The Faith of Ashish (25 page)

"My father performed his craft as a carpenter very well, but he could not get work in a village that didn't know his family. I was very little then, a burden my family bore unhappily. My father talked of borrowing money from a moneylender so he could pay a blacksmith to make him tools acceptable for an Untouchable but that could be used to do more intricate work on wooden portals. But my uncle insisted he must not involve himself with such people as moneylenders. Instead, my father allowed my uncle to take me to a band of thieves and pay them to make a good beggar out of me. They used a hot knife on my face and blinded my eye."

Virat stopped and stared at Latha. "Your father allowed such a thing to be done to you? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I did not want you to think poorly of him. He only did what his
karma
forced him to do."

"We will not go to your father's village," Virat said. "I will not live with such a man. I will not have my son live with him."

"We have no choice!" Latha pleaded.

"We do," Virat said, "We always have a choice."

When Mammen Samuel ordered Anup to gather up men to pursue Virat, he took note of the way Anup kept his eyes averted from him. Anup might command the workers to search, but he would not command them with his heart. Better to depend on Sudras, even though it meant paying them. Mammen Samuel knew how to pass along such a cost. He would add it to the ledger account of the other slaves. They should by rights bear a good part of the fault, after all, for every one of them failed to notice the escape or to stop it. Anup's account would be charged double, for he was doubly responsible.

"I will lead the search myself," Boban Joseph told his father. "I'll find the runaways and bring them back with ropes around their necks."

"I want them alive and ready to work," Mammen Samuel said. "I want them to pay for their insolence for the rest of their lives."

"Let me take a horse," Boban Joseph said. "That way I can keep the search moving fast. I'll have the runaways back here in two days. Maybe less."

Had they been going to Latha's family's village, Virat and Latha would have stayed on the path that led over the mountains. But now where could they go?

"Out to the coast to find Hilmi's village," Virat suggested. "No one would think to look for us there."

"We can look up and see the mountains and head toward them, but how can we know the way to the coast?" Latha asked. "And if we should get to the coast, how could we find Hilmi's village?"

As they worried what to do, clouds gathered overhead. Before they decided on a route, monsoon rains once again flattened the earth. Ashish, exhausted and soaking wet, sat down in the mud and wailed.

Latha wept, too. "What are we to do, Husband?"

A bullock cart rumbled along the narrow path, churning its way toward them through the mud. In the front, driving the bullocks with one hand, sat a fine, slender man with a pale face and sharp features. He held an umbrella over his head with his other hand. He had a
chaddar
over his shoulders, but peeking out from underneath Virat spied the glimmer of a gold thread.

"It's a Brahmin," Virat gasped. Quickly, he and Latha bowed down in the mud. Latha pushed Ashish down beside her.

"Please, stand up," the Brahmin called. "Do not kneel in the mud before me, a mere man."

But Virat and Latha were afraid to move. It could be some sort of a trick. Why would a Brahmin be out alone in a monsoon downpour?

"My house is up ahead," the Brahmin said. "Please come and dry off. Please rest yourselves."

"We are Untouchables," Virat explained, his face still to the ground. "I am but a
chamar."

"You should not be out in this weather," the Brahmin said. "Please come. You are most welcome at my house."

Virat stood up and glanced around him hesitantly. But he followed the cart nonetheless. And Latha and Ashish followed Virat.

Around the bend stood a good-sized house. The Brahmin got out of the cart, walked up to the door, and opened it. "Do come in," the Brahmin invited most courteously.

The Brahmin's servant rushed forward to give Virat water to wash, and also a dry
mundu.
He did the same for Latha, giving her a dry
sari.
"I have no clothes for a child," he said to Ashish. "So you shall get the seat closest to the fire."

