The sun had rised higher in the sky. Usman, who had guarded the family's fields and chased away the crows all morning, was hot and hungry. He decided to eat his meal in the shade of a tree. Where, though, would he find a tree with leafy branches?
He walked a little and came to a gulmohar tree, flowerless but green enough to offer shelter. Beside the tree was a pond, which seemed to have filled up recently with rainwater, though it hadn't rained for days.
Usman took out his millet pancake, his pickles, and his flask of buttermilk.
Once again, his aunt had given him stale bread and rancid buttermilk. He was eating and drinking when he felt something tickle his left knee.
He looked down.
A little green frog was perched there.
Spare a little of your bread and milk for me.
The voice was so low he thought he'd imagined it.
Yes. It's me. He heard the voice say again.
Frogs eat dragonflies.
But i'd like some bread and milk today.
Even if frogs don't talk, he said to himself, or eat bread and milk, what harm will it do to share my meal with a hungry creature.
He broke off a piece of pancake dipped in buttermilk.
The frog ate and hopped away.

The food and the heat made Usman sleepy. He closed his eyes, and dreamed that the tree he was sitting under was laden with golden flowers that were raining down on him.
He shook himself awake. The tree was how it had been: there were no flowers in sight, but beside him was a pile of golden coins.

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Last modified on September 5, 2011  | © Telegram 2005