"Here comes Old Sarah!" A shrill voice shouted the news through the
open door into the mud house where the small boy's mother squatted
at work, with one long, rounded stone crushing the curry seeds upon
another large, flat stone that stood on the mud floor. At the call
the mother dropped the long stone from her hand and, springing to
her feet, hastily followed her naked boy out upon the street of the
village. Old Sarah was a new friend who recently had come often to
the village, telling the people stories and singing songs to them.
But she never had come oftener than twice a week and she had been
there only the day before. So the woman wondered what could have
brought her back so soon.
The boy, meantime, had been running up and down the short street,
clapping his hands and shouting, "Old Sarah has come! Old Sarah has
come!" as Old Sarah herself had taught him to do at her arrival so
that the people might know at once that she had come and she might
not have to wait for an audience.
"Where is she?" called the mother after the running child, for she
had looked up and down the road and failed to see the old woman.
"Why, there she is!" said the boy coming up. "Don't you see her
sitting there by the road?"
"That's not Old Sarah! I never saw her sitting by the road like
that."
"Yes it is! Yes it is!" and the boy danced off in the direction of
the sitting figure, kicking up the dust with his bare feet in his
eagerness to reach the side of the old lady who always had some
sweet for him hidden away in her bag. His mother followed after him
and several other people, also, who had come from their homes at his
familiar call.
"Why, it is Old Sarah, sure enough! What can be the matter with
her?" exclaimed the woman to a neighbour as they approached.
The exclamation was not unnatural, for the usually active old lady
who, unwearied, had come trudging into their village week after
week, after a walk of five miles, now sat all bent over on the
ground with her sari-covered head bowed upon her arms.
The noise of the little crowd as it drew near aroused the old woman,
who, letting the sari slide back from a head well sprinkled with
gray, raised to them a face white and drawn. The people were
astounded, for never in their acquaintance had she shown them aught
but a face full of life and joy. Now she looked weak and haggard.
"I am sick," she said, answering the unasked question which she saw
in their faces. "You are my good friends; so I came to you for
help."
"Oh, let me help her!" cried one.
"Bring her to my house!" called another.
"I will care for her myself," said the child's mother as several
women stepped up to raise the old woman to her feet.
They had helped her along some little way and the children were
following close behind or crowding ahead to tell the rest of the
villagers, when the head man met them.
Looking at the old woman, he said sharply, "What is the matter with
her?"
The crowd stopped, out of respect to the head man, and each looked
at the other, not knowing what to say. Then the old woman herself
looked up. With a feeble attempt at the usual gay salaam with which
she always greeted the chief, she answered his question.
"It is the cholera," she said.
"The cholera!" frightened voices screamed.
The hands that had so tenderly been guiding the woman's feeble steps
were suddenly withdrawn. The women fled from her, dragging their
children with them while the larger youngsters ran down the street,
crying, "Old Sarah has the cholera! Old Sarah has the cholera!"
The cry was passed on from one person to another for miles along the
road, for never are the roads of India, except in the hottest part
of the day, without a throng of travellers.
The old woman, who, thus suddenly left unsupported, had fallen in a
limp heap in the middle of the road, lay there for some time until
the sun became unendurable and made its rays felt even in her acute
suffering. She raised her head. Not a person was in sight. The
little village was deserted. It consisted only of a few palm-leaf
huts on each side of the street, shaded by cocoanut trees, and could
be taken in at a glance. Old Sarah's head fell upon her hands. What
could she do? If she stayed in the road her suffering would be more
intense; although she expected to die now that her friends had
deserted her, still she wanted to die with as little torture as
possible.
About six feet away from her was the open door of a tiny hut. The
shade within looked very inviting. Summoning all the strength she
had, Old Sarah crawled upon her hands and knees, slowly, painfully,
to the door and dropped at full length on the hard mud floor. It was
cool there but, oh, how lonely! No one to care for her! no one to
supply her wants! no one to be with her when she should die! and no
one to give her body Christian burial before the pariah dogs should
tear it to pieces! She heard a noise at the door. With a flash of
joy in her heart to think that some one had returned to help her,
painfully turning her head, she saw--only the sacred bull of the
village sticking an inquiring nose into the door. Perhaps there
might be something within that he might feed upon, for he, according
to Hindu custom, was privileged to help himself to whatever he could
find anywhere. With disappointed heart, Old Sarah let her head roll
back and closed her eyes, although the thought passed through her
mind that the bull might enter the house and trample upon her in his
search for food in the tiny room; but if he should, it would bring
her only a quick release from her pain. Then the pain and suffering
became so great that she could not even think. The bull, however,
evidently seeing nothing to please his appetite within the hut,
turned away from the door and went on down the street, nosing along
the front of every house until he reached the last one where a woman
in her haste to flee from the cholera had overturned a basket of
pea-pods and left them in a heap on the mud floor of the porch
before the house--a fine meal for a hungry bull.
