Winter dawn. A great big camel came to the fair-ground by the river — sacks of sweet batasha and pots of murki piled on his back. What a load! Everyone at the fair was busy — nobody even looked his way. In a corner of the field, the camel quietly chewed his straw. Alone. All alone.
Suddenly — plop! — a little doyel landed on his hump. “Oh my! Why is this mountain moving?” The camel burst out laughing — “I'm not a mountain, little one. I'm a camel!” And the doyel whistled — tew-tew-tiriri! Never in his life had the camel heard such a sweet song.
From that day on, the two were always together. The doyel sang from the hump while the camel walked the sandy road — thup, thup, thup. On and on they went, the sun on their heads. The doyel spread his wings to shade the camel's eyes; the camel bent the babla branches down for him. “With you beside me, even the road feels short!”
Back at the fair, the tired camel fell fast asleep. And that's when a peddler jackal came along, with his cart full of cages. He heard the doyel's song and his eyes lit up — “If I could sell that song, I'd make a fortune!” He scattered a trail of murki and set his trap… click! “Camel! Brother camel!” But the camel was deep in sleep.
In the morning the camel woke to find the hump empty. The doyel was gone — gone from everywhere. That day the camel didn't touch his straw. Nor the next. When they called him to carry the sacks he only shook his head, staring up at the birds in the sky. The hollow in his chest grew… and grew… All over the fair they whispered — “That camel must be terribly ill!”
Night fell. The old owl arrived — the wisest bird at the fair. She looked the camel over: no fever, no wound. Softly she asked, “Tell me, dear — what have you lost?” One tear rolled down those long lashes — “My doyel.” The owl nodded. “No medicine cures this sickness. Only a friend can.”
At dawn they found him — a cage hanging in the jackal's shop, and inside, the doyel, sitting silent. However much the jackal begged — “Sing! Oh, sing!” — the doyel wouldn't give a single whistle. The owl said, “You see, brother? Cage a song and it dies. A song can't be bought — it comes on its own, where it's loved.” The jackal's ears drooped. He opened the cage door himself.
Tew-tew-tiriri! In a flash the doyel flew back to his own familiar hump — and song filled the whole fair. The camel's eyes sparkled again. And the jackal? He kept the empty cage in a corner of his shop — so he'd remember. However different two friends look, matching hearts make friendship. Do you have a friend like that?