Poster | Thread | swsojourner Member
Joined: 2003/10/3 Posts: 167
| Re: | | [b]The Golden Pot That Had Manna[/b]
THE nearest asylum was five hundred miles away. It might as well have been five thousand. Before a patient can be admitted there, various pre- liminaries naturally are required. Of these Mimosa knew nothing, nor did she probably know there was such a place as an asylum in the world. She lived through those months with her sari in her hand, to use her own idiom, which was her simple way of telling of prayer without ceasing in mute appeal and faith that help was on its way; not trying to pierce the thick mystery that has baffled mankind since the beginning, but accepting it, unintelligible as it was, as well. Only she did most earnestly beseech that her husbands reason might return; for with- out the control of reason a blind man can be very terrible.
And gradually it returned, and his eyes became less darkened. We had no help, no medicine did I know of, nor had I money to buy it. It was only our Gods healing. And she sent a thank- offering to the Christian church which knew nothing of her.
Nor did we in Dohnavur know anything of her. Through all these years Star and Mimosa had been kept apart. Never once had Mimosa been allowed to accompany the other sisters who some- times came to see us; nor had Star been allowed to hear anything of her. Now, at last, she heard of her distress, and longed to get in touch with her. But how ? Mimosa could not read. It was not likely that verbal messages would be given. After some pondering. Star decided to write. O my living Lord, incline the heart of someone to read it to her, she prayed as she wrote, and believed it would be so.
And so it was. The letter safely reached Mimosas house, and a kindly cousin read it to her.
Trembling with joy, she listened. For Star had been constrained to write to her as to a fellow- believer, fellow-lover. Almost wondering at her- self, for she could not understand why she was so directed. Star had opened the twenty-seventh psalm to this, as she thought, Hindu sister, copy- ing in full the verse which in Tamil reads:
Though my father and my mother may forsake me, the Lord will draw me close to Himself.
Strange that what is life of life to one is mere dust of words to another. The cousin read in- differently in the sing-song drone of India; as coined gold Mimosa received the words, loving them, desiring to linger over them. But coined gold is a poor simile, and, though little enough of it had come her way, Mimosa would have heaped it in handfuls on the floor for just those words that she heard now.
Then, the reading over, she took this, her very first letter, in her hands, and, touching her eyes with it in the pretty, reverent way of the East, she carefully folded it and put it in the box where she kept her one possession of value, the title- deeds of her little house. If she had heard of the golden pot that had manna, that was kept in the ark of the Covenant overlaid with gold, she would have thought thus of her precious letter. And thereafter when overwhelmed by troubles and sorely in need of sustenance, she would go to that box and take out her letter, and, smooth- ing its pages with tender fingers, try to recall the words written upon them. Or if the friendly cousin could be found, she would get him to read it to her again, till, fed by that hidden manna, she was strong to continue. But it never occurred to the cousin to write and tell us about her, nor did it enter her mind that such a thing could be done. So we went on knowing nothing. _________________ Karsten Nordmo
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| 2007/5/3 4:29 | Profile | swsojourner Member
Joined: 2003/10/3 Posts: 167
| Re: | | [b]The Stab Of A Knife[/b]
SLOWLY, very slowly, the months crawled past. Mimosa had to go to work, or the food would have failed. So she combed her hair with her fingers (for after the birth of ones first child it is not allowed to dress ones hair before going out, or to wear the dear little frivolous bell bangles on arms and ankles), and she went to the fields and worked. Her husband lay like a log on his mat, and was one more to feed. Kinglet could be trusted to attend to his needs, and when she could not take them with her he would watch over Mayil and Music.
One day her brothers came to see their elder sister, a widow who lived near, and they took little Mayil to spend the day with them.
In the evening when Mimosa returned from the fields, and was going as usual to prepare the evening meal, deep in her heart, just here- and she showed where the words cut- pricking, pricking like the prick of the point of a knife, was this : Go first and see to Mayil! Go first and see to Mayil! And she obeyed. Flying across to the other house and breaking in upon the company gathered there, she found them play- ing cards. In a flash, as she shows it, one sees the very gesture of the card-players, the half- closed eyes, the swaying forms, hears the peculiar little sounds of the game, as she saw and as she heard them in that one unforgettable moment.
