Bengalis, scattered over two countries and elsewhere, are full of contradictions. They were never a martial race, but were at the forefront of violent struggles to dislodge the British, and later, during the Naxalite movement. Hindus and Muslims lived largely in peace over centuries there, but one of the worst communal riots in history happened in Bengal. Bengalis are often brilliant individually, but are collectively marginalised in most spheres.

This blog is an attempt to understand the people and their mind.


Tuesday 30 November 2010

The post office (Part 3)

Act 3


Amal is in bed
Amal:
Pishemoshai, can’t I even sit beside the window? Has the doctor asked me not to?
Madhab Datta:
Yes, baba, he has. Your condition has turned worse because you have been sitting there all day.
Amal:
No, pishemoshai, no. Please! I don’t know what is bad for me, but I feel much better when I am there.
Madhab Datta:
Sitting there, you have made friends with so many people, young and old. The place in front of our house has turned into a fairground. Can that be good for your health? You look so pale today.
Amal:
Pishemoshai, my fakir won’t find me by the window, and he may go away.
Madhab Datta:
Who is this holy man?
Amal:
He is the one who comes to see me every day and tells me stories from different places. I love listening to his stories.
Madhab Datta:
But I don’t know of any fakir around this place.
Amal:
He comes around this time. Please pishemoshai, I beg, please go and tell him, he must come to my room and spend some time with me.

Grandfather enters, dressed as a fakir
Amal:
Please come in fakir, please ….
Madhab Datta:
Oh! Who is this? Aren’t you …
Grandfather:
[Winks] A fakir.
Madhab Datta:
If only I knew what you aren’t!
Grandfather:
I had been to the Island of Cranes; I came back just a while ago.
Amal:
The Island of Cranes?
Grandfather:
Does that surprise you? Do you think I am just like you? I can travel anywhere for free. I can go wherever I wish to
Amal:
[Claps] How lucky you are! You promised to take me as your disciple, didn’t you?
Grandfather:
Of course, I did! I’ll teach you a magic for travelling. With that, you’ll be able to go wherever you like, to the mountains, forests or the seas, no one can stop you.
Madhab Datta:
What kind of madness is this?
Grandfather:
Amal dear, the mountains and seas are on the palm of my hands, but even my magic would fail if your pishemoshai teamed up with the doctor.
Amal:
No, pishemoshai, please don’t. Please don’t say anything to the doctor – the day I’m fit, I’ll go away … I will go even beyond the mountains, rivers and oceans!
Madhab Datta:
No, my son, please don’t talk of going away all the time. It makes me sad.
Amal:
Fakir, please tell me all about the Island of Cranes.
Grandfather:
Oh! It is such a wonderful place! It’s a land of birds – there are no humans on the island. They don’t talk or walk, they only warble and fly around.
Amal:
How beautiful! Is it by the side of a sea?
Grandfather:
Of course, it is.
Amal:
And are there blue mountains on the island?
Grandfather:
The birds build their nests only in the blue mountains. In the evening, the setting sun lights up the hills, and flock after flock of green birds fly back to their nests … the colour of the birds smudges into the colour of the sky … it looks so gorgeous!
Amal:
Do streams flow down the mountain slopes?
Grandfather:
Of course, they do! How can there be a mountain without water falls? The water is like liquid diamonds, and what a dance she dances. As she strikes the pebbles, you can hear a murmuring music; and she cascades down the mountain slope to rush into the sea. No doctor can keep her quiet even for a moment. If the birds didn’t ignore me and kept me away because I am only a human, I too would have built a nest among their thousands of nests beside the mountain streams, and spent my days watching the sea waves.
Amal:
If I were a bird …
Grandfather:

