For twenty-one thousand nine hundred and fifty-four mornings, old Rupa has roused herself from bed to tromp around her cookfire in the dark and bring on the dawn. So when she develops a blister and asks the elders for some time off, they are naturally flummoxed. Who else in the village but Rupa can get the rooster crowing, the goats giving milk? Tryouts are held, but neither the blacksmith, nor the farmer, nor the baker can make a dent in the darkness. No, only Rupa, it seems, has the knack. But there is still her blister to contend with.... So where on earth does she find a helper? Perhaps nowhere on earth. Both sly and silly, Rupa will be recognizable to any child who understands the power game.