Oh, you to play while my little peacock lies dying! She flung her indignation at them and fled with her child stiff in convulsions in her arms.
What had happened she never heard. If it was known, no one told. For a fortnight Mayil lay at deaths door, then slowly turned and came back to her.
But he lay in mortal weakness, and the neigh- bours, moved by sight of her anxiety, urged her to offer a chicken and a few cocoanuts. So little, does she grudge so little ? They told her what would happen if she did not do it. Her child would die. They watched her then, as she knelt before her God, the God invisible, who was, she said, the only true God. But it must have been that He did not hear, or, hearing, did not care, for He did not come to her relief. He abode still in the same place where He was, that far, far place to which, as all who came assured her, prayers, without gifts to further them, could never find the way.
There was no doctor, of course; there is no mission hospital in this whole reach of country, no place of any kind where a little child would be sure of skilled care, no way of help that was not far beyond her means to secure. So the little Mayil lay with his two fingers tucked into his mouth in his old baby way, thinking to comfort himself so; and his mother, with her very heart breaking for love of him, saw him slowly growing worse.
It was very hard for Mimosa to be without going to work. Several times during this illness she had had to leave him to get money to buy food. He had fretted sorely. If only he might quickly recover she would be able to take him with her. It was too dreadful to leave him and know he would pine for her all day.
And now comes what to some of us seems the most poignant page of this story. Mayil was re- covering when a wise woman told his mother that, if only she gave him two ducks eggs chopped fine in water, he would immediately be well.
So, impressed by the wise womans confident assurance, she bought two ducks eggs, boiled them hard, chopped them fine, mixed them with water, and fed Mayil, almost expecting to see the little thin limbs fatten visibly, so sure was the wise woman.
But at once he became very ill. Dysentery set in. Daily, hourly he grew worse.
Just then, while her husband still lay prostrate and her precious little son was so ill, the rain came on; the roof, unrepaired, leaked; and the mud walls fell in on the floor, all but on top of them.
How her husband was got out Mimosa does not remember. In the pouring rain she searched for shelter and found an empty house, but the rent asked was too high. Near by was her widowed sister. That sister did not love her, her ways were not hers. But, fearing the talk of the neighbours who would feel it too barbarous to refuse shelter under such circumstances, she opened her house to the family; and to her other labours Mimosa added the gradual repair of her home. Somehow she got a few palm leaves for the roof, bit by bit she gathered up the fallen mud, built it into place; but, before she had finished it, the shock of the disturbance and the chill had so acted on her little Mayil that even her eyes, that refused to see, saw at last that he must go.
She took him in her arms. We who know her can see her as she did it. Never were tenderer mother-eyes, gentler, braver hands.
My little one, she said, listen. I have taught you to pray. Shall I pray now that you may be taken out of this pain? Let us pray to the Lord -and she used the word her father had used in his dying hour, the Lord the Supreme. Then she prayed, and she said : It is well, O Lord, whatever You do. It is well.
And Mayil said nothing, but lay with his two little fingers in his mouth. These -and she held up and touched her own as if they had been Mayils-it was the way he lay when he was a baby wanting me. And while he was sucking his fingers for comfort, the Lord took him. _________________ Karsten Nordmo
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| 2007/5/7 20:57 | Profile | swsojourner Member
Joined: 2003/10/3 Posts: 167
| Re: | | [b]Take care of my bird[/b]
CROWDS came, according to custom; few sym- pathized. Who could justly sympathize with a mother who had refused to save her child? The kindly women would abstain from reproach; but all were not kind, and the feeling of the place was against her. Had she not burned the tulasi ? Had she not refused, even to bring sure health to the child, all magic, even the mildest, all efforts to appease the angry gods ? She would not break a mere halfpenny cocoanut in the devils honour. What wonder gods and demons were ranged against her now?
It is hard enough to bear grief when tenderness is all about one. What must it be to bear it when these pricking briars abound?
On the day he died the women, emboldened by the silence of her grief, said cruelly and openly to her that she, and she alone, was responsible; and they laughed at her vain prayers. Was it that your God did not hear you? Or is it that you do not know how to pray? And they pointed to the little dead child. There lies your Gods reply to you.