There would have been a big problem. I have heard you told the Yogurt vendor you wanted to sell curds when you grew up? I don’t think you would have done good business among birds. You might have ended up in loss.
Madhab Datta:
I can’t take it any more. Even I would go crazy if I listened to you for some more time. I must go.
Amal:
Has my yogurt vendor gone away?
Madhab Datta:
Yes, he has, most certainly. After all, he can’t make a living if he follows your amateur fakir to the bird’s nests in the Island of Cranes. He has left a pot of curd for you. He told me, there is a wedding in his village, his niece is getting married. He was going to Kalmipara to place orders for some flutes, he was busy.
Amal:
But he promised he would get his youngest niece married to me.
Grandfather:
Then it is very bad!
Amal:
He told me, I would have a lovely little wife – she would have a ring in her nose and wear a red striped sari. She herself would milk a black cow in the morning and give me foaming milk in a new earthen pot; in the evening, she would come back after lighting a diya in the cowshed and tell me the story of Parul and her seven Champa brothers.
Grandfather:
Bah, bah! What a lovely wife! Even a fakir like me feels tempted. But baba, don’t you worry. Let this niece get married. I assure you, there will be no shortage of nieces when you want to marry.
Madhab Datta:
This is too much! I must go.

Madhav Datta leaves.
Amal:
Pishemoshai has left. Now tell me confidentially, has the letter from the raja reached our post office?
Grandfather:
I’ve heard the raja has sent you a letter, it’s on the way.
Amal:
On the way? Which way? Is someone bringing it along the path through the dense forest far away, the path that can be seen only when the sky clears up after a shower?
Grandfather:
You seem to know everything. Someone is indeed bringing it along that path.
Amal:
I know everything, fakir.
Grandfather:
I can see that, but how do you know?
Amal:
I don’t know how. It’s as if I can see everything before my eyes … I feel I’ve seen it many a time, long, long ago, I don’t know how long. Shall I tell you? I can see the king’s postman walking down a mountain path – he has a lantern in his left hand and a sackful of letters on his right shoulder. He’s been walking down the mountain through days and nights. After crossing the point where the stream ends at the foothills, he’s been walking beside the meandering river … beside the river is a cornfield; he’s been walking along a narrow alley through that field … and then he comes to the sugarcane field bordered by a high ridge on one side … he’s walking on and on … along the ridge … through days and nights, he has been walking, all alone. Crickets are chirping in the cane field – there is no one on the river bank, only a few snipes are strutting around swinging their tails … I can see it all. My mind fills with happiness as I watch him.
Grandfather:
My eyes are not as youthful as yours, but I too can see him along with you
Amal:
Fakir, do you know the king who has set up the post office?
Grandfather:
Yes, I do. I go to his doors every day with my begging bowl.
Amal:
That should be nice. When I get well, I too will go to him with my begging bowls. Will anyone stop me?
Grandfather:
Baba, you won’t have to beg. He will give you on his own whatever he wants to.
Amal:
No, no. I would stand before his palace and shout, “Long live the King!” and dance around, playing the tambourine. Won’t it be great?
Grandfather:
Yes, it would be great. And if I went with you, I too would get enough to fill my stomach. But what would you beg for?
Amal:
I’d tell him, ‘Please make me a postman. I’ll go from house to house carrying a torch, delivering your letters.’ Do you know fakir, someone has promised me, when I get well, he would teach me how to beg. I will go with him, begging, wherever I like.
Grandfather:
Who told you so?
Amal:
Chidam.
Grandfather:
Which Chidam?
Amal:
The beggar, who can neither see nor walk. He comes to my window every day. He sits in a pushcart and a small boy of my age takes him around, pushing the cart. I have told him, when I am all right, I will push his cart and take him wherever he wants to go.
Grandfather:
I think that would be good fun.
Amal:
He is the one who promised to teach me how to beg. I requested pishemoshai to give him something. But he says Chidam is actually neither blind nor lame. Okay, he may not be really blind, but isn’t it a fact that he cannot see?
Grandfather:
You are absolutely right. The only real thing about him is that he cannot see, whether you call him blind or not. But why does he come to you if he doesn’t get anything?
Amal:
I talk to him about people and places. Poor thing, he can’t see! I talk to him about your adventures. You told me about a place where everything is light, where nothing is heavy – where one can jump over a hill with just a little effort: he was so happy to hear about the place. But tell me fakir, how does one go there?
Grandfather:
There is a path through the inside, but it may not be easy to find.
Amal:
The poor fellow is blind, perhaps he would never see light; he’ll have to go around begging. He was unhappy about it, but I told him, ‘You travel to so many places, not everyone can do that.’
Grandfather:
Baba, should one be unhappy about sitting at home either?
Amal:
No, no, I am not unhappy. In the beginning, when I was asked not to go out, the days never seemed to end. But since I started watching the king’s post office, I enjoy sitting at home. Just the thought that I’ll get a letter one day makes me happy. I can stay at home quietly. But I don’t know what message the letter would carry.
Grandfather:
Even if you don’t know, it matters little. At least, your name will be written on the envelope, shouldn’t that be enough?

