‘Aah!’ a satisfied sigh floated across the court. Just see that the wrestler doesn’t catch you stealing the milk,’ Tenali shrugged disdainfully. And give the milk to your mother to make payasam, or sell it to buy some pumpkin.
‘Then the next time the cow is chewing the pumpkin vine, get a pot and quickly milk her. ‘What do you like more, Kesava, pumpkin or payasam?’ he asked suddenly.
‘It’s pretty simple really,’ he sighed importantly. ‘It looks like only I, Tenali, can solve this problem.’ ‘You’re again forgetting the wrestler.’ Then he gave a patient sigh. ‘Then …’ the man suggested apologetically, ‘maybe you could refuse to let the cow go back?’ ‘Devayya, dear Lord! You think my puny little goats have the courage to enter a garden guarded by a wrestler and his huge cow?’ ‘Kesava could send his goats to wreck the neighbour’s garden.’ ‘Well …’ the man scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘You’re welcome, sir!’ the half size Tenali Rama spoke for the first time, waving a pudgy hand. ‘I hope you don’t mind my listening to your problem. Six pairs of astonished eyes looked at him. The observer, no longer able to stop himself, laughed out loud. ‘Grass?’ (Source: History Mystery Dal Biryani, published by Scholastic India) ‘And what will my mother put in the sambaar?’ asked Kesava. ‘Then stop growing pumpkins,’ said a thin boy with no front teeth. ‘You think my poor potter father has money for stone walls? He’s still worried about the cost of the bamboo fence.’ ‘Bah!’ Kesava gave a dismissing shake of his head. ‘Build a stone wall around the garden,’ one suggested. The courtiers were coming up with solutions. ‘What would he do to handle the wrestler and his heavyweight cow?’ The observer, forgetting about his errands of the morning, sat absorbed in the high drama. Deva Raya looked around helplessly at his ring of bedraggled courtiers and asked, ‘What should Kesava do?’ ‘Oh!’ the deflated faces proved the real problem was now finally being understood by the pavement king and his rag tag court. Kesava looked as solemn as Deva Raya as he said, ‘I can’t. ‘Ask the neighbour to pay for the damages his cow has caused,’ the twelve-year-old ended solemnly. ‘What can I do about it?’ĭeva Raya frowned. And now trampling over the bamboo fence they had built, it had eaten his mother’s precious marigolds. The cow was always getting into poor Kesava’s kitchen garden, chewing up the banana plants, devastating the pumpkin patch. ‘I mean my neighbour’s cow getting into my garden,’ Kesava was finally getting his words into some kind of order. ‘Explain yourself!’ Deva Raya frowned regally. ‘What cow? What garden?’ Timma was beginning to sound a bit like a parrot. The observer swallowed hard to stop himself from laughing out aloud. ‘Cow? What cow?’ asked the puzzled prime minister Timma. ‘I’m here about the cow, Your Highness,’ said Kesava. With a royal wave of a thin arm, the street side king yelled, ‘Bring in the first case!’Ī stocky boy came forward and said doubtfully, ‘This is a real problem. The boys playing Tenali and Minister Timma stood on either side of the throne and the others playing courtiers stood before them. ‘Ah, Deva Raya!’ sighed the observer with an inward grin as he noticed the boy’s scuffed knees and bare feet. And now the boy playing Deva Raya strutted up importantly to his makeshift throne and sat down. A sort of throne had been created using an old broken bed, covered with a tattered piece of matting. Half a dozen boys were acting out a day in the royal court of Vijayanagar. He was the only observer of the street show unfolding before him. With a silent laugh the man looked around, found a large boulder to sit on, and settled down. As he flicked back his long hair, he said, ‘Play any role you want as long as I am the royal court’s wittiest and cleverest man … ahem …’ He cleared his throat importantly. Getting even more curious, the man peered past the gateway and first saw a plump boy with large bright eyes. ‘Then can I be Minister Saluva Timma instead?’ ‘It’s my turn to be Deva Raya … you promised!’