Then Mimosa broke her silence. My child God gave : my child God has taken. It is well.
But she was weak and weary after the vain nursing, and she was ill with grieving; and when she was alone, and had not her Gods good name to defend, the question would return, Why was not her little peacock left to her ? Till at last it came to her that perhaps He knew she, his poor mother, could not have taken proper care of so beautiful a child, and so He took him to Him- self that He might take better care of him. And she looked up with the old word: I am not offended with You.
But before this last comfort came, with the terrible hurry of the tropics, he had been snatched away from her. Sometimes-in cholera times, for example, when panic forbids the usual ceremonies -a man will pass from vigorous health through seizure, illness, death, and burial, or cremation, within four hours. A child, with hardly a minutes pause for farewell, is wrapped in a little old cloth and carried out and burned.
But my little one shall not be burned as a Hindu, as a child of the living God shall he be buried, had been her decision, and nothing would move her from it. She had no perfect sureness about him, for she did not feel that she could claim room for him in the Place of Release, the Christians Heaven, because he was not a Christian child, and yet she could not bear to seem to consign him to the uncertainty of his fathers creed. For myself I did not go to the church, so I was nothing, and had no right to ask for anything for him, and yet my heart in- sisted: He shall have Christian burial. So not a conch shell was blown for him, there was no wailing; and the little body was sown as a seed on the open plain, to wait the Resurrection of which his mother then knew nothing. And the people said: She is mad. Who heeds what a mad woman does? But Mimosa said: My bird has flown. And she held up her hands with a gesture of committal. Take care of my bird. _________________ Karsten Nordmo
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| 2007/5/8 21:33 | Profile | swsojourner Member
Joined: 2003/10/3 Posts: 167
| Re: | | [b]Hair Cutting[/b]
BACK to her now recovering husband went Mimosa and continued her faithful nursing. His hair had not been cut for a year, or dressed in any way, or once combed; for he would have felt a drop of oil or the touch of a comb as dangerous as water, which, as all know, is deadly in any kind of illness. Mats of it lay about him in tangled heaps. But at last he was willing to have it cut.
But who would cut it? The barber was called and was afraid. It is unlucky to cut such hair. Mimosa took the scissors. I will cut it. Let the ill-luck be on me! Her fingers were blistered before she had finished, but at last all was cut and carefully deposited on the dust-heap. To burn it would have been too dangerous; the neighbours would have interfered. As it was, they were shocked. What a wife! they said, and turned up the palms of their hands at her.
But the barber did not mind, for he did not lose his fee; Mimosa gave it to him just as if he had done his work, a whole precious rupee. Are there any givers so generous as the very poor ?
_________________ Karsten Nordmo
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| 2007/5/9 23:12 | Profile | swsojourner Member
Joined: 2003/10/3 Posts: 167
| Re: | | [b]The Magic Medicine[/b]
FOR they were very poor now, and when the husband had recovered sufficiently to be able to do light work, Mimosa, who was by this time quite worn out and unable for the fields, urged him to accept it. He could see a little, and the work did not ask much of him; it was only to be travelling-companion to a relative who was going to one of the holy places of the South.
It was beautiful there. The fresh wind blew through a gap in the hills; many pilgrims daily bathed under a great waterfall, believing that so they washed away their sins. Day by day heart- moving little scenes were staged under overhang- ing rocks and deep in the woods, by the waters edge, and sometimes under the spray of the falls. Perhaps there is nothing in all the world of wor- ship more heart-moving in its pathos than just this bathing of the body for the expiation of the sins of the soul.
Mimosas husband bathed with the others; but he never thought of his real sins; they did not come within farthest reach of his consciousness. To him, as to all these bathers, sin was a word denoting ceremonial defilement, the touching of an outcast even in compassion and mercy, the involuntary contaminations of outward life- these, not what we mean by sin, still less his slack- ness and general selfish laziness, were what chiefly concerned him. Here and there may have been one with a more enlightened sense, one in a thousand, perhaps, said a pilgrim who sought far and at last found forgiveness and cleansing and peace.
