TheBlueUmbrella

TheBlueUmbrella

RUSKINBOND

Illustratedby

TREVORSTUBLEY

Publishedin1992by

RupaPublicationsIndiaPvt.Ltd.7/16,AnsariRoad,Daryaganj

NewDelhi110002

Salescentres:AllahabadBengaluruChennaiHyderabadJaipurKathmandu

KolkataMumbai

Copyright©RuskinBond1974IllustrationsCopyright©TrevorStubley1972

Thisnovelisentirelyaworkoffiction.Thenames,characters,andincidents

portrayedinitaretheworkoftheauthor ’simagination.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons—livingordead—eventsorlocalitiesisentirelycoincidental.

Thisdigitaleditionpublishedin2012

e-ISBN:978-81-291-2154-7

RuskinBondassertsthemoralrighttobeidentifiedastheauthorofthiswork.

DigitaleditionpreparedbyNinestarsInformationTechnologiesLtd.

Allrightsreserved.

Thise-bookissoldsubjecttotheconditionthatitshallnot,bywayoftradeorotherwise,belent,resold,hiredout,orotherwisecirculated,withoutthepublisher ’spriorconsent,inanyformorcoverotherthanthatinwhichitispublished.Nopartofthispublicationmaybereproduced,transmitted,orstoredinaretrievalsystem,inanyformorbyanymeans,whetherelectronic,mechanical,printreproduction,

recordingorotherwise,withoutthepriorpermissionofthepublisher.Anyunauthorizeddistributionofthise-bookmaybeconsideredadirectinfringementof

copyrightandthoseresponsiblemaybeliableinlawaccordingly.

One

EELU!Neelu!”criedBinya.Shescrambledbarefootover the rocks, ranover theshort summergrass,

upandoverthebrowofthehill,allthetimecalling“Neelu,Neelu!”Neelu—Blue—was the name of the blue-grey cow. The other cow, whichwas

white,was calledGori,meaning FairOne. Theywere fond ofwandering off ontheirown,downtothestreamorintothepineforest,andsometimestheycamebackby themselves and sometimes they stayedaway—almostdeliberately, it seemed toBinya.

Ifthecowsdidn’tcomehomeattherighttime,Binyawouldbesenttofetchthem.sometimesherbrotherBijjuwentwithher,butthesedayshewasbusypreparingforhisexamsanddidn’thavetimetohelpwiththecows.

Binyalikedbeingonherown,andsometimessheallowedthecowstoleadherintosomedistant valley, and then theywould all be late cominghome.The cowspreferredhavingBinyawith them,becauseshe let themwander.Bijjupulled thembytheirtailsiftheywenttoofar.

Binya belonged to the mountains, to this part of the Himalayas known asGarhwal.Darkforestsandlonelyhilltopsheldnoterrorsforher.Itwasonlywhenshewasinthemarket-town,jostledbythecrowdsinthebazaar,thatshefeltrathernervousandlost.Thetown,fivemilesfromthevillage,wasalsoapleasureresortfortouristsfromalloverIndia.

Binyawasprobablyten.Shemayhavebeennineoreveneleven,shecouldn’tbesurebecausenooneinthevillagekeptbirthdays;buthermothertoldhershe’dbeenbornduringawinterwhenthesnowhadcomeuptothewindows,andthatwasjustovertenyearsago,wasn’t it?Twoyearslaterher fatherhaddied;buthispassinghadmadenodifferencetotheirwayoflife.Theyhadthreetinyterracedfieldsonthesideofthemountain,andtheygrewpotatoes,onions,ginger,beans,mustardandmaize:notenoughtosellinthetown,butenoughtoliveon.

Likemostmountaingirls,Binyawasquitesturdy,fairofskin,withpinkcheeksanddarkeyesandherblackhairtiedinapigtail.Sheworeprettyglassbanglesonherwrists,andanecklaceofglassbeads.Fromthenecklacehungaleopard’sclaw.Itwas a lucky charm, andBinya alwayswore it.Bijju hadone, too, onlyhiswasattachedtoastring.

Binya’sfullnamewasBinyadevi,andBijju’srealnamewasvijay,buteveryonecalledthemBinyaandBijju.Binyawastwoyearsyoungerthanherbrother.

She had stopped calling for Neelu; she had heard the cow-bells tinkling, andknew the cows hadn’t gone far. Singing to herself, she walked over fallen pine-needlesintotheforestgladeonthespurofthehill.Sheheardvoices,laughter,theclatterofplatesandcups;andsteppingthroughthetrees,shecameuponapartyofpicnickers.

Theywereholiday-makers fromtheplains.Thewomenweredressed inbrightsaris, themenwore light summer shirts, and the children had pretty new clothes.Binya,standingintheshadowsbetweenthetrees,wentunnoticed;andforsometimeshe watched the picnickers, admiring their clothes, listening to their unfamiliaraccents,andgazingratherhungrilyatthesightofalltheirfood.Andthenhergazecametorestonabrightblueumbrella,afrillythingforwomen,whichlayopenonthegrassbesideitsowner.

