Tara and Evu
[Illustration: TARA.]
OUR nurseries are full of contrasts, but perhaps the two who are most
unlike are the little Tara and Evu, aged, at the hour of writing, three
years and two and a half. I am hammering at my typewriter, when clear
through its metallic monotony comes in distinct double treble, "Amma!
Tala!" "Amma! Evu!" They always announce each other in this order, and
with much emphasis. If it is impossible to stop, I give them a few toys,
and they sit down on the mat exactly opposite my table and play
contentedly. This lasts for a short five minutes; then a whimper from
Tara makes me look up, and I see Evu, with a face of more mischief than
malice, holding all the toys--Tara's share and her own--in a tight
armful, while Tara points at her with a grieved expression which does
not touch Evu in the least. A word, however, sets things right. Evu
beams upon Tara, and pours the whole armful into her lap. Tara smiles
forgivingly, and returns Evu's share. Evu repentantly thrusts them back.
Tara's heart overflows, and she hugs Evu. Evu wriggles out of this
embrace, and they play for another five minutes or so without further
misadventure.
Only once I remember Evu sinned beyond forgiveness. The occasion was
Pyarie's rag-doll of smiling countenance, which had been badly
neglected by the family. But Tara felt for it and loved it. She was
small at the time, and the doll was large, and Tara must have got tired
of carrying it; but she would not tell it so, and for one whole morning
she staggered about with the cumbersome beauty tilted over her shoulder,
which gave her the appearance of an unbalanced but very affectionate
parent.
This was too much for Evu, to whom the comic appeals much more than the
sentimental. She watched her opportunity, and pounced upon the doll.
Tara gave chase; but Evu's fat legs can carry her faster than one would
suppose, and Tara's wails rose to a shriek when across half the garden's
width she saw that ruthless sinner swing her treasure round by one arm
and then deliberately jump on it. It was hours before Tara recovered.
Such a breach of the peace is happily rare; for the two are a pretty
illustration of the mutual attraction of opposites. At this moment they
are playing ball. This is the manner of the game: Tara sits in a high
chair and throws the ball as far as she can. Evu dashes after it like an
excited kitten, and kitten-wise badly wants to tumble over and worry it;
for it is made of bits of wool, which, as every sensible baby knows,
were only put in to be pulled out. She resists the temptation, however,
and presents the ball to Tara with a somewhat inconsequent "Tankou!"
"Tankou!" returns Tara politely, and tosses the ball again. This time
Evu sits down with her back to Tara, and proceeds to investigate the
ball. It is perfectly fascinating. The ends are all loose and quite
easily pulled out. Evu forgets all about Tara in her keen desire to see
to the far end of this delight. "Evu!" comes from the chair in accents
of dignified surprise. "Tala!" exclaims Evu abashed, and hurries up with
the ball. "Tankou!" she says as before, and Tara responds "Tankou!" This
is an integral part of the game. If either forgets it, the other
corrects her by remarking inquiringly, "Tankou?" whereupon the echo
replies in a tone of apology, "Tankou!"
Both these babies are devout, as most things Indian are. But Evu cannot
sit still long enough to be promoted to go to church; and perhaps this
is the reason why in religious matters Tara takes the lead, for she does
go to church. In secularities it is always Evu who initiates, and Tara
admiringly follows. The ball game was exceptional only because Evu
prefers the _role_ of kitten to that of queen.
This little characteristic is shown in common ways. The two are sitting
on your knee entirely comfortable and content. The prayer-bell rings.
Down struggles Tara. "To prayers I must go!" she says with decision in
Tamil. "Evu too," urges Evu, also in Tamil. "Tum!" says Tara in superior
English, and waits. Evu "tums," and they hastily depart.
Or it is the time for evening hymns and good-night kisses. We have sung
through the chief favourites, ending always with, "Jesus, tender
Shepherd." "Now sing, 'Oh, luvvly lily g'oing in our garden!'" This from
Tara. Echo from Evu: "Yes; 'Oh, luvvly lily g'oing in our garden!'" You
point out to the garden: "It is dark, there are no lovely lilies to be
seen; besides, that is not exactly a hymn; shall we have 'Jesus, tender
Shepherd,' again, and say good-night?" But this is not at all
satisfactory. Tara looks a little hurt. "Tender Shepperd, _no_! Oh,
luvvly lily!" Evu wonders if we are making excuses. Perhaps we have
forgotten the tune, and she starts it:--
Oh, lovely lily,
Growing in our garden,
Who made a dress so fair
For you to wear?
Who made you straight and tall
To give pleasure to us all?
Oh, lovely lily,
Who did it all?
Oh, little children,
Playing in our garden,
God made this dress so fair
For us to wear.
God made us straight and tall
To give pleasure to you all.
Oh, little children,
God did it all.
Then Tara smiles all round, and you are given to understand you have
earned your good-night kisses. Evidently to Tara at least there is a
sense of incompleteness somewhere if the lovely lilies are excluded from
the family devotions.
To Tara and to Evu, as to most babies, the garden is a pleasant place.
