Chapter V: Alone in the Storm

THE days of which we write were hard times for all, except those who lived in plenty, and of such there were few.

In many parts of India, famine was raging, and even where it was not actually present, it had its effect, and prices were so high that those to whom the question of rupees, annas, and pice was always a serious problem, were now sorely perplexed as to how to provide the necessities of life. Amongst those were Mary Dayál's family, as well as that in which Hira found a home. For the latter especially, life was anything but smooth, and many and bitter were the complaints of those who had to work, and of those who had to eat. The one who suffered most was Mira, and again was she reminded that it was her father's place to provide for her, but where that father was, no one knew.

Hira was a good deal to blame for what she had to suffer, and it was hardly to be wondered at that nobody cared to deny themselves for the sake of a child, who did so little to make herself loved. Except Sukhiya, whose mother's heart was touched by the child's sad, forlorn condition, no one had a good word for Hira. Though generally very silent, when once started, she could pour out torrents of abuse, without any regard as to who was the victim. There was not much she "could" do, and even that little she refused, or did very grudgingly.

Poor little Hira was like a plant grown in utterly uncongenial soil; there was more "good" in her than in anyone else in the house, but her circumstances only served to develop the bad and extinguish the good. Suddenly there came a great change in her life, and this was how it happened.

One day everything had gone wrong. Money was scarce, and therefore food also, and each one blamed somebody else. Hira was told that there was no food for her, and if she wanted any, she had better go out and beg for it. The child said little, but in her heart, she made up her mind she would go and seek her living elsewhere. Why should she stay in this house to be starved and abused, when Sukhiya loved her and would feed her on milk and ghi? So to Sukhiya she determined to go.

It did not seem a very difficult matter, as she had often been there before, and found her way quite easily. She waited till evening, for though the light and darkness made no difference to her, she would be less likely to be seen by others.

She could not see, poor child, and so she did not know that heavy black clouds had gathered round, and a great storm was pending.

Just after she had started, a terrific clap of thunder made her start, for Hira, so susceptible to sound, had a natural terror of thunder. Soon heavy rain began to fall, and in two or three minutes, the red sari was soaked through. In her fear and confusion, the blind child missed turning the corner which would have led her to Sukhiya's house, and then she was hopelessly lost.

It would not have been a serious matter at any ordinary time, for she could easily have asked her way, and would have been soon guided safely home, but at this hour and in the midst of the storm which was raging, there was no one to see the small red figure, from whom the water was now pouring, nor to hear the piteous words:

"Is there anyone about? Is there anyone near?"

Indeed, none could have heard if they had been there, for the torrents of rain and roaring thunder drowned every other sound.

For some time the child pressed on, driven by terror, and feeling that anything must be better than the place where she now was. At last, she could go no further; not only was the rain streaming down upon her, but a torrent of water was rushing down the narrow lane through which she was trying to force her way, and threatening to carry her off her feet. Groping her way by the walls of the houses, she came to some steps, and climbing up these, she was at any rate safe from the rushing water below. She sat down and tried to think, but this was no easy matter in the noise and confusion round her.

Then she began to do what she always did when she was troubled and distressed, the only thing she could do—she began to cry, a piteous wailing cry. It was hopeless to think that anyone would hear it, but at any rate it was better than doing nothing. Gradually the storm, having spent itself, began to subside, and still Hira went on wailing and weeping.

Suddenly the door behind her was opened, and a voice asked into the darkness, "Is there anyone there?"

Hira only wailed the louder. Then a hand was stretched out and the speaker was able to gain some idea as to who it was who was in such distress. She recrossed the large courtyard, and entering the house, went into a room where a man was sitting reading.

"Father," she said, "it is a child crying; it seems to be a little girl, and she is soaked through with the rain. I have come to fetch a light, and then I will bring her in, and we will try and find out who she is, and why she is crying alone in the dark."

The man looked up from his book with a face full of interest, and rising from his seat, said, "Yes, child, and I will come with you and carry the light."

"Oh, no, father! Indeed you must not. See how the water has collected in the courtyard, and only yesterday you had high fever. I will be back directly."

And, taking the lamp in her hand, the daughter started back to the child before her father had time to speak again.

