On the fading afternoon of Holi, a group of village boys had gathered under a neem tree, playing by throwing dust at one another.
Holding hands, Amrit and Isab came toward them. Both were wearing brand-new shirts made for that day. In color, size, and fabric, the shirts were exactly alike. The two studied in the same class at the same school. Their houses stood facing each other at the bend of the road. Both their fathers were farmers, with almost equal amounts of land. At times of temporary trouble, both had to borrow money at interest. In almost every way the two boys were alike—the only difference being that Amrit had his parents and three brothers, while Isab had only his father.
When the two friends sat down on the paved footpath, one of the boys in the group noticed their identical clothes and said, "All right, you two wrestle and let's see whether you're equal in strength too, or if one of you is the better wrestler."
Another boy shouted, "Yes, fight! It'll be fun!"
Isab looked at Amrit. In a firm voice Amrit said, "No. Otherwise my mother will thrash me."
There was a reason for his firmness. Before leaving home, his mother had warned him, "You created such a scene to get this new shirt. If you come back having dirtied or torn it, remember what will happen to you."
Amrit had indeed troubled his parents a lot. As soon as he heard about Isab's new shirt, he had declared that unless he got exactly the same one, he would not go to school.
His mother had tried to reason with him. "Isab's shirt was torn because he has to work in the fields. Yours is almost new."
"Not at all!" Amrit had cried, and pushing his finger into a small tear in his shirt, he ripped it further.
Trying to corner him, his mother had said, "Before giving Isab a new shirt, his father beat him badly. Are you ready to be beaten like that?"
Amrit was not willing to back down. Desperately he replied, "All right, tie me up. Beat me. But you must get me a shirt just like Isab's."
To escape the daily quarrels, his mother finally told him to speak to his father. Amrit knew that if his mother said no, there was little chance his father would agree. But he was not one to give up easily. He stopped going to school, stopped eating, and even refused to return home at night. At last his mother gave in and persuaded his father to buy him a new shirt. She then brought him home from Isab's cowshed, where he had been hiding.
Now, dressed smartly and beautifully, Amrit had no desire at all to dirty his clothes—especially not by wrestling with Isab.
Just then, one of the boys from the group came and threw his arm around Amrit's neck, saying, "Come on, let's wrestle!" Dragging him to the open field, he refused to let go. Amrit struggled to free himself, saying, "Look, Kaliya, I don't want to wrestle. Let me go." But Kaliya would not release him. Instead, he threw Amrit to the ground. The boys cheered, "Kaliya has won! Amrit has lost! What fun!"
Isab's temper flared. Grabbing Kaliya's hand, he said, "Come on, I'll fight you." Though Kaliya hesitated, the wrestling began. With a quick move, Isab tripped him, and Kaliya fell flat on the ground like a frog, limbs spread out, shouting.
The matter had now become serious, even if it had begun in fun. Fearing that Kaliya's parents might come and beat them, everyone scattered in different directions. Amrit and Isab also fled the battlefield.
After going some distance, Amrit noticed that about six inches of cloth had been torn from Isab's shirt pocket. They were terrified. While they were examining the damage, they heard Isab's father calling him.
Their hearts almost stopped. They knew that if Isab's father saw the torn shirt, he would skin him alive. He had borrowed money from a moneylender and carefully chosen the cloth to have the shirt stitched.
Isab's father shouted again, "Who's crying? Where is Isab?"
Suddenly an idea struck Amrit. Pulling Isab along, he said, "Come with me." They slipped into the narrow space between their two houses, and Amrit began unbuttoning his shirt. He ordered, "Take off your shirt and wear mine."
Isab asked, "What about you? What will you wear?"
"I'll wear yours. Hurry, or someone will see us!"
As Isab began to remove his shirt—still not understanding Amrit's plan—he said, "If we exchange shirts, what's the use? Your father will beat you."
"Of course he will," Amrit replied. "But I have my mother to save me."
Isab remembered how, whenever Amrit's father tried to beat him, Amrit hid behind his mother. He might get a few slaps, but nothing like the heavy blows from his father.
Though Isab still hesitated, they suddenly heard someone cough nearby. Quickly they exchanged shirts, stepped out of the alley, and quietly walked toward their respective homes.
Amrit's heart pounded with fear. But fortunately, it was Holi—a day when a little pushing and pulling was expected. When his mother saw the torn shirt, she frowned but forgave him. Taking a needle and thread, she neatly mended it.
Their fear vanished. Hand in hand again, they went to the edge of the village to watch the Holi fireworks and the burning of the effigy.
A boy who had seen them exchanging shirts tried to spoil their fun by shouting, "You swapped shirts, huh!"
Afraid that others might find out, they tried to slip away. But soon the other boys joined in, chanting, "Swap! Swap!" Fearing that their fathers would learn the truth, Amrit and Isab ran home in panic.
Isab's father was sitting on a cot in front of his house, smoking a hookah. He called them gently, "Why are you running away from your friends? Come sit with me."
Hearing his calm voice, they worried even more, thinking he already knew everything and was only pretending to be kind.
Isab's father, Hasan Pathan, embraced ten-year-old Amrit and exclaimed, "Bahali Boudi, from today your son is mine!" Bahali Boudi came out smiling and said, "Hasan Bhai, you can hardly manage one son—how will you manage two?"
With emotion in his voice, Hasan said, "Bahali Boudi, if I get a son like Amrit, I'm ready to raise twenty-one!"
Clearing his throat, he explained that he had seen the boys slip into the alley and had decided to watch what they did. He then told the neighbors the story of the exchanged shirts. He added, "Isab asked Amrit, 'What if your father beats you?' Do you know what Amrit replied? He said, 'But I have my mother.'"
With moist eyes, Hasan said, "Such pure words! Amrit's answer has changed me. He has taught me what true goodness means."
Hearing the story of the boys' love for each other, everyone's hearts filled with warmth.
Meanwhile, the boys returned from watching the fireworks, surrounding them and chanting, "Amrit-Isab—Swap! Brother Swap!"
This time, however, Amrit and Isab did not feel embarrassed. Instead, they liked being called "Swap."
The story of their exchange spread from house to house and reached the village headman. He declared, "From today, we will call Amrit 'Adal' and Isab 'Badal.'"
The boys were delighted. Soon the chant echoed beyond the village—"Amrit-Isab, Adal-Badal! Adal-Badal!"—filling the sky and air.