Question

One morning in a small apartment in Bombay a girl of about sixteen looked up from the newspaper and said excitedly, ‘Pandit Ravi Shankar’s playing tomorrow at the Shanmukhananda auditorium.’ ‘Sh-sh,’ said her mother pointing to the figure sleeping on the bed. ‘You’ll wake him up. You know he needs all the sleep and rest he can get.’ But the boy on the bed was not asleep. ‘Pandit Ravi Shankar!’ he said. ‘Pandit Ravi Shankar, the sitar maestro? He raised himself up on his elbows for one second, then fell back. But his eyes were shining. ‘We mustn’t miss the chance,’ he said. ‘I’ve - ‘I’ve - always wanted to hear him and see him…’ ‘Lie down son, lie down.’ His mother sprang to his side. ‘He actually raised himself up without help,’ she murmured with a catch in her throat and her eyes turned to the idols on a corner shelf. The prayer, which she uttered endlessly, came unbidden to her lips. ‘I must hear him and see him,’ the boy repeated. ‘It’s the chance of a lifetime.’ Then he began to cough and gasp for breath and had to be given oxygen from the cylinder that stood under the bed. But his large eyes were fixed on his sister. Smita bit her lip in self-reproach. She had been so excited at seeing the announcement that she had not remembered that her brother was very ill. She had seen how the doctors had shaken their heads gravely and spoken words that neither she nor even her parents could understand. But somewhere deep inside Smita had known the frightening truth - that Anant was going to die.​

Answer 1

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