She at length lifted her dark eyes brimming with tears, and with a slightly quivering voice said, "Beebee saihib torâ douva daoh kuda ka wasta; Govind ka jahn jata hai" ("Lady, for God's sake give me a little medicine; Govind's life is passing away").
I inquired the nature of his complaint, but all I could learn from the young woman was that Govind's stomach and legs had gone away, and that his head was fast following his heels, which is the Oriental phraseology for extreme prostration.
I seized a small bottle of brandy, a physician's mixture at hand for cholera morbus, and some quinine, and started with the Brahmanee for the home of Govind the pundit. In less than half an hour we stood before a mean, wretched-looking bamboo dwelling, the walls of which were plastered with mud and covered over with an attap[27] roof. It stood in the middle of a small patch of ground neatly smeared over with cowordure. In the centre of this yard was a flourishing plant growing out of a large earthen pot buried in the ground—the Indian "mehndee"[28] (sacred to the goddess Bhawanee), called Lawsonia by English botanists. It was in full blossom, with small delicate, fragrant flowers resembling the clematis.
The sky was very much overcast, portending soon a shower or thunderstorm; the air was hot and sultry. I stood for a moment or two before the half-open door of the little hut, whence proceeded a low, faint, tremulous sound which I recognized as the voice of Govind, my teacher, enfeebled by his illness. As I stood there hesitating to enter, the pretty little Brahmanee dropped on her knees before the door, and, having saluted the presiding genius of the dwelling three times, advanced, creeping softly in on her knees. At length I summoned courage enough to walk in, but I did so in my stockings, leaving my shoes on the doorsill. Even this was, as I afterward learned, desecration to the Brahman's household.
On a low charpie, or native cot, standing apart within an enclosure formed by a mud wall a few inches in height, lay the pundit, his eyes closed, his features shrunk and wasted. The little woman, who I divined was his wife, had already taken her place at his feet, which she kept rubbing in a listless way, the sad expression deepening on her dark but beautiful face, the great tears brimming her eyes and coursing one after another all unheeded down her cheeks.
The dwelling consisted of two apartments. Through a doorway to which there was no door I saw an old woman seated by a rude fire on the floor in the adjoining room cooking some rice in an earthen pot, and before her on the floor were a board and a rolling-pin, with which she had been rolling out some wheaten cakes, piled, already baked, in a copper platter by the fire. The moment I entered the hut she turned her shrivelled features, and, seeing a white woman, she gave a shrill cry; then, stretching out her bare, bony arms, implored me in piteous tones to begone. "But, lady," said I, trying to appease her, "I cannot go away. Govind is very ill, and I have some medicine here that may cure him."
Hearing her still entreating me to begone, Bhawanee begged her to let me stay and give the medicine to Govind; at which the poor old woman, shuddering, retreated to the inner apartment, resumed for a time her cries, uttering them in a loud voice and in a tone at once piercing and imperious, "You dare not come in here! you dare not! What reason have you for daring to give my son medicine? I want you hateful Injrage (English) to know that I would rather have him die, rather have him die, than be polluted by your vile drinks, made of devils' blood and pig's flesh; I would rather have him die." Rocking herself to and fro, she kept her strange glittering, dark eyes fixed upon me, and repeated, lowering her voice more and more gradually, "I would rather have him die," till she seemed to be talking to herself. I really thought she was delirious or perhaps out of her mind; but Bhawanee whispered to me, "She is very old and very cross, and sometimes possessed of a devil."
All the noise made by the old woman did not seem to disturb her son, who was in a deep sleep, his respiration so heavy and labored, and his pallor so death-like, that I almost feared he was dying. But at the end of half an hour he stirred and made a vain attempt to turn on his side; failing, he gave a look toward the foot of the bed, where his sorrow-stricken wife sat still and mute. Meeting his gaze, she crept to the head of the bed, and, taking his hand tenderly in hers, sobbed out in broken accents, "Govind duva piuh, tora duva piuh" ("Govind, drink some medicine—just a little of the medicine").
The pundit opened wide his half-closed eyes, looked full and inquiringly into his wife's face, and then turned them upon me. If I had been the very lowest wretch on the face of the earth, he could not have been more startled and horrified than he seemed at my presence. He almost sprang up, but in another second fell back on the bed, and, putting his hands before his face, cried feebly to his wife, "Wife, wife, what have you done?"
There was deep sympathy in the voice of the poor young woman as she exclaimed, "Oh, Govind, I thought you were dying. I did not know what else to do, and Doorah has been gone since morning, and is not yet returned. Oh, please take the lady's medicine. Never mind about caste; we can do 'puja' for it, and be restored;" and the poor woman began to sob as if her heart would break.