There was a wizard worshipping at the water- fall that year, and he gave Mimosas husband a magic medicine. It was a black, inky, sticky substance wrapped in a leaf. Said the wizard : Take a third portion of this medicine once a day for three successive days with a small part of the leaf. For forty days thereafter take only food cooked in a new earthen vessel and served from the pot with a newly made wooden ladle. On the fortieth day thy sight will be restored. And it was so. Mimosas husband returned quite well. India is the home of suggestion and of auto-suggestion. _________________ Karsten Nordmo
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| 2007/5/10 21:44 | Profile | swsojourner Member
Joined: 2003/10/3 Posts: 167
| Re: | | [b]The Talisman[/b]
AND when he returned he had much to say of the magical properties of that medicine. And Mimosas neighbours had much to say to her.
Poor foolish woman, have we not told thee that all thy troubles would pass if only thou wert wise as thy husband? Look at him restored to health. And by whom? And by what? And thy little peacock, where is he ? If only thou wert more wise, and hadst used good sense and fol- lowed our counsel, would he not be in thine. arms now ? 0 empty arms! 0 most foolish mother!
Who but a hard-hearted woman would refuse a charm to save her dying child? Did we not tell her, did we not say again and again : `Follow the customs of thy country? And so it went on till Mimosa was weary of it.
For, far wiser than she, men wiser than her husband, even wonderful, learned men who wrote many English letters after their names, believed in charms and amulets and all such occult ways of securing good fortune.
It was true, and it is true. As this tale goes to press there has come by post a witness thereto in the shape of a green-covered ten-page magazine. It is called The World-renowned Talisman. There is a picture of the inventor and proprietors imposing residence with a temple alongside, as if in attendance on the house; and then comes a picture of believers coming for the talisman, and the pages are crammed with letters, not anony- mous testimonials in the shamefaced manner of the West, but outspoken, explicit, and very inter- esting letters, signed, and with the writers addresses in full.
Here you see B.A.s, judges and magistrates, lawyers and station-masters, Government officials and doctors, and clergymen, and all manner of private people, anxious students, or chiefly students relieved, for with the charm the stiffest examination becomes easy. All stand forward and with frank voices tell their happy stories. A surgeon cannot find words imaginable to extol the inevitable effects of the charm. It is sooth- ing balm to the afflicted minds of mankind who uses it. My long-cherished desire of serving the Honble the Maharajah Bahadur has been fulfilled. I am happy under His Highness good esteem. This is from a High Court barrister- at-law with a tail ten letters long after his name. The charm did it. A police officer receives honours from Government, a student passes under great difficulties his law examinations, so does another his Cambridge Local-he stands first in his province-and an exultant B.A. writes of his thankfulness. But scores more attest its virtues in much the same language. I proclaim [them] by beat of the drum, remarks one, for all are grateful, and have no false shame what- ever. After all, why should they have any? What are examinations but trap-doors through which you crawl if you have luck, and in which you stick if you have not?
I bought it for the purpose of passing the Matriculation examination. No doubt through the wonderful efficacy I have gained a very brilliant result in it. I passed my Inter- mediate, which was hopeless to get through. I find no words to express the efficacy of your re- nowned charm.
Business men rise rapidly and get large in- crease of pay. Unfortunates involved in litigation win their cases. (What if both sides wore it?) The charm wins in a huge lottery; twenty thousand rupees fall into the lap of its wearer, whose life it also saves from drowning by its divine power. Even my friend who gave me the talisman passed the Cambridge Senior Local with four distinctions and first-class honours. As for the mysterious influences of the stars, they slink away before it. I suffered on account of bad effect of my stars, I have been subjected to the evil effects of planets, but the charm has ended that. It has been working like galvanic battery. Its effect in guarding the evil influence of planets is really wonderful. It bestowed on me good health and happiness. It has increased the beauty and charmingness of my body. And the physician of two well-known maharajahs (great kings) tells how the charm acts like a spell. A tiny child just the age of Mimosas little peacock was saved from death through its means. And another says simply: I was unwell, and it did cure me. I do believe there is something in it which prevents evil from doing mischief. And so it goes on.
With this all round her, and nothing whatever that did not breathe the same spirit, Mimosa pondered long. How piercing a thorn in the heart if only may be ! If only I had done this or that. Who does not know the pricking of that thorn? Could it be that she was wrong? Had she indeed slain, by her refusal to look this way at all, her precious little peacock? But she turned from the perplexity; there were many things that she could not understand. But one thing she knew: If her God were the true God, then He was over all. God was the true God, therefore He was over all. Therefore charms were under Him. And what need to go to the thing that is undermost, when you may go direct to Him that is higher than all?