When they were clean and dressed, the Brahmin invited the three to eat. Yes, to eat in his house! Beside him! At first, Virat and Latha refused. But the Brahmin insisted so strongly, and they were so hungry. The delicious food, Virat decided, might well have been the best he ever tasted. When he finished eating, and the servant poured out water to wash his hands, Virat spoke the question that nagged at him: "Please, forgive me for my rudeness, but I must ask you: Why are you so kind to us?"

"I am a Brahmin, yes, but I am also a Christian," the man said. "I act with love to you because that is what the one true God would have me do."

Virat licked his lips and took a deep breath. He bowed low and said, "You have been much more than kind to us. Please, forgive me for my insolence in asking still more. Yet I have one more request."

"Look me full in the face, then you may state your request," the Brahmin said.

Virat looked up into the face of the Brahmin. "Brahmin Keshavan put a wicked curse on me. He sent a cobra to trap me in the wheat field, and many evil spirits to threaten and torment me. Please, could you free me from Brahmin Keshavan's curse?"

"There is only One who can free you," the Brahmin said." It is not me and it is not Brahmin Keshavan. It is only Jesus Christ, the Son of the one true God."

Virat stared at him.

"In the Bible, which tells words and thoughts from the true God, in Colossians 3:16-18 and 4:1, it says:
Let no man therefore judge you in meat, or in drink, or in respect of a holy day, or of the new moon, or of the Sabbath days; which are a shadow of things to come; but the body of Christ Jesus. Let no man beguile you of your reward in a voluntary humility and worshipping angels, intruding into those things which he hath not seen, vainly puffed up by his fleshly mind. . . . Seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God."

"Let no man beguile you?" Virat asked.

"Trick you," said the Brahmin. "Let no man trick you."

"You mean the curse is not real?"

"When a person's mind is so filled with terror, it can be all but impossible to see the truth."

Yet even as the Brahmin spoke such reassuring words, Virat looked nervously around him. "We must hurry on," he said.

"Yes. I fear your pursuers are on their way," the Brahmin said. "I heard gossips speak of those who would search for you." Virat gave a start. "But you have time to rest. They will not travel in the rain or the dark."

Virat slept that night, but uneasily. Stars still shone in the dark sky when he roused Latha and Ashish. They dressed in their own clothes, which the servant had washed for them, and crept out of the Brahmin's house.

As the sun rose over the hills, the perfume of wild herbs wafted on the breeze. Had they been at their real home, in their own mud hut with their neighbors nearby, it would have been the beginning of a most lovely day.

The path grew rougher and narrower until no one could rightly call it a path at all. Virat, followed closely by Ashish and then Latha, slogged up one hill after another. Finally Ashish, bruised and weary, flopped down on the ground and wept. Despite his parents' prodding and cajoling, he refused to move.

"We cannot continue uphill," Virat said. "The road isn't passable. But we cannot head for the coast, either, because I cannot find the way." So Virat turned toward the east. He headed back toward the land he knew, on a trail that would lead them out of the mountainous area, toward rolling hills and flatter land.

They walked through field after field, over hills, then through more fields.

Not once did they pass another traveler. Not even one of the roaming holy men who walk the length and breadth of India, constantly moving from one shrine to another. Even they had settled down to wait out the monsoon rains.

"What's that?" Ashish cried. He pointed to a gristly sight on the path—streaks of blood touched with bits of pale fur.

"A monkey," Virat said.

"A tiger ate him?"

"Not a tiger, but some wild animal, and very recently, too, or the rains would have washed away these remains."

Ashish started to cry. "Will it eat me, too?"

"No, no!" Latha said. She clutched the boy's little hand." Your
appa
would never let that happen, and neither would I."

The rain wasn't Virat's biggest worry, nor the slogging mud. Even hungry animals that might be prowling along the path were not the worst of it. Virat's biggest worry was the bright sun that had replaced the heavy clouds. With no rain falling, the master's searchers would come after them at full pace. The searchers would find it much easier to follow their footprints too. If the landlord's men were close enough for the Brahmin to hear gossip about them, Virat knew it was only a matter of time. Around some bend, over the crest of a hill, through one field or another, they would run into the landlord's men.