NowBinyahadseenumbrellasbefore,andhermotherhadabigblackumbrellawhichnobodyusedanymorebecausethefield-ratshadeatenholesinit,butthiswasthefirsttimeBinyahadseensuchasmall,dainty,colourfulumbrella;andshefellinlovewithit.Theumbrellawaslikeaflower,agreatblueflowerthathadsprunguponthedrybrownhillside.

Shemovedforwardafewpacessothatshecouldseetheumbrellabetter.Asshecameoutoftheshadowsintothesunlight,thepicnickerssawher.

“Hello,lookwho’shere!”exclaimedtheolderofthetwowomen.“Alittlevillagegirl!”

“Isn’tshepretty?”remarkedtheother.“Buthowtornanddirtyherclothesare!”itdidnotseemtobother themthatBinyacouldhearandunderstandeverything theysaidabouther.

“They’reverypoorinthehills,”saidoneofthemen.“Thenlet’sgivehersomethingtoeat.”AndtheolderwomanbeckonedtoBinya

tocomecloser.Hesitantly, nervously, Binya approached the group. Normally she would have

turnedand fled; but the attractionwas the pretty blue umbrella. It had cast a spelloverher,drawingherforwardalmostagainstherwill.

“What’sthatonherneck?”askedtheyoungerwoman.“Anecklaceofsorts.”“It’sapendant—see,there’saclawhangingfromit!”“It’satiger ’sclaw,”saidthemanbesideher.(Hehadneverseenatiger ’sclaw.)

“Aluckycharm.Thesepeoplewear themtokeepawayevilspirits.”He looked toBinyaforconfirmation,butBinyasaidnothing.

“Oh,Iwantonetoo!”saidthewoman,whowasobviouslyhiswife.“Youcan’tgettheminshops.”“Buyhers,then.Givehertwoorthreerupees,she’ssuretoneedthemoney.”Theman, looking slightly embarrassed but anxious to please his young wife,

produced a two-rupee note and offered it to Binya, indicating that hewanted thependantinexchange.Binyaputherhandtothenecklace,halfafraidthattheexcitedwomanwouldsnatchitawayfromher.Solemnlysheshookherhead.Themanthenshowedherafive-rupeenote,butagainBinyashookherhead.

“Howsillysheis!”exclaimedtheyoungwoman.“Itmaynotbeherstosell,”saidtheman.“Buti’lltryagain.Howmuchdoyou

want—what canwe give you?”And hewaved his hand towards the picnic thingsscatteredaboutonthegrass.

WithoutanyhesitationBinyapointedtotheumbrella.“My umbrella!” exclaimed the young woman. “She wants my umbrella.What

cheek!”“Well,youwantherpendant,don’tyou?”“That’sdifferent.”“Isit?”Themanandhiswifewerebeginningtoquarrelwitheachother.“I’llaskher togoaway,” said theolderwoman. “We’remaking such foolsof

ourselves.”“ButIwantthependant!”criedtheotherpetulantly.Andthen,onanimpulse,she

pickeduptheumbrellaandhelditouttoBinya.“Here,taketheumbrella!”Binya removed her necklace and held it out to the young woman, who

immediatelyplaceditroundherownneck.ThenBinyatooktheumbrellaandhelditup.Itdidnotlooksosmallinherhands;infact,itwasjusttherightsize.

Shehadforgotten about thepicnickers,whowerebusy examining thependant.Sheturnedtheblueumbrellathiswayandthat;lookedthroughthebrightbluesilkatthe pulsating sun; and then, still keeping it open, turned and disappeared into theforestglade.

Two

INYAseldomclosedtheblueumbrella.Evenwhenshehaditinthehouse,sheleft it lying open in a corner of the room. Sometimes Bijju snapped it shut,

complaining that itgot in theway.Shewouldopen it again a little later. Itwasn’tbeautifulwhenitwasclosed.

WheneverBinyawentout—whetheritwastograzethecows,orfetchwaterfromthe spring, or carry milk to the little tea shop on the Tehri road—she took theumbrellawithher.Thatpatchofskybluesilkcouldalwaysbeseenonthehillside.

OldRamBharosa(RamtheTrustworthy)kepttheteashopontheTehriroad.Itwasadusty,unmetalledroad.Onceaday,theTehribusstoppednearhisshopandpassengersgotdowntosiphotteaordrinkaglassofcurds.HekeptafewbottlesofCoca-cola too;but as therewasno ice, thebottlesgothot in the sunand sowereseldomopened.Healsokeptsweetsandtoffees,andwhenBinyaorBijjuhadafewcoins to spare they would spend them at the shop. It was only a mile from thevillage.

RamBharosawasastonishedtoseeBinya’sblueumbrella.“Whathaveyouthere,Binya?”heasked.Binya gave the umbrella a twirl and smiled at Ram Bharosa. She was always

readywithhersmile,andwouldwillinglyhave lent it to anyonewhowas feelingunhappy.

