Vedantic Tales : I Carry

Those marks on your back! Who could have struck you like that?

It was your husband, Mother, he answered, happy to give her the information she asked for. Your husband, Niranjan, did it this noon.

Prema stared at him incredulously, and then for the first time looked at the basket at her feet. It was filled with fruits and vegetables, spices and grain and delicacies such as the poor villagers rarely saw. Though the air was hot on her skin, she felt suddenly cold. Her husband had gone mad! The picture of what had happened was clear in her mind: Crazed with the heat, he had come across this youth passing through the village with all this food. He had whipped the boy, forcing him to bring the food here. And the boy, frightened and perhaps a little simple, had done so.

I cannot believe ... she moaned. He is such a good man! He couldn't have been himself. My boy, you must take this basket away. Take it wherever you were going before you met my husband. It is not meant for this house. You must forgive my husband for striking you; he was not himself.

The boy looked at her as a son who cannot bear to see his mother in sorrow. But, at the same time, he smiled as though fully possessed of the knowledge that her sorrow was for nothing.

No, Mother, he said. It is meant for you. Be at peace.

And as he spoke, she believed him. There was no possibility of untruth in his face; nor was he, she could plainly see, either frightened or simple. The very sight of him filled her with unaccountable joy. She tried again to picture the dreadful sin Niranjan had committed and could not. Somehow her heart was at peace.

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