Who would be leading them? Would it be Anup? That would be good. Anup wouldn't allow the men to kill them outright . . . though maybe it would be easier if he did. Otherwise Virat and Latha would surely face a horrible punishment. And as for Ashish? Oh, poor little Ashish!

"We must hide the boy," Virat whispered to Latha. "If we escape, we can come back for him. If we do not, at least he will have a chance."

"No!" Latha cried. "I will not leave my son alone out here!"

Virat sank to his knees and bowed his head to the ground. "I do not know what else to do! If any gods are watching me, please, what would you have me do? Please tell me, what can I do?"

A
re you angry with me,
Appa?"
Ashish asked.

"No, my son. How could I be angry with you?"

"I won't eat any more
chapatis.
You can have them all."

"If we had any more
chapatis,
we would want you to eat them," Latha told her son. "But they are all gone. So we will all be hungry together."

"Maybe the monkeys will share their food with us," Ashish suggested. When no one answered, he whispered, "Am I still Ashish? Am I still a blessing?"

"Always," said Latha.

"Forever," said Virat.

"It is not at all proper for a young woman such as yourself to gallop all over the Indian countryside, wild and unescorted, yet you insist upon doing exactly that," Dr. Moore complained to Abigail. "Can you not see that such behavior lends an unprofessional air to the mission medical clinic? Might I suggest, perhaps even an
immoral
impression?"

Abigail gasped out loud. Of course the doctor's comments insulted her greatly. Yet if she had learned anything in her six months at the English Mission Medical Clinic, she had learned to keep her indignation in check. So she took a deep breath and carefully measured her next words.

"I must say, Sir, that I can think of little that is more professional—or even more moral—than to go out into the highways and byways, to reach my hand out to the very people we have come to serve, and compel them to come in. Is that not what Jesus taught?"

Dr. Moore heaved an exasperated sigh. "Miss Davidson, please consider the circumstances. A young woman such as yourself—a young
white
woman—roaming about, alone and unescorted! Really, it is most unseemly."

"Come along with me, then," Abigail pleaded. "Oh, do come and see the things I see. Explore the countryside with me and meet the Indian people—I mean, those who are still quite healthy."

"See here!" Dr. Moore exclaimed. "I am a doctor, not a tourist. Nor am I a social activist, or some sort of a . . . a . . .
politician!"

"I don't mean come along for the sake of England, Sir. I mean for the kingdom of God."

Dr. Moore's face hardened, and his mouth clamped tight.

Oh, dear, once again, I have said too much,
Abigail thought. Even so, she didn't stop.

"If you will not accompany me, Sir," Abigail added, though in a much milder tone of voice, "I shall go anyway."

How Abigail Davidson had changed since she first arrived in India. To some degree Dr. Moore himself had helped to bring about that transformation. Though he would never admit it, his words were much tougher than the man who spoke them. The physician talked in lofty terms about the best interest of the clinic, about what could be most advantageous for his own professional future, about what might one day lead to the establishment of an actual church on the mission site.

Yet when a terrified woman came to him, battered and oppressed, his face softened, and he treated her with utmost dignity. When a man others called "untouchable" crawled into his presence, bowing and scraping before him, the doctor's face seethed with frustration. He reached out and lifted the man to his feet before readily tending to his malady, however unpleasant the condition might be. Whenever someone found a helpless child abandoned at his door, Dr. Moore made certain the little one received loving care until he was able to find a home for him . . . or for her.

Without a doubt, Abigail had changed because she had come to know the hidden part of her employer. But that wasn't the entire reason. She also changed because of her association with Darshina.

"But I shan't be alone, Sir," Abigail added. "Darshina will come with me. She told me about a field of herbs over toward the hills. We shall gather them, and when we get back, she will teach me to make them into healing agents."

Dr. Moore let out another exasperated sigh.