Nay, shall I be as one who goes to the servant when he might go to the Master of the house- hold? Thus did she answer herself. And about these matters, my Father, I do not know anything. But I think it must be enough to leave them with You, my Father. And she went on in peace.
_________________ Karsten Nordmo
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| 2007/5/12 20:16 | Profile | swsojourner Member
Joined: 2003/10/3 Posts: 167
| Re: | | [b]In The House Of Her Friends[/b]
AND at last with fresh courage Mimosa gained strength and set to work to retrieve her poor little fortune. In India, when one is sick, ones rela- tives come in clusters, stay a day or two, and depart, to return perhaps again if the sickness be prolonged. They come to inquire, as the saying is, to lament, and to advise. Not to do so would show lack of family affection and all proper feeling.
A death draws even larger clusters, the most distant relatives flock around then. And, as children always come with their parents and all must be fed, it may be imagined that illness and death are expensive luxuries and empty the family purse, unless it be a very full one, nearly as thoroughly as a wedding does. But no Indian householder would dream of omitting to provide food for all who come. At any cost it must be done.
The cost to Mimosa had been the sale of every- thing that could be sold, all went to feed her guests. She often went hungry herself. It was a lean time.
As soon as possible she got to work in the fields of the kind Boaz, but she looked, as she was, poor. No gold ornaments were in her ears, no necklet round her neck. The poorest in India, if of any respectable family, clings to this visible bank-deposit. To be in debt is nothing, you may be richly jewelled and yet be in debt. No one thinks anything of that, not even the creditor. You may even beg with jewels in your ears. The stoniest heart would not blame you or refuse you alms for any such trifling cause. But to be unjewelled is disgrace, humiliation, intolerable.
But Mimosa, as we know, had the most curious thoughts about such things, no one understood her. She was a law to herself. So she sold her few jewels kept back from the sale of her dowry, and fed the flocks of kind inquirers, and did not go into debt. It was when she had none to wear that her brothers child died.
Do not go to inquire, said her husband, for neither that brother nor his wife had come to in- quire when her little peacock flew away, and for the moment she was sorely tempted to retaliate as her husband urged. But she put the thought aside as unkind, and she and her little sons went.
The feast was spread; to each guest a large fresh leaf was given of young green plantain, like fine satin in texture, most beautiful of plates. On it was heaped rice with the various curries. The leaf once used is thrown on the ash heap, never used again.
When the one who was serving came to the unjewelled Mimosa and her two little sons, she laid before her an old leaf used by another guest, and on it was the rice and curry left over from that other meal.
Mimosa could hardly believe she saw rightly. No such indignity had she ever before seen, heard of, or imagined. To touch the leaf of another is to become ceremonially unclean, to touch the food left over an unthinkable defilement. No child would offer such an insult to its fellow. To offer it to a guest-Mimosa was stunned, and sat silent. Similar leaves were put before her little boys. They understood the offence and burst into angry tears.
Then their mother knew what she must do. Do not cry, my little ones, she whispered, and gently touched the indignant children, who would have risen and left the house. See, we must be patient, we must be quiet. Say nothing to dis- turb the feast but take the food. And in a lower whisper she added: Let us accept even this. Without the allowing of our God it could not have been done.
But it cut deep. As soon as possible without causing scandal she left the house; and, not trust- ing herself to accept food from friends on the way lest her still hot wrath should boil over and she should say words better left unspoken, she and her boys walked the fifteen miles home; and, after bathing comprehensively as if to wash off the very remembrance, they all had a meal together blessed by love and good manners; and the boys still seething with wounded pride were comforted.
But her husband could not refrain from a Did I not say to thee, Better not go? and her heart echoed him feelingly. How much better not to have gone!
