One alone, Two together.

         He peered up at the customer with a solemn gaze, disordered curls tumbling down his wide forehead. Mischief danced deep inside amber-flecked brown eyes, unable to be far from the young vendor. His hand waved a beseeching plea to purchase his wares.

         “Fresh home-grown vegetables”, proclaimed a large white placard; Sonu did not trust his still babyish treble to attract any interest.

         A couple of passers-by were attracted to the plump orange carrots, with their green tops still attached, highlighting their freshness. The ruddy plump tomatoes were glowing with health, quite unlike the seller’s wan cheeks. Pale green cucumbers were arranged in a neat pyramid; a hand that wiped another cucumber and added it to the top of the pile was clean and tipped with pale-pink short fingernails. It was the hand of an artist, surely?

         The little artist had long forgotten his days with crayons and drawing book, after his father's death he had left school to be the bread winner. It was little enough bread he earned.

         Earnest and persistent, he had sold a little more than half his wares as the sun reached its zenith. The crowd thinned out in the heat of the tropical afternoon. He placed a piece of clean wet cloth over his wares and dragging the basket into the small patch of shade now at the base of the tree behind him, he removed a small bundle from within his shirt.

         He quickly gulped down the dry leaven bread that reposed within, alternating the mouthful with a nibble at a misshapen cucumber. He folded the layers of paper back over two remaining rounds and made a careful nest for the precious bundle in his linen shirt. He turned to a niche in the tree and gulped water from the stone jug he always filled from the community tap as soon as he arrived at his ‘spot’. He faced the basket again, and whipped out a rag rug from its confines and curled himself upon it. It was better to rest in the silent hours of the market.

         As he nestled his head into the crook of his bent arm, he hard a soft tentative yip, he peered from half open lids and could see nothing to account for the sound. As he attempted to yield to blessed sleep, he heard it again, sharp but soft, almost an enquiry.

         He hoisted his head up in half-sitting position and gave a cursory sweep of his surroundings just as the sound localized itself as coming behind the tree. Curiosity overcame fatigue and he took three quick steps to one side to see what was lurking there.

         The jet-black mongrel puppy had its head cocked up in a comical questioning manner, even as its tail was semaphoring friendliness. It was thin enough to have its ribs etched out in painful protrusion and one ear flopped down awry. It pranced up in halfhearted dashes and retreats, until it was within an arm’s reach. Wary brown eyes signaled the intention to run away if no sociable overtures were forthcoming, but the tail was still going at its windmill imitation.

         Sonu crouched down upon his haunches and made soothing crooning noises as he made beckoning gestures with his fingers. The little form waltzed up to him and placed its forepaws on his chest. Sonu cuddled it as he retraced his steps, and then sat down with it on his lap.

         The bread reserved for the evening meal was broken into small bits, softened within his own mouth and fed to the eager maw. Frequent rough wet rasps of a grateful tongue on Sonu’s hands interrupted the meal. A little water poured upon the ground was quickly lapped up and the warm bodies snuggled together.

         There was no thought of how they would both survive on his meager earnings, which had been marginally sufficient for him. The pup did not question how the boy would replace the mother he had lost a week back. They gave each other comfort and a reason to continue life’s struggle.

         The sun’s slanting ray’s beat upon these two recumbent figures, neither replete and yet both content. Neither had enough but both had all they needed.

Moral: Two hearts make one’s life complete.

Day 1 Task 2: A fable for adults, where the protagonists cannot speak. <700 words
Word count (MS Word) 698