“That’s a lady’s umbrella,” said Ram Bharosa. “That’s only for Mem-Sahibs.Wheredidyougetit?”

“Someonegaveittome—formynecklace.”“Youexchangeditforyourluckyclaw!”Binyanodded.“Butwhatdoyouneeditfor?Thesunisn’thotenough—andit isn’tmeantfor

therain.It’sjustaprettythingforrichladiestoplaywith!”Binya nodded and smiled again. Ram Bharosa was quite right; it was just a

beautifulplaything.Andthatwasexactlywhyshehadfalleninlovewithit.“Ihaveanidea,”saidtheshopkeeper.“It’snousetoyou,thatumbrella.Whynot

sellittome?I’llgiveyoufiverupeesforit.”“It’sworthfifteen,”saidBinya.“Well,then,I’llgiveyouten.”Binyalaughedandshookherhead.“Twelverupees?”saidRamBharosa,butwithoutmuchhope.

Binyaplacedafive-paisecoinonthecounter.“Icameforatoffee,”shesaid.Ram Bharosa pulled at his drooping whiskers, gave Binya a wry look, and

placedatoffeeinthepalmofherhand.HewatchedBinyaasshewalkedawayalongthedustyroad.Theblueumbrellaheldhimfascinated,andhestaredafterituntil itwasoutofsight.

Thevillagersusedthisroadtogotothemarket-town.Someusedthebus;afewrodeonmules;mostpeoplewalked.Today,everyoneontheroadturnedtheirheadstostareatthegirlwiththebrightblueumbrella.

Binyasatdownin theshadeofapine tree.Theumbrella,stillopen, laybesideher.Shecradledherheadinherarms,andpresentlyshedozedoff.Itwasthatkindofday,sleepilywarmandsummery.

Andwhilesheslept,awindsprangup.Itcamequietly,swishinggently through the trees,hummingsoftly.Then itwas

joined by other random gusts, bustling over the tops of themountains. The treesshooktheirheadsandcametolife.ThewindfannedBinya’scheeky.Theumbrellastirredonthegrass.

Thewindgrewstronger,pickingupdeadleavesandsendingthemspinningandswirlingthroughtheair.Itgotintotheumbrellaandbegantodragitoverthegrass.Suddenlyit liftedtheumbrellaandcarrieditaboutsixfeetfromthesleepinggirl.ThesoundwokeBinya.

Shewasonherfeetimmediately,andthenshewasleapingdownthesteepslope.But just as shewaswithin reachof the umbrella, thewindpicked it up again andcarrieditfurtherdownhill.

Binyasetoffinpursuit.Thewindwasinawicked,playfulmood.Itwouldleavetheumbrellaalonefora fewmoments;but,assoonasBinyacamenear, itwouldpickuptheumbrellaagainandsenditbouncing,floating,dancingawayfromher.

Thehillgrewsteeper.Binyaknewthataftertwentyyardsitwouldfallawayinaprecipice. She ran faster. And the wind ran with her, ahead of her, and the blueumbrellastayedupwiththewind.

A fresh gust picked it up and carried it to the very edge of the cliff. There itbalancedforafewseconds,beforetopplingover,outofsight.

Binya ran to the edge of the cliff. Going down on her hands and knees, shepeered down the cliff-face. About a hundred feet below, a small stream rushedbetweengreatboulders.Hardlyanythinggrewonthecliff-face—justafewstuntedbushes,and,halfwaydown,awildcherrytreegrowingcrookedlyoutoftherocksandhangingacrossthechasm.Theumbrellahadstuckinthecherrytree.

Binya didn’t hesitate. Shemay have been timid with strangers, but she was athome on a hillside. She stuck her bare leg over the edge of the cliff and beganclimbingdown.shekeptherfacetothehillside,feelingherwaywithherfeet,onlychangingherhandholdwhensheknewherfeetweresecure.Sometimessheheldon

tothethornybilberrybushes,butshedidnottrusttheotherplants,whichcameawayveryeasily.

Loose stones rattleddown the cliff.Once on theirway, the stones did not stopuntil theyreached thebottomof thehill;and they tookotherstoneswith them,sothattherewassoonacascadeofstones,andBinyahadtobeverycarefulnottostartalandslide.

Asagileasamountain-goat,shedidnottakemorethanfiveminutestoreachthecrookedcherrytree.Butthemostdifficulttaskremained.Shehadtocrawlalongthetrunkofthetree,whichstoodoutatrightanglesfromthecliff.Onlybydoingthiscouldshereachthetrappedumbrella.

Binyafeltnofearwhenclimbingtrees.ShewasproudofthefactthatshecouldclimbthemaswellasBijju.Grippingtheroughcherrybarkwithhertoes,andusingherkneesas leverage,shecrawledalong the trunkof theprojecting treeuntil shewasalmostwithinreachoftheumbrella.Shenoticedwithdismaythattheblueclothwastorninacoupleofplaces.

