Bangle seller

I was playing with my doll when I heard a voice
sing!
"Churi, churi*
Little girls, come and see.
I've brought churis for you."
I ran to the window and saw a bangle-seller with a
basket on his head. He saw me and said, "Come little
girl, come and buy some churis."
"I'd like to buy some," I replied, "but I can't,
because my mother is not in. Who else will give me
money?"

"Come and choose them at least. I'll take the money
some other day."
I thought tor a while and went down.
The bangle-seller asked with a pleasant smile,
"Child, which colour do you like best?"
"Orange," said I and selected some. The churiwala**
helped me wear them. By then my mother arrived and
so she paid for the bangles.

After a few days, my uncle brought a big, beautiful
doll for me. I was thrilled. I told my mother,
"Mummy, I want to buy bangles for my doll also."
My mother said, "Yes, darling, you can buy some. Let the churiwala come."
The next day I heard the familiar song again.
"Churi-churi, girls come and buy my churis."

I rushed down with my doll and called the bangle-
seller. He came with his basket.
"Which one do you want?" he asked.
"Give me some nice churis for my doll," I said,
showing him my doll.
The churiwala laughed and said, "Ha, ha! Is this
your" baby?"
"Yes."

He chose red bangles for my doll. Then he looked
at the doll and said, "You've got a very beautiful doll.
It must be very expensive?"
"Yes, it is."
"My daughter would also love to have such a
pretty doll."
"Oh, you have a daughter?"

"Yes, almost your age."
"Doesn't she have any dolls?"
"No.. .we're poor."
"Don't woiry, I'll ask my uncle to buy a doll for
her. How much do I have to pay for the churis?"
"Fifty paise."
"Please look after my doll. I'll bring the money."

I rushed to get the money from my mother, but
when I came back the churiwala had disappeared with
my doll.
"My doll, oh, my doll...!" I screamed and ran to
my mother. "Mama, the churiwala has taken my doll
away—my new doll!"
"The churiwala? Why did you give it to him?" she
said and rushed out to look for the churiwala.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. My mother consoled
me and warned our neighbours to be careful.

That night I sobbed myself to sleep.
I woke up early the next morning. As I sat beside
the window, I noticed a man, well covered with a
chaddar* walking towards our house. With him was a
little girl. I could not see his face.

The man stopped. He said something to the girl and
handed her a packet.
Packet in hand, the girl tiptoed towards our gate.
She wore a dirty and torn frock.
Hurriedly, I went downstairs and asked the girl,
"Who are you? What do you want?"
She looked at me, for a while and asked, "Where
is your mummy?"

"She's upstairs."
The girl quietly opened the packet and there was
my doll!
"Oh! It's my doll. Where did you find it?"
She spoke as if she had not heard me. "Take your
doll back. The man standing over there is my father,
the churiwala. I was surprised when he brought me such
an expensive doll." After a pause, she continued,
"We're poor. I can't even dream of such a doll."

I couldn't say a thing. Soon the churiwala stepped
forward and, uncovering his face, said in a low voice,

forward and, uncovering his face, said in a low voice,

"Child, please take back your doll. I took it for my

daughter, Munni. But she refused to accept it when

she heard I had stolen it." 

I grabbed the doll and clasped it in my arms.

"Thank you, Munni! I'll always remember you." 

My mother came hurrying down. When she heard

the story, she said, "Here's some money, churiwala.

Buy a doll for your daughter." 

As they went out of the gate, Munni turned back

and smiled. I waved to her and she waved back.