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"Yes?"
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"You ...you ..."
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Manasha looked at the musician dreamily, "What is it?"
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Sripati swallowed. "Why don't you oil your hair?"
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Manasha burst into speech. "Mother keeps saying that the hussy roams in the dark, gads about in all sorts of places. Father keeps saying she is never in the house. And also others keep saying I am bad. And besides..."
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"Please, listen Manasha, listen to me."
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"Forget it. Don't tell me about chastity. I live as I like, I look at the world. But the day ends so soon. And the night fills everything, like water. You know, don't you. I can't understand anything. I stay awake at night. Who can tell whose mind is going which way?"
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Manasha's eyes were brimming over. For the first time, Sripati saw in her eyes tears instead of laughter. Manasha was weeping. Her tears trickled down to her lap. The musician heard rain among the palm leaves. Flooding without stay, sounding a deep sadness. He lifted his hand. "Manasha."
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Manasha looked up, abstracted. "Manasha," Sripati called again. Weeping still, Manasha said, "Yes?" Sripati pressed his lips to the flute and blew: "Too hard, my friend, your heart..."
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Two nights came and went. This was the last evening. The musicians of the village had picked up quite a few scores in these two days. Although they were not all equally good, Adhar could do the tunes. The boy was sensitive. He had felt that Sripati was playing his heart out. When he played, Manasha came to sit quietly by. Then nobody could find in her the wild restive girl.
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Adhar said, "Today we want a new song, ustad."
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Sripati smiled. Srishti rapped the booming drum while talking, "This year we'll make a name for ourselves. What do you say, Subal?"
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"Oh, yes, yes," Subal nodded emphatically. "We'll put up our rates," shouted Mahadeb. Sripati raised his hand. Instant silence. The flute lay on his lap. Joining his hands, Sripati said, "Bless me, my friends. May I not lose the music."
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