Vedantic Tales : The Blue Pellet

The servants ran into the room and seeing the young master stretched unmoving on the floor, cried Out. Javni commenced to wail.

Don't be a fool, his mother snapped. Help me to put him on the couch, then run for the doctor.

Madhav was proud of his mother's efficiency. How well she kept her head! It seemed that her youth and vigor had returned. But he knew what a strain this was putting her to. What a cruel joke it was! He longed to put an end to it. Yet there was this force that prevented his every muscle from moving; he could not prevail against it. Suddenly, it occurred to him not to try. He surrendered as though into great and loving arms, giving up to a will infinitely superior to his own. The same will that had impelled every movement of his body all through his life now arrested every movement. What could he do? What could his mother do? What could anyone do? He was filled with a sense of deep peace, content now to watch the drama taking place around him, in which he, or at least his inert body, played an important part. The words of the sannyasin came back to him: No doubt God is depending on you. Had he been able to move the muscles of his face and chest, he would have laughed.

The servants lifted his board stiff body to the couch, his mother directing. Javni left hurriedly for the doctor; Ramu rubbed his master's legs to restore circulation. His mother, sitting beside him, took his hand and massaged it. He. could feel her tears hot on his skin.

Madhav! Madhav! What has happened! Madhav! He is dead! Ramu, is he dead? He is dead! From Ramu there was only a choked sob.

Madhav's sense of peace and detachment vanished. He struggled to move his hand, to speak, to reassure her in some way. But it was as though the nerves that relayed messages to his muscles were severed from his brain. How long must he subject her to this anguish?

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