Shelookeddown;anditwasonlythenthatshefeltafraid.Shewasrightoverthechasm, balanced precariously about eighty feet above the boulder-strewn stream.Lookingdown,shefeltquitedizzy.Herhandsshook,andthetreeshooktoo.Ifsheslipped now, therewas only one direction inwhich she could fall—down, down,intothedepthsofthatdarkandshadowyravine.

Therewasonlyonethingtodo;concentrateonthepatchofbluejustacoupleoffeetawayfromher.

Shedidnotlookdownorup,butstraightahead;andwillingherselfforward,shemanagedtoreachtheumbrella.

Shecouldnot crawlbackwith it inherhands.So, afterdislodging it from theforkedbranchinwhichithadstuck,sheletitfall,stillopen,intotheravinebelow.Cushioned by the wind, the umbrella floated serenely downwards, landing in athicketofnettles.

Binyacrawledbackalongthetrunkofthecherrytree.Twentyminuteslatersheemergedfromthenettleclump,herpreciousumbrella

heldaloft.Shehadnettlestingsalloverher legs,butshewashardlyawareof thesmarting.ShewasasimmunetonettlesasBijjuwastobees.

Three

BOUTfouryearspreviously,Bijjuhadknockedahiveoutofanoaktree,andhadbeenbadlystungaboutthefaceandlegs.Ithadbeenapainfulexperience.

Butnow,ifabeestunghim,hefeltnothingatall:hehadbeenimmunisedforlife!Hewasonhiswayhome from school. Itwas twoo’clock andhehadn’t eaten

sincesixinthemorning.Fortunately,theKingorabushes—thebilberries—wereinfruit, and alreadyBijju’s lipswere stained purplewith the juice of thewild, sourfruit.

Hedidn’thaveanymoneytospendatRamBharosa’sshop,buthestoppedthereanyway,tolookatthesweetsintheirglassjars.

“Andwhatwillyouhavetoday?”askedRamBharosa.“Nomoney,”saidBijju.“Youcanpaymelater.”Bijjushookhishead.Someofhisfriendshadtakensweetsoncredit,andatthe

endofthemonththeyhadfoundthey’deatenmoresweetsthantheycouldpossiblypayfor!Asa result, they’dhad tohandover toRamBharosasomeof theirmosttreasuredpossessions—suchas a curvedknife for cuttinggrass, or a smallhand-axe, or a jar for pickles, or a pair of earrings—and these had become theshopkeeper ’spossessionsandwerekeptbyhimorsoldinhisshop.

RamBharosahadsethisheartonhavingBinya’sblueumbrella,andsonaturallyhewasanxioustogivecredittoeitherofthechildren;butsofarneitherhadfallenintothetrap.

Bijjumovedon,hismouthfullofKingoraberries.Halfwayhome,hesawBinyawiththecows.Itwaslateevening,andthesunhadgonedown,butBinyastillhadtheumbrellaopen.Thetwosmallrentshadbeenstitchedupbyhermother.

Bijjugavehissisterahandfulofberries.Shehandedhimtheumbrellawhilesheatetheberries.

“You can have the umbrella until we get home,” she said. It was her way ofrewardingBijjuforbringingherthewildfruit.

Calling “neelu! Gori!” Binya and Bijju set out for home, followed at somedistancebythecows.

Itwasdarkbeforetheyreachedthevillage,butBijjustillhadtheumbrellaopen.

MostofthepeopleinthevillagewerealittleenviousofBinya’sblueumbrella.

Nooneelsehadeverpossessedonelikeit.Theschoolmaster ’swifethoughtitwasquitewrongforapoorcultivator ’sdaughtertohavesuchafineumbrellawhileshe,a second-class B.A., had to make do with an ordinary black one. Her husbandoffered to have their old umbrella dyed blue; she gave him a scornful look, andloved him a little less than before. The Pujari, who looked after the temple,announcedthathewouldbuyamulticolouredumbrellathenexttimehewasinthetown. A few days later he returned, looking annoyed and grumbling that theyweren’tavailableexceptinDelhi.Mostpeopleconsoled themselvesbysaying thatBinya’sprettyumbrellawouldn’tkeepouttherain,ifitrainedheavily;thatitwouldshrivelinthesun,ifthesunwasfierce;thatitwouldcollapseinawind,ifthewindwasstrong;thatitwouldattractlightning,iflightningfellnearit;andthatitwouldproveunlucky,iftherewasanyill-luckgoingabout.Secretly,everyoneadmiredit.

Unliketheadults,thechildrendidn’thavetopretend.Theywerefullofpraisefortheumbrella.Itwassolight,sopretty,sobrightablue!AnditwasjusttherightsizeforBinya.Theyknewthatiftheysaidnicethingsabouttheumbrella,Binyawouldsmileandgiveittothemtoholdforalittlewhile—justaverylittlewhile!

Soon it was the time of the monsoon. Big black clouds kept piling up, andthunderrolledoverthehills.

Binyasatonthehillsideallafternoon,waitingfortherain.Assoonasthefirstbigdropofraincamedown,sheraisedtheumbrellaoverherhead.Moredrops,bigones,camepatteringdown.Shecouldsee them through theumbrella silk,as theybrokeagainstthecloth.

