She glanced at the clock time and time again, and waited for the clock to strike four. When it finally did, there was no one to hear it.. Though the little bird right outside the rusty old window sill heard it, as it chirped and chirped to its little ones sitting idly in the cosy nest up in the banyan tree.
"Mother!" cried Sheila wildly, "I've torn it, I've torn it," she ran yelling into the kitchen right outside the front yard where the banyan tree stood spreading its boughs. She crunched a few brown leaves that dried out on the front yard under the hot July sun in this small town in Northern India.
The little bird that had heard the sound of the clock flapped its winds and took up a flight as if in a fit of madness. Sheila saw it as she looked over her shoulder. She crossed her eyes and stopped midway on the path between the house and the kitchen. Her mother stormed angrily into the yard, her hands all greased in what looked like the remains of a white frothy cake. "What you yelling for" she spat in broken English, Sheila just nodded her head as if in agreement and in total lost bewilderment muttered, "nothing"...
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