Master Imrat, take pity on a man who worships music."
"The sahib's responsibilities prevented him from following his own calling as a singer."
"He could have been a great singer like you, Master Imrat, if he had not been forced to take care of his family business."
Master Mohan could see the smirking expressions on the faces of the two men as they tried to ingratiate themselves with Imrat.
"To hear you sing will relieve the pain of his own heart, denied what he has most loved in this life."
"If you sing well he will give you leaves from Tansen's tamarind tree to make your voice as immortal as Tansen's."
Master Mohan knew these men had once learned music as Imrat was doing now, until poverty had reduced them to pandering to the vices and whims of wealthy men. Even as he despised them he was relieved that Imrat's record would save him from such a life.
Now they turned their attention on Master Mohan.
"We have told the great sahib this boy has a voice that is heard only once in five hundred years."
"The sahib is a man of influence, brother. Perhaps he can arrange to have the boy invited to the Calcutta Music Festival."
The music teacher felt dizzy even imagining that his blind charge, who had been no better than a beggar only eight months ago, might be invited to sing in the company of India's maestros. The great singing teachers always attended the festival. One might even offer to train Imrat's pure voice, taking it to a perfection that had not been heard since Tansen himself sang before the Great Moghul. He nearly agreed but controlled himself enough to say again "You must wait until the boy completes his recording."
Fortunately he did not have to think long about the temptation offered by the two men.
On the day he took Imrat back to the recording studio, the young woman was also present in the office, seated on an armchair opposite her brother's desk.
"I played this record for the director of the radio station. He thinks Master Imrat has great promise, and must be taught by the best teachers available. A talent like his should not be exposed to the dust and germs in the park. There are empty rooms above one of our garages. He must live there."
The woman put her arm around boy. "Wouldn't you like to stay with me? Your sister could work in my house and your teacher would come to see you every day."
The boy nodded happily, and she handed two copies of the record and an envelope of money to Master Mohan. "So it is settled. As soon as his sister reaches Calcutta they will both move into my house."
Master Mohan took the records but left the envelope of money in the woman's hand for Imrat's sister.
"Are we to be given nothing for feeding and clothing this changeling you brought into our home?" Master Mohan's wife screamed when she learned her husband had left the boy's money with the studio owner. "What about the whole year we have kept him, restricting our own lives so he could become rich? Are your own children to receive nothing out of this, only blows and abuses?"
Her fury increased when Imrat's record was released and proved immediately popular.
In the weeks that followed, the record was played over and over again on the radio by enthusiastic programmers. While Imrat waited for his sister to send news of her arrival in Calcutta, Master Mohan was informed by the recording studio that Imrat's record was disappearing from the record shops as fast as new copies could be printed.
Now his wife's rage was inflamed by jealousy. She could hear Imrat's record being played everywhere in the bazaars. Even the paanwallah had brought a gramophone to his stall, storing it behind the piles of wet leaves at his side. Each time a customer bought a paan the paanwallah cranked the machine and placed the record on the turntable, boasting "I advised the music teacher to adopt the child. Even though he was only a blind beggar, I was able to recognize the purity of his voice immediately."
A week before Imrat's sister was due to arrive in Calcutta,
"The sahib's responsibilities prevented him from following his own calling as a singer."
"He could have been a great singer like you, Master Imrat, if he had not been forced to take care of his family business."
Master Mohan could see the smirking expressions on the faces of the two men as they tried to ingratiate themselves with Imrat.
"To hear you sing will relieve the pain of his own heart, denied what he has most loved in this life."
"If you sing well he will give you leaves from Tansen's tamarind tree to make your voice as immortal as Tansen's."
Master Mohan knew these men had once learned music as Imrat was doing now, until poverty had reduced them to pandering to the vices and whims of wealthy men. Even as he despised them he was relieved that Imrat's record would save him from such a life.
Now they turned their attention on Master Mohan.
"We have told the great sahib this boy has a voice that is heard only once in five hundred years."
"The sahib is a man of influence, brother. Perhaps he can arrange to have the boy invited to the Calcutta Music Festival."
The music teacher felt dizzy even imagining that his blind charge, who had been no better than a beggar only eight months ago, might be invited to sing in the company of India's maestros. The great singing teachers always attended the festival. One might even offer to train Imrat's pure voice, taking it to a perfection that had not been heard since Tansen himself sang before the Great Moghul. He nearly agreed but controlled himself enough to say again "You must wait until the boy completes his recording."
Fortunately he did not have to think long about the temptation offered by the two men.
On the day he took Imrat back to the recording studio, the young woman was also present in the office, seated on an armchair opposite her brother's desk.
"I played this record for the director of the radio station. He thinks Master Imrat has great promise, and must be taught by the best teachers available. A talent like his should not be exposed to the dust and germs in the park. There are empty rooms above one of our garages. He must live there."
The woman put her arm around boy. "Wouldn't you like to stay with me? Your sister could work in my house and your teacher would come to see you every day."
The boy nodded happily, and she handed two copies of the record and an envelope of money to Master Mohan. "So it is settled. As soon as his sister reaches Calcutta they will both move into my house."
Master Mohan took the records but left the envelope of money in the woman's hand for Imrat's sister.
"Are we to be given nothing for feeding and clothing this changeling you brought into our home?" Master Mohan's wife screamed when she learned her husband had left the boy's money with the studio owner. "What about the whole year we have kept him, restricting our own lives so he could become rich? Are your own children to receive nothing out of this, only blows and abuses?"
Her fury increased when Imrat's record was released and proved immediately popular.
In the weeks that followed, the record was played over and over again on the radio by enthusiastic programmers. While Imrat waited for his sister to send news of her arrival in Calcutta, Master Mohan was informed by the recording studio that Imrat's record was disappearing from the record shops as fast as new copies could be printed.
Now his wife's rage was inflamed by jealousy. She could hear Imrat's record being played everywhere in the bazaars. Even the paanwallah had brought a gramophone to his stall, storing it behind the piles of wet leaves at his side. Each time a customer bought a paan the paanwallah cranked the machine and placed the record on the turntable, boasting "I advised the music teacher to adopt the child. Even though he was only a blind beggar, I was able to recognize the purity of his voice immediately."
A week before Imrat's sister was due to arrive in Calcutta,
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