Extract from Little Princes by Conor Grennan

Extract from Little Princes by Conor Grennan
Original full-length version published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd., London
Condensed version © Reader’s Digest (Australia) Pty Ltd, 2011
 

 

 

Liz and I stood quietly outside Dhaulagiri, staring at the orphanage, listening to the rustle of books and papers coming through the open window.

 

‘Wait … it’s Saturday—why are the children inside, studying?’ I asked.

 

‘I told them to go outside and play,’ the teacher said, ‘but they are so happy about going to school, they want to do reading time now, on this beautiful day! It’s crazy, no?’

 

An hour later, the children ran outside. There were now four girls attached to Liz. The other girls were tagging along behind, asking over and over to touch her long blonde hair. Finally Liz sat down in the field and the girls went to work braiding her hair. The kids spoke little English, but language isn’t always necessary when interacting with kids. Liz saw me looking at her and gave a broad smile. I knew I had much to learn about her. But at that moment, watching her with the children, she was perfect to me.

 

I noticed that Liz was paying particular attention to one little girl, the smallest and the only one not trying to climb all over her. Liz took her hand. The girl did not move, but let her hand be taken as she continued to stare at nothing in particular.

 

‘Who is that?’ I asked Farid.

 

‘Leena. She is like this all the time. I have not heard her say one word yet.’

 

We were now well into the afternoon. It was nice to be back with the kids. But there was still one child I had not spoken to and it couldn’t wait. I grabbed my laptop, where I had stored hundreds of photos from my trip to Humla, and walked back to the cluster of Umbrella homes to find Jagrit. He was watching the other kids playing in the field.

 

‘Sir, I saw you are back from Humla. How many apples did you bring me?’

 

‘I brought you zero apples, Jagrit. I was going to bring you one, but I ate it myself.’

 

He paused. ‘You ate one apple? You are lying?’

 

‘No, I’m not lying—it was delicious.’

 

His hands shot up in triumph. ‘I told you, yes?’

 

‘Jagrit, listen—I brought you back something better than an apple. Come inside. I’ll show you.’

 

There was no easy way to tell a boy who had grown up believing his entire family was dead that I had met his father, that he had a mother and a brother and sister, that they were all still alive and had never forgotten him. So I just showed him a picture of his father, the shepherd, holding a photo of Jagrit that I had given him. From beginning to end, I told him the entire story of how his family had come back to life.

 

Jagrit had never cried in front of me before but now he could not stop. He asked if his father had told me why he had given him up. That began a long discussion of how traffickers tricked parents into giving up their children. I told him the story as I knew it, and added everything that I had learned in Humla. For an hour, Jagrit and I talked and went through the photos, starting with his father, then going through the whole trip so he could see more of his village and Humla. He never let go of his father’s letter.

It took only that one morning with the children for Liz and I to open up. Now I could see her facial expressions, see the sympathy in her eyes and hear what made her laugh. I had dreamed about sharing this experience of Nepal with somebody. Liz was the perfect companion; she soaked it all in and she never flinched. She only wanted to experience more of what I had been talking about in long letters to her over the past three months.

 

Just before sunset on Christmas Eve, we walked to the top of Swayambhu. The sprawl of Kathmandu stretched like water to the hills, while monkeys ran around us in the foreground. On the top of the hill, in addition to the 100-foot-tall white stupa, are myriad statues, small temples, a monastery, monks and monkeys, all wrapped up in a tangle of colourful Tibetan Buddhist prayer flags. The site is holy to both Buddhists and Hindus, and the architecture and statues reflect the shared importance. In short, we stood at a focal point for Nepalese faith, religion, legend and culture. It seemed a fitting way for Liz to end her trip to Nepal; she would be leaving the next morning, on Christmas Day.

 

‘You have traditions on Christmas morning?’ I asked her.

 

‘The usual,’ she said. ‘Stockings, presents, long breakfasts. We go to church, if we haven’t gone on Christmas Eve.’

 

‘I haven’t heard of a church here but I’m sure there is one—’

 

She cut me off. ‘The reason I was coming to India in the first place was to do acts of service on Christmas Day. Spending time with the children would be perfect.’

 

‘Well, that fits in with our plan. You know we’ll be having daal bhat for breakfast, right?’

 

‘It sounds perfect. Really.’

 

Christmas goes virtually unmarked in Nepal. The children were not aware of the Christian holiday, so they did not understand the significance to us or the individual family rituals that went along with the day. Instead of a church service followed by Christmas pastries, we were wrist-deep in slushy rice, boiling daal and dangerously curried vegetables. The children found all of this hilarious, of course. It was a perfect Christmas morning.

 

I said goodbye to Liz that afternoon at the airport. ‘How much longer do you have in India?’ I asked her.

 

‘Two more weeks.’

 

I nodded thoughtfully. ‘You know, the kids would love to see you again,’ I said.

 

‘Well, I’d love to see them again too, Conor—they’re wonderful.’

 

‘Would you mind giving me a call when you get back to India?’

 

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I gotta catch this plane—but it was so nice to finally meet you!’ She opened her arms to give me a hug, and that was the end of our time together. I hated to see her go. I felt lost. I had done everything to get back from Humla in time to meet Liz, wondering what it would be like when we finally met. Well, now I knew. It was perfect. We had spent all of 65 hours together. And I was crazy about her.