Madhab Datta enters
Madhab Datta:
What a problem the two of you to have created!
Grandfather:
Why, what’s happened?
Madhab Datta:
I hear you’ve been spreading words that the king has set up the post office only to send letters to the two of you?
Grandfather:
What’s wrong about that?
Madhab Datta:
Our headman, Panchanan has sent an anonymous letter to the king complaining against you.
Grandfather:
Don’t we know that everything gets reported to the king?
Madhab Datta:
Then why don’t you behave with restraint? Why talk foolishly about rajas and badshas? Even I will get into trouble because of you!
Amal:
Fakir, do you think the king will be angry?
Grandfather:
Is it so easy? He would be angry! Ha! Let me see how angry he can be. Let me see how he manages to rule the country being angry with a fakir like me and a child like you.
Amal:
Do you know fakir, since this morning, everything before my eyes is turning dark. It’s as if I am in a daze. I feel like sitting quietly, I don’t want to talk. Will the raja’s letter never arrive? If at this moment, this house vanishes, if …
Grandfather:
[Fanning Amal] The letter will arrive, it will certainly arrive today.

The doctor enters
Doctor:
How do you feel today?
Amal:
Kavirajmoshai, I feel much better today. I feel all my pain is gone.
Doctor:
[Speaking aside, to Madhav Datta] I don’t like the smile on his face. The fact that he says he feels better is an ominous sign. Our Chakradhar Datta said, …
Madhab Datta:
For heaven’s sake, kavirajmoshai, let’s not talk about Chakradhar Datta. Please tell me what exactly the situation is.
Doctor:
We may not be able to save him. I recommended against it, but it seems he’s been exposed to the breeze blowing in from the open.
Madhab Datta:
It is not true, kavirajmoshai. I have taken every care of him. I don’t allow him to go out. And the door is kept shut most of the time.
Doctor:
Suddenly, a strange wind has started blowing today. I noticed: a draught is coming in through your main entrance. It’s bad. Shut the door well and secure it with a lock. Let no one come into your house for some time. If anyone has to come in, use the back door. And the light of the setting sun streaming in through the window – it tends to keep patients awake. Please shut the window too.
Madhab Datta:
Amal’s eyes are firmly shut, perhaps he is sleeping. Kavirajmoshai, as I see him, I think I brought home a stranger, loved him, but perhaps I won’t be able to keep him any longer.
Doctor:
What’s this? The headman is coming towards your house. What a nuisance! Let me go. But please do secure the door immediately. I’ll send a toxic pill as soon as I go home. Perhaps only poison can save him now!

Madhav Datta and the doctor leave. / The headman enters.
Headman:
Hey, you brat!
Grandfather:
[Getting up quickly] Please, please don’t talk so loudly.
Amal:
No fakir, you thought I was sleeping, but I wasn’t. I have been listening to everything. I feel I can hear words spoken far, far away. I feel my ma and baba are standing beside me and talking in whispers.

