Vedantic Tales : I Carry

What is the matter? Niranjan asked. What are you looking at? He passed his hand over his face as if to wipe away any dirt that might be there.

My dear, she began evenly, you sent a boy here with food in a large basket. It is there inside the door. How could you have beaten that beautiful boy? How could you! Who is he? Where did all that food come from? it could not be for us. He had two whip marks on his back. He said you had given them to him! Such a beautiful boy! She began to weep, scarcely knowing whether her tears were of joy at the face of the boy, or of pain at the lash marks. He was like a god, she sobbed. How could you have?

Niranjan stared at her with alarm. It is the heat, he said to himself, or lack of food. Quickly he went inside the hut to see if there were not some medicine he could give to his poor wife. He fumbled about among the shelves where the herbs were kept, finding only empty jars and bowls. He looked vaguely about the room thinking that by some miracle his eyes might light upon the proper remedy some herb or potion. Then, as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, they fell upon the large basket of grain and fruit by the doorway. For some time he stared at it dully, uncomprehendingly. Then going close to it, he touched a fresh, cool, impossible mango. It was real. A beautiful boy ... he said wonderingly, he was like a ... As though lightning had struck into his brain, Niranjan understood.

Truly now like a madman, he tore from the hut into the courtyard, and there with shaking hands and breath coming hard he turned the leaves of his manuscript to the verse he had been studying that morning. He gave a cry. Whether it was a cry of anguish or of rapture, Prema could not tell.

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