BY THE ROADSIDE.
It is one of the worst days of the rainy season; not once had the sun
appeared, only a continuous downpour of rain. The well metalled road
to Benares was a mass of slush. But one traveller was to be seen, his
dress was that of a _Brahmachari_ (an ascetic): yellow garments, a
bead chaplet on his neck, the mark on the forehead, the bald crown
surrounded by only a few white hairs, a palm leaf umbrella in one
hand, in the other a brass drinking-vessel. Thus the _Brahmachari_
travelled in the soaking rain through the dark day, followed by a
night as black as though the earth were full of ink. He could not
distinguish between road and no road; nevertheless he continued his
way, for he had renounced the world, he was a _Brahmachari_. To those
who have given up worldly pleasures, light and darkness, a good and a
bad road, are all one. It was now far on in the night; now and then it
lightened; the darkness itself was preferable, was less frightful than
those flashes of light.
"Friend!"
Plodding along in the darkness the _Brahmachari_ heard suddenly in the
pathway some such sound, followed by a long sigh. The sound was
muffled, nevertheless it seemed to come from a human throat, from some
one in pain. The _Brahmachari_ stood waiting, the lightning flashed
brightly; he saw something lying at the side of the road--was it a
human being? Still he waited; the next flash convinced him that his
conjecture was correct. He called out, "Who are you lying by the
roadside?" No one made reply. Again he asked. This time an indistinct
sound of distress caught his ear. Then the _Brahmachari_ laid his
umbrella and drinking-vessel on the ground, and extending his hands
began to feel about. Ere long he touched a soft body; then as his hand
came in contact with a knot of hair he exclaimed, "Oh, _Durga_, it is
a woman!"
Leaving umbrella and drinking-vessel, he raised the dying or senseless
woman in his arms, and, leaving the road, crossed the plain towards a
village; he was familiar with the neighbourhood, and could make his
way through the darkness. His frame was not powerful, yet he carried
this dying creature like a child through this difficult path. Those
who are strong in goodwill to others are not sensible of bodily
weakness.
Bearing the unconscious woman in his arms, the _Brahmachari_ stopped
at the door of a leaf-thatched hut at the entrance of the village, and
called to one within, "Haro, child, are you at home?"
A woman replied, "Do I hear the _Thakur's_ voice? When did the
_Thakur_ come?"
"But now. Open the door quickly; I am in a great difficulty."
Haro Mani opened the door. The _Brahmachari_, bidding her light a
lamp, laid his burden on the floor of the hut. Haro lit the lamp, and
bringing it near the dying woman, they both examined her carefully.
They saw that she was not old, but in the condition of her body it was
difficult to guess her age. She was extremely emaciated, and seemed
struck with mortal illness. At one time she certainly must have had
beauty, but she had none now. Her wet garments were greatly soiled,
and torn in a hundred places; her wet, unbound hair was much tangled;
her closed eyes deeply sunk. She breathed, but was not conscious; she
seemed near death.
Haro Mani asked: "Who is this? where did you find her?"
The _Brahmachari_ explained, and added, "I see she is near death, yet
if we could but renew the warmth of her body she might live; do as I
tell you and let us see."
Then Haro Mani, following the _Brahmachari's_ directions, changed the
woman's wet clothes for dry garments, and dried her wet hair. Then
lighting a fire, they endeavoured to warm her.
The _Brahmachari_ said: "Probably she has been long without food; if
there is milk in the house, give her a little at a time."
Haro Mani possessed a cow, and had milk at hand; warming some, she
administered it slowly. After a while the woman opened her eyes; when
Haro Mani said, "Where have you come from, mother?"
Reviving, the woman asked, "Where am I?"
The _Brahmachari_ answered, "Finding you dying by the roadside, I
brought you hither. Where are you going?"
"Very far."
Haro Mani said: "You still wear your bracelet; is your husband
living?"
The sick woman's brow darkened. Haro Mani was perplexed.
The _Brahmachari_ asked "What shall we call you? what is your name?"
The desolate creature, moving a little restlessly, replied, "My name
is Surja Mukhi."