Madhab Datta enters
Headman:
Madhav Datta! These days, you have strung up relationship with big people!
Madhab Datta:
What are you saying, Morolmoshai? Please do not make fun of us. We are ordinary people without pretensions.
Headman:
But this boy of yours, he has been waiting for a letter from the king!
Madhab Datta:
After all, he is only a child. And he is crazy. Should you take him seriously?
Headman:
No, no! There is nothing surprising about it. Where else will the king find a more suitable family? Don’t you see, for this reason, he has set up a new post office right before your house! And you brat! Indeed there is a letter for you from the king!
Amal:
[Starting] Truly?
Headman:
How can it be untrue? After all, aren’t you a good friend of the king? [Handing over a blank sheet of paper] Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! This is his letter.
Amal:
Please don’t make fun of me. Fakir, please tell me, is this really his letter?
Grandfather:
Yes Amal, a fakir can’t be wrong; I am telling you, this really is a letter from the raja.
Amal:
But I can’t see anything on this. Everything has turned white before my eyes. Morolmoshai, please tell me what’s written on this.
Headman:
He has written, “I am going to your house within a day or two. I’d love to have a bowl of puffed rice at your place. I can’t stand the palace any more, can’t stay here for one more minute.” Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
Madhab Datta:
[With folded hands] Morolmoshai, for heaven’s sake, please don’t make fun of us like this.
Grandfather:
Fun? What fun? Can he afford to make fun?
Madhab Datta:
Ah! Grandfather, have you too gone crazy?
Grandfather:
Yes, I’ve gone crazy. And that’s why I can see letters on this blank sheet of paper. The raja has written that he himself is coming to see Amal, and he is bringing along his the royal physician too.
Amal:
Yes, fakir, there! I can hear his bugles and trumpets, can’t you hear them, Fakir?
Headman:
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! He has to become a little more senile before he can hear them.
Amal:
Morolmoshai, I used to think you were angry with me, you didn’t love me. I really didn’t believe that you brought a letter for me from the raja. Please let me touch your feet.
Headman:
Indeed, this boy is respectful. Although he has no brains, he is a good soul.
Amal:
It must be evening by now. There goes the gong. Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Has the evening star come out, Fakir? Why can’t I see her?
Grandfather:
They have shut the windows. I’ll open them.

Loud knocks on the main door
Madhab Datta:
What’s this? Who is it? What nuisance!
Voice from outside:
Open the door!
Madhab Datta:
Morolmoshai, are they robbers?
Headman:
Who is it? I am the headman, Panchanan! Don’t you value your life? See, they have stopped banging. Even robbers are scared of Panchanan’s voice.
Madhab Datta:
[Looking out of the window] They’ve broken the door, they don’t have to knock any more.

The king’s emissary enters.
Emissary:
The Maharaja will arrive tonight.
Hmn:
What a disaster!
Amal:
[to the king’s emissary] At what time in the night, Sir, at what time?
Emissary:
At midnight tonight.
Amal:
When my friend, the guard will ring the bell at the main gate of our city: ding-dong, ding-dong! Then?
Emissary:
Yes, then. The raja has sent his senior-most physician to see his young friend.

The Royal physician enters.
R. Physician:
What is this? Why have you shut all the windows? Please open them. Open all the doors and windows. [Feeling Amal’s temperature] Baba, how do you feel now?
Amal:
I am fine, Kavirajmoshai, I am fine. I am not ill anymore, I have no pain. Ah! You have opened the windows … I can see the stars, the stars beyond darkness.
R. Physician:
When the king arrives at midnight, will you be able to leave your bed and go with him?
Amal:
Yes, I will. I will be able to go. I am dying to go out. I will ask the raja, ‘Please show me the polestar.’ I must have seen it many a time, but I cannot recognise it.
R. Physician:
He will show you everything. [To Madhab] Please tidy up this room and arrange some flowers for him. [Turning towards the headman] This person must leave the room.
Amal:
No, no, Kavirajmoshai, he is a friend of mine. He is the one who brought me a letter from the raja before you arrived.
R. Physician:
All right, baba. Since he is your friend, he can stay here.
Madhab Datta:
[Whispering into Amal’s ears] Baba, the king is fond of you, he’s coming in person, please ask for something from him. You know, we aren’t well off.
Amal:
I have already decided about it, please don’t worry Pishemoshai.
Madhav Datta:
What will you ask from the king?
Amal:
I’ll ask him to make me a postman in his post office. I’ll go around the country delivering his letters.
Madhav Datta:
[Hitting himself on the forehead] Oh! What a shame!
Amal:
Pishemoshai, the raja is coming. What shall we offer him?
Emissary:
He has asked me to tell you, he’ll have puffed rice in your place.
Amal:
Puffed rice? Morolmoshai, you said it! You knew everything about the king, and we had no idea at all!
Headman:
Shall we send someone to my house … let’s get something special for him …
R. Physician:
You don’t have to. All of you must calm down. I will sit beside this child – he is drifting into sleep. Turn off the lamps. Let the stars light up this room. He is sleeping.
Grandfather:
Keep quiet, you unbeliever. Do not talk.

