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A T R U E S T O R Y
By Carol Terry
M issionary o f the Ram aba i Mukti Mission o f India
W E hardly noticed the big turban of the Hindu who stood in the doorway. Our attention was caught by the depths of sorrow in his soft, brown eyes, and by the crippled child in his arms. We asked him to sit down. Slowly and carefully, so that he would not hurt the little girl, he sat down on the floor, cross-legged, still holding the child. Our orphanage at the Ramabai Mukti Mission in Kedgaon, India, was filled with children whose stories were sad, but this was obviously a desperate case. The sorrowing father began his story so slowly and quietly that at times we had to lean forward to hear. His wife had died, leaving him with a little six- year-old daughter, Saku, too young to leave alone all day while he worked. He had taken her to a village some dis tance away and left her in the care of his sister. The father remembered the little girl as running and playing with all the carefreeness of early childhood, but he returned to find her a helpless cripple. In fits of temper the aunt had banged the child on the floor until she was no longer able to walk or sit erect. The father did not know where to go for help. He only knew that in our Christian orphanage there were hun dreds of children whom the villagers said were happy and well. He felt that somehow we could help Saku. We examined the little girl and found a lump as big as one’s fist on her spine between her shoulders. She was hunched over and breathed heavily. We knew that to accept Saku would be to accept unending hours of work in caring for her, for she was utterly helpless. How ever, the story, in addition to being written in her broken body, was written in her eyes, and we knew, no matter how great would be the problem of her care, our fold was open to her. Food was always a problem, and we were glad for the American wheat that would keep Saku, as it was keeping our other children, from being hungry. After a few days we took her to a hospital in Poona for examination. The heart of a doctor there was touched by the frail, broken body, and he called a specialist from Bombay to examine the
spine and lungs, which meant we could not put her with our other children. There was only one other place—our tuberculosis sanatorium, called “Ae neas.” It is far out in a field where few go and where the people live an isolated life. There are no children there, just weak, infected women. It was not a pleasant prospect for little Saku, and we wondered who would care for her. It meant unceasing work on someone’s part, and we could not bear to have it anything but loving care. We thought of our different Indian workers, but it meant exposing them to tuberculosis and a complete giving up of their cus tomary life. There would be few willing for such a sacrifice. When the car drew up to Aeneas, we put Saku to bed after the tiring journey from Poona, and knew that the next morning somehow or other we must meet the problem of her care. When the nurse cycled up to Aeneas that next morning, a surprise thrilled her heart. The women of Aeneas, them selves infected and failing in health, with nothing to fill their lives but bore dom and waiting for the Home call, had suddenly found something for which to live—a crippled child, winsome, un complaining and reaching out to them for their love. As those who have had a new vision of life, the women forgot their com plaints and rallied around Saku, antici pating her needs, telling her stories about the Lord Jesus and entertaining her, until she became their own girl and they her family. There was no problem as to who would care for Saku. As they met her need for the love of a mother, she opened her heart to them as a flower to the sun. When questioned about it, the women replied, “ God has given us some of His work to do for Him.” And now Saku is the one who is tell ing the stories and doing the entertain ing; and the compound of Aeneas, here tofore covered with the shadows of death, has suddenly become flooded with sunlight and the joy of the Lord be cause of a little girl who has turned the tragedy of her own life into joy for others.
Little Saku is the joy of the Sanatorium injured back, but his verdict was that there was no hope or help for Saku. It was a sad moment when we bun dled her into the car to bring her back to our orphanage, for we knew a slow, increasing illness filled her future. The X-rays revealed tuberculosis of the
By Martha S. Hooker
Paga Thirteen
A U G U S T , 1 9 5 2
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