Page 42 - English Reader - 7

She said to him, ‘Never mind the change—you wash the car tomorrow again.’
‘And ask your mother if she will let you come to Mithila with us.’ I said.

The next morning Devaki Nandan Pandey came before we had morning tea in the Inspection
Bungalow and washed the car and disappeared.

When we came back in the evening, he was waiting outside the Bodh Gaya temple and rushed to
greet us.
‘My mother says, I can go with you to Mithila provided you bring me back here before you go home.’

And his left eye twinkled as I smiled assent.
I asked him to go to the bazaar and fetch a cake of soap for me.

We became friends with Devaki Nandan Pandey. He took us to see his village, which was near the
famous hill where Sujata is said to have given Gautama the bowl of milk and rice after he had fasted
for days.
The boy was a wonderful story-teller, and he told us many legends of the Buddha. He was also a good
gossip, telling us how the Hindus had built the Math near the Bodh Gaya temple to keep people from
joining the Budh Math.

‘When I grow up, I would like to belong to the Budh Math,’ he said. ‘My mother says that for Harijans
there is no place in the Hindu Math. We are just outcastes like lepers! The village boys will not even
let us play with them in case we touch them during the sport. I am of the weaver caste. But Gautama
accepted everyone. I want to wander like him...’
‘So you are coming to see the place where Buddh Maharaj stayed with Amrapali?

‘To be sure!’ was his answer.
The next morning we waited for him, as we waited for the sunrise. Both were late. The clouds hid the
sun. And the heat mists of Bodh Gaya curtained Devaki Nandan Pandey from our view.

As Mithila would be a full day’s drive on bad roads, I became impatient and went to look for him.
All the other urchins were there near the shrine, but there was no sign of our favourite.

Tentatively, I ventured to ask his rival, the big boy who had asked for a tip for doing nothing, the
other day, ‘Where is Devaki Nandan Pandey?’
‘Who?’

I repeated the grandiose name.
‘There is no one of that name in Bodh Gaya.’

‘That little one-eyed boy,’ I insisted.
‘His name is Kania – one-eyed.’

‘Oh, he told me...’
‘He is good at telling stories.’

‘But he was coming to Mithila with us. He had asked his mother...’
‘He has no mother or father.’

40