CHAPTER VI.

HELP IN NEED.

ISA DÁS much needed such encouragements to cheer him, for at this time he was in great straits as regarded temporal things. The patients who came to him for healing seldom gave him even cowries * to pay for his drugs. Few even thought of giving the Christian his due; was it not enough if they did not abuse and revile him? Isa Dás could no longer earn money by selling charms, his conscience forbade him to do so. He had to part one by one with almost everything that he possessed, even to his shawl and embroidered slippers, and the hookah which had once been his father's. The blanket which he wore was threadbare; the kurta beneath only fit for a wandering fakir.

* Shells used as money, where such is needed below the value of a mite.

Often the doctor went hungry to his work, and hungry and tired lay down to rest. But for four rupees which had been lent to him by his friend the missionary, the poor convert might—as it seemed—have been starved. Those rupees, though spent sparingly pice by pice for food, were gone at last.

This was a great trial of the faith of Isa Dás. He was sometimes tempted to think, "Hath my Lord forgotten me? He is my Shepherd, yet doth He not leave me to want?"

But Isa Dás's faith struggled against the secret temptation. These words were written on his heart, 'Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you' (1 Peter v. 7).

One evening, after a day of trial, when a single chapatti had formed the whole of his meal, and not a cowrie was left to buy another, Isa Dás, prostrating himself on the earth, uttered this prayer, "O Lord Jesus! Thou hast known what it is to be poor and a-hungered; Thou hast promised that Thou wilt never leave or forsake them who put their trust in Thee! I cast myself on Thy mercy and love! Give me according to Thy wisdom and my need, and whether I suffer want or abound, enable me always to glorify Thee, and say from my heart, 'Thy will be done.'"

Even as Isa Dás rose from his prostrate position, he saw a man running towards him in haste. This man was the servant of Ahmed Khán, a Mahomedan Amir.

"Can you tell me where the doctor lives?" cried the man as he reached the spot where Isa Dás was standing at the door of his mud-built hut. The messenger was panting from the speed at which he had been running.

"I am the doctor," replied Isa Dás.

The servant looked for a moment rather contemptuously at the half-fed, ill-dressed man before him, but his business admitted of no delay. "My master's only son has had a terrible accident," he said. "A messenger was sent on horseback for the European doctor, but he is laid up with fever, and cannot leave his bed. Therefore am I sent for you. When an elephant falls down dead, he who sat in its howdah may have to content himself with the back of an ass."

Without seeming to notice the insolent taunt, Isa Dás at once went into his hut to gather together the few means of cure which he possessed. He then followed the servant to the residence of the Amir, which was not half a cos distant (not a mile).

Can carved doors shut out sorrow, or will the embroidered pillow give ease to an aching head? The dwelling which Isa Dás entered was one of comfort and elegance, but it was now one of pain and grief. Isa Dás found the Amir's son stretched on a rich divan, with a broken limb, a body covered with bruises, and blood-stained bandages, instead of a handsome turban, bound round his head. The lad's eyes were closed; his face was deadly pale; only a little twitching of pain, and an occasional moan showed that life had not departed.

Beside his only son, grief and fear expressed in his face, stood Ahmed Khán. Behind the rich curtain which divided the room, could be heard the sound of weeping from the purdah-women beyond.

Isa Dás, after examining the poor lad's hurts, saw that the case was a difficult one, but not one without hope. Silently praying for God's blessing on his work, the doctor set the broken limb, he bathed and bound the bleeding head, he applied healing salve to the bruises. All during that night Isa Dás watched by his patient. And after resting awhile on the following day, at night, he resumed his watch.

The house was very different indeed from that in which the poor oilman had breathed his last; air was admitted in abundance, the swing of the punkah never ceased; the patient's hands were bathed in rose-water, and his thirst relieved by cool sweet sherbet.

Much courtesy was shown to Isa Dás by the Amir, who could seldom be persuaded to quit the sick-bed of his son. It a little surprised the Mahommedans at first that the converted Hindu had none of the prejudices of his race regarding food, but ate whatever was offered to him, sanctifying it by prayer.

On the third day the English doctor was able to come. He examined the patient, and pronounced him to be out of danger. The Amir devoutly thanked God, and his exclamation was echoed by the ladies behind the purdah, who had not unfrequently come in to see the sick son of one, and nephew of another, but who had hurried back to their retreat on the English doctor's arrival, fearful lest he should catch a glimpse of their faces.

"Your son has been well and skilfully treated," said the European. "Who was it who set the broken limb?"

The Amir pointed to Isa Dás.

"He evidently knew his business well," said the English doctor.

The Amir made a sign to one of his servants, who brought to him a fine turban, and a silken bag. From this bag the Amir took out five rupees (more than 9s.) and placed them, with the turban, in the hands of Isa Dás. *

* The sum will seem very small to the English reader, but when one remembers that less than that is considered a month's pay for some of our lower servants, probably a family man, it will appear less insignificant.

"O Lord! I thank Thee! Thou hast seen my trouble; Thou hast heard my prayer!" came from the heart of the poor Christian.

No man heard that burst of thanksgiving, for the lips of Isa Dás were silent. But it was with a sense of deep pure joy that he passed forth from the Amir's dwelling to return to his own humble hut.

It was not merely that his present wants were relieved, and that his reputation was made, that caused that deep pure joy; the love of God was the fountain from which it flowed. Isa Dás had realised, as he perhaps had never so fully done before, the truth of that gracious promise, "I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee."

[Illustration]