India -- History -- 1000-1526 -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Reincarnation -- Fiction
Oman did, at once, the only thing to be done. Lifting the body in his
arms again, he carried it up the slope and back into the cave, where
the fire still smouldered; and, laying the old man again on his grass
bed, began to work over him.
The day passed without his returning to a normal state. Oman knew that
he was very ill, but whether with some disease, or simply as the result
of old age and exposure, he could not tell. He warmed him, fed him,
bathed his brows with water, and sometimes caught what he took to be a
murmur of gratitude from the feeble lips. As night came on, he began to
fear lest the stranger should make some attempt to leave him again; but
the fear proved groundless. With the setting of the sun, a hot fever
rose in the aged and world-weary body. The sick one’s mind wandered
through far-off regions, and he talked, loudly, of fragmentary things.
For Oman there was no sleep that night. With a great pity for the
helplessness of his guest, he watched over him tenderly, doing for him
those things that only a woman would have thought of. During that night
of anxiety, there rose up in the heart of the hermit something that for
many years he had been striving vainly to kill. It was the hunger for
human love and affection, a desire for something to care for. Suddenly,
this last had been given him. This old man, querulous, evil-eyed,
unlovable bodily and mentally, had become sacred in his eyes, an object
of trust for which he should be answerable; and, in this thought, all
the starved affection in Oman’s nature welled up within him, till his
heart was full and overflowing with pain and joy.
On the evening of the second day of the stranger’s illness came the
rains; and Oman knew that now, for the space of a month, at least, they
were safe from intrusion. He and his charge were alone at the mercy of
Nature; and, far from being dismayed at the prospect, Oman hailed it
with joy. For him, who was now become veritably the mountain’s child,
the old fear of the tempest was quite gone. Lightning and wind and rain
were his brothers, when they sported across the peaks; and, since they
brought him security against the impertinence of the people of the
valleys, he blessed them anew for their presence. Thus, relieved from
any untoward anxiety, he turned with all his strength and all his will
to the assistance of the worn and world-weary creature whom chance or
God had sent him to be his charge.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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