Who was Binya ? How she get back her umbrella? What was the patch of sky blue silk ? Why could it always be seen on the hillside?
Answers
Answer:
Binya sat down in the shade of a pine
tree. The umbrella, still open, lay beside
her. She cradled her head in her arms,
and, presently, she dozed of. It was that
kind of day, sleepily warm and summery.
And while she slept, a wind sprang up.
It came quietly, swishing gently through
the trees, humming softly. Then it was
joined by other random gusts, rushing
over the tops of the mountains. The
trees shook their heads and came to
life. The wind fanned Binya’s cheeks.
The umbrella stirred on the grass.
The wind grew stronger, picking up dead
leaves and sending them spinning and
swirling through the air. It got into the
umbrella and began to drag it over the
grass. Suddenly, it lifted the umbrella
and carried it about six feet from the
sleeping girl. The sound woke Binya.
She was on her feet immediately, and
then she was leaping down the steep
slope. But just as she was within reach
of the umbrella, the wind picked it up
again and carried it further downhill.
Binya set of in pursuit. The wind
was in a wicked, playful mood. It
would leave the umbrella alone for a few moments; but, as soon as Binya
came near, it would pick up the
umbrella again and send it bouncing,
oating, dancing away from her.
The hill grew steeper. Binya knew that
after twenty yards it would fall away
in a precipice. She ran faster. And the
wind ran with her, ahead of her, and the
blue umbrella stayed up with the wind.
A fresh gust picked it up and carried
it to the very edge of the cliff . There,
it balanced for a few seconds, before
toppling over, out of sight.
Binya ran to the edge of the cliff . Going
down on her hands and knees, she
peered down the cliff -face. About a
hundred feet below, a small stream
rushed between great boulders. Hardly
anything grew on the cliff -face—just
a few stunted bushes, and, halfway
down, a wild cherry tree growing
crookedly out of the rocks and hanging
timid with strangers, but she was at
home on a hillside. She stuck her bare
leg over the edge of the cliff and began
climbing down, she kept her face to the
hillside, feeling her way with her feet,
only changing her handhold when she
knew her feet were secure. Sometimes
she held on to the thorny bilberry
bushes, but she did not trust the other
plants, which came away very easily.
Loose stones rumbled down the cliff .
Once on their way, the stones did not
stop until they reached the bottom of
the hill; and they took other stones
with them, so that there was soon a
cascade of stones, and Binya had to be
very careful not to start a landslide.
As agile as a mountain-goat, she did
not take more than ve minutes to
reach the crooked cherry tree. But
the most difficult task remained. She had to crawl along the trunk of the
tree, which stood out at right angles
from the cli . Only by doing this could
she reach the trapped umbrella.
Binya felt no fear when climbing
trees. She was proud of the fact that
she could climb them as well as Bijju.
Gripping the rough cherry bark with
her toes, and using her knees as
leverage, she crawled along the trunk
of the projecting tree until she was
almost within reach of the umbrella.
She noticed with dismay that the blue
cloth was torn in a couple of places.
She looked down; and it was only
then that she felt afraid. She was
right over the chasm, balanced
precariously about eighty feet
above the boulder-strewn stream.
Looking down, she felt quite dizzy.
Her hands shook, and the tree shook
too. If she slipped now, there was
only one direction in which she could
fall—down, down, into the depths
of that dark and shadowy ravine.
There was only one thing to do;
concentrate on the patch of blue just
a couple of feet away from her.
She did not look down or up,
but straight ahead; and willing herself forward, she managed
to reach the umbrella.
She could not crawl back with it in
her hands. So, after dislodging it
from the forked branch in which
it had stuck, she let it fall, still
open, into the ravine below.
Cushioned by the wind, the umbrella
oated serenely downwards,
landing in a thicket of nettles.
Binya crawled back along the
trunk of the cherry tree.
Twenty minutes later, she emerged
from the nettle clump, her precious
umbrella held aloft. She had nettle
stings all over her legs, but she was
hardly aware of the smarting. She was as
immune to nettles as Bijju was to bees.