The Blue Umbrella

by Ruskin Bond

Binya belonged to the mountains, to this part of the Himalayas known as Garhwal. Dark forests and lonely hilltops held no terrors for her. It was only when she was in the market-town, jostled by the crowds in the bazaar, that she felt rather nervous and lost.

The umbrella was like a flower, a great blue flower that had sprung up on the dry brown hillside.

She was always ready with her smile, and would willingly have lent it to anyone who was feeling unhappy.

She may have been timid with strangers, but she was at home on a hillside. She stuck her bare leg over the edge of the cliff and began climbing down. she kept her face to the hillside, feeling her way with her feet, only changing her handhold when she knew her feet were secure. Sometimes she held on to the thorny bilberry bushes, but she did not trust the other plants, which came away very easily.

Unlike the adults, the children didn’t have to pretend. They were full of praise for the umbrella. It was so light, so pretty, so bright a blue! And it was just the right size for Binya. They knew that if they said nice things about the umbrella, Binya would smile and give it to them to hold for a little while—just a very little while!

“Of what use is a poppy in a cornfield? Of what use is a rainbow? Of what use are you, numbskull? Wretch! I, too, have a soul. I want the umbrella, because—because I want its beauty to be mine!”

But had she loved the umbrella too much? Had it mattered more to her than people mattered? She couldn’t help feeling that in a small way she was the cause of the sad look on Ram Bharosa’s face (“His face is a yard long,” said Bijju) and the ruinous condition of his shop.

And she left the old man holding the umbrella, and went tripping down the road, and there was nothing between her and the bright blue sky.

He placed the pendant on Binya, and indeed it looked very beautiful on her. Ram Bharosa says he will never forget the smile she gave him when she left the shop.

She walked home through the darkening glade, singing of the stars; and the trees stood still and listened to her, and the mountains were glad.