AMAL. No, let him be, Doctor. He is a friend. It was he who
brought me the King's letter.
PHYSICIAN. Very well, my child. He may remain if he is a friend
of yours.
MADHAV [Whispering into AMAL'S ear] My child, the King loves you.
He is coming himself. Beg for a gift from him. You know our
humble circumstances.
AMAL. Don't you worry, Uncle.--I've made up my mind about it.
MADHAV. What is it, my child?
AMAL. I shall ask him to make me one of his postmen that I may
wander far and wide, delivering his message from door to door.
MADHAV. [Slapping his forehead] Alas, is that all?
AMAL. What'll be our offerings to the King, Uncle, when he
comes?
HERALD. He has commanded puffed rice.
AMAL. Puffed rice! Say, Headman, you're right. You said so.
You knew all we didn't.
HEADMAN. If you send word to my house then I could manage for
the King's advent really nice--
PHYSICIAN. No need at all. Now be quiet all of you. Sleep is
coming over him. I'll sit by his pillow; he's dropping into
slumber. Blow out the oil-lamp. Only let the star-light stream
in. Hush, he slumbers.
MADHAV. [Addressing GAFFER] What are you standing there for like
a statue, folding your palms.--I am nervous.--Say, are they good
omens? Why are they darkening the room? How will star-light
help?
GAFFER.
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