That night she fought out her battle alone. Well she understood the meaning of this rude-. ness of all rudenesses. It was a public affront, unforgivable from an Indian point of view, un- forgettable. It has no English parallel. To set before a guest at a public banquet an unwashed knife and fork and a plate with remains upon it would be discourteous enough. But this was more. The religious element poisoned it. Cere- monial uncleanness is abhorrent here. Over our poor Mimosa swept great waves of longing for her little Mayil, the child they had not cared about enough to come to see her as he lay dying. And she had gone to them in their sorrow, mean- ing her very action to say: I forgive you; let us be friends. They knew her going meant that, and this was their reply.
She thought of the two rupees they had refused to lend. That too she had forgiven. What was the use of forgiving? Stung through her very soul, she burned with shame as she lived through the day in the darkness of the night. Had they done it because she was known to be not as others were, but one who loved the Christians God? But they were Christians. Why, then, this cruel affront ?
Was it because she was unjewelled? She had not hired jewels to put in her ears (this would have been thought polite, but to her had not seemed honest).
Christians! Why were they so different from their God? Within five miles of her where she lay and wept was a true Christian man, pastor of the church, good to all and tender-hearted as his Master. And within that distance there were at least two or three Christian women who would have shown the Lords love to her, if only she could have known them. But they were of another caste and had no access to hers, unless invited. And she knew nothing of them, nor they of her; for an unknown world may be in the house of our next neighbour, five miles may contain an infinite distance. But Mimosa re- membered the old woman who had been sent to her in her need. She at least had been as a very angel of God to her. Yes, but was this the guidance she had promised? In every least thing He will wonderfully guide you. Had she been guided to that heartless house with its hate- ful outrage? And as she saw it and felt it again, hot shame scorched her. She had been flouted in her brothers house.
Why, oh why were hearts allowed to be so unkind ? Nothing that had ever happened to her hurt like this, and, the barriers of her self-control, so painfully maintained through the morning and all through the day, once broken down, she was left to the mercy of heavy, sweeping waves of grief. The waters compassed me about, the weeds were wrapped about my head. If she had known the words they would have sounded through her then, in her longing for her child, her hurt at this rebuff, her loneliness of spirit among those who could not understand. And now to add to her distress she was conscious of the working of a new passion within. What of this flaming anger? Was anger right? Should she not forgive ? But how could she forgive ?
At last, and suddenly, she remembered her Lord.
Remembering Thee, I straight forgot What otherwhile had troubled me; It was as if it all were not, I only was aware of Thee. Of Thee, of Thee alone aware, I rested me, I held me still, The blessed thought of Thee, most Fair, Banished the brooding sense of ill. And quietness around me fell
Oh, it is true, it is true. Whoso hath known that comforting can bear witness it is true. He who knew what it was to be wounded in the house of His friends, He who turned not His face from a shame which shames our hottest, reddest shame, making it feel cool and pale, He, though of all this she did not know, was with her then. The thought of Him brought Him, just a thought and He was there, softening the sharp edges of the pain, soothing, tending, cool- ing, comforting, till her soul was hushed within her; she took heart to forgive; and she slept.
_________________ Karsten Nordmo
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| 2007/5/14 18:13 | Profile | swsojourner Member
Joined: 2003/10/3 Posts: 167
| Re: | | [b]The Fortunate Fourth[/b]
MIMOSAS boys are full of character and very lovable. The eldest is a thoughtful, upright little lad, the boy who followed Mayil is a child of delicate spirit. Then comes the treasured Fourth, whom, from the first minute we saw him, we called Mischief.
The fourth child, if a son, is supposed to bring good fortune to a family. The fifth, if a daughter, and the fourth, if a son, are the children of good luck. Woe betide a family in which the fourth child is a girl, or the fifth a boy. Children of ill omen, cursed by the gods from their birth, they bring misfortune upon all who belong to them. Mimosa hardly let her Fortunate Fourth out of her sight, and in fact never parted from him for a day. He was the very light of her eyes.
The night before his birth she had been in sore trouble. Her husband had fever in a distant town, and she could not possibly go to him. In vain she had tried to think of ways of helping him. There was nothing she could do, and her heart failed her. It was one of her darkest hours, she could not see a light anywhere at all. She tried to pray, but no words came. She could only look up in the dark and say: O Lord, O Lord!
