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 Ramayana, 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 hand.
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 work!
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 Ramayana; 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 here?
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. [Exit]
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 little.
Boys. We're off to play.
Amal. What will you play at, brothers?