say? the kite asked.
said "It's not me."
The kite cocked his
head at him. Of course it's not you, silly.
But the kite flew
off without waiting to hear what Ajay meant.
He felt the joy
rising within him, his depression falling away. He rose from the
branch into the sky and headed northwest, forgetting that he had
been going to see his parents. He flew back across the plains,
crossing over village after village, and as his elation rose he now
and then performed some loops and cartwheels for the sheer rapture
of it. On one of these occasions, he glanced down and saw that he
was over a small village of mud huts and trees, and he noticed that
a number of villagers stood watching him with delight in their
upturned faces. Without giving it much thought he entered into a
prolonged exhibition, performing his best aerial acrobatics, losing
himself in the beauty and ease of his art. And when he had finished
he knew that his own joy and the joy of the villagers as they
watched him was one and the same. He felt light, as though chunks of
lead had dropped from his heart.