The others tittered. Mohammad hung his head. Hafiz was older and the unkind gleam in his eyes was more than he could bear. Was it true that carpentry played so little part in the work?

Had his father and Ustad sahib given their skill and the best years of their lives for nothing? Did it all matter so little? Would no one remember, no one care?

While the boys had been talking, the entire settlement had been coming alive. Voices called to each other, children shouted, babies howled and the rattle of carts and the clatter of pans threatened to drown out all human sounds.

“Come, Mohammad,” said Hassan in a kinder voice. “Why don’t you ask him? Maybe he’ll let you come with us. There isn’t an elephant fight every day.”

Miserably, Mohammad shook his head. Was it true, what they said? Was his ustad’s work of no account? Was the inlayer’s work immortal, and their own of so little use?

Suddenly, he heard the rattle of the reed curtain being drawn aside, and the clank of his master’s tool bag behind him. He sprang to his feet, raising his hand to his forehead in greeting. Ustad Pira nodded, handing him the lunch bundle without a glance at the boys who hovered uncertainly in front of him.

He set off at his usual pace towards the skeleton of the building that towered on the horizon. Mohammad followed in silence, trying to sort out the confused thoughts that raced through his head.

They had reached the site before Ustad Pira spoke. He didn’t mention Hafiz or the elephant fight, but he looked closely at Mohammad and said, “Every bit of work is important. If we didn’t build the scaffolding, in the best way we can, there would be no building, no base for the marble and the decorations. We helped to lay the foundations of the building, and the building rises only because we are here, making platforms on which men can work. Each one of us contributes to the emperor’s work, each one is necessary to the building’s growth. And when it’s done, no one will ask which guild was responsible for this panel or that tower or this floor. They’ll only know that Taz Bibi’s Mahal, the tomb of Begum Mumtaz Mahal is the most perfect building in all creation. And our hands have helped to create it.”

Mohammad looked up at Ustad Pira’s lined face and strong hands, and at the way the sun shone on his hair. All at once he was filled with joy and strength and love. He knew that Hafiz will never be able to intimidate him again. As the other carpenters drew close, he stood up with an adze in his hand. “I’m ready,” he said to his master and moved up with him towards the towering wooden structure.

New story next week

Monisha Mukundan’s short story, The Carpenter’s Apprentice first appeared in the children’s magazine Target edited by Rosalind Wilson. It was later published in the short story collection, The Carpenter’s Apprentice, by Katha, a Delhi-based non-profit organisation and publishing house.

Illustrations:Uday Deb