Hira's cries were now pitched in a lower key, but as the noise of the storm still continued, it was difficult for the speaker to make her voice heard.

"Poor little girl," she said as clearly as she could, "why are you sitting here alone in the rain? Come inside, and I will give you a dry sari, and you shall tell me why you are crying."

Still Hira said nothing, but cried the louder. Her new friend was sorely puzzled; it was still raining heavily, and she herself would soon be as wet as the child, and yet she could not go back and leave her there.

Again she tried. "Don't be afraid of me, little one," she said kindly. "I only want to take you in out of the dark and rain, and you shall go away as soon as you want to."

Then Hira's cries ceased, and the plaintive answer came: "I am blind, and I have lost my way, and I don't know where I am nor who you are."

If anything more had been needed to touch the heart of Hira's would-be helper, surely this was enough, and without saying anything more, she set down the lamp, and taking the dripping child in her arms, lifted her through the door.

She could scarcely attempt to carry her across the flooded courtyard, but having brought her so far, with loving words of encouragement, the child became willing to be led into the dry, comfortable dwelling.

They were met on the verandah by the master of the house and an old servant, who had no eyes for the strange child, but was full of concern for her young mistress, whom she pressed to come inside at once and change her wet clothes.

"She is blind, father," whispered the daughter, "and has lost her way; no wonder she cried so piteously."

Then tender hands quickly changed the wet red sari for a dry white one, and Hira was transformed. Then came the question: What was to be done next? Gladly would the father and daughter have fed and sheltered the desolate child, who had been found weeping at their door, but until they knew from whence, and why she had come, and what her future would be, they shrank from doing anything which would cut her off from those to whom she belonged. Being Christians, how could they feed a child who was a Hindu?

The great difficulty was that the little girl could not be persuaded to give any account of herself. After having told that she was blind and lost, she would say nothing more; only in reply to the question, "Had she a father and mother?" she shook her head. As to the whereabouts of her home, she would tell nothing.

One thing soon became quite certain—she must stay where she was for the night.

The old servant Anandi wished to take charge of her, but Shushila having found her, claimed the right to keep her, and took her to sleep in her room. Rest did not come to either very quickly; evidently the blind child had received a great shock, and seemed nervous and restless.

"I wonder if she would like to be sung to?" thought Shushila.

And without saying anything, she began to sing what came first to her mind, the very same hymn which Hira had listened to on the roof.

She was little prepared for the look of joyful surprise which suddenly lighted up the blind girl's face.

She listened quietly till the hymn was finished, and then asked with almost breathless eagerness, "Tell me, do you know Him, the Jesus Christ you have been singing about?"

"Yes, little one," was the answer, "I do know Jesus Christ. He is my best and dearest Friend."

"Then you know where He lives, and you will take me to Him and ask Him to give me new eyes? That cruel woman said that He was dead, but I didn't believe He was. Say, will you take me to-morrow?"

Shushila did not speak at once; she was thinking how she could make this child, who knew so little, understand that He, whom she wished to seek, was even then close beside her, ready to give her, if not new eyes, what was of infinitely greater value.

At last she spoke. "No, little one, Jesus Christ is not dead, and He will never, never die, and I need not take you to Him, because He is here already, nearer to you than I am."

"Then ask Him to give me new eyes. I was so frightened all alone in the dark, and the rain and thunder made such a noise, but if Jesus Christ makes me see like other people, I shall never be frightened again."

Shushila drew the trembling child closer to her, as she said, "Dear little one, only be patient, and I will tell you about Jesus Christ, and how much He loves you, and how He will give you what is even better than eyes."

"But," interrupted the child, "if Jesus Christ is here, why does He not give me new eyes now? He did not tell that other man that he must wait, or that He would give him something else instead. You have told me a lie, and Jesus Christ is not really here; perhaps that other woman told me truly and He is really dead."

Then Shushila knelt down by the bed on which the child had thrown herself in her grief and disappointment, and prayed softly,—

"Lord Jesus, we know that Thou art here, and that Thou seest us though we cannot see Thee. We thank Thee that Thou didst take care of this poor little one in the storm, and didst bring her safely here. She is very tired and weary. Wilt Thou give her rest? Amen."

