was churning curds. The other women of the household were busy with their work, so she pulled the churning rope herself. As she worked, she sang of the things her little son had done.
Her bangles moved with her arms. The churning took effort, and her face grew damp. Then came to her and caught hold of the churning rod.
That stopped the work. He wanted to be fed.
His mother lifted him into her lap. She smiled at him and began to nurse him. For the moment, the churning could wait.
But the milk heating nearby could not. It was boiling over.
She put her son down before he had finished drinking and hurried to attend to it. He had wanted to stay in her lap, and now she had gone.
bit his lip in anger. He took a stone and broke the pot in which she had been churning the curds. Then he went into another part of the house to eat butter.
His mother took the hot milk off the heat and returned. There was her broken pot. There was no little boy beside it.
She smiled, recognising his work, and went to look for him.
He had found an overturned wooden mortar and climbed onto it. From there he could reach the butter kept hanging above. He was eating some and giving some to the monkeys.
As he helped himself, he kept looking about him. His mother came up quietly from behind, carrying a stick.
He saw her.
Down he came from the mortar, and away he ran. followed.
She was not as quick as her small son. Still she kept after him, and flowers dropped from her hair as it came loose. At last she reached him and took his hand.
He began to cry. He rubbed his eyes with his hands, spreading the dark ointment around them. He looked up at her in fear.
She saw that fear and put the stick aside.
She would bind him to the mortar instead. She took a rope and brought it around him, ready to make the knot.
The ends did not meet.
There was a gap as wide as two fingers. She needed a little more rope.
So she joined another length to the first and tried again. Surely there was enough now to go around this small child.
There was the gap again. Two fingers.
She joined on more. Again she brought the ends together. Again they stopped short by exactly the same amount.
The rope was longer, but the space between its ends had not changed. She could see it with her own eyes, and still it was hard to believe.
Other cowherd women were watching. They laughed as each new length failed to solve the problem. was astonished herself.
She kept gathering rope and joining it on. It was household rope, meant for household work, and there seemed to be no reason that another piece should not be enough.
Yet every attempt left the same little space. Not a great distance that called for a whole new coil. Only two fingers, beyond the reach of all she had added.
The effort had made her tired. Sweat covered her body. Her hair had loosened, and the flowers that had been tied into it were falling.
looked at his mother.
He saw her weariness. He felt compassion for her and allowed himself to be bound.
This time she could tie the knot. The child who had run from her was fastened to the wooden mortar.
No new clever knot had solved the difficulty. No special rope had appeared. She had kept trying, and he had seen her effort and allowed it.
The same mother who had interrupted her work to feed him had chased him through the house. Now the chase and the long struggle with the rope were over.
slow down hereAll those lengths of rope had left two fingers of space. When let his mother bind him, that small gap was gone.