But when they grow up and make gardens, they will not fill them with
forbidden joys as we do. One of the temptations of life is furnished by
inconsiderate ferns, which hold their curly infant fronds just within
reach. Then there are crotons, with bright leaves aggressively yellow
and delightful, and there are "tunflowers"; and the babies think us
greedy in our attitude towards all these things. The croton was
especially alluring; and one day Tara was found tiptoe on a low wall,
reaching up with both hands, eagerly pulling bits of leaf off. She was
brought to me to be judged; and I said: "Poor leaves! Shall we try to
put them on again?" And hand in hand we went to the garden, and Tara
tried. But the pulled-off bits would not fit on again; and Tara's face
was full of serious thought, though she said nothing. Next day she was
found on the same low wall, reaching up tiptoe in the same sinful way to
the shining yellow leaves overhead. Quite suddenly she stopped, put her
hands behind her back, and never again was she known to pick croton
leaves to pieces.
The same plan prevailed with the ferns. The poor little crumples of
silver and green moved her to pity, and she left them to uncurl in peace
when once she had tried and sadly failed to help them. But the
sunflowers' feelings did not affect her in quite the same way. The kind
we have in abundance is that little dwarf variety with a thin stalk, and
a cheerful face which smiles up at you even after you behead it, and
does not seem to mind. Tara was convinced such treatment did not hurt
them. They would stop smiling if it did. But one day she suddenly
seemed to feel a pang of compunction, for she looked at the little
useless heads and sighed. I had suggested their being fitted on again,
as with the croton leaves and ferns. But this idea had failed; and what
worked the change I know not, for Tara never told. But "tunflowers" now
are left in peace so far as she is concerned; and she is learning to
pick the free grasses and wild-flowers, which happily grow for
everybody, and to make sure their stalks are long enough to go into
water, which is the last thing untutored babies seem to think important.
There is much to be done for all our children, but perhaps for Tara
especially, if she is to grow up strong in soul to fight the battles of
life. We felt this more than ever on the day of our last return from the
hills, after nearly seven weeks' absence. On the evening when we left
them, we had gone round the nurseries after the little ones had fallen
asleep, and said goodbye to each of them without their knowing it; but
when we came to Tara's mat, and kissed the little sleeping face, she
stirred and said, "Amma!" in her sleep; and we stole away fearing she
should wake and understand. Now in the early morning we were home again,
and all the children who were up were on the verandah to welcome us,
each in her own way. It was Tara's way which troubled us.
At first most of the babies were shy, for six weeks are like six years
to the very young; but soon there was a general rush and a thoroughly
cheerful chatter. Tara did not join in it. She stood outside the little
dancing dazzle of delight--the confusion of little animated coloured
dots is rather like the shake of a kaleidoscope--and she just looked and
looked. Then, as we drew her close, the little hands felt and stroked
one's face as if the evidence of eye and ear were not enough to make her
sure beyond a doubt that her own had come back to her; and then, as the
assurance broke, she clung with a little cry of joy, and suddenly burst
into tears.
If only we could hold her safe and sheltered in our arms for ever! How
the longing swept through one at that moment: for the winds of the world
are cold. But it cannot be, it should not be, for such love would be
weak indeed. Rather do we long to brace the gentle nature so that its
very sensitiveness may change to a tender power, and the fountain of
sweet waters refresh many a desert place. But who is sufficient for even
this? Handle the little soul carelessly, harden rather than brace,
misinterpret the broken expression, misunderstand the signs--and the
sweet waters turn to bitterness. God save us from such mistake!
We covet prayer for our children. We want to know that around them all
is thrown that mysterious veil of protection which is woven out of
prayer. We need prayer, too, for ourselves, that our love may be brave
and wise.
Evu's disposition is different. It would not be easy to imagine Evu
overcome by her feelings as Tara was at that hour of our return. One
cannot imagine a kitten shedding tears of joy; and Evu is a kitten, a
dear little Persian kitten, with nothing worse than mischief at present
to account for. Of that there is no lack. "Oh, it is Evu!" we say, and
everyone knows what to expect when "it is Evu." Evu's chief sentiment
that morning, so far as she expressed it, was rather one of wonder at
our ignorant audacity. "You vanished in the night when we were all
asleep, and now you suddenly drop from the skies before we are properly
awake, and expect us all to begin again exactly where we left off. How
little you know of babies!" Doubtless this sentence was somewhat beyond
her in language; but Evu is not dependent on language, and she conveyed
the sense of it to us. She backed out of reach of kisses, and stood with
a small finger upraised; much as a kitten might raise its paw in mock
protest to its mother. She soon made friends, however, and proved
herself an affectionate kitten, though wholly unemotional.
When Tara is naughty, as she is at times, like most people of only
three, a reproachful look brings her spirits down to the lowest depths
of distress. Evu is more inclined to hold up that funny little warning
first finger, and shake it straight in your face. This, at two and a
half, is terrible presumption; but the brown eyes are so innocent, you
cannot be too shocked. Sometimes, however, the case is worse, and Evu
tries to sulk. She sits down solemnly on the ground, and throws her four
fat limbs about in a dreadful recklessness, supposed to strike the
grown-up offender dumb with awe and penitence. Sometimes she even tries
to put out her lower lip, but it was not made a suitable shape, for it
smiles in spite of itself; and then there is a sudden spring; and two
little arms are round your neck, and you are being told, if you know how
to listen, what a very tiresome thing it is to feel obliged to sin.
Then, with the comforting sense of irresponsible kittenhood fully
restored, Evu discovers some new diversion, and you find yourself weakly
wishing kittens need not grow into cats.