The minutes flew by and became hours; only the moaning from the
house near the middle of the street disturbed the hot hush of the
midday.
A cat crept into the hut and sniffed at the woman's feet; a dog
peered in at the dark object on the floor; but no human being came
near.
When the sun was no more than an hour from setting, there sounded
the rumble of wheels. A wooden ox-cart, driven by a scantily-clad,
very dark native, and drawn by a pair of the gray, humped bullocks
of the district, entered the street at the head of the village. The
bullocks were brought to a halt at once and a woman's head appeared
from under the rounded straw covering of the cart.
"Where is she? Do you see her?" she asked the man.
"There is no one in sight," he replied. "But, hark, I hear a moan!"
"She must be in that house there," he added after listening a
moment, pointing as he spoke with a thin, black finger to the house
into which Old Sarah had crawled.
He drove his bullocks on down the narrow street until he pulled up
in front of the hut. Then the young woman, for it was a young Tamil
woman in the cart, with beautiful face and straight, lithe figure,
leapt to the ground and ran into the house, her pretty red sari
fluttering behind her. The man in the cart sat still, watching the
open door, the eternal sadness of the Hindu in his face.
The woman was gone for some time but, finally, looked out of the
door. "I have done all I can for her. She is very bad. I think we
had better take her to the hospital in the city, for there they may
be able to save her life. Get the cart ready," she called.
As she disappeared again, the man got down slowly from the front of
the cart and, having got in at the back, arranged some blankets so
as to make it as comfortable as possible for the sick woman. Then he
went into the house with another blanket in his arms. And in a few
minutes the two came out again, carrying Old Sarah in the blanket
between them, and they laid her as carefully as they could in the
cart.
All this was not done in silence, for all of the time the young
woman kept talking, sometimes addressing the sufferer, sometimes the
driver, and sometimes herself. "Poor old woman!" she said. "To think
that the cowards all ran away and left her like this after the
kindness she had shown them. She has walked those five miles, really
ten, there and back, day after day, to tell them about her new
religion and to help them; for she never came that she did not help
the women in their work, or bring the children some sweets, or teach
the people something new. Dear old soul! And after all the love you
have given them, just in your hour of need they all forsook you!
Just wait until I get a chance and I'll tell them what I think about
such actions; indeed, what every decent person would think! They
pretended to be so fond of her too; she really thought they loved
her as much as if she had been their mother. That's the way with
these black heathen!"
"Why didn't she come to you?" asked the man as they got the old
woman settled with her head on the young woman's lap and he had
climbed up in front to prod the bullocks to a start.
"Poor old soul, I never gave her any reason to think that I believed
her preachings although she has come faithfully every week to visit
me. I liked to tease her and hear her funny answers. I liked to ask
her hard questions about her new religion. She would pucker her face
all up and think and think until she had answered every one. Alas, I
never let her know that her religion touched my heart and that I
believe in Jesus Christ! I never even let her know that I loved her.
Of course she would not come to me for help. But I do love her. She
was so funny and so full of life and odd sayings that I just had to
tease her, that was all. Now, now I fear it is too late to tell
her!" she ended with a sob.
"I don't believe she will live, do you?" she asked the servant a
moment later as he had turned around to look at the old woman and
they both were gazing down upon her face, drawn and haggard, with
lips parted in a moan.
"I fear not," said the man. "Have you given her from the bottle?"
"Yes, the very medicine she brought me a month ago when the cholera
threatened our village." She pulled a bottle from the bosom of her
sari. "I'll give her another dose now; surely if one dose is good,
two will be better."
She tipped the bottle to the old woman's lips who mechanically
swallowed a very little. It seemed to revive her for she opened her
eyes and murmured: "Who is this? Where am I?"
The other, bending over her, answered, "This is Jessa. Don't you
know Jessa? I've come to take care of you. You will be all right
soon."
"Jessa! Who is Jessa?" the weak voice asked while the big eyes
stared up at the girl, unseeing.
"Don't you know Jessa, the girl at Bindy, the chief's daughter whom
you go to teach every week?"
"Yes, but she wouldn't come to help me. She doesn't love me and she
makes fun of my God."
"Sarah, dear Old Sarah!" the young woman raised the old woman's head
from her lap and, gazing into her eyes, seemed to draw her back to
sight. "Sarah, it is Jessa and she loves you, and--and--Sarah," the
girl added softly, "she loves your God."
A brightness as of renewed life suffused the face of the old woman.