Sudha enters
Sudha:
Amal!
R. Physician:
He has fallen asleep.
Sudha:
I have brought a flower for him. Can I give it to him?
R. Physician:
Yes, you can. Please do.
Sudha:
When will he wake up?
R. Physician:
Very soon, when the king wakes him up.
Sudha:
Will you please give him a message when he wakes up?
R. Physician:
What’s the message?
Sudha:
Please tell him, ‘Sudha hasn’t forgotten you.’


Sunday 14 November 2010

The post office (Continued)

[This is the Act Two of Rabindranath Tagore’s immortal play Daakghar. The first was posted on 15 October 2010.]




2

Yogurt vendor: Doi! Doi! Tasty doi!
Amal: Doiwallah! Doiwallah! Oh Doiwallah!
Yogurt vendor: Are you calling me? Do want to buy some curds?
Amal: How can I? I have no money.
Yogurt vendor: What a strange child you are! If you don’t want to buy any yogurt, why stop me? Time is running out!
Amal: If I could go away with you, I would.
Yogurt vendor: With me?
Amal: Yes. You go to so many places, with your street cries – it gives me a strange feeling. 
Yogurt vendor: [Putting down the pots of yogurt] What are you doing here, my child?
Amal: The doctor has told me not to leave the house. So I sit here through the day.
Yogurt vendor: Oh dear! What’s wrong with you?
Amal: I don’t know. I haven’t read anything, so I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. Doiwallah, where are you coming from?
Yogurt vendor: I come from our village.
Amal: Your village? Is it f-a-r away?
Yogurt vendor: It’s is at the foot of the distant Panchmura hills, by the side of the river Shyamali.
Amal: Panchmura hills, Shyamali river – who knows? – perhaps I have seen your village. But I don’t remember when.
Yogurt vendor: You have seen the place? Have you been to our village at the foothills?
Amal: No, I have never been there. But somehow, I feel I have seen the place. Your village is beside a red, gravelled road, beneath shadows of tall, ancient trees. Isn’t it?
Yogurt vendor: Yes, you are absolutely right.
Amal: Where cattle graze on the hillside … 
Yogurt vendor: What a surprise! Cattle graze in our village, of course they do!
Amal:  Girls collect water from the river and carry the pots on their heads – they are in red saris.
Yogurt vendor: Once again, you are right! Wonderful! Girls from our milkmen’s hamlet do collect water from the river. Maybe, every one of them doesn’t wear red – but my child, you must have been to our village sometime?
Amal: Believe me, Doiwallah! I’ve never been there. Can I go with you when the doctor allows me?
Yogurt vendor: Of course, you can, my child! I’ll certainly take you over there.
Amal: Please teach me how to sell curds; just as you … carrying pots strung to a pole that rests on your shoulder … travelling to faraway places, just as you do.
Yogurt vendor: Oh no! Why should you sell curds, my child? You’ll read big books and become a pundit.
Amal: No, no, I don’t want to become a pundit. I’ll start from your milkmen’s village beside the gravelled red road under the old banyan tree … I’ll go around selling yogurt to villages far away. The way you call out – “Doi, doi, mishti doi!” Please teach me the tune, Doiwallah.
Yogurt vendor: Oh dear! Is it a tune to be taught?
Amal: But I love it. My mind flies away when I hear a bird’s trill from the other end of the sky. The same way, when I heard you calling from the crossroads through rows of trees, I felt … I don’t know what I felt.
Yogurt vendor: Please take this pot, my child!
Amal: But I don’t have any money.
Yogurt vendor: No, no, no. Please don’t talk about money. How happy I would be, if you ate a little of my yogurt.
Amal: But I am holding you back.
Yogurt vendor: No baba, not at all! You have not delayed me, I haven’t lost anything. I’ve learnt from you what a wonderful thing selling curds can be.   [The vendor leaves]
Amal:  [Imitating the Yogurt vendor’s tune] Doi! Doi! Mishti doi! Yogurt from homes of milkmen who live beside the Shyamali river … at the foothills of Panchmura. The men milk their cows on the slopes of the hill early in the morning; the women set curds in the evenings. It’s that curd. Doi! Doi! Tasty doi! Over there, the guard is going round. Guard! Guard! Will you please come and talk to me?

