“Halt!” I yelled. “Who goes there? Are you a henchman of the terrible demon Mahishasura?”
“N-no,” said Ashraf, looking all around for the voice. “Who are you?”
“I am Chamundi the terrible!”
Ashraf finally looked up and found me. “Oh, it’s you, Soujanya. Can I be on the good side?”
It turned out that, just like me, he did not like to sleep in the afternoons. After weeks of wheedling, he had finally been allowed to go out and play.
I was glad of the company. These were enchanted hours, when the sun burned the dust under our feet, when the trees themselves looked thirsty and even the flies looked for shade. It always seemed such a shame that everyone else chose to sleep them away.