The Post Office | Page 3

dear.
AMAL. Really, but then I shall go right away the moment I'm well again.
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; then--
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 time.
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 child?
AMAL. The doctor says I'm not to be out, so I sit here all day long.
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 from?
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 village.
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 sky?
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,