Not in Despair

Sue reached her husband’s house in the late evening, and immediately was flung body and soul into a very caldron of confusions. The place was boiling over with excitement, for the news of her intention had run before her and stirred up the sluggish husband and his neighbours, and the house filled in a moment.

‘* Stark madness — abominable, soul-defiling, caste-destroying! Better throw thy children in the river or a well, or toss them into the jungle.’’ And they all raved together, heaping curses, protestations, denouncements on poor Mimosa’s head, with great clamours of loud voices and a frenzied flinging about of arms and hands, and glaring of angry eyes; and she stood undefended in the midst.

For hours the furore continued. They knew of the secret medicine the Dohnavur people used. It was a white powder. It was given to make people Christians. It would be given to the children just as, long ago, some such medicine had been given to the boys’ unfortunate mother. Had she not been most peculiar ever since? The boys would clean forget everything good and

destroy their caste by actions not to be tolerated. 142

Kinglet listened to all this with open ears and a horrified soul. Was that what they did at Dohnavur? Then he for one did not want to go.

But Mimosa stood her ground. ‘‘ Shall I throw my children, for whom I have worked as a coolie, to the river or the well or the desert? Nay, but I will go to Dohnavur and return.”’

At last, having shouted itself hoarse, the company dispersed, and, too agitated inwardly to touch food, though she held herself still before them all, Mimosa lay down beside her little boys and tried to sleep. She was oppressed, but not in despair. With the dawn she would rise and go.

But with the dawn one who had never slept arose, and stirred the husband to fresh opposition. ‘“‘I will never let thee go,’’ he said. The sturdy Mischief spoke his mind in decided tones. He sent a message to Star. ‘* Tell her I am only four and I have walked for ten miles, and my feet are sore. I will come another time.’’ This gave the father his cue. Certainly the Fortunate Fourth would stay with him. As for their first-born, nothing would persuade him to part with him, and he led him off and hid him away in a private room and turned the key in the lock, lest at the last moment he should change his mind again.

And now all was safe. This would bind the mother’s feet, for what mother would leave her first-born and her Fortunate Fourth?

And Mimosa, what could she do? The strange pressure, as if of a hand upon her pushing her forth, had not passed from her; she knew that she must go. But how, without her boys?

She stood silent as is her wont in all moments of high tension. We who have seen her can see her as she stood speechless, gazing with dark, deep eyes into something not seen of men. What is it that we see when we are not here at all in the body, but out of the body? The shouting about her sounded faint and far away. She was communing with her Father.

Were these children whom He had given her and for whom strength to toil had been given year after year, were they to be taken from her one by one and brought up to follow that which she abhorred? Twice, for a few brief minutes, she had been given to drink from a cup of living water. Were her children to go thirsty all their lives? She knew there was more to drink than those few drops in the cup, there must be springs and fountains. Oh, the thirst of her years! Were her children never to drink and be satisfied?

But how leave two of them to the malice of those who would use the opportunity to the full? What might not be shown to them within one week in that wicked heathen town?

It is not the fashion to speak thus. We whitewash facts now, fearing to offend. But, deep under all, we know, and there are some who do not fear to say it, the blackest pages of our Bibles find illustration in every land where the fear of God is not. Sin may be covered with garlands of jasmine, but it is sin.

This was all open to the mother; but with a valorous faith, faith that could not be refused, Mimosa cast her treasures into the arms of God. She had the assurance that she must go on; but it rent her very heart, and she lifted up her voice and wept.

And as she went along the road, carrying her baby and leading her seven-year-old boy by the hand, she went on weeping, and her first-born heard her voice and broke from his prison, for this was more than he could bear, and he raced after her. She heard his footsteps and stopped.

‘* Mother, mother, do not go,’’ he cried most earnestly. ‘‘ They will give the drugged medicine powder.’’ For the talk he had heard had soaked into his soul.

She hardly remembers what she said, only she knows she did not try to persuade him to come. She was past talk now, she only went on. And the boy went with her.

Then, raising her hands to heaven in mute gesture of adoration, with one supreme act of faith she committed her jewel child, the little four-year-old from whom she had never been parted, to the special care of her Father and God, and set her face once more towards the journey to distant Dohnavur.

It was a weary walk for them all. They had left home after a scanty meal on the previous afternoon; the children had been given food on arrival at their father’s house; but Mimosa had touched nothing either then or before starting. A bandy journey would follow, and then another trudge on the hot roads. It was a silent company that toiled, for they were too fatigued to talk; but they never thought of turning back.

Two evenings later, in the unannounced fashion of the East, they arrived at Dohnavur.