The Faith of Ashish (27 page)

Mammen Samuel stood up abruptly. "You do nothing but pass judgment. That is a service I do not need." And he walked away.

"It is all
karma,"
Anup said. "Your fortunes, both good and bad, are the will of the gods."

"I don't want to hear it," Virat told him.

"Your lot is better than that of many around you. You are not blind or lame or without a hand. You have not been cursed with four girls. You have a good wife. The master did not kill you."

Virat said nothing.

"Nothing in the world is truly of so much consequence," Anup said with a sigh. "Not even your son."

Virat glared at him. "I dared to go into the upper caste side of the village for my son. I wore a broom on my back and a cup over my mouth for my son. I sold myself and my wife to be slaves to the landlord for my son. My son is of the greatest consequence to me."

"Then pray to the gods to have mercy on him in his next life," Anup said.

"We prayed and we prayed for this life. We sacrificed to the gods and we did
puja.
But the gods did not help us."

"Then forget your son," Anup said. "Forget that Ashish ever lived."

32

A
shish stared down from his perch behind the big horse's neck and whispered, "Will it eat me?"

Since the child spoke Malayalam and Abigail knew only English, she couldn't understand the question. But she couldn't miss the fear in Ashish's trembling voice. So Abigail pulled the little one closer to her and held on to him tightly as she urged the horse forward.

The little boy shrank back against Abigail and whimpered. She longed to console him, to tell him he was not alone, to speak words that would ease his fears. But she could not. Just as she had not been able to speak comforting words when he had come to her the first time, beaten and gasping for breath. Back then she could best soothe him with caresses and lullabies.

Abigail hummed one of the songs she used to sing to Ashish. Immediately his little body relaxed a bit. Encouraged, Abigail sang, propped against each other back-to-back, and fell into a restless sleep.

"Jesus loves me! This I know, For the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong; They are weak, but He is strong."

Ashish leaned into her, his whimpers quieted.

"Yes, Jesus loves me! Yes, Jesus loves me!

Yes, Jesus loves me! The Bible tells me so."

Abigail paused, but immediately Ashish clutched her hand and made humming sounds. So she sang the next verse, and then the chorus again. And the next verse, and the next one, and the next. By verse five, Ashish hummed along with her. By verse seven, he stumbled along pronouncing the words to the chorus:

"Yes, Jesus loves me! Yes, Jesus loves me!

Yes, Jesus loves me! The Bible tells me so."

So sad that the child has no idea what he's singing,
Abigail thought.

Ashish, resting comfortably against her, kept on humming.

"You inform me that you are going to the fields to collect herbs, but you return with a child," Dr. Moore said.

"But I only—"

"And not just any child, but the self-same young boy we previously treated and sent home in the care of his father and mother."

"The thing is—"

"The very same child whose presence here came close to bringing the authorities to our door—the same authorities, I might remind you, that have it in their power to close the doors of our mission medical clinic. You do understand the problem, Miss Davidson, do you not?"

"Ashish is a very intelligent child, Sir," Abigail said quickly before the doctor could interrupt her again.

"Oh?" Dr. Moore's eyebrows shot up.

"Merely riding back from the field with me, he learned the words to the chorus of
Jesus Loves Me."

"I see. And what right, exactly, does that give you to once again remove this boy from the home of his father and mother?"

"Dr. Moore," Abigail said, "his father and mother are the ones who gave him to me.
Pressed
him into my care, I should say! They said the landlord's men were after them and they begged Darshina and me to take the boy away to safety and care for him."

Dr. Moore shook his head. Eight years it had taken him to build up the small chain of rural mission health clinics in South India, and not once in those eight years had he clashed with the native authorities. Only one more year, perhaps two at the outset. After that, he would certainly gain the soon-tobe-vacated appointment at the mission hospital in Calcutta. After a few years there, he could return to England, a man of prestige, honor, and enough wealth to keep him comfortable and happy for the remainder of his life. And he would still be young enough to find a pretty wife, too, and start a family of his own.

But only if he proved his ability to work in peace with the local people. Only if he caused no problems.

"If the boy cannot live with his parents, he should be moved to the mission orphanage for boys," the doctor stated. "The sooner that is accomplished, the better for everyone involved."

"It isn't right!" Abigail fumed to Darshina. "Why should that fat old landlord always have his way?"

