THE CHILD FROM HEAVEN
(Short
Story)
JATINDRA
MOHAN GANGULI
There
was great commotion in the little town. A labourer, while going to work in the
morning across the playground of the local school, found a child lying on the
ground awake but not crying, his open eyes gazing on the silent sky. He stood
in wonder. The child was only perhaps a few weeks old. How could he be there?
What father, what mother could leave him alone uncared on the field?
Soon
there collected men and women, young and old and as they came and crowded round
the boy and cut off the open air the boy cried. Some men moved forward to take
up the boy on their arms and so did move forward some women. Some of them were
in tears for the forsaken child. The rush of such men and women led to a scramble,
which was stopped by others who pleaded for peace and order. Excited words and
arguments but continued with increasing vigour from all sides over and across
the crying child. “He is hungry, let me lift him to my breast” said a mother.
“Your breast is dry, let me feed him” said another mother holding a baby on her
arms. “I shall take him home to my childless wife” said a man. “I shall bring
him up better” said another man.
And
so they shouted and argued and held and pulled back those who bent down to hold
and lift the boy. More men and women collected and with them came the religious
men who declared that it was first necessary to determine the religion of the
boy, because only one of the same religion could touch and take him.
“He
is, of course, Hindu; his eyes tell that” said a Hindu priest.
“Of
course not, he is a Muslim. The impress of the great Islam religion is obvious
on his face.”
A
Christian clergy pushed forward and excitedly said, “Who says so? See how he
crosses his arms on his chest. He is no doubt the beloved of Jesus who had
cared and watched him when he lay alone on the field. Who else but Jesus could
and would do so? He is Christian and I shall take him to church and show him
Jesus on the Cross.”
With
religious fervour the priest moved forward, but with no less fervour others
held him. In the meantime a Hindu astrologer pushed in and sitting down by the
child caught and lifted his right hand to read the palm. Sweeping a hurried
glance over the palm he declared that the boy was Hindu. Resenting this a
Mohammedan bearded old man caught the child’s left hand and with equal
vehemence claimed the child as Muslim. “Absurd” shouted the Christian “the palm
shows nothing. Palmistry is nonsense and does not indicate religion. It is only
the face which bears the imprint of religion.” So saying he sat down and held
the boy’s head stiff to point to the signs of the Christian religion on the
child’s face.
So
held and pulled and stretched the boy shrieked and cried. The labourer who had
found the boy on the field had been quietly watching, but he could stand no
more. He was a tall, stout and strong man. He came out of the gathering and
asked them all to leave the child. He pushed back those who held the child’s
arms and head. His threatening looks, meaningful swing of arms and decisive
voice scared back the arguing claimants of the child. Having cleared the ground
he bent down and gently took the boy upon his arms and said, “Don’t touch him.
The touch of your religious hands will soil his pure body and your religion
will pollute his pure soul. He belongs to no religion as I belong to none. He
is a child of God as I am. He goes with me.”
The
child stopped crying and smiled as the labourer took him upon his arms. All
stood and watched him going across the field, the child playfully exercising
his limbs and joyfully hitting and kicking his face, his chest and arms.