Andthentherewasacloudburst,anditwaslikestandingunderawaterfall.Theumbrellawasn’treallyarain-umbrella,butitheldupbravely.OnlyBinya’sfeetgotwet.Rodsofrainfellaroundherinacurtainofshiveredglass.

Everywhereonthehillsidepeoplewerescurryingforshelter.Somemadeforacharcoal-burner ’shut;othersforamule-shed,orRamBharosa’sshop.Binyawasthe only onewho didn’t run. Thiswaswhat she’d beenwaiting for—rain on herumbrella—andshewasn’t inahurry togohome.Shedidn’tmindgettingherfeetwet.Thecowsdidn’tmindgettingwet,either.

Presently she foundBijju sheltering in a cave.Hewould have enjoyed gettingwet, but hehadhis schoolbookswith him and he couldn’t afford to let themgetspoilt.WhenhesawBinya,hecameoutofthecaveandsharedtheumbrella.Hewasaheadtallerthanhissister,sohehadtoholdtheumbrellaforher,whilesheheldhisbooks.

Thecowshadbeenleftfarbehind.“Neelu,Neelu!”calledBinya.“Gori!”calledBijju.

When their mother saw them sauntering home through the driving rain, shecalledout:“Binya!Bijju!Hurryup,andbringthecowsin!Whatareyoudoingoutthereintherain?”

“Justtestingtheumbrella,”saidBijju.

Four

HErainssetin,andthesunonlymadebriefappearances.Thehillsturnedalushgreen. Ferns sprang up on walls and tree-trunks. Giant lilies reared up like

leopardsfromthetallgrass.Awhitemistcoiledanduncoiledasitfloatedupfromthevalley.Itwasabeautifulseason,exceptfortheleeches.

Everyday,Binyacamehomewithacoupleofleechesfastenedtothefleshofherbarelegs.Theyfelloffbythemselvesjustassoonasthey’dhadtheirthimblefulofblood;butyoudidn’tknowtheywereonyouuntiltheyfelloff;andthen,later,theskinbecameverysoreanditchy.Someoftheolderpeoplestillbelievedthattobebledbyleecheswasaremedyforvariousailments.WheneverRamBharosahadaheadache,heappliedaleechtohisthrobbingtemple.

Three days of incessant rain had flooded out a number of small animalswholivedinholesintheground.Binya’smothersuddenlyfoundtherooffulloffield-rats.Shehadtodrivethemout;theyatetoomuchofherstored-upwheatflourandrice.Bijjulikedliftinguplargerocks,todisturbthescorpionswhoweresleepingbeneath.Andsnakescameouttobaskinthesun.

Binyahad justcrossed thesmall streamat thebottomof thehillwhen she sawsomethingglidingoutof thebushes andcoming towardsher. Itwas a longblacksnake.Aclatterofloosestonesfrightenedit.Seeingthegirl in itsway, it roseup,hissing,preparedtostrike.Theforkedtonguedartedout,thevenomousheadlungedatBinya.

Binya’sumbrellawasopenasusual.She thrust it forward,betweenherself andthe snake, and the snake’s hard snout thudded twice against the strong silk of theumbrella. The reptile then turned and slithered away over the wet rocks,disappearinginaclumpofferns.

Binyaforgotabout thecow’sandranall thewayhometo tellhermother howshehadbeensavedbytheumbrella.Bijjuhadtoputawayhisbooksandgoouttofetchthecows.Hecarriedastoutstick,incasehemetwithanysnakes.

First the summer sun, and now the endless rain, meant that the umbrella was

beginning to fadea little.Fromabrightblue ithadchanged toa lightblue.But itwasstillaprettything,andtougherthanitlooked,andRamBharosastilldesiredit.

Hedidnotwanttosellit;hewantedtoownit.Hewasprobablytherichestmaninthearea—sowhyshouldn’thehaveablueumbrella?NotadaypassedwithouthisgettingaglimpseofBinyaandtheumbrella;andthemorehesawtheumbrella,themorehewantedit.

Theschoolsclosedduringthemonsoon,butthisdidn’tmeanthatBijjucouldsitat home doing nothing. Neelu and Gori were providing more milk than wasrequiredathome,soBinya’smotherwasabletosellakiloofmilkeveryday:halfakilototheschoolmaster,andhalfakilo(atreducedrate)tothetemplePujari.Bijjuhadtodeliverthemilkeverymorning.

RamBharosahadaskedBijjutoworkinhisshopduringtheholidays,butBijjudidn’thavetime;hehadtohelphismotherwiththeploughingandthetransplantingoftherice-seedlings.SoRamBharosaemployedaboyfromthenextvillage,aboycalledRajaram.Hedidallthewashing-up,andranvariouserrands.HewenttothesameschoolasBijju,butthetwoboyswerenotfriends.

Oneday,asBinyapassedtheshop,twirlingherblueumbrella,Rajaramnoticedthathisemployergaveadeepsighandbeganmutteringtohimself.