"God be thanked!" she tried to shout, but the shout fell away into a
murmur and the hands, which she had tried to clap as was her custom
when overjoyed, fell back at her sides. But although she became
again unconscious, the smile of joy remained upon her face and
lighted up the thin, dark features surrounded by the straggling gray
locks and made her face beautiful, as beautiful for the moment as
the face, young and perfect of feature, that bent over her.
"She is dying!" said the man. Stopping his bullocks as he spoke he
slid from his seat and began to fumble under the blankets.
"What are you doing, Nado?" called the girl.
"Here is a shrine. I will pray for the life of the old woman and
offer a handful of rice to the god."
"Nado," a slim brown hand was laid on his big black one and
prevented him from opening the rice bag, "Nado, she is a Christian.
I, too, am a Christian now. We cannot pray for her life at a
heathen shrine. Sit in your place, Nado, and I will pray to our
God."
The man did not get up into his place but stood and with wide,
interested eyes watched the girl as, laying the old woman's head
gently back in her lap, she freed her hands and clasping them to
heaven, raised her eyes and prayed. The words were the words of the
young girl herself but the gestures were copied from Old Sarah as
she had prayed many, many times in the girl's presence. One, not
impressed by the solemnity of the moment, would have laughed at the
grotesque motions of her hands and head as she prayed.
"Oh, most great God, most great of all the gods," said the girl.
"Let Old Sarah live. She is a good woman. Never has she harmed any
one. Her whole life has been given to helping others. Save Old
Sarah's life, I pray. I will bring Thee an offering of the best I
have, if Thou wilt spare her life and let her live. Take the awful
pain away from her. Let her sleep and let her rest and do, oh God,
let her live. I will bring Thee cocoanuts and sweets, rice and a
young kid, if Thou wilt spare her life. For Jesus Christ's sake.
Amen!"
The girl, unconscious of the absurd way that she had mixed the ideas
of her old heathenism with the words and thoughts of the new
religion she had learned from the old woman, unclasped her hands
and with a smile looked down upon the face in her lap. Already it
seemed to her that her prayer was being answered, for the sick
woman's breath seemed to come more easily and the moaning had
ceased. As the girl was absorbed in watching the effect of her
prayer, the man took a handful of rice from the bag, without
attracting attention, and slipped to the side of the road where
under a tree stood a wayside shrine. Pouring out the rice before the
ugly image and bowing three times in front of it, he hurriedly
muttered some unintelligible words and climbed back into the wagon.
There was a gleam of satisfaction on his face as he started the
bullocks again, for he had done what he could to save the life of
the old woman whom he, as a respected servant in the family of the
chief, had seen often about their home but to whose preaching he had
never had time to listen.
To the city and then through the city to the hospital was a long
ride in the lumbering ox-cart but it was not a particularly hard
ride to any of the three, for native Indians prefer hard seats and
hard beds to springs and cushions. And already the old woman was
resting so quietly that the girl thought her prayer had been
answered and the man felt that his offering had been accepted.
At the hospital a nurse took charge of the sick woman but she would
not let the girl enter. So the latter quietly placed a kiss upon the
old woman's forehead and turned away, confident that in a short time
she would see Old Sarah again in her own village, for she had
prayed.
As it was night and the oxen were tired, the girl could not return
to her village at once. Besides there was one thing more that she
must do in the city. Therefore they turned aside to the marketplace
where the farmers slept under their carts. There they made
themselves comfortable for the night, after the driver had cooked
them a little meal at a fire of twigs and dung-cakes. The girl kept
in the cart with her sari drawn up over her face, for such was her
custom in the big city. But later, when she was rolled up in the
blankets, she felt very secure with Nado asleep under the pole of
the cart and the bullocks chewing their cuds beside him.
When morning came, when the bullocks had been yoked up again and all
things were ready for the start, she said:
"Nado, we must tell Old Sarah's mistress. I don't know where she is
but we must find her. She lives in a big house and takes care of a
lot of little orphan children, for Sarah has often told me about
them and her."
It was strange, but in only a few minutes they had found the place
where the little orphan children lived, for the natives seemed to
know the compound well. And a few minutes later Jessa stood before a
sweet-faced English woman, but so embarrassed by the memsahib's
presence that she scarcely dared raise her eyes. Only thoughts of
Old Sarah and her love for this white lady gave her courage.
"Memsahib," she said in a timid voice, "Old Sarah is very ill with
the cholera. We have taken her to the hospital."
"Old Sarah ill with cholera!" the English woman exclaimed in
amazement. "She has been gone since day before yesterday. She never
was gone so long alone before and we have been worried; but I did
not dream of cholera! She is in the hospital?"
"Yes, Memsahib. But I think she will get well," the girl added
hastily as she saw the lady's anxiety. "I am sure she will get well,
for I--I--prayed," she faltered.
"And I gave an offering to the gods," said the man servant in a
pleased tone to himself, for he was listening interestedly, having
followed the girl to the door.
