Arjun sighed. Thatha had been ill for months. Perhaps this was delirium.
Holding an umbrella, Arjun reluctantly followed his grandfather into the rain. The streets were empty. When they reached the Supertree Grove, the light from the compass illuminated a small, dark-haired boy, no more than four years old, sitting alone beneath a giant artificial fern. He was not crying. He was calmly eating a piece of mango. Vasudev Gopal Singapore
As the first light of dawn broke over the straits, the boy vanished—not abruptly, but like a candle flame being gently pinched out. The compass lay on the wet grass, dark and silent. Arjun sighed
Vasudev smiled and handed the boy the compass. “I built this for you. For when you grow tired of this steel-and-glass jungle.” He was not crying
The child looked at the device, then at the glittering city skyline reflected in puddles. “Singapore is strange,” he said. “It has no mountains for me to lift. Only towers.”