Then she fell asleep, and she dreamed that she saw her babe, a boy, child of good fortune. He was lying beside her on her mat, well, whole, and good to look upon. And as she looked and loved him, she saw a snake coil round him and then glide under the door of the room and out of the house into the street. And when she told her dream, all united in assuring her that it was most propitious. The snake was Saturn, god of ill- luck. He had haunted her for many years, wit- ness her tribulations, poverty, illness, the death of her little peacock; but now all would change. Had not Saturn departed?
And in the unaccountable way things happen here, immediately after the boys birth her hus- band, for the first time in his unfortunate life, found a gold jewel lying on the open road and brought it straight to her. They waited a while and inquired for the owner; but she (it was a womans jewel) could not be found. Then, feel- ing it was clearly theirs, they had it made into a necklet, a little bank, not very safe according to our ways of thinking, but always at hand, within sight, something visibly between oneself and nothing. Given in such a way, it was doubly valuable, and the husband was encouraged, and the salt bazaar prospered, and Mimosa, who had taken the gift from the God of gods and wore it gratefully, was happy too. Verily he was stronger than Saturn. If, indeed, the snake were that malevolent influence, was it not He who had caused it to depart?
_________________ Karsten Nordmo
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| 2007/5/15 23:02 | Profile | swsojourner Member
Joined: 2003/10/3 Posts: 167
| Re: | | [b]Mylo, The Bull That Went To Heaven[/b]
AND soon after that the bull went to heaven.
She was telling me the story of the years in a gentle reminiscent way, and suddenly, with almost startling emphasis, fell this sentence- The bull that went to heaven. For she knew something of that pleasant place; she had heard of the lovely open gates and the walls whose foundations were jewels and the bright streets and the river and the trees. It is this picture of glory and beauty that first holds the imagination of the child and the childlike. Later conceptions can wait. Did she see the golden pavement of those wide streets trodden, as the streets of all towns and villages are here, by leisurely saunter- ing bulls, glorified probably to suit the place, but still the bulls she knew? And if there were a river and trees, there must be open country near, many spreading miles of it. Why, then, not bulls?
Yes, she continued dreamily, as if living through that evening when her bull went to heaven. Long, long ago, on a day of sorrow, I had gone to a field of my mother. In hunger of heart I went and in thirst, and the field was called the Land of Precious Water. For near by there was water where the workers could go to drink, and always the cotton grew well there.
In that field, in my thirst, I drank of precious water; not the water of earth, for there indeed my true God spoke to me. The cotton was young then; it was the month after the sowing and the plants were a span high. I hung my babys hammock to the branch of an acacia. It was covered with yellow flowers, such as always come, balls of sweet-smelling yellow. I see it all again.
Now to me came that field for a years use, and the salt bazaar prospered. We bought a pair of ploughing bulls, and one of them was grey and the other was brown. It was Mylo, the grey one, that God took to Himself.
But first great had been our gain. These my hands weeded the field and tilled it; no idle coolies did I call; with my own hands I tended the plants and gathered the cotton and carded it. So all the gains were ours. And they were far larger than they had ever been before, so all the people wondered. And my husband said : The first spending must be for thy ear jewels. So they were bought.
Then one evening at dusk, for no reason that we knew, Mylo, the grey bull, turned from his food, and he lay down, and God took him.
We grieved. So much had we meant to do. jt was not a little loss to us. But what would you ? He was gone.
Then like a light upon me fell a thought. Must not all that the good God does be good for the child that is His? Is any ill suffered to approach? Then is not this good? What if Mylo the bull had lived, should we not, perhaps, have gone on desiring and, adding field to field, become entangled in the love of earthly things?
Then remembered I my husbands elder brother, the subtle one; gain to us could not be without ravenous thoughts awakening in him. Family feuds would have arisen. We should have become enmeshed in new varieties of dis- tresses. This foreseeing, had not my God, as a Father going in the way before His children, cleared a path for our feet, lest they should here- after be caught in the net?
