Vedantic Tales : I Carry

Even in the house the heat was like a living fire, pressing itself into every corner and crack. One could scarcely breathe against it. The birds had left off chirping altogether, and no calls came from the village. The whirring of Prema's spindle was the only sound and that itself seemed like the voice of heat. Then suddenly, incredibly, she heard in the distance the strains of a song. The singer had a clear young voice, and the notes flowed one upon the other like drops of cool, fresh water. It was the kind of tune one hears when young grain covers the fields like a fresh green sari a rejoicing, carefree song. It grew louder as the singer came up the lane toward the hut. Prema smiled to herself. What youth of the village could have such high spirits to sing in the face of this oppressive day? And who could sing so beautifully that the song was like coolness itself? She left her spinning wheel and stood in the doorway waiting for him to pass, trying to guess who it might be.

Then around a bend in the lane the young singer came into view a golden skinned boy of fifteen or sixteen. His body was slender and filled with grace, and on his head he carried a large basket. He was no one Prema had seen before, not an inhabitant of the village. And yet, was he not someone she knew? As he drew closer she could see that his eyes were long and lustrous and that they smiled at her. Deep within herself recognition stirred and yet she could not place him. She smiled back.

Then with a flowing movement the boy took the basket from his head and laid it at her feet. As he bent over she saw that across his back were two ugly, fiery streaks, as though a whip had recently cut into his skin. She could see the blood pulsing in the welts, and she gave a small cry. Who could ever have laid a whip to this beautiful boy, who was surely the soul of goodness.

Who could have done such a wicked thing! she cried aloud.

The boy straightened up and smiled at her so guilelessly that her anger at his cruel master increased.

What wicked thing, Mother? he asked.

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