"Mammen Samuel Varghese is being from a most high upper caste," Darshina said. "Not Brahmin, but the high upper caste of kings. He is being extremely rich too. Indian people be respecting rich men. It be meaning they have the favor of the gods and goddesses with them. Rich men are being blessed with good
karma
because they are being good in their past lives. They be earning for themselves the right for being respected in this life."

"Even if they make slaves of their neighbors and hire people to chase them down and kill them?"

"Yes," Darshina said. "Even then. That, too, is being the right of rich men."

"What do you know!" Abigail said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You are one of those rich upper caste people."

Darshina glared at the Englishwoman. "Every time you be speaking you be showing again how much you not be understanding. I am being a woman. Every woman in India be suffering under the laws of Manu, the lawgiver."

Abigail's pale cheeks blushed hot. How could she be so foolish! How could she challenge one who faced imprisonment for a lifetime simply because she refused to step into her husband's funeral fire? Oh, yes, she still needed to learn so very much!

"Please, Darshina," Abigail pleaded, "forgive the ignorance of my foolish words to you."

At dawn, Latha got up from the floor. She poured the dried vegetables out of the first container and into the second container of spices, and she carried the empty first container to the well. It didn't hold much water, but she had no water jar. She brought it back to the hut and gave Virat a drink. She also took a drink for herself. Again she carried the container to the well, refilling it so Virat would have water to wash the worst of the mud off himself. She took it back a third time to fetch water to wash herself. Virat tied his filthy
mundu
back around his waist and Latha put the muddy, torn
sari
back on her washed body. They had no other clothing to wear. Fortunately, Virat still had his
chaddar.
Before he abandoned his pack, he had pulled it off and wrapped it around his head.

Latha didn't start a cooking fire because she had nothing to cook. Virat said no word of complaint.

All day, they worked hard at the jobs to which they were assigned—Virat on his knees weeding with the women, and Latha carrying water with the young boys. In the evening, Latha filled the small pot with water for Virat and her to drink while she started a fire in the cook pit. Once again she filled the pot with water, but this time she put it over the fire. As the water heated, she sprinkled in a handful of dried vegetables and spices. Virat drank his share of the flavored water first and Latha drank up the rest.

"When will you distribute more rice?" Virat asked Anup.

"I did that the day after the wedding," Anup said. "I have none left for you. I'm sorry."

When Virat told Latha, she said, "I saw some weeds growing beside the road. I can gather some of those to boil in the water."

"I will try to catch a lizard," Virat said. "Maybe even a rat, if I can."

As they lay down on the dirt floor, Latha said, "I'm glad Ashish is not here."

Virat wondered if he would be glad for anything ever again.

"Come, Ashish." Abigail took the boy's hand and urged him to follow her. She led him out of the surgery, where he had slept the night, and across the courtyard, where he had never been before. "I want you to meet someone."

At the far end of the courtyard, another boy hunched over a small garden, pouring water on a row of plants.

"Krishna, I brought a friend for you."

The boy set the water jug down and turned around. Ashish gasped at the sight of his face. The boy's mouth pulled tight into the shape of a circle and his nose flattened where it should have stuck out. His whole face looked puckered, like the skin around Ashish's mother's bad eye.

"What happened to you?" Ashish asked.

"I got burned," Krishna answered. Ashish had trouble understanding what the boy said because he couldn't bring his lips together to make the sound of the letter "b."

"Can't the pale English lady fix you?"

"She already did," Krishna said. "As much as she can. Now my face doesn't hurt any more the way is used to."

"Ashish is going to stay here for a while," Abigail said, and Krisna nodded.

"Can you understand what she says?" Ashish asked the boy.

"I couldn't at first, but now I can."

Krishna was small, but he was older than Ashish. How old he didn't know, but all his front teeth were big, unlike Ashish's, which were all still small. Krishna showed Ashish how to tend the vegetables—chilies and onions and eggplant and cucumbers. He taught him some English words and told him what
Jesus loves me
meant.

"Do you live here all the time?" Ashish asked Krishna.

"Yes," Krishna said. "But I'm going to go someplace else to school. I'm going to learn to read."

Ashish gasped. "Isn't that a sin?"

"No," Krishna said. "I already know my ABCs. And I can read easy words."

"Are you a Brahmin?"

"No, I'm a filthy Untouchable just like you. But I'm going to go to school anyway. Miss Abigail said so. She's the pale English lady, and she never tells a lie."