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English Drama : The Lost Child

Harsh : IT was the festival of spring. From the wintry shades of narrow lanes and alleys
emerged a gaily clad humanity. Some walked, some rode on horses, others sat, being
carried in bamboo and bullock carts. One little boy ran between his father’s legs,
brimming over with life and laughter

Parents : “Come, child, come,”

Hetal : as he lagged behind, fascinated by the toys in the shops that lined the way. He
hurried towards his parents, his feet obedient to their call, his eyes still lingering on the
receding toys. As he came to where they had stopped to wait for him, he could not
suppress the desire of his heart, even though he well knew the old, cold stare of refusal
in their eyes.

Boy: I want That toy

Harsh : His father looked at him red-eyed, in his familiar tyrant’s way. His mother,
melted by the free spirit of the day was tender and, giving him her finger to hold, said,
“Look, child, what is before you!” It was a flowering mustard-field, pale like melting gold
as it swept across miles and miles of even land.

Hetal: A group of dragon-flies were bustling about on their gaudy purple wings,
intercepting the flight of a lone black bee or butterfly in search of sweetness from the
flowers.

Harsh : The child followed them in the air with his gaze, till one of them would still its
wings and rest, and he would try to catch it. But it would go fluttering, flapping, up into
the air, when he had almost caught it in his hands. Then his mother gave a cautionary
call:

Mother : “Come, child, come, come on to the footpath.”

hetal: He ran towards his parents gaily and walked abreast of them for a while, being,
however, soon left behind, attracted by the little insects and worms along the footpath
that were teeming out from their hiding places to enjoy the sunshine.

Mother: Come , Child Come

The Lost Child Made by : Harsh Taori

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Harsh : ” his parents called from the shade of a grove where they had seated themselves
on the edge of a well. He ran towards them.A shower of young flowers fell upon the
child as he entered the grove, and, forgetting his parents, he began to gather the raining
petals in his hands. But lo! he heard the cooing of doves and ran towards his parents,
shouting

Child : “The dove! The dove!

Hetal: The raining petals dropped from his forgotten hands.

Parents : Come Child , Come

Harsh : they called to the child, and said who had now gone running in wild capers
round the banyan tree, and gathering him up they took the narrow, winding footpath
which led to the fair through the mustard fields

Hetal : As they neared the village the child could see many other footpaths full of
throngs, converging to the whirlpool of the fair, and felt at once repelled and fascinated
by the confusion of the world he was entering

Sweet Seller : “gulab-jaman, rasagulla, burfi, jalebi,”

Harsh : at the corner of the entrance and a crowd pressed round his counter at the foot
of an architecture of many coloured sweets, decorated with leaves of silver and gold.
The child stared openeyed and his mouth watered for the burfi that was his favourite
sweet.

Child : “I want that burfi,

Hetal : he slowly murmured. But he half knew as he begged that his plea would not be
heeded because his parents would say he was greedy. So without waiting for an answer
he moved on.

Hetal: A flower-seller hawked, “A garland of gulmohur, a garland of gulmohur!” The

child seemed irresistibly drawn. He went towards the basket where the flowers lay
heaped and half murmured, “I want that garland.” But he well knew his parents would
refuse to buy him those flowers because they would say that they were cheap.

Harsh : So, without waiting for an answer, he moved on. A man stood holding a pole
with yellow, red, green and purple balloons flying from it. The child was simply carried

The Lost Child Made by : Harsh Taori

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away by the rainbow glory of their silken colours and he was filled with an
overwhelming desire to possess them all. But he well knew his parents would never buy
him the balloons because they would say he was too old to play with such toys. So he
walked on farther.

Hetal : A snake-charmer stood playing a flute to a snake which coiled itself in a basket,
its head raised in a graceful bend like the neck of a swan, while the music stole into its
invisible ears like the gentle rippling of an invisible waterfall.

