Sumati Satakam: Friends come when you're rich

Told in English, Telugu.

In a small village near the Godavari, there lived a boy named Ravi. He lived with his Ammamma in a house with a neem tree in front, and every evening the two of them walked to the edge of the village cheruvu.

In the month of May, the cheruvu was almost dry. The mud at the bottom was cracked into little squares, like a big brown puzzle. It was very, very quiet.

"Ammamma, where did all the frogs go?" Ravi asked.

Ammamma smiled. "Wait for the rain, kanna. You will see."

Ravi had one best friend in all the world. His name was Siddhu. Siddhu's family did not have much money, but whenever Siddhu got a mango, he broke it in half and gave Ravi the bigger piece. When Ravi had fever last winter, Siddhu came every single day to sit by his bed and tell him silly jokes until he laughed.

Then June came, and the rains came with it. It rained and rained for three whole days. When Ravi and Ammamma walked to the cheruvu again, the water was full right up to the brim.

And what a noise! Croak, croak, croak! Frogs on the stones, frogs on the lotus leaves, frogs everywhere!

"So many!" Ravi laughed. "Where were they all hiding?"

"Remember this, kanna," said Ammamma, and her eyes twinkled.

The very next week, a big parcel arrived from Ravi's uncle in Hyderabad. Inside was a shiny red bicycle with a silver bell. Tring, tring!

The moment Ravi rode it down the street, children came running from every house.

"Ravi, can I sit on the back?"

"Ravi, you are my best friend, you know!"

"Ravi, come to my house, my amma made pootharekulu!"

Ravi felt like a king. Children he hardly knew were calling his name. They walked beside him, they laughed at his jokes, they carried his slate to school.

Siddhu stood at the corner and waved. "Ravi, shall we go to the cheruvu to see the frogs?"

But Ravi was busy. "Not today, Siddhu. Venkat and Pandu are waiting for me."

Siddhu's smile became a little smaller. "Okay," he said softly, and he walked home alone.

This happened the next day, and the next. Ravi did not mean to be unkind. He was just so busy being liked by everyone.

Then came the day of the temple fair. There would be a giant wheel, coloured balloons, and hot jilebis. Ravi rode his bicycle with Venkat on the back and four other children running beside him. Far behind, all by himself, walked Siddhu.

They were halfway there, on the bumpy road past the paddy fields, when suddenly there was a loud BANG!

The bicycle wobbled. Ravi put his feet down. The front tyre was flat, flat as a dosa.

"Oh no!" cried Ravi. "Now what will we do?"

Venkat jumped off. He looked at the tyre. Then he looked at the road towards the fair.

"Arey, we will be late for the giant wheel," he said. "Sorry, Ravi. See you there!"

And off he ran. One by one, the others ran after him, until the road was empty. Ravi stood alone beside his broken bicycle, and his eyes began to fill with tears.

Then he heard footsteps. Slow, steady footsteps.

It was Siddhu.

Siddhu did not say, "I told you so." He did not say anything at all at first. He just took hold of the back of the bicycle and said, "Come on. The cycle shop near the bus stop is open. We will push it together."

"But Siddhu, you will miss the fair," Ravi whispered.

Siddhu shrugged. "The fair is there every year. You are my friend every day."

So the two boys pushed the heavy bicycle all the way down the hot road. By the time the tyre was mended, the sun was setting, and the fair was almost over. But on the way home, they shared one small packet of roasted peanuts, and they laughed so hard about the loud bang that Ravi forgot to be sad.

That night, Ravi told Ammamma everything. Ammamma listened quietly, and then she said, "Do you remember the frogs at the cheruvu?"

Ravi nodded.

"A long, long time ago, a wise poet wrote a little poem about that. Listen." And Ammamma said it slowly, in her singing voice:

Eppudu sampada kaligina, appudu bandhuvulu vatturu, adi yetlannan, teppaluga cheruvu nindina, kappalu padivelu cheru gadaraa Sumatee.

"What does it mean, Ammamma?"

"It means this, kanna. When a person has wealth and nice things, many people come crowding around, calling themselves family and friends. How does it happen? Just like when the lake is full to the brim, ten thousand frogs come and gather there. But when the lake dries up in summer, where do the frogs go?"

"They all go away," said Ravi slowly. "Just like Venkat and the others."

"Yes. Those children are not bad, Ravi. You can still play with them and be kind. But now you know the difference. Some friends come for the water. And some friends stay even when the lake is dry."

Ravi thought of Siddhu walking alone behind them, and of Siddhu pushing the bicycle without one word of complaint.

The next morning, Ravi was at Siddhu's door very early, ringing his silver bell. Tring, tring!

"Siddhu, I am sorry I left you alone. Will you come to the cheruvu with me to see the frogs? And this time, you ride in front."

Siddhu's big smile came back, wider than ever.

Can you say the last line of the poem with me? Kappalu padivelu cheru gadaraa Sumatee. Ten thousand frogs come to a full lake. But a true friend, like Siddhu, comes even when the lake is dry.

Good night, little one.