It was as if not a single flower had been left out; every kind was there. Bela, chameli, roses of every variety, champa, juhi, mogra, kunda, and marigold—all of them. Many of the flowers were smiling, while many others, dressed quietly in their green attire, simply watched the spectacle. Here and there stood trees of pomegranate, orange, apple, mango, jamun, lychee, jackfruit, jujube, and guava. Vines of grapes spread across the trellises. In the midst of all this stood a massive pipal tree, beneath which the boys played during the summer. Although the sun had already risen, dew still clung to the grass, so the boys were gathered on the large, paved platform in front of their dormitory. The sunlight had reached there.

The women who cared for them were telling them that a very old sage was to visit today. Some of the older children—though none older than three, for after the age of three they were sent to school—would ask, “Amma! Is this sage even older than our great-grandmother?”

Then she would reply, “My darling, your great-grandmother had not even been born when that sage was already older than your grandmother.”

One child asked, “Then who is he like? Tell us someone from our village.”

Mother: “My child! Not just in your village, but nowhere on earth is there anyone that old.”

Another: “Well, maybe not on this earth, but there must be someone on Mars, or on Mercury?”

Mother: “There may be, but have you ever seen them?”

The second child: “Well, have we seen all of this earth either?”

Mother: “My dear! You will see it all. You have only just learned to walk, only just learned to speak. When you have mastered the ways of the world and the art of language, then you will see everything.”

Just then, another woman said, “Why are you troubling yourself so much, Vijay? Look, to the left of your great-grandmother, the sage with the white beard is coming. Look, pick up your sitars, each of you; today, you’ll see—”

“Who sings the best song for old Baba? I will sing too, Janaki Amma will sing, and Zainab Amma will sing as well.”

At that moment, Dhruv spoke up—“I will sing too.” At this, everyone burst into laughter.

Janaki said, “Dhruv! Don’t say ‘I will sing too’ like a girl, say ‘I will sing too’ like a boy.”

Dhruv, hiding his face in Janaki’s sari and wrapping his arms around her legs, said, “I will sing too.” At this, Rohini said, “And Amma, ‘I will sing too.’”

Zainab said, “Here comes another trouble.” Rohini was a two-and-a-half-year-old girl. Zainab picked her up in her lap, kissed her face, and said, “My dear! Girls don’t speak like that. Say, ‘I will sing too’ like a girl.”

Rohini replied, “Hmm! Dhruv Maiya was saying just that, then Janaki Amma corrected him.”

Zainab—“But you’re a daughter, aren’t you?”

Rohini—“Yes, I’m your daughter, I’m Janaki Amma’s daughter, I’m elder Amma’s daughter, right! I’m