“What’sthematter,Babuji?”askedtheboy.“Oh,nothing,” saidRamBharosa. “It’s just a sickness that has come uponme.

Andit’sallduetothatgirlBinyaandherwretchedumbrella.”“Why,whathasshedonetoyou?”“Refusedtosellmeherumbrella!There’sprideforyou.AndIofferedher ten

rupees.”“Perhaps,ifyougavehertwelve…”“Butitisn’tnewanylonger.Itisn’twortheightrupeesnow.Allthesame,I’dlike

tohaveit.”“Youwouldn’tmakeaprofitonit,”saidRajaram.“It’snottheprofitI’mafter,wretch!It’sthethingitself.It’sthebeautyofit!”“Andwhatwouldyoudowithit,Babuji?Youdon’tvisitanyone—you’reseldom

outofyourshop.Ofwhatusewoulditbetoyou?”“Ofwhatuseisapoppyinacornfield?Ofwhatuseisarainbow?Ofwhatuse

are you, numbskull?Wretch! I, too, have a soul. I want the umbrella, because—becauseIwantitsbeautytobemine!”

Rajaram put the kettle on to boil, began dusting the counter, all the timemuttering:“I’masusefulasanumbrella,”andthen,afterashortperiodofintensethought,said:“Whatwillyougiveme,Babuji,ifigettheumbrellaforyou?”

“Whatdoyoumean?”askedtheoldman.“Youknowwhatimean.Whatwillyougiveme?”“Youmean to steal it, don’tyou,youwretch?Whatadelightful childyouare!

I’m glad you’re notmy son ormy enemy. But look—everyonewill know it hasbeenstolen,andthenhowwillIbeabletoshowoffwithit?”

“Youwillhavetogazeuponitinsecret,”saidRajaramwithachuckle.“OrtakeitintoTehri,andhaveitcolouredred!That’syourproblem.But tellme,Babuji,doyouwantitbadlyenoughtopaymethreerupeesforstealingitwithoutbeingseen?”

Ram Bharosa gave the boy a long, sad look. ‘You’re a sharp boy,” he said.“You’llcometoabadend.I’llgiveyoutworupees.”

“Three,”saidtheboy.“Two,”saidtheoldman.“Youdon’treallywantit,icanseethat,”saidtheboy.“Wretch!”said theoldman.“Evilone!Darkenerofmydoorstep!Fetchme the

umbrella,andI’llgiveyouthreerupees.”

Five

INYAwas in the forest gladewhere she had first seen the umbrella. No onecamethereforpicnicsduringthemonsoon.Thegrasswasalwayswetandthe

pine-needles were slippery underfoot. The tall trees shut out the light, andpoisonous-lookingmushrooms, orange and purple, sprang up everywhere. But itwasagoodplace forporcupines,who seemed to like themushrooms; andBinyawassearchingforporcupine-quills.

Thehillpeopledidn’t thinkmuchofporcupine-quills,butfarawayinsouthernIndia thequillswerevaluedascharmsandsoldata rupeeeach.SoRamBharosapaidatenthofarupeeforeachquillbroughttohim,andheinturnsoldthequillsataprofittoatraderfromtheplains.

Binyahadalready found fivequills, andsheknew there’dbemore in the longgrass.Foronce,she’dputherumbrelladown.Shehadtoputitasideifshewas tosearchthegroundthoroughly.

ItwasRajaram’schance.He’dbeenfollowingBinyaforsometime,concealinghimselfbehindtreesand

rocks, creeping closer whenever she became absorbed in her search. He wasanxiousthatsheshouldnotseehimandbeabletorecognizehimlater.

He waited until Binya had wandered some distance from the umbrella. Then,runningforwardatacrouch,heseizedtheopenumbrellaanddashedoffwithit.

ButRajaramhadverybigfeet.Binyaheardhisheavyfootstepsandturnedjustintune to see him as he disappeared between the trees. She cried out, dropped theporcupine-quills,andgavechase.

Binyawasswiftandsure-footed,butRajaramhadalongstride.Allthesame,hemadethemistakeofrunningdownhill.Along-leggedpersonismuchfastergoinguphillthandown.Binyareachedtheedgeoftheforestgladeintimetoseethethiefscramblingdownthepathtothestream.Hehadclosedtheumbrellasothatitwouldnothinderhisflight.

Binyawasbeginningtogainontheboy.Hekepttothepath,whileshesimplyslidand leapt down the steep hillside. Near the bottom of the hill the path began tostraightenout,anditwasherethatthelong-leggedboybegantoforgeaheadagain.

Bijjuwascominghomefromanotherdirection.Hehadabundleofstickswhichhe’dcollected for the kitchen fire.As he reached the path, he sawBinya rushingdownthehillasthoughallthemountain-spiritsinGarhwalwereafterher.

“What’swrong?”hecalled.“Whyareyourunning?”BinyapausedonlytopointatthefleeingRajaram.“Myumbrella!”shecried.“Hehasstolenit!”Bijjudroppedhisbundleofsticks,andranafterhissister.Whenhereachedher

side, he said, “I’ll soon catch him!” andwent sprinting away over the lush greengrass.Hewasfresh,andhewassoonwellaheadofBinyaandgainingonthethief.