The Guard enters


Guard: Why are you calling me? Aren’t you scared of me?
Amal: Why? Why should I be?
Guard: What if I took you away?
Amal: Where would you take me? Far away? Even beyond those hills?
Guard: If I took you all the way to the king?
Amal:  To the king? Please do take me. But the doctor has told me not to leave the house. No one can take me anywhere – I’ll have to be here alone, through days and nights.         
Guard: The doctor has forbidden you? I’m sorry. Well, I understand. Your look so pale! There are dark patches under your eyes. I can see the veins in your arms.
Amal: Won’t you ring the bell, Guard?
Guard: It isn’t time yet.
Amal:  One says the time is running out, and the other says, it isn’t time yet. But wouldn’t it be time if you rang the bell?
Guard: How could it be? I can ring the bell only when it is time to ring the bell.
Amal: I love the sound of your gong, I really love it. In the afternoon, when everyone has finished their meals, when uncle has gone away on work, aunt has drifted off to sleep while reading the Ramayana, our tiny puppy is sleeping in the shadows in that corner of the courtyard, burying his head in his tail, your bell rings – ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. Why does it ring?
Guard: The gong says: time doesn’t wait … it is flowing away … flowing away.
Amal: Where does time flow away to? To which place?
Guard: No one knows.
Amal:  Has nobody gone there? I would love to go away with time, to the land that no one knows of, that faraway place.
Guard: Everyone will have to go there, son.
Amal:  Me too?
Guard: Yes, of course!
Amal:  But the doctor has asked me not to go anywhere.
Guard: Someday, perhaps the doctor himself will take you there.
Amal:  No, no. You don’t know him, he only keeps people indoors.
Guard: But there is a better doctor, who makes people free.
Amal:  When will the better doctor come and see me? I can’t stay here any longer. 
Guard: You shouldn’t say such things, son.
Amal:  No, I am not running away, I have been asked to stay here and I won’t go away, but I hear your bell: ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong – and it gives me a strange feeling. Guard!
Guard: Yes, son?
Amal:  On the other side of the road, a flag is flying over a large building. So many people are going in and coming out of the building – what’s happening there?
Guard: A new post office is being set up there.
Amal:  A post office? Who is setting up the post office?
Guard: Who can set up a post office? Only the king. This boy is very interesting!
Amal:  Does the king send letters to his post office?
Guard: Of course, he does! Wait and see, someday, you too will get a letter from him.
Amal:  There will be a letter even for me? But I am only a small boy!
Guard: The king writes this small letters to small boys.
Amal:  It would be wonderful. When will I receive a letter? How do you know the king will write even to me?
Guard: Otherwise, would he set up a post office – flying such a huge golden flag – right in front of your open window? I quite enjoy the conversation with this kid!
Amal:  Well, if the raja writes to me, who would bring in his letter?
Guard: He has so many postmen. Haven’t you seen them? They go around wearing golden rosettes on their chest.
Amal:  Where do they go?
Guard: To people’s houses, to different countries. Oh! I cannot help but laughing at these questions!
Amal:  When I grow up, I’ll become one of raja’s postmen.
Guard: Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! A postman? Isn’t it a great honour to be a postman? It’s mighty important to go around houses, to the rich and the poor – rain or shine – delivering letters!
Amal:  Why are you laughing? I think it’s the most wonderful thing one can do. Of course, your work is even better – when everything is silent under the hot afternoon sun, your bell rings – ding-dong, ding-dong. Or in some nights, when I wake up in my bed to find that the oil-lamp has burnt itself out, the sound of your gong floats in through a strange darkness outside – ding-dong … ding-dong …!
Guard: There comes the village headman. If he finds me talking with you, I’ll be in trouble.
Amal:  Where, where is the headman?
Guard: Over there, still quite far away. He is carrying a huge umbrella made of leaves. 
Amal:  Has the raja made him a headman?
Guard: Oh, no, no! He only claims to be a headman. People are scared of him because if they don’t listen to him, he makes life difficult for them. His only occupation is making trouble for others. Let me go now, I’ve things to do. I’ll come again tomorrow in morning and give you all the news about the town. [The guard leaves]
Amal:  It would be nice if the raja writes to me every day. I’ll read the letters sitting beside this window. But I can’t read. Who will read the letters for me? Aunt reads only the Ramayana. Will she able to read the king’s handwriting? If no one can read the letters, I will preserve the whole bunch of them carefully. I’ll read them when I grow up. But what if the postman can’t find me? Headman sir, oh headman sir! Will you please come to me?

