time is getting on. If it grows late there won’t be any flowers to be found.

Amal:Talk to me a little longer, please. I am really enjoying it.

Sudha:Achchha, very well, don’t be up to any mischief. Be a good boy and sit here quietly. On my way back from flower-gathering, I’ll come and chat with you.

Amal:And will you give me a flower when you go?

Sudha:How can I give you a flower just like that? It must be paid for, after all.

Amal:When I grow up I’ll pay you the price for it. I’ll go in search of work, away beyond that waterfall; then I’ll come and pay you the price.

Sudha:Achchha, very well.

Amal:So you will come after you have gathered the flowers?

Sudha:I will.

Amal:You will?

Sudha:I will.

Amal:You won’t forget me? My name is Amal. Will you remember?

Sudha:No, I won’t forget. Wait and see, I will remember.

Exit

Enter group of boys

Amal:Bhai, where are you all off to, bhai? Stop here once, just for a little while, please.

Boys:We are going to play.

Amal:What will you play, bhai?

Boys:We will play farmers.

1st Boy(displaying a stave): Here is our plough.

2nd Boy:The two of us will be cows.

Amal:Will you play all day?

Boys:Yes a-l-l day.

Amal:And after that, will you return home at dusk, walking along the river’s edge?

Boys:Yes, we’ll return at dusk.

Amal:Please pass by this room of mine on your way back, bhai.

Boys:Come out! Let’s go and play.

Amal:The Kobiraj has forbidden me to go out.

Boys:Kobiraj! Do you mean to say you obey him when he forbids you!—Come bhai, let’s go, we’re getting late.

Amal:No bhai, please pause awhile in the street, to play outside this window of mine—let me spend some time watching you.

Boys:What shall we play with here!

Amal:Here are all my unused toys, lying about—take all of them, bhai. It’s no fun playing alone indoors—these just lie around, gathering dust—they are of no use to me.

Boys:Wah, wah, wah, what wonderful toys! This is a ship! And this, a jataiburi! Do you see this, bhai? What a marvellous soldier! You’re giving away all these things to us? Aren’t you sorry to part with them?

Amal:No, not at all. I give all these things to you.

Boys:But we shan’t return them.

Amal:No, you need not return them.

Boys:Nobody will scold us, will they?

Amal:Nobody, nobody at all. But every morning, you must play with these toys outside this door of mine, for a while. And when these grow stale, I’ll again send for new toys for you.

Boys:Very well bhai, we’ll come by every day to play here. O bhai, arrange all the soliders here—let’s play war. Where shall we get guns? There’s that enormous sharkathi, that feathery reed lying there—let’s break it into pieces to use as guns. But you are dozing off, bhai!

Amal:Yes, I’m getting very drowsy. I don’t know why I feel sleepy every now and then. I’ve been sitting up for a long while; I can’t any more—my back aches.

Boys:But it’s early in the day—why do you feel drowsy so soon? There, listen, the bell is announcing the hour.

Amal:Yes, there it goes, ding-dong ding-dong—calling me to sleep.

Boys:We’ll be off then. We’ll be back tomorrow morning.

Amal:Before you go, let me ask you something, bhai! You remain outdoors after all: do you know the postmen from that royal post office?

Boys:Yes, we know them indeed. We know them well.

Amal:Who are they, what are their names?

Boys:One is Badal Harkara, the Cloud Messenger; another is called Sharat, for early autumn. There are so many others.

Amal:Achchha, if a letter arrives for me, will they identify me?

Boys:Why not? If the letter bears your name, they will surely recognize you.

Amal:When you come tomorrow, call one of them and introduce him to me, please.

Boys:Achchha, we will.

3

Amal:Pishemoshai, can’t I even go to that window of mine today? Has the Kobiraj forbidden it?

Madhabdatta:Yes baba. It’s sitting there every day that has aggravated your illness.

Amal:No, Pishemoshai, no . . . I know nothing about my illness, but when I’m there I feel very well.

Madhabdatta:Sitting there, you have made friends with all the townsfolk, young and old—there seems to be a big fair at my doorstep every day. Can your health withstand that! Just see how pale your face has become today.

Amal:Pishemoshai, that fakir of mine might go away if he doesn’t see me at the window.

Madhabdatta:Who is this fakir of yours?

Amal:He’s the one who comes to me every day with stories of many different lands.