Rhamon/Chapter 1

by Heluiz Chandler Washburne

Chapter I

Fishing

RHAMON was fishing. Squatting carelessly on a narrow board that reached from the window of the houseboat to the river bank, he dropped his line into the clear water beneath. In the dark shadows of the overhanging bushes he could see the flash of a silvery fish as it glided past.

Rhamon was a small brown-skinned Indian boy. He had a little twisted foot, so he limped when he walked. But no one noticed his limp because Rhamon was always smiling. And when he smiled his big, brown eyes danced and his white teeth sparkled. His clothes were not very fine, but he wore a splendid turban, made of many yards of white cotton cloth, wound around and around his head.

Rhamon had spent all his life in the beautiful Valley of Kashmir, high up in the Himalaya Mountains. Happy Valley it was called, for here was a clear lake with many fish. Bright-colored birds flitted through the trees, fruits of all kinds grew on the grassy slopes, sweet-smelling flowers dotted the fields. And piled up on all sides were the mighty mountains.

A great old river wound its way through the narrow valley. Where the ground was low the river flooded over it and ran along in little winding canals. Small trees grew on the marshy banks and made feathery lace-like patterns

On the river were little houseboats

against the blue sky. On the lake, the river, and the canals were little houseboats where people lived. Rhamon's home was one of these houseboats on the water. It was not a large houseboat, and the roof was only a thick layer of woven reeds. Inside, it was barely high enough for his father to stand up straight without bumping his head. Ever since he could remember, Rhamon had been able to run along the narrow boards that stretched the length of the boat just outside the windows, and he had never fallen into the water.

Rhamon's father, Subro, was squatting on the deck of the houseboat, enjoying the sunshine and smoking his big water pipe that stood on the floor before him. As he puffed, the water in the glass jar bubbled and gurgled. And the blue smoke curled and twisted in the lazy breeze. Subro was a tall dark man with a black curly beard. He wore long white clothes that rustled as he walked. When he was angry his brown eyes were dark and fiery, but now as he smiled at Rhamon they twinkled and were full of fun.

Fishing was good today. Rhamon gave his pole a jerk, and up came a little silvery fish, twisting and wiggling and glittering in the sunlight. In went the hook again and up came another fish. And then another! Rhamon grew excited, for he had never known the fish to bite so fast. It wouldn't be long, he thought, before he had a good pailful all ready for supper.

He threw in his line again and waited. Soon he felt a fish take hold. He would land this fellow in a hurry. He gave a big jerk, and—splash! over he went backwards, line, fish and all! Subro jumped to his feet and ran to the rescue. When Rhamon was dragged to the deck, his turban was over one ear, and his clothes were wet and soggy. But his eyes were twinkling and his white teeth showed in a merry grin.