Harsh :The child went towards the snake-charmer. But, knowing his parents had
forbidden him to hear such coarse music as the snake-charmer played, he proceeded
farther. There was a roundabout in full swing.

Hetal : Men, women and children, carried away in a whirling motion, shrieked and cried
with dizzy laughter. The child watched them intently and then he made a bold request:

Child : I want to go on the roundabout , please , father , mother , pleamssee

Harsh: There was no reply. He turned to look at his parents. They were not there, ahead
of him. He turned to look on either side. They were not there. He looked behind.

Hetal : There was no sign of them. A full, deep cry rose within his dry throat and with a
sudden jerk of his body he ran from where he stood, crying in real fear

Child : Mother Father

Harsh : Tears rolled down from his eyes, hot and fierce; his flushed face was convulsed
with fear. Panic-stricken, he ran to one side first, then to the other, hither and thither in
all directions, knowing not where to go.

Child : Mother, Father,

Hetal : he wailed. His yellow turban came untied and his clothes became muddy. Having
run to and fro in a rage of running for a while, he stood defeated, his cries suppressed
into sobs. At little distances on the green grass he could see, through his filmy eyes, men
and women talking.

Harsh: He tried to look intently among the patches of bright yellow clothes, but there
was no sign of his father and mother among these people, who seemed to laugh and
talk just for the sake of laughing and talking. He ran quickly again, this time to a shrine

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to which people seemed to be crowding. Every little inch of space here was congested
with men, but he ran through people’s legs, his little sob lingering:

Child : “Mother, Father!”

Hetal : Near the entrance to the temple, however, the crowd became very thick: men
jostled each other, heavy men, with flashing, murderous eyes and hefty shoulders. The
poor child struggled to thrust a way between their feet but, knocked to and fro by their
brutal movements, he might have been trampled underfoot, had he not shrieked at the
highest pitch of his voice,

Child : MMummy Paaaaaaaaapa

Harsh: A man in the surging crowd heard his cry and, stooping with great difficulty, lifted
him up in his arms.

Man : “How did you get here, child? Whose baby are you?”

Hetal : the man asked as he steered clear of the mass. The child wept more bitterly than
ever now and only cried,

Baby : “I want my mother, I want my father!”

Harsh ; The man tried to soothe him by taking him to the roundabout

Man : “Will you have a ride on the horse?”

Hetal : he gently asked as he approached the ring. The child’s throat tore into a
thousand shrill sobs and he only shouted,

Babu : “I want my mother, I want my father!”

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Harsh : The man headed towards the place where the snake-charmer still played on the
flute to the swaying cobra.

Insaaan : Listen to that nice music, child!”

Hetal : he pleaded. But the child shut his ears with his fingers and shouted his double-
pitched strain:

Child : I want my mother, I want my father!”

Harsh : The man took him near the balloons, thinking the bright colours of the balloons
would distract the child’s attention and quieten him.

insaan : Would you like a rainbowcoloured balloon?”

Hetal : he persuasively asked. The child turned his eyes from the flying balloons and just
sobbed,

Bacch: I want my mother, I want my father!”

Harsh: The man, still trying to make the child happy, bore him to the gate where the
flower-seller sat

Man : “Look! Can you smell those nice flowers, child! Would you like a garland to put
round your neck?”

Hetal : The child turned his nose away from the basket and reiterated his sob,

Child : I want my mother, I want my father!

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Harsh : Thinking to humour his disconsolate charge by a gift of sweets, the man took
him to the counter of the sweet shop.

Man: “What sweets would you like, child?”

Hetal: The child turned his face from the sweet shop and only sobbed,

Chils : “I want my mother, I want my father!”

Thank You

Narrators :1) Harsh

2) hetal

Man : Saksham

Mother : Vanshika

Father : Darshan

Child : Devansh

Made Written And Scripted By : Harsh Taori

In Guidence of : Rekha Bhati Mam

The Lost Child Made by : Harsh Taori