The Child from Heaven

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 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 those who held the child’s arms and head. His threatening looks, meaningful swing of arms and decisive voice scared 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.