"But how are you going to boil it?"
"In that bamboo pot."
"But surely that will burn?"
"No, the water will boil long before the green wood begins to be charred," replied Dermot, placing the pot over the first fire on the two lumps of clay, so that the flames could reach it.
Then he opened the linen bag, which Noreen found to contain atta, or native flour. Some of this he poured into the round aluminium dish and with water from the pani bêl he mixed dough, rolled it into balls, and patted them into small flat cakes. Over the second fire he placed the iron plate, convex side up, and when it grew hot put the cakes on it.
"How clever of you! You are making chupatis like the natives do," exclaimed Noreen. "I love them. I get the cook to give them to us for tea often."
She watched him with interest and amusement, as he turned the cakes over with a dexterous flip when one side browned; then, when they were done, he took them off and piled them on a large leaf.
"Who would ever imagine that you could cook?" Noreen said, laughing. "Do let me help. I feel so lazy."
"Very well. Look after the chupatis while I get the fowl ready," he replied.
He cleaned the jungle cock, wrapped it up in a coating of wet clay and laid it in the hot ashes of the third fire, covering it over with the red embers.