Rajaram was crossing the shallow stream when Bijju caught up with him.Rajaramwas the taller boy, butBijjuwasmuch stronger.He flung himself at thethief,caughthimbythelegs,andbroughthimdowninthewater.Rajaramgottohisfeet, and tried to drag himself away; but Bijju still had him by a leg. Rajaramoverbalanced and came downwith a great splash.He had let the umbrella fall. Itbegantofloatawayonthecurrent.JustthenBinyaarrived,flushedandbreathless,andwentdashingintothestreamaftertheumbrella.

Meanwhile, a tremendous fightwas taking place. Locked in fierce combat, thetwoboysswayedtogetheronarock,tumbledontothesand,rolledoverandoverthepebbledbankuntiltheywereagainthreshingaboutintheshallowsofthestream.Themagpies,bulbulsandotherbirdsweredisturbed,andflewawaywithcriesofalarm.

Coveredwithmud,gaspingandspluttering,theboysgropedforeachotherinthewater.After fiveminutesof frenzied struggle,Bijju emergedvictorious. Rajaramlayflatonhisbackonthesand,exhausted,whileBijjusatastridehim,pinninghimdownwithhisarmsandlegs.

“Let me get up!” gasped Rajaram. “let me go—i don’t want your uselessumbrella!”

“Thenwhydidyoutakeit?”demandedBijju.“Comeon—tellmewhy!”“ItwasthatskinflintRamBharosa,”saidRajaram.“Hetoldmetogetitforhim.

HesaidifIdidn’tfetchit,I’dlosemyjob.”

Six

Yearlyoctobertherainswerecomingtoanend.Theleechesdisappeared.Thefernsturnedyellow,andthesunlightonthegreenhillswasmellowandgolden,

likethelimesonthesmall tree infrontofBinya’shome.Bijju’sdayswerehappyones,ashecamehomefromschool,munchingonroastedcorn.Binya’sumbrellahadturnedapalemilkyblue,andwaspatchedinseveralplaces,butitwasstilltheprettiestumbrellainthevillage,andshestillcarrieditwithherwherevershewent.

Thecold,cruelwinterwasn’tfaroff,butsomehowOctoberseems longer thanothermonths,becauseitisakindmonth:thegrassisgoodtoheupon,thebreezeiswarm and gentle and pine-scented. That October everyone seemed contented—everyone,thatis,exceptRamBharosa.

TheoldmanhadbynowgivenupallhopeofeverpossessingBinya’sumbrella.Hewishedhehadneverseteyesonit.Becauseoftheumbrellahehadsufferedthetortures of greed, the despair of loneliness. Because of the umbrella, people hadstoppedcorningtohisshop!

EversinceithadbecomeknownthatRamBharosahadtriedtohavetheumbrellastolen,thevillagepeoplehadturnedagainsthim.Theystoppedtrustingtheoldman,insteadofbuying their soapand teaandmatches fromhisshop, theypreferred towalkanextramiletotheshopsneartheTehribusstand.Whowouldhavedealingswithamanwhohadsoldhissoulforanumbrella?Thechildrentauntedhim,twistedhisnamearound.From“RamtheTrustworthy”hebecame“TrustyUmbrellaThief”.

Theoldmansatalone inhisemptyshop, listening to theeternalhissingofhiskettle, andwondering if anyonewould ever again step in for a glass of tea.RamBharosahadlosthisownappetite,andateanddrankverylittle.Therewasnomoneycorningin.HehadhissavingsinabankinTehri,butitwasaterriblethingtohavetodipintothem!Tosavemoney,hehaddismissedtheblunderingRajaram.Sohewas left without any company. The roof leaked, and thewind got in through thecorrugatedtinsheets,butRamBharosadidn’tcare.

BijjuandBinyapassedhisshopalmosteveryday.Bijjuwentbywithaloudbuttunelesswhistle.Hewas one of theworld’s whistlers; cares rested lightly on hisshoulders. But, strangely enough, Binya crept quietly past the shop, looking theotherway, almost as though shewas in someway responsible for themisery ofRamBharosa.

She kept reasoningwith herself, telling herself that the umbrellawas her very

own,andthatshecouldn’thelpitifotherswerejealousofit.Buthadshelovedtheumbrellatoomuch?Haditmatteredmoretoherthanpeoplemattered?Shecouldn’thelpfeelingthatinasmallwayshewasthecauseofthesadlookonRamBharosa’sface(“Hisfaceisayardlong,”saidBijju)andtheruinousconditionofhisshop.Itwasallduetohisowngreed,nodoubt;butshedidn’twanthimtofeeltoobadaboutwhathe’ddone,because itmadeher feelbadaboutherself; andsosheclosed theumbrellawhenevershecameneartheshop,openingitagainonlywhenshewasoutofsight.