The headman enters


Headman: Who dares to call me? Where is this monkey from?
Amal:  Sir, you are the headman, everyone obeys you.
Headman: [pleased] Yes, of course. Most certainly! People do obey me!
Amal: Does the raja’s postman listen to you?
Headman: Would he survive if he didn’t? How dare he disobey me?
Amal: Please tell the postman my name is Amal. I sit by the side of this window.
Headman: But what for?
Amal: If there is a letter for me …
Headman: Letter for you? Who’ll write to you?
Amal: If the raja does?
Headman: Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! This boy is not a simple child. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! The raja will write to you! Of course, he will. Aren’t you his best friend? I hear he has fallen ill because he didn’t see you for a few days! It won’t take much longer, the letter should reach you any moment.
Amal: Morol moshai! Why are you talking like that? Are you angry with me?
Headman: Oh dear! Do I have the nerve to be angry with you? You exchange letters with the king! I can see: Madhav Datta has got too big for his boots. Maybe, he has made a little money, and his family members talk about nothing but the king and the queen. Wait and see, I’ll teach him a lesson. Listen to me, you young brat! I’ll see to it that the king’s letter reaches your house.
Amal:  No, no, Sir, please don’t do anything.
Headman: Why not? I’ll inform the Maharaj about you; then he won’t be able to wait, he’ll send soldiers straight away to enquire about you. No! Look at Madhav Datta’s audacity! He’d pay the price if the king came to know …. [The headman leaves.]
Amal:  Who are you – your anklets ringing so sweetly! – will you please stop for a while?

