It was the festival of spring. From the wintry shades of narrow lanes and alleys emerged a gaily clad humanity. Some walked, some rode on horses, others sat, being carried in bamboo and
bullock carts. One little boy ran between his father’s legs, brimming over with life and laughter.
Come, child, come,” called his parents, as he lagged behind, fascinated by the toys in the shops that lined the way.
He hurried towards his parents, his feet obedient to their call, his eyes still lingering on the receding toys. As he came to where they had stopped to wait for him, he could not suppress the desire of his heart, even though he well knew the old, cold stare of refusal
in their eyes. “I want that toy,” he pleaded. His father looked at him red-eyed, in his familiar tyrant’s way.
His mother, melted by the free spirit of the day was tender and, giving him her finger to hold, said, “Look, child, what is before you!”
It was a flowering mustard-field, pale like melting gold as it swept across miles and miles of even land.
A group of dragon-flies were bustling about on their gaudy purple wings, intercepting the flight of a lone black bee or butterfly in search of sweetness from the flowers. The child followed them
in the air with his gaze, till one of them would still its wings and rest, and he would try to catch it. But it would go fluttering, flapping, up into the air, when he had almost caught it in his
hands. Then his mother gave a cautionary call: “Come, child,
come, come on to the footpath.”
He ran towards his parents gaily and walked abreast of them for a while, being, however, soon left behind, attracted by the little insects and worms along the footpath that were teeming out from their hiding places to enjoy the sunshine.
“Come, child, come!” his parents called from the shade of a
grove where they had seated themselves on the edge of a well. He
ran towards them. A shower of young flowers fell upon the child as he entered
the grove, and, forgetting his parents, he began to gather the raining petals in his hands. But lo! he heard the cooing of doves and ran towards his parents, shouting, “The dove! The dove!” The
raining petals dropped from his forgotten hands.“Come, child, come!” they called to the child, who had now
gone running in wild capers round the banyan tree, and gathering him up they took the narrow, winding footpath which led to the fair through the mustard fields.
As they neared the village the child could see many other footpaths full of throngs, converging to the whirlpool of the fair,
and felt at once repelled and fascinated by the confusion of the world he was entering. A sweetmeat seller hawked, “gulab-jaman, rasagulla, burfi, jalebi,” at the corner of the entrance and a crowd pressed round his counter at the foot of an architecture of many coloured sweets, decorated with leaves of silver and gold. The child stared openeyed and his mouth watered for the burfi that was his favourite sweet. “I want that burfi,” he slowly murmured. But he half knew as he begged that his plea would not be heeded because his parents would say he was greedy. So without waiting for an answer he moved on. A flower-seller hawked, “A garland of gulmohur, a garland of gulmohur!” The child seemed irresistibly drawn. He went towards
the basket where the flowers lay heaped and half murmured, “I want that garland.” But he well knew his parents would refuse to buy him those flowers because they would say that they were
cheap. So, without waiting for an answer, he moved on. A man stood holding a pole with yellow, red, green and purple
balloons flying from it. The child was simply carried away by the
rainbow glory of their silken colours and he was filled with an overwhelming desire to possess them all. But he well knew his parents would never buy him the balloons because they would
say he was too old to play with such toys. So he walked on farther.
A snake-charmer stood playing a flute to a snake which coiled itself in a basket, its head raised in a graceful bend like the neck of a swan, while the music stole into its invisible ears like the gentle rippling of an invisible waterfall. The child went towards the snake-charmer. But, knowing his parents had forbidden him to hear such coarse music as the snake-charmer played, he proceeded farther. There was a roundabout in full swing. Men, women and
children, carried away in a whirling motion, shrieked and cried with dizzy laughter. The child watched them intently and then he made a bold request: “I want to go on the roundabout, please, Father, Mother.”
The man headed towards the place where the snake-charmer still played on the flute to the swaying cobra. “Listen to that nice music, child!” he pleaded. But the child shut his ears with his fingers and shouted his double-pitched strain: “I want my mother, I want my father!” The man took him near the balloons,
thinking the bright colours of the balloons would distract the
child’s attention and quieten him. “Would you like a rainbowcoloured balloon?” he persuasively asked. The child turned his eyes from the flying balloons and just sobbed, “I want my mother, I want my father!”
The man, still trying to make the child happy, bore him to the gate where the flower-seller sat. “Look! Can you smell those nice flowers, child! Would you like a garland to put round your neck?”
The child turned his nose away from the basket and reiterated his sob, “I want my mother, I want my father!”
Thinking to humour his disconsolate charge by a gift of sweets, the man took him to the counter of the sweet shop.
“What sweets would you like, child?” he asked. The child turned
his face from the sweet shop and only sobbed, “I want my mother, I want my father!”
-Richard_Flaming543
