Flute Player – Short Story By Ruskin Bond

‘Who are you?’ he asked a little gruffly. He was not used to waking up and finding a strange girl staring at him.

‘I’m Kamla. I’ve come from England, but I’m really from India. I mean I’ve come home to India, but I’m really from England.’ This was getting to be rather confusing, so she countered with an abrupt: ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m the strongest boy in the village,’ said the boy, deciding to assert himself without any more ado. ‘My name is Romi. I can wrestle and swim and climb any tree.’

‘And do you sleep a lot?’ asked Kamla innocently.

Romi scratched his head and grinned.

‘I must look after the camel,’ he said. ‘It is no use staying awake for the camel. It keeps on going round the well until it is tired, and then it stops. When it has rested, it starts going round again. It can carry on like that all day. But it eats a lot.’

Mention of the camel’s food reminded Romi that he was hungry. He was growing fast these days, and was nearly always hungry. There were some mangoes lying besides him, and he offered one to Kamla. They were silent for a few minutes. One can not suck mangoes and talk at the same time. After they had finished, they washed their hands in the water from one of the trays.

‘There are parrots in the tree,’ said Kamla, noticing three or four parrots conducting a noisy meeting in the topmost branches. They reminded her a bit of a pop group she had seen and heard at home.

‘They spoil most of the mangoes,’ said Romi.

He flung a stone at them. It missed the target, but the birds look off with squawks of protest, flashes of green and gold wheeling in the sunshine.

‘Where do you swim?’ asked Kamla. ‘Down in the well?’

‘Of course not. I’m not a frog. There is a canal not far from here. Come, I will show you!’ as they crossed the fields, a pair of blue-jays flew out of a bush, rockets of bright blue that dipped and swerved, rising and falling as they chased each other.