A little girl enters


Girl: How can I? Time is running out!
Amal:  You don’t want to stop? And I too don’t want to stay here any longer.
Girl: You remind me of the morning star – what’s wrong with you?
Amal:  I don’t know … the doctor’s asked me not to leave the house.
Girl: Oh! Please don’t go out then. You must listen to the doctor and be a good boy. Let no one say you are naughty. You feel restless because you have been looking out, perhaps I should shut this half open door.
Amal:  No, no, please don’t. Everything is closed around me except this door. But I didn’t see you earlier! Please tell me who you are.
Girl: I am Sudha.
Amal:  Sudha?
Sudha: Don’t you know me? My mother is a gardener here.
Amal: What do you do?
Sudha: I gather flowers in my basket and make garlands with them. I’m going to pick flowers now.
Amal: Going to pick flowers? That’s why your feet are dancing so merrily; as you go along, your anklets are singing. If I could go with you, I would pluck flowers for you from the high branches – so high, that you can’t even see them.
Sudha: How can you? Do you know more about flowers than I?
Amal:  I know, yes, I do. I know about the seven Champa brothers. I think, if they let me go, I’ll walk into a dense forest, where no one can find their way.  I’ll become a blooming champa flower on one of the thin branches on which little manua birds swing. Will you be my sister, flower Parul?
Sudha:  You must be crazy! How can I be your sister Parul? I am Sudha, daughter of the gardener Sashi. Every day, I have to thread so many garlands. I would have been delighted to sit here, like you.
Amal: Then what would you do through the days?
Sudha: I have a doll, she is a shopkeeper’s wife. I’d get her married. I have a kitten called Meni; with her …. Oh! I must go now, the time is running out. If I am late there’ll be no flowers.
Amal: Please be with me for some more time, I love to be with you.
Sudha: All right. Be a nice boy and sit here quietly, don’t be naughty, I’ll be with you for a while when I get back after gathering flowers.
Amal:  Will you give me a flower?
Sudha: How can I give you a flower just like that? You have to pay for it.
Amal: I’ll pay when I grow up. I will go beyond that waterfall in search of work; I will pay you before I leave.
Sudha: That should be fine.
Amal: So you will come back after gathering flowers?
Sudha: Yes, I will.
Amal: You will surely come?
Sudha: Yes, I will.
Amal: You won’t forget me, will you? My name is Amal. Will you remember my name?
Sudha: No, I won’t forget. You’ll see, I will remember you. [Sudha leaves]
  

A group of boys enter


Amal:  Where are you going, friends? Why don’t you come here for a few moments?
Boys: We are going to play.
Amal:  What games are you going to play, friends?
Boys: We’ll play tilling-the-land.
First boy: [Showing a stick] This will be our plough.
Second boy: We two will be the oxen.
Amal:  Will you play throughout the day?
Boys: Yes, the w-h-o-l-e day.
Amal:  And then you’ll come home walking along the river?
Boys: Yes, we’ll return in the evening.
Amal:  Please do return by this road by my house.
Boys: Why don’t you come out and play with us?
Amal:  The doctor has told me not to leave the house.
Boys: The doctor! And you follow his instructions? We must go now, it’s getting late.
Amal:  Please don’t go away. Please play on the road in front of my window for some time. Let me watch you play.
Boys:   Here? What shall we play with?
Amal:  Here are my toys, take them all. I don’t enjoy playing in the house …  all alone. My toys lie scattered on the floor; they’re of no use to me.
Boys: Wow! Such wonderful toys … this is a ship … this is a witch … and look at this, such a smart soldier. Are you really giving us all these? Won’t you feel bad?
Amal:  No, I won’t, I am giving you all my toys.
Boys: But we won’t give them back.
Amal:  No, you don’t have to.
Boys:   No one will scold us?
Amal:  No, no one will. But every morning, please come here and play for sometime in front of my door with these toys. And when they become old, I’ll get new ones for you.
Boys: Wonderful! We’ll come here every morning and play …. Please arrange the soldiers … we’ll play out a battle …. But where do we find the guns? Over there, a stick is lying on the ground. Let’s break it into pieces; they will be our guns …. But friend, you are drifting into sleep!
Amal:  Yes, I feel sleepy. I don’t know why I feel sleepy so often. I have been sitting here for a long time, I can sit no more; my back is aching.
Boys: The morning isn’t over yet, and you already feel sleepy? Listen, there, the bell rings.
Amal:  Yes, I can hear the bell – ding-dong, ding-dong! It’s telling me to go to bed.
Boys: If you are going to bed, we’ll go. We will come again tomorrow in the morning.
Amal:  Before you go away, I want to ask you something. You go to so many places: have you met the postmen of the king’s post office?
Boys: Yes, of course, we have. We know them very well.
Amal:  Who are they? What are their names?
Boys: One of them is the Postman Rain. Another is called Autumn. There are so many of them!
Amal:  Suppose there is a letter for me. Will they be able to find me?
Boys: Yes of course! If the letter is addressed to you, they’ll surely trace you out.
Amal:  When you’re here tomorrow, please call one of them and show me.
Boys: Yes, we will.