"Get my topi, boy, and order the gari quickly," the memsahib called
to her bearer. "I must go to Old Sarah at once. Where did you find
her, child?"
So while the memsahib waited for her topi and the gari, Jessa told
her the story of how Old Sarah had gone to the village to her
friends for help but how they had fled from her and left her to die;
how one of the frightened people had come to the village of which
her father was head man and had told them; and how she herself,
because she loved Old Sarah on account of the loving teaching she
had received from her, how she had taken her servant and cart and
gone to save the old woman's life. She told the lady, too, of the
condition in which she had found Old Sarah, of the journey to the
city, and of the reception at the hospital. As she finished telling
her story, she repeated her assurance that the old woman would live
because she, Jessa, had prayed to God.
The memsahib praised the girl for her bravery and thanked her for
her kindness to Old Sarah who was very dear to the English lady's
heart. And as the gari came up just then she urged them to remain
until her return from the hospital, but the girl felt that she must
hurry back, since she knew that Old Sarah would be all right now. So
they said good-bye and Jessa, having climbed into the cart, was
trundled away by the faithful bullocks and the still more faithful
Nado, whose gentle prodding of the bullocks was essential to their
progress.
Meantime the memsahib had entered her gari and was being driven as
fast as the ponies could take her to the hospital. There she was met
by a nurse who said that she knew nothing of the case that the lady
spoke of. Another nurse was called who knew nothing of such a woman
as Old Sarah. The lady, however, would not be turned aside; the
records must be searched. And searched they were. The nurses
discovered that a cholera case had been brought in late the evening
before, that the woman had died towards morning, and that already
her body had been for some time in the hospital morgue.
"You must get her out at once," said the lady, "for she is not
dead."
The nurses who had been uninterested until that moment then looked
at the English lady in mild amazement, for how could a person who
had been in the dead-house for several hours be still alive? But the
lady was well known to them by reputation and they yielded to her
wishes. At her demand they called the head nurse who, because she,
too, knew much about this lady, revoked all hospital rules and
permitted her to enter the morgue with them.
There lay Old Sarah's form, covered with a sheet, upon the floor
with other corpses. The familiar gray hair drew the memsahib's eyes
at once. She pulled back the sheet and felt for the heart.
"We'll work over her. I do not think she is dead."
With incredulity not only in their hearts but written plainly upon
their faces, the nurses had the body removed to an empty room. And
then, because the little memsahib was a woman of such mighty spirit,
they fell to work.
Old Sarah was not dead, although she had been for several hours
numbered among the dead. Gradually circulation was restored. When
the signs of life became unmistakable the nurses worked zealously to
make up for the awful wrong that had almost been done. In a big,
busy hospital, especially during times of stress, things sometimes
are done in a hurry and mistakes are sometimes made.
The memsahib did not leave for several hours. When the dear old eyes
opened at last, they looked around in wonder until they rested upon
the memsahib's face. Then a glad light shone from them and an eager
voice whispered: "Oh, Memsahib, is this heaven?"
"No, Sarah, this is not heaven. You are still on earth with me,
thank God!"
"I didn't think it looked exactly like heaven," the old woman added
a little later as she looked around at the bare walls, "but with
Jesus and you, Memsahib, it would be heaven in any kind of place.
"I thought I was dead," she kept murmuring, evidently unable to get
the idea out of her head.
"No, Sarah," the memsahib finally assured her, "you are very much
alive and just to convince you I will scold you a little. Why, oh,
why, Sarah, did you not come to me when you were taken ill?"
"Memsahib, Old Sarah knew she had the cholera and she could not
expose the memsahib and the dear, little orphan children to it; so
she just took her burial clothes and went away, thinking that her
friends at Yenna, for whom she had travelled so many, many miles in
her old age to tell them about Jesus, would take her in. But they
ran away and left Old Sarah to die all alone."
"Were you not sorry then that you had not told me?" urged her
mistress.
"No, Memsahib, not even then, for it was better that Old Sarah
should die all alone than that the memsahib and the dear, orphan
children should die too."
"You precious old woman!" The memsahib, sinking on her knees by the
bed with her arms around the thin, brown shoulders, implanted a kiss
upon the gray hair. "That is more than a white person would have
done!" she said under her breath.
And as the English woman looked upon Old Sarah's happy face and
remembered the happy, trustful face of the young girl who had saved
this life and declared that the old woman would live because of
prayer, the memsahib realized that no hearts in the world were
whiter before God than those of these brown people who loved Him
well enough to be willing to lay down their lives for others. In
beauty of form and feature these brown people often surpass the
white races and she felt that with the love of the true God in their
hearts they might surpass the white races, also, in the beauty of
their lives and of their love.