Thus Mylo, the bull that went to heaven, was to us a bull of blessing, not to be mourned over, but accepted with tranquillity. And, wondering at the wise ways of my God, I remembered the saying of the old grandmother: You will be wonderfully led. In every least thing you will be wonderfully led
It was not so difficult for her husband. He took it as his fate, and Fate had never been very kind to him. And this talk of his wife, though curious, was comfortable to his ear; for, after all eventually fields meant exertion, and exertion was undesirable. Now they could be quiet. But for the wife, with her sense of capacity and keen adventurous spirit, it was a real trial at first, and this thought was, as she said, like a light. She knew nothing then of that particular provision of grace that can enable us so to pass through things temporal, that we finally lose not the things eternal. So the thought came with a new com- posing force, and ever after she looked back lovingly on Mylo, the little grey bull that went to heaven, marking a track for them all, as it were with his four little hoofs.
_________________ Karsten Nordmo
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| 2007/5/17 0:05 | Profile | swsojourner Member
Joined: 2003/10/3 Posts: 167
| Re: | | [b]Sivas Sign[/b]
BUT would they follow it? Kinglet, her first- born son, had rubbed Sivas ashes on his fore- head.
Some distance from Mimosas village is a cele- brated town which is a very fort of Hinduism. Its temple dominates it from centre to rim; things are done within its walls which could never be written in a book. Sodom? This is Sodom, said one who knew. In this town Mimosas husband was now living with his disreputable brother, and he took his eldest boy to live with him there. Nothing Mimosa could do could prevent it. The man was stubborn now with the set will of the weak.
Among his friends was a rich merchant who wanted a little boy to train as helper in the bazaar. Kinglet was to be that little boy. But first he must behave as a proper Hindu should. He must rub Sivas sign on his forehead. So his father took him to the temple.
The temple in that town is a gigantic place. Great pillared corridors, with sculptured columns and carved stone roofs, and awful chambers with doors that look as if all the powers that ever were could not move them on their hinges. In the glare of daylight it is overwhelming enough; at night it is stupendous. It was night when the father took his son, led him in through the mighty doors past which only certain castes may go, on to the far end of the darkness, where a hundred lights twinkled round the inmost shrine.
And there he told the boy to rub on Sivas ashes, the Vibuthi that his dying grandfather had refused. To do so would mark him a worshipper of Siva.
Kinglet thought of his mother and shook his head and tried to push away the ashes. But what could a boy do against those tremendous influences? His father smote him with his words. The glimmering darkness did the rest. He yielded, and the ashes were rubbed on for the first time, and thereafter daily. Siva had won.
And Mimosa heard of it. She went alone to her little room of refuge. 0 my Father, can I bear it? Will all end wrongly? It seems so, my Father. I cannot understand it. I prayed for something quite different. Will not my prayer be answered? And her tears fell as they had never fallen even when Mayil was taken; for this was a piteous thing and bitterer than death. It was torture. Even now, long afterwards, when her boys brow is washed clear, she can hardly speak of it. Her very soul quivers at the memory of it.
And then-and she does not know how to tell of its coming; she only knows it came-peace once more filled her heart. I will not trouble You with more askings, she said aloud. (All her communings with her Father were aloud, except when sorrow or gladness passed beyond the reach of words.) I will leave all I have asked with You. Is it not Your concern ? Have You not heretofore most wonderfully led me ? In every least thing have You not led me ? Was not that word that was spoken to me true? Then why do I grieve like this now? I and mine, my husband and my children, I think, Father, are Your care. Is it not so? Then I need not be afraid. Perhaps the triumph of faith is too full- toned a word for such an experience. But did it not come near it?
And after that she rejoiced in any good thing she heard about her little son; for example, that he was the one boy the merchant had found who was perfectly honest in word and deed. I had said to my Father, Let that be so; let there be given to my children a perfect truthfulness. This virtue He had given to Kinglet. The merchant sold many things-cocoanuts and oils of all kinds, and spices and fruits; but he could leave the bazaar to my boy and knew all would be right when he returned. The money taken he could trust with him. When Kinglet left him he wept - yea, wept-for he said : `Not another such shall I ever find.
It was a sweet cupful of joy; but the one drop of poison in the cup was the sight of the ashes on her boys forehead when he came back, as he did twice a year for five days, to see her. She would rub the ashes off-she could do that-but she could not keep them from being rubbed on again, and all that was connoted by that one single sign was grief and abhorrence to her. And she had kept him pure from taint of idolatry from his babyhood. And he was her first-born son
_________________ Karsten Nordmo
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| 2007/5/17 20:39 | Profile |
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