Hira said no more. And as Shushila knelt on beside her, softly singing, she gradually lay still, and the watcher knew that for the present she was at rest.

DEVOTION.

"YOU 'darling!'" exclaimed the young mother rapturously.

"You 'darling!'" echoed grandmother in the same tone.

While the father, just passing the window and seeing his sweet little daughter held up to be admired, stopped and admired her too.

"Does she not look rosy from her sleep?" said Anora. "Why, she has been asleep this two hours."

"I've been sitting here a great deal too long," said grannie, with a start. "What will grandfather say? He'll tell me I'm a bit silly over that baby, and so I am!" She gave a pleasant little laugh as she rose and gathered her basket handles together preparatory to setting forth.

"Well, father's as bad himself," smiled Anora, nodding and chirping to the baby, while smile after smile broke over the little one's face in response.

"I never saw such a sweet baby!" said grannie emphatically. "But I must go to see after grandfather's dinner. He'll be short of something nice, unless I mind."

She had a good kiss of her grandchild, and then, poking her vegetables further into her basket, she hurried off to her cottage.

That evening, when the baby was asleep, and Jacques was sitting by the fire resting after his day's work, Anora put her hand into his and looked into his face thoughtfully.

"Well, dear?" he said kindly.

"I'm so afraid we are getting to love her too well—"

There was no need to ask whom she meant, and to Jacques' surprise, there was a sound of tears in her usually cheerful voice.

He looked up quickly. "I never thought of that," he said at length.

"No more did I. But when mother went out this afternoon, somehow it came over me—What would life be without baby? And then—"

Jacques shook his head and they both looked towards the cradle.

"We do want to love God best of all, don't we?" she murmured.

"But He has sent us our child."

"I tell you what!" said Anora, suddenly brightening up. "I've thought of something! If we thank God for her every time we think how sweet and dear she is, I do believe that will save us from making an idol of her. I'll run in and tell grannie. I know she'll do it!"

Out of the Tombs.

ONE day the Lord Jesus was sailing over the lake of Galilee, and a great storm of wind came down between the mountains, and made the waves beat into the ship so that it nearly sank.

The Lord was tired with all His loving work among the people, and He fell asleep in the hinder part of the ship.

When the storm came on, the disciples woke Him up in a great hurry, asking Him if He did not care that they were in danger.

Now, Jesus always cares. Perhaps He was asleep during that storm that they might learn to trust Him more.

So at their despairing cry, He arose and told the wind and the waves to be still. And immediately there was a great calm.

So Jesus said to them, "How is it that you have so little faith?"

And the disciples felt a great surprise and awe come over them, because the Master whom they loved could have power over even the wind and the waves.

But Jesus wanted to show them that there are other things over which He has power besides the storm and the tempest.

So when they came out of the ship, as they were passing through the rocky country by the sea, a very strange and unhappy man met them.

The disciples were very frightened, for they knew that this poor man lived in the tombs and was possessed with a devil, so that no man could live with him, or do anything to make him happy. He had often been put in a safe place by his friends, but he was so strong that he had burst open the door and broken the chains that bound him, and day and night he was crying and cutting himself with stones.

But Jesus has power even over a man such as that.

When he who was possessed with the devil saw the Lord coming up from the lake, he ran to meet Him and bowed himself to the ground and worshipped Him, crying with a loud voice, "What have I to do with Thee, Jesus, Thou Son of the most high God?"

For Jesus had said to the devil that possessed him, "Come out of the man, thou unclean spirit."

So the devils were obliged to come out of the poor man, and by-and-by, when the people of that country came to see what had been done to him, they found him sitting with clothes on, and in his right mind, close to Jesus, and happy in His presence and His love.

Now, what do we learn, little children, from these two stories of the great power of the Lord Jesus?

Is it not that there is "nothing" too hard for Him to do?

That if there is a great storm in our lives, if things seem too hard for us to manage, Jesus is ready, and at our first call, He will arise and rebuke the storm, and smooth the difficulty, and bring us straight to land.

And if our sins and Satan's power, and our tempers and our temptations, seem to make us dwell in the tombs (as it were), if Jesus comes near, we may be delivered. And we can be found sitting near Him listening to His voice, and delivered for ever from Satan our great enemy.

HIRA'S QUEST.