Analy High School - Azalea Yearbook (Sebastopol, CA)

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®1 ]e (Blit uf Bralptra By MADALYN POST (Third Award.) N THE days when the Supreme Brahma reigned in India instead of his fellow-gods Vishnu and Siva, and beef was consumed as readily as any other constituent of human life, there was perhaps more real virtue among the lower castes. They pre¬ ferred to be clean instead of washing away their sins by inflicting horrible physical punishments upon them¬ selves. The castes were not such strict bonds. The priests sometimes even refused pay for their rituals! But the new age had developed a religious fanaticism. The Brahmas grew long, fat purses, while the agriculturists and slaves had none. Despite this fact, the lower castes were laying away for a day in the future—a day when their earthly cares would be over and their human sufferings at an end. Of the lowest caste, Sudra, was Rudraya. Her daily toil with the other slaves had not broken her spirits nor marred her beauty. Her physical perfection won the heart of Pushtra, of the next higher caste, Ksettri, resulting in a very sad mar¬ riage. The villagers were very indignant at Pushtra, for he had no other wife than this, and she was poorer to them than the dust on which they trod. To Rudraya and Pushtra was born a child, Rajanava. Doomed to be an outcast all his life, he was given poor oppor¬ tunity to live. Rudraya preferred that he should die rather than live a life of humility, as she was doing. Therefore, while yet a small boy, Rajanava was carried to a forest in the valley of Brahmaputra, to live or die as the gods chose. The weeping mother knelt and sent up a prayer, and she knelt she heard the distinct shouting of the multitudes that dragged the Car of Juggernaut to its destination. A vulture which preceded the car came screaming into the forest. It circled above the head of the unfortunate Rudraya and soared up into the heavens. At the thought of its devouring her child she was overcome and fell to the earth insensible. When she was at last aroused by her husband she stooped and kissed Rajanava and turned her back upon the sleeping child. The years passed by, but Rudraya never recovered from

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eyes back again, said with the same careless smile: “No. Carp- tain, I don’ hev much time fer talkin’, sir; it’ll soon be gittin’ dark, and — . Well, as I wuz sayin 4 we wint across th’ way, an’ Sammy th’ bomber, sir, an’ Mickey came with guns, and I led on ahead, sir, a breakin’ trail, ye know. An’ all th’ time before me, sir, I saw me brother’s face, and ivery time I rammed one, sir, I stopped and larfed with glee. I was avengin’ sir, an’ evenin’ up th’ debts. I had lined up behind me this train o’ spike-topped knobs a’ beatin’ fer th’ ’ome’ard ways, whin bing! they got me straight. An’ — I don’ — remember, sir, wot ’appened arfter tliet. ’ ’ He paused and again looked out of the nearby window. His voice was tired and thick and his breath came in shorter gasps. Far in the western sky, beyond the peaceful farms, an afterglow of sunset burned the blue. A few clouds in tints of faint vermillion driftly idly about, and far, far up in the heav¬ ens a group of planes came sailing homeward like so many evening doves returning to their nests. “ ’Tis the wimin from ’ell wot they called us, sir,” he said huskily, “on account of our kilties, ye see. ’Twas worse than a ’ell thet we gave ’em, till they got us mixed up in be¬ tween. An’now - ” He stopped and viewed again the peace¬ ful evening scene, and there, for a moment, beyond the lands of peasantry, he saw another picture, a little Scottish hamlet in a vale of western hills. “An’ now, ef thet be all, I guess I’ll be goin’, sir.” And Tam O’Bain of the Four-hundred-and-eightv-third Royal High¬ landers went to the ’ome’ard way.

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the loss of her child. Night and day she prayed that her son might return to her, so that at least they could die together. The yearning in her heart never ceased. As the dull days passed her husband tired of his bargain, for his marriage had made his life miserable. Rudraya lived in hopes. Her life was an eternal fore¬ thought of her future life, her life in heaven with the child she had loved. Her only hope was that they—she and her child— could die together. She trusted that Brahma had saved him and that she could see him once more in his earthly shape. So passed the monotonous time away in prayer and supplication, day after day, year after year. In the quiet village of Sidra the white-haired Rudraya sat motionless, with her black eyes fixed upon the grave of her hus¬ band. There was no prayer, no weeping. The villagers passed her silently and shook their heads. They wondered that she did not weep, but the lonely Rudraya only stared in silence. The sun sank low; the night crept on and blotted out the crimson sun. The stars shone brightly; then the moon rose. Through it all the solitary one kept her vigil. Not a sound is¬ sued from the parched lips, not a tear fell from the glazed eyes. Thus she sat through the next day—all during the parching heat of the merciless sun—and again into the night. Upon the next night the moon rose full and round, and the air was warm and sweet. The eyes of Rudraya, fixed upon the silent grave, moved not. The soft wind rustled her garments. The dead si¬ lence fell like a pall upon the world. When all was calm there broke into the night a weird screech and heavy flapping of wings. A bird of prey circled above Rud¬ raya ’s head, and then, with another hoarse screech, soared up into the heavens and was swallowed by the soft, dull sky. The lonely one arose, and, praying, crossed her hands upon her breast, then fell face forward upon the grave. A scorching day followed. The vultures were now thick in the sky, preceding and hovering about the Car of Juggernaut. Their prey was plentiful. Their approach was a signal to the sinful. Already the fanatics were grovelling in the dust, wait¬ ing for the great car to crush their mortal bodies to atoms and set their souls free to heaven. Among these was Rudraya. Her duty performed, she merely waited. Beside her kneeled an Un¬ known—an outcast like herself. But their hearts were full—