Flute Player – Short Story By Ruskin Bond

Remembering a story that Grandmother had told her, Kamla said, ‘They are sacred birds, aren’t they? Because of their blue throats.’ She told him the story of God Shiva having a blue throat because he had swallowed the poison that would have destroyed the world; He had kept the poison in his throat and would not let it go further. ‘And so his throat is blue, like the blue-jay’s.’

Romi liked the story. His respect for Kamla was greatly increased. But he was not to be outdone, and when a small grey squirrel dashed across the path he told her that squirrels, too, were sacred. Krishna, the God who was born into a Yadav’s family like Romi’s had been fond of squirrels and would take them in his arms and stroke them.

‘That is why squirrels have four dark lines down their backs,’ said Romi. ‘Krishna was very dark as I am, and the strips are the marks of his fingers.’

‘Can you catch a squirrels?’ asked Kamla.

‘No, they are too quick. But I caught a snake once. I caught it by tail and dropped it in the old well. That well is full of snakes. Whenever we catch one, instead of killing it, we drop it in the well. They can’t get out.’

Kamla shuddered at the thought of all those snakes swimming and wriggling about at the bottom of the deep well. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to return to the well with him. But she forgot about the snakes when they reached the canal.

It was small canal, about ten metres wide, and only waist-deep in the middle, but it was very muddy at the bottom. She had never seen such a muddy stream in her life.

‘Would you like to get in?’ asked Romi.

‘No,’ said Kamla. ‘You get in.’

Romi was only too ready to show off his tricks in the water. His toes took a firm hold on the grassy bank, the muscles of his calves tensed, and he dived into the water with a loud splash, landing rather awkwardly on his belly. It was a poor dive, but Kamla was impressed.

Romi swam across to the opposite bank and then back again. When he climbed out of the water, he was covered with mud. It made him look quite fierce. ‘Come on in,’ he invited Kamla. ‘It’s not deep.’

‘It’s dirty,’ said Kamla, but felt tempted all the same. ‘It’s only mud,’ said Romi. ‘There’s nothing wrong with mud. Camels like mud. Buffaloes love mud.’

“I’m neither a camel nor a buffalo.’

‘All right. You don’t have to go right in. Just walk along the sides of the channel.’