OnedaytowardstheendofOctober,whenshehad tenpaise inherpocket,sheenteredtheshopandaskedtheoldmanforatoffee.

She was Ram Bharosa’s first customer in almost two weeks. He lookedsuspiciously at the girl.Had she come to taunt him, to flaunt the umbrella in hisface? She had placed her coin on the counter. Perhaps it was a bad coin. RamBharosapickeditupandbitit;heheldituptothelight;herangitontheground.Itwasagoodcoin.HegaveBinyathetoffee.

BinyahadalreadylefttheshopwhenRamBharosasawtheclosedumbrellalyingon his counter. There it was, the blue umbrella he had alwayswanted,within hisgraspatlast!Hehadonlytohideitatthebackofhisshop,andnoonewouldknowthathehadit,noonecouldprovethatBinyahadleftitbehind.

Hestretchedouthistrembling,bonyhand,andtooktheumbrellabythehandle.Hepresseditopen.Hestoodbeneathit,inthedarkshadowsofhisshop,wherenosunorraincouldevertouchit.

“But I’m never in the sun or in the rain,” he said aloud. “Of what use is anumbrellatome?”

AndhehurriedoutsideandranafterBinya.“Binya,Binya!”heshouted.“Binya,you’veleftyourumbrellabehind!”He wasn’t used to running, but he caught up with her, held out the umbrella,

saying,“youforgotit—theumbrella!”Inthatmomentitbelongedtobothofthem.ButBinyadidn’ttaketheumbrella.Sheshookherheadandsaid,“youkeepit.I

don’tneeditanymore.”“Butit’ssuchaprettyumbrella!”protestedRamBharosa.“it’sthebestumbrella

inthevillage.”“Iknow,”saidBinya.“Butanumbrellaisn’teverything.”Andshelefttheoldmanholdingtheumbrella,andwenttrippingdowntheroad,

andtherewasnothingbetweenherandthebrightbluesky.

Seven

ELL,nowthatRamBharosahastheblueumbrella—agiftfromBinya,ashetellseveryone—heissometimespersuadedtogooutintothesunortherain,

andasa resulthe looksmuchhealthier.Sometimesheuses theumbrella to chaseawaypigsorgoats.Itisalwaysleftopenoutsidetheshop,andanyonewhowantstoborrowitmaydoso;andsoinawayithasbecomeeveryone’sumbrella.Itisfadedandpatchy,butitisstillthebestumbrellainthevillage.

PeoplearevisitingRamBharosa’sshopagain.WheneverBijjuorBinyastopforacupoftea,hegivesthemalittleextramilkorsugar.Theyliketheirteasweetandmilky.

Afewnightsago,abearvisitedRamBharosa’sshop.Therehadbeensnowonthe higher ranges of the Himalayas, and the bear had been finding it difficult toobtain food; so it had come lower down, to see what it could pick up near thevillage.ThatnightitscrambledontothetinroofofRamBharosa’sshop,andmadeoffwithahugepumpkinwhichhadbeenripeningontheroof.Butinclimbingofftheroof,thebearhadlostaclaw.

NextmorningRamBharosafoundtheclawjustoutsidethedoorofhisshop.Hepickeditupandputitinhispocket.Abear ’sclawwasaluckyfind.

Adaylater,whenhewentintothemarket-town,hetooktheclawwithhim,andleftitwithasilversmith,givingthecraftsmancertaininstructions.

Thesilversmithmadea locket for theclaw; thenhegave it a thin silverchain.WhenRamBharosacameagain,hepaidthesilversmithtenrupeesforhiswork.

Thedaysweregrowingshorter,andBinyahadtobehomealittleearliereveryevening.Therewasahungryleopardatlarge,andshecouldn’tleavethecowsoutafterdark.

ShewashurryingpastRamBharosa’sshopwhentheoldmancalledouttoher.“Binya,spareaminute!iwanttoshowyousomething.”Binyasteppedintotheshop.“Whatdoyouthinkofit?”askedRamBharosa,showingherthesilverpendant

withtheclaw.“It’ssobeautiful,”saidBinya,justtouchingtheclawandthesilverchain.“It’s a bear ’s claw,” said Ram Bharosa. “That’s even luckier than a leopard’s

claw.Wouldyouliketohaveit?”“Ihavenomoney,”saidBinya.

“That doesn’tmatter. You gaveme the umbrella—i give you the claw!Come,let’sseewhatitlookslikeonyou.”

HeplacedthependantonBinya,andindeeditlookedverybeautifulonher.RamBharosasayshewillneverforgetthesmileshegavehimwhensheleftthe

shop.Shewashalfwayhomewhensherealizedshehadleftthecowsbehind.“Neelu,Neelu!”shecalled.“Oh,Gori!”Therewas a faint tinkle of bells as the cows came slowly down themountain

path.InthedistanceshecouldhearhermotherandBijjucallingforher.Shebegantosing.Theyheardhersinging,andknewshewassafeandnear.Shewalkedhomethroughthedarkeningglade,singingofthestars;andthetrees

stoodstillandlistenedtoher,andthemountainswereglad.