Chapter XIX: Sukhiya's Fall

IT was one day, a few weeks after Mark Dayál's return to his family, that Sukhiya was sitting in her house alone.

It was a hot, sultry evening, and there seemed to be no air to breathe in the tiny courtyard and still smaller verandah of her poor abode.

The evening meal had been cooked and put on one side for when it was wanted, and, having nothing more to do, Sukhiya decided that she would go on the roof, where it might be a little cooler than it was below.

It was a poor, rickety ladder to climb, but that was nothing to one who was accustomed to have most things broken and rickety. The roof, too, looked anything but safe, but Sukhiya never gave that a thought, for had she not sat on that same roof many and many a time during the past years and nothing had ever befallen her? So she sat and fanned herself, and gradually the sun went down and darkness gathered round her.

Suddenly she heard a sound below. Maybe her husband had come back and wanted his evening meal, or worse still, it might be one of the many monkeys of the neighbourhood, who had come to help himself to some of her bread. Anyway, she must not sit fanning herself any longer, but go quickly to see what was happening.

Alas, poor Sukhiya! She tried to go too quickly, and in her haste and the darkness, she never saw how near her foot was to the sloping edge of the roof. There was a cry of distress, a heavy thud, and a motionless figure lay in the middle of the small courtyard below.

Happily it was not a monkey, but Sukhiya's husband, whose coming in had disturbed her and brought about this catastrophe.

He was a poor, helpless old man at the best of times, and as he saw his wife lying at his feet unable to move or lift herself up, he was very perplexed.

Gradually it occurred to him that if he could do nothing himself, at least he could call someone who could.

When it was once started, it did not take long for the news to spread. And in a very short time, the small courtyard was crowded. They lifted the injured woman, regardless of her groans, on to a bedstead, and felt her limbs to see what bones were broken.

Each one had some different remedy to suggest, and some of the wiser ones advised taking her to the hospital, but as others protested against it, nothing was done.

Presently Sukhiya left off groaning for a minute, and with some difficulty gasped out, "Bring Hira—I want to see Hira."

Then there followed a discussion as to where Hira was to be found, and an old woman, who said she knew the house, volunteered to go and bring her.

"Tell her," gasped the injured woman, "that Sukhiya is dying; then she will surely come."

So the old woman started on her errand. She had some distance to go and she could not walk very fast, for her back was bent nearly double, and it was only with the help of a stick that she could walk at all.

When at last she reached the house, it was some time before she succeeded in making anyone hear. Rámpál Singh and his daughter were not at home, Anandi was ill, and Hira was absorbed in her book, which Shushila was teaching her to read with her fingers.

When the old woman came in, she was so tired with her long walk that she had to wait a little to recover herself. Then she explained, "Sukhiya the ghi-seller sent me; she has fallen off the roof. She says she is dying, and wants the blind girl who lives here to come and see her."

Hira needed no persuading, and was ready to go at once, but Anandi was not so sure. What would her master and mistress say if they returned and found that the blind girl had gone out alone with a stranger who was quite unfit to protect her? If she could have gone herself, it would have been quite easy, but that was impossible, for she had no strength to walk so far.

In the meantime, Hira had thrown a large shawl round her, and was ready to start. What could Anandi say? So she let her go, but with many misgivings and entreaties to return as soon as she possibly could.

When the old woman and her charge arrived, the crowd was still there, indeed it had increased, for as they looked at the face of the suffering woman, they knew that what she said was true; she was indeed dying.

They had tried their best to help her; one had brought oil to rub her with, but she groaned so when she was touched that not much could be done in that way. Another, who said he knew how to set bones, tried to show his skill, but Sukhiya's screams soon put an end to his attempts. A doctor was brought and ordered some medicine for her to drink, which someone was busy preparing.

In the midst of it all, Hira arrived, and the crowd divided to let her pass. The past year had wrought a great change in the blind girl's appearance. She had grown so much taller, and instead of being unwashed and uncared-for, as in the days of old, everything betokened the touch of loving hands. In her spotless sari, she formed a great contrast to the dirty, squalid group into the midst of which she came.

There was no need for anyone to lead her to the spot where Sukhiya lay. The groans of the dying woman were a quite sufficient guide.

Sukhiya tried to raise herself as she saw the girl coming to her side, but only fell back with a heavier groan, as she moaned, "All my bones are broken; that terrible fall has killed me, but I had to see you once more. Come close, for my eyes are getting dim and I can hardly see you."

Hira stretched out her hands to find a place by her old friend's side, and then sat down on the edge of the bedstead. She could not see the look of death creeping over the face she had never seen, and knowing how little the expression, "I am killed," often means, she wondered whether the case was really quite so hopeless.

How she wished that Shushila, or even Anandi, had been there with her!

She too had heard of the hospital and what wonders were sometimes accomplished there, so she also thought that if only the sufferer could be carried there, even if her bones were broken, she might live and not die.

But as soon as Sukhiya heard the word "hospital" she only groaned again and said, "What is the use of a hospital when I am all broken to pieces? I tell you, child, I am killed, and now that I have seen you I am quite ready to die and escape from this pain and misery."

At the words "I am quite ready to die," Hira started. Supposing it was true that her old friend's life was ending, was she ready to die, still more, was she ready to meet God? If there was nothing to be done to restore her to life, at least she might try to prepare her for death; for she knew that of all the crowd assembled there she alone knew that secret.

Bending over the stricken form beside her, she said softly, "Sukhiya, you say you are ready to die, but are you quite sure? We must get rid of sin before we can meet God."

"Child," gasped the woman, "what do I know about sin? I have always told you I have no understanding for such things. And now I can only think of this awful pain, and long to get out of it."

Poor Hira, it seemed so easy and simple to her that the dying woman should stretch out her hand to the One mighty to save, and find life as she met death. But what could she say when the one for whose salvation she so longed seemed to care nothing about it herself?

"Shall I sing you a hymn?" she asked, thinking of nothing else to say or do, and Sukhiya always liked to hear her sing.

"Yes, child, sing," said the voice, growing feebler every moment.

A hush fell on the crowd, and not a sound was heard as the blind girl sang in a clear, sweet voice the same words that had first told her of Jesus Christ and His great salvation.

Sukhiya had left off groaning; she had hardly strength even for that. But the eyes, which were fast closing to the things of earth, rested lovingly on the face of the blind girl.

"You are never hungry now, little one, and no one ever beats you or makes you cry," she whispered.

"Oh, no, Sukhiya dear; everybody is so good to me, and I am always happy," answered Hira, wondering what she meant.

"I would have taken care of you and kept you, but what could I do? I could not even keep my own children; they all went one by one. Now I am going too." Slowly came the words, and then Sukhiya lay still.

Hira bent fondly over her. "Sukhiya, Jesus Christ is here; take hold of Him, and He will save you."

"Jesus Christ, save my soul!" The words were so low that only Hira could catch them, but surely there was One standing by whom they saw not, whose ear can catch the faintest whisper, and who never fails to see the least spark of faith.

There was silence for a few seconds, then someone said, "She is dead," and straightway rose a wail of grief and mourning.

OUR JACK-A-NAPES.

BY CATHARINE SHAW.