The Hermit and the Villager

In a village of India, the land of learning and
mystical lore, of picturesque princes and gentle-
eyed peasants, there once lived a man who had an
only son. Now, this son represented to his father
all that was good and beautiful and wise, and of-
ten the father prayed in grateful fervor to the
Lord of all Creatures for the blessing of this his
only son.

It chanced one day that this rare son became
ill and great were the lamentations of the father
and greater still the fears of the mother when they
realized that this illness which had overtaken their
son could not be met by the man of medicine and
herb that had been called to bring relief to the
sufferer.

Now, at the edge of the village, near the foot-
hills of the mountains, there had lived for years
a hermit. The inhabitants of the village had
looked upon him as a man of great holiness. So
the father of the dying youth hastened to this her-
mit, and, after prostrating himself before him,
said:

''0 holy one, my son, my only son, lies dying.
Pray, give to him the blessing of thy thought and
touch so that health may come to him again and
he may fill our home with gladness which is now
shadowed by the wings of death. ' '

The hermit looked upon the kneeling figure at
his feet and, lifting up his eyes to the sky with a
radiant smile, he cried:

''0 B&ma! Ood! All Thou doest is the best."

Whereupon the father of the sick boy grew im-
patient and said within himself :

''What is this! I come for consolation to this
hermit who is known among the villagers as a
great saint and he but answers my cry with this
poor comfort that the Lord has done well to strike
my loved one with illness, perhaps death."

And thus in deep discontent he left the holy
man who raised his hand in blessing to him mur-
muring all the while, ''0 God! Bama! Thou
doest all things for the best."

So the days passed and again the villager stood
before the hermit, bent with grief and sorrow and
said, ''0 holy one! He, my only one, is gone!
The light of my house has vanished. He is dead
and we are unable to bear our bereavement. Oh
give me comfort, my son is no more!"

And again the hermit raised his eyes to the
heavens and sang in praise, ''0 my God, B&ma!
Thou doest all for the best!"

At this the bereaved father waxed wroth and
strode away vowing vengeance on the hermit who,
he supposed, mocked him in his sorrow, for his
grief had blinded him to everything save the pain
of his loss.

That night, when the world was asleep and all
earth was awake and the sky bent low to cover
the sleeping children of the world with her health-
giving mantle, the father strode forth from his
home to meet the hermit who made so light of his
great grief. He would punish him as he deserved
to be punished. He would kill him, so that he
would never more be able to give a stone where
bread was asked. This hard-hearted hermit, he
vowed to himself, should never more wear the
cloth of a holy man and thus cheat the people in
believing him a saint when in reality he was but a
wolf in sheep's clothing.

Thus blinded to everything but his grief and the
fancied insult put upon it, he made straight to the
cot where the holy man was wont to sit in medita-
tion and prayer at this very hour. But the her-
mit was not there. Contrary to his custom of
many years, he had set out for the little brook
where he was wont to bathe his feet and head
earlier than usual and had remained there to see
the coming of the night and watch the waking of
the stars.

And thus he chanted his prayers at the brooklet
while the enraged villager waited his return. The
hours wore away and the inpatient madman at
last remembered that the brooklet was a favorite
haunt of the hermit. He had it, he said to him-
self, he would wait close to the brook and as the
hermit would pass the thicket near, he would'
spring upon him and fell him to earth so thai;
his mocking should cease forever.

Meanwhile the holy man, blissfully unconscious
of the fate that awaited him at the turn of the
road, walked along chanting his prayer and prais-
ing the Lord for the beauties of the night, calling
down blessing on man and beast, when suddenly
he stumbled, and would have fallen but for a tree
upon which he caught himself. ''0 Rama!" he
cried, ''thou hast done the very best thing!
Rama thou doest all things for the best! It is a
warning of thine, bidding me seek another road
homeward." And turning, he followed back the
road he had taken and plunged into the forest to
reach his home by another path.

The villager saw and followed him. Since fate
had played into the hands of the hermit this time,
he would follow him and overtake him and strike
him down with the club he carried with him even
now. He kept the hermit in view, and, just as he
was gaining upon him, he saw by the light of the
moon the hermit plunge forward and disappear
from sight.

Quickly he rushed to the spot and there found
the hermit lying at the foot of a small hill, his
face gleaming ghastly in the moonlight and the
blood trickling cruelly over his brow. * * God ! O
R&ma!" he heard coming faintly from the holy
man's lips, ''Thou hast done the very best thing!
Eama! Thou doest all things for the best!"

Like a flash the villager comprehended the deep
meaning of those words as they reached him. The
revelation struck him like a thunderbolt. So this
was the man he in his rage would have slain, the
man who, half buried 'neath a rock, cut, bleeding,
perhaps dying, could still lift his hands in bless-
ing and say, "0 Rama! Thou doest this for the
best!''

As he thought this he hurried where the holy
man lay and dragged him from the pressure of the
rock, and, fetching some water, bathed his bleed-
ing brow. Then he said :

''0 holy one! Dark and deadly was the thought
that prompted me to follow and find thee this
night. Cruelly was my heart rent by thy words
when I came to thee with a breaking heart over
the loss of my loved son, and great was the rage
that shook my soul and called out in vengeance
against thee. But now I know and understand
all thou meanest, thou who seest good in all the
evil that befalleth mankind* Thou who seest
blessing in the taking away of my son, as in the
pain that now is upon thee. Forgive me, holy
one, do thou forgive me ! Thee, whom I followed
to kill this night, let me, oh let me lead to thy
home."

"0 R4ma!" cried the holy man, **Thou doest
all things for the best! Thou hast given me a
needle-prick in the place of a sword-thrust! Thou
hast, in Thy kindness, thus thrown a rock upon
me to avoid this man who, in the blindness of his
wrath, would have killed me. Thy humblest and
most unworthy servant. Verily, B&ma! Thou
doest all things for the best !"