Child of Spring by Farhana Zia

He placed the bag on the scale. “Two
ser
,” he said. “Carry it carefully.”
    I was so happy I wanted to shout. Two
ser
of rice would carry Vimla Mausi through until her wages flowed again. I held the bag in the crook of my arm and turned to go.
    “
Oi
. You forgot something!” Lalla-ji held out the ring.
    Why was he giving it back to me? “We made a fair trade,” I told him. “The ring is yours to keep.”
    He smiled. “A pretty ring for a pretty finger.”
    “But it’s a nice ring. Lalla-ji. You could sell it for a lot of rupees.”
    “Keep it.” He swatted at the fly again and missed. “Tell your good parents I send them my greetings and wish for their troubles to be over soon.”
    “I will,” I said, and added quickly, “But you must not talk about the ring. Make a god promise and swear it on your head.”
    The merchant nodded. “
Accha-ji.
A secret is a secret,” he chuckled and his big stomach jiggled.
    I took the rice to Lali’s hut. I hoped to see Vimla Mausi’s eyes light up like the stars. Instead, I saw great sadness in them.
    “First you bring me food from your pot and now you bring me this,” she sobbed.
    “Aiyyo!”
I cried. “The food wasn’t tasty? My mother is a very good cook!”
    With a cry, Vimla Mausi pulled me close. “
Na,
dear Basanta,” she whispered. “I am grateful for the generosity. Your dear mother has a heart of gold!”
    I opened my mouth to tell her the whole story, but I didn’t want to brag. Amma always said the left hand must not know what the right hand gives, so I kept my mouth shut.
    “It’s not so much. The rice will probably last only for a few days,” I said.
    “In one week I will collect my wages,” Vimla Mausi said with a smile. “And I will repay your mother.”
    “Mausi!” I cried. “Amma is happy to help.”
    And I was happy that the rice pot would bubble in Lali’s home that night. Perhaps she would have sweet dreams about the Milk Boy once again.

Chapter 16

    O n Saturday, Lali came to my door. “Come, quickly!” she urged. “The fight’s ready to begin! Do you hear the shouts?”
    A big fistfight always preceded the Great Battle of Kites. It always lasted exactly twenty minutes. Words were flung in the first half, and fists in the second.
    And each year, the question was the same. Who was going to be the number one champion kite flyer of the
busti?
    I wondered who would be victorious this time.
    Paki would say,
Who else but I?
    Bala would say,
In your dreams!
    Then words would turn to blows and everyone would egg them on from the sidelines, clapping and cheering.
    I hiked up my skirt to go join Lali, but Amma stopped me.
    “Please, Amma,” I begged. “I’ll be back just as soon as there is a knockout!”
    “Let her go,” Bapu said. “It’s harmless enough.”
    My mother shook her head and went back to stoking the fire.
    I threw my father a grateful look and ducked out of our hut. “Did it turn into a fistfight yet?” I asked Lali.
    “It … it may be too early for that,” she panted.
    “Do you think Paki will win?” I asked.
    “Hard to say,” Lali replied. “He says he’ll vanquish fifty kites before the season is over. We must hurry. Things will be starting up any minute!”
    Up ahead we saw the washerwoman kicking up dust, her sari hitched high and a twig in her hand.
    “Uh-oh! Paki’s mother’s got wind of the fight!” I cried. “We’ve got to get there before she ruins everything!”
    But by the time we reached the field, the washerwoman was already pushing through the gathered crowd.
    “It’s no use,” Lali sighed. “We’re too late.”
    She was right.
    “The fight’s over,” Nandi announced when she saw us approaching.
    “Who won?” I asked.
    “Bala threw some good punches,” Pummi replied. “But Pentamma Mausi came and sent him scurrying.”
    “Big Brother had victory just about wrapped up in his back pocket, so I’d say he was the winner,” Raju boasted.
    “No, no. It was the other