household."
Th e wOma n laid he r han d o n th e man' s arm .
"Don't be such a bully, Ranjit. Offer him a thousand rupees. You'll see it is a good investment."
The man laughed indulgendy. "You are the most demanding sister a main ever had. Here, give me that paper." He pulled a pen from his blazer and scribbled down the sum, signing his name after it.
Master Mohan folded the paper and put it carefully in his pocket. When he looked up he saw two men watching him from the other side of the wall. Their oiled hair and stained teeth frightened him, bringing back memories of the musicians who had waited outside the great houses where he had sung as a child, until the menfolk sent for the dancing girls who often did not even dance before musicians such as these led them to the bedrooms.
On their way home Imrat lifted his blind eyes to his teacher and whispered, "But how much money is a thousand rupees? Enough to find somewhere to live with you and my sister?"
The music teacher hugged the child. "If the record is a success you can be together with your sister. Now try and rest. This afternoon you must not be tired."
As they dismounted from the tram the paanwallah shouted, "Last night two musicians were asking about about you, Master. Did they come to hear Imrat today?"
Imrat interrupted the paanwallah. "We are going to make a record and get lots of money."
"A record, Master Imrat! Be sure you sing well. Then I will buy a gramophone to listen to you."
It was no surprise to Master Mohan that Imrat sang as he did that afternoon. The child could not see the microphone dangling from the wire covered with flies or the bored faces watching him behind the glass panel. He only saw himself in his sister's embrace, and when the recording engineer ordered him to sing the studio reverberated with his joy.
"The boy has recording genius," an engineer admitted reluctantly as Imrat ended his song. "His timing is so exact we can print these as they are."
His colleague switched off the microphone. "Ranjit-sahib will be very pleased. I'll call him."
A few minutes later the man in the blazer strode into the office followed by his engineers. "Well done, young man. Now my sister will give me some peace at last. She has done nothing but talk about you since she first heard you sing."
He patted Imrat's head. "Come back in ten days. If the engineers are right and we do not have to make another recording, I will give you a thousand rupees. What will a little chap like you do with so much money?"
But he was gone before Imrat could reply. Master Mohan dared not hope for anything until the record was made. To prevent the child from believing too fervently that he would soon be reunited with his sister, the music teacher continued Imrat's lessons in the park, trying not to feel alarm when he saw the same two men always at the balustrade, smiling at him, nodding their heads in appreciation of Imrat's phrasing.
One day the men followed Master Mohan and Imrat to the tram, waiting until they were alone before approaching the music teacher with their offer.
"A great sahib wants to hear the boy sing."
"No, no. We are too busy." Master Mohan pushed Imrat before him. "The boy is making his first record. He must practice."
"Don't be a fool, brother. The sahib will pay handsomely to listen to his voice."
"Five thousand rupees, brother. Think of it."
"But your sahib can hear the child free every morning in the park."
They laughed and Master Mohan felt the old fear when he saw their betel-stained teeth. "Great men do not stand in a crowd, snatching their pleasure from the breeze, brother. They indulge their pleasures in the privacy of palaces."
"He must finish his recording first."
"Naturally. But after that . . ."
"We will be here every morning, Master." "You will not escape us."
To Master Mohan's dismay the men waited each day at the park, leaning against the parapet until Imrat's small crowd of admirers had dispersed before edging up to the blind boy.
"Please, little
Th e wOma n laid he r han d o n th e man' s arm .
"Don't be such a bully, Ranjit. Offer him a thousand rupees. You'll see it is a good investment."
The man laughed indulgendy. "You are the most demanding sister a main ever had. Here, give me that paper." He pulled a pen from his blazer and scribbled down the sum, signing his name after it.
Master Mohan folded the paper and put it carefully in his pocket. When he looked up he saw two men watching him from the other side of the wall. Their oiled hair and stained teeth frightened him, bringing back memories of the musicians who had waited outside the great houses where he had sung as a child, until the menfolk sent for the dancing girls who often did not even dance before musicians such as these led them to the bedrooms.
On their way home Imrat lifted his blind eyes to his teacher and whispered, "But how much money is a thousand rupees? Enough to find somewhere to live with you and my sister?"
The music teacher hugged the child. "If the record is a success you can be together with your sister. Now try and rest. This afternoon you must not be tired."
As they dismounted from the tram the paanwallah shouted, "Last night two musicians were asking about about you, Master. Did they come to hear Imrat today?"
Imrat interrupted the paanwallah. "We are going to make a record and get lots of money."
"A record, Master Imrat! Be sure you sing well. Then I will buy a gramophone to listen to you."
It was no surprise to Master Mohan that Imrat sang as he did that afternoon. The child could not see the microphone dangling from the wire covered with flies or the bored faces watching him behind the glass panel. He only saw himself in his sister's embrace, and when the recording engineer ordered him to sing the studio reverberated with his joy.
"The boy has recording genius," an engineer admitted reluctantly as Imrat ended his song. "His timing is so exact we can print these as they are."
His colleague switched off the microphone. "Ranjit-sahib will be very pleased. I'll call him."
A few minutes later the man in the blazer strode into the office followed by his engineers. "Well done, young man. Now my sister will give me some peace at last. She has done nothing but talk about you since she first heard you sing."
He patted Imrat's head. "Come back in ten days. If the engineers are right and we do not have to make another recording, I will give you a thousand rupees. What will a little chap like you do with so much money?"
But he was gone before Imrat could reply. Master Mohan dared not hope for anything until the record was made. To prevent the child from believing too fervently that he would soon be reunited with his sister, the music teacher continued Imrat's lessons in the park, trying not to feel alarm when he saw the same two men always at the balustrade, smiling at him, nodding their heads in appreciation of Imrat's phrasing.
One day the men followed Master Mohan and Imrat to the tram, waiting until they were alone before approaching the music teacher with their offer.
"A great sahib wants to hear the boy sing."
"No, no. We are too busy." Master Mohan pushed Imrat before him. "The boy is making his first record. He must practice."
"Don't be a fool, brother. The sahib will pay handsomely to listen to his voice."
"Five thousand rupees, brother. Think of it."
"But your sahib can hear the child free every morning in the park."
They laughed and Master Mohan felt the old fear when he saw their betel-stained teeth. "Great men do not stand in a crowd, snatching their pleasure from the breeze, brother. They indulge their pleasures in the privacy of palaces."
"He must finish his recording first."
"Naturally. But after that . . ."
"We will be here every morning, Master." "You will not escape us."
To Master Mohan's dismay the men waited each day at the park, leaning against the parapet until Imrat's small crowd of admirers had dispersed before edging up to the blind boy.
"Please, little
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