"You said yourself that some of those ancient folk cures do more to treat native ills than any of our modern medicines. Is that not so?"

"Do as you will," the doctor said, dismissing Abigail with a wave of his hand. "If you get caught in a rainstorm, or step on a viper, I will be here to tend to you alongside my other patients. Of course, I shall have no one to assist me."

"I shall watch both the sky and the ground with utmost diligence." Abigail headed for the door. "And I shall bring back the most fragrant herbs and brew the most wondrous cures for your surgery."

Virat looked at Ashish, trudging along behind him. The little boy—his forehead creased in concentration, his small jaw clenched tight—stretched his legs out as far as he could and tried to walk in his
appa's
footprints. But he could not. Poor boy. Poor, poor little one. So small a child doing his best to bear the burdens of a grown man.

Anup would say, "Life is hard." He would say, "Many children die young." He would say, "Whatever happens, it is the will of the gods. Pray that the next life will be better." Virat was glad Anup was not with them.

Virat slowed his pace. He rested his hand on his son's head and said, "You are a good boy, Ashish."

Ashish tried his best to keep up with his parents. He really tried. Though he stumbled and faltered, he kept on trying. But when he tripped on the rough ground and fell flat, it was the end of what he could endure. He didn't even attempt to get back up.

"I am weary," Virat said lightly. "I believe it is time for a rest."

Latha looked anxiously at the path behind them. They had left a clear trampled trail through the high grass.

Once again, clouds gathered ominously overhead. Virat pulled a couple of fallen branches together and quickly fashioned a make-shift shelter. As they climbed inside, the rain began to pour down. Virat hugged Ashish to him, and within minutes, the boy fell soundly to sleep.

"Where are we going, Husband?" Latha asked. "It seems that you are leading us toward our old village."

"No, we cannot go back there," Virat said. "But maybe to the other village beyond it. Or to still another beyond that one."

"The air always smells so good after a hard rain," Abigail called down to Darshina from her perch atop the carriage horse. "That is also true in London, of course, although London air is never quite so fragrant as this."

The doctor had only one horse. But even if he had one hundred, Darshina wouldn't have climbed up on a horse's back. She much preferred to walk. And without Abigail slowing her down, she could cover a lot of ground quickly.

Darshina carried Abigail's basket on her arm, taking care not to spill out any of her collected treasures: Leaves of basil, to draw the poison from insect bites; bitter menthe to reduce fevers; wild onions, to boil into a soothing balm; amaranth, to calm the stomach. ("And to be mending a broken heart, should such a break ever be coming to you," Darshina told Abigail with a teasing smile.)

Virat had torn the shelter apart and dragged the fallen limbs away. Latha had filled the water jars from a large rain puddle. They had just started to walk again when Virat stopped still. "The first of the landlord's men," he breathed. "Coming toward us."

"Run,
Appa,
run!" Ashish screamed.

Virat took Ashish's hand. "We will be strong," he said.

"Whatever happens, we must be strong."

But as the horse came closer, Virat puzzled over what appeared to be a billow of light blue fabric at its side. And the single person walking beside the horse wasn't wearing a
mundu
at all, but a
sari—
a
sari
of pure white. Virat blinked his eyes and stared, trying to make sense of it.

Ashish broke loose from his father's grip and ran toward the approaching rider.

"Go away!" he screamed. "Go away and leave my
appa
alone!"

"We must be leaving them to themselves," Darshina warned when she saw the three up ahead. "They being Travelers. Nothing more than travelers."

"I don't know," Abigail said. She wrinkled her brow and shaded her eyes. "They look to be in distress."

"Many Indians are being in the way of distress," Darshina said. "We be doing best to leave them to themselves."

But Abigail could not. She slipped off the back of the horse and walked toward the screaming little boy.

"Please, I want to help you!" Abigail called out.

Ashish stopped still. "It is the pale English lady,
Appa.
She won't catch us. She won't hurt us."