Chosen

INTRODUCTION

I was told from a young age that my given name was Dalit.

I had never known my parents, but the name had provoked a bad omen on my life.

Dalit means broken.

Outcast.

All I knew of my mother was that she had been beautiful. Her skin had shone like a brown sun on a dark bronze horizon. Her eyes had been a deep crystal blue; icy and bold.

My father was an english man.

He had not loved my mother.

I knew this only because my grandmother had told me. She was my only kin.

My mother had died giving birth to me. My father, ashamed of the way I looked, had left for England as soon as he was assured his wife would have a proper burial.

I do not look like everyone else in the normal way.

My right arm hangs at my side awkwardly; it is smaller than my left. The tips of my fingers reach only to my hip. The village says it is because I have been named broken.

They say it’s because I am cursed.

PART ONE

"Dalit. It's your turn."

The warm water sloshed violently in the large clay jug as Rishi set it down abruptly on the dirt road.

Dalit frowned as some of the carelessly spilled water mixed with the parched earth, darkening its brown hue. Rishi panted wholeheartedly, his forehead and bare chest glittering with sweat.

Traveling the two mile hike from the closest river to the small thatched schoolhouse was a chore detested by all. But it required two to make the trip every morning and afternoon. Dalit could only wait patiently for the summer days when school would be canceled due to the dangerous and unbearable heat.

But it was only the beginning of February, and the job was him and Rishi's for the day.

" We must be close. Only a mile to go." Rishi mumbled.

With his hands on his knees, Rishi attempted to catch his breath, his toned chest falling and rising with his rapid heartbeat.

Dalit admired Rishi. He was taller, stronger, and more handsome than he.

He was two years older as well; his hair was the color of obsidian, dark and pure.

It always hung in his chestnut eyes, sometimes hiding the bright sense of humor and pride that so frequently pierced through his gaze. His lips were small, yet defined, and were always curled into a smug smile.

One of these were flashed at Dalit now as he stood back up to his full height.

" Well? Pick it up, we've only got a short length to go."

He began to walk ahead, passing Dalit with a teasing shove.

With labor, Dalit successfully balanced the jar on his head and began the journey; Rishi's coffee brown figure still visible in the distance.

PART TWO

" Lord have mercy on us."

Elinor Grace Percy, a young, well spoken women of about 16, was walking along a narrow path in the hot Indian morning, swatting flies this way and that. Her mouth was in a most peculiar state; one that frowned in disgust, but also twitched in humor of the situation. She was very clever and discerning, and yet had not the slightest hint of pride in her character. She was fair, and taller than her mother had been at her age, she had been told many a time. Her father and mother were in England with the rest of their children, but she had been given the privelege of staying with her aunt is Kalap, India for a time.

She stopped her swatting, and bent to pet the petal of a hibiscus flower, her fingers hovering ever so softly on it's silky surface. Picking herself up, she sighed.

" Too pretty to pick. Would be a shame to cut its life short."

Continuing on, she hummed a sweet tune her mother had sung her as a child, and played with her golden hair, twisting a lock around one of her slender fingers. She began to sing.

When the ocean's foam flies

On the sweet summer's air

I alone will be watching

For my lassie so fair

Her lips formed the words with great ease; her voice, so light and charming, mixed with the scent of fresh flowers in the hot heat.

And something else.

Elinor froze. Her eyes were focused on something on the road up ahead. Cautiously, she made her way towards it.

It was an earthenware jug, laying on its side. The earth around it was drenched in the water it had once held. She gingerly analyzed her surroundings.

Something was off.

She gazed at the pottery, admiring the patterns and colors that were etched in its sides.

As she turned around the large jug, she gasped.

Blood.

A stain of crimson red lay beside the clay pot, and as she studied the path, droplets of the like were dirtying the path up ahead.

She licked her lips, and began to comfort her frantic heart by breathing steadily.

She set her jaw.

If it was a wounded animal, there was nothing she could do. She knew not to touch any beasts in India, tamed or untamed.

She gazed at the jug, the dirty water attracting flies from all around.

It must be a human. If it's alive, it needs help. If it's dead...it's need to be buried.

She relaxed her shoulders, and examined the droplets and stains of red, allowing them to lead her off the path and into a thick brush. Her long hair had begun to cling to her sticky neck, and her face was flushed with heat.

She was ashamed to hear herself when her voice whispered a weak and hoarse, " Hello? Is anyone here?"

Silence.

She continued on, only to trip and fall hard on her right arm. A sharp pain crept through her shoulder and elbow. Gasping in agony, she managed to sit up.

Immediately, she shrieked.

A corpse lay on the forrest floor not four feet away from her. It was heedlessly covered with palm leaves, hiding it from plain sight.

It was an Indian boy about her age.

He lay on his stomach, his mouth open and eyelids shut.

Fear rang in her chest, and her stomach clenched most disagreeably.

The boy's brown hand lay out lifeless in front of his face, turned to the sky. It was stained with dried blood, and the face seemed to be bruising.

Elinor stood up quickly, then as if reluctant, touched the body.

She inhaled sharply.

Warm.

Her heart beat violently as she began to toss the palm leaves off the boy's back.

The mortal wound was deep and stained with black blood that seeped out of the lower back.

She clenched her teeth in remorse.

As she examined the body, she shuddered.

The boy's right arm was deformed and smaller than the other, as if it was an infant's arm on a young man's body. Immediately, she was ashamed of her reaction, accusing herself of judgement and criticism.

She was in such anguish, she almost didn’t catch the boy’s finger move in the corner of her eye.

She swallowed hard.

You're not dying on my watch, boy.

She crouched close to the ground, and whispered softly in the his ear.

" Take heart. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all."

She was off in a flash, tramping through the thick foliage, and off up the steep path toward her aunt's cottage.

PART THREE

The wind blew through the sheer curtains hanging over windows, and eagerly danced into the small yet cozy room. The sound of rustling pages filled the peaceful atmosphere.

“The Lord sustains him on his sickbed; in his illness you restore him to full health.”

The girl sat by her patient’s bed, softly whispering the word of God.

The boy is very ill. There is little hope.

The doctor’s words echoed in her head. Dr. Caldwell had visited the day before to check on the boy’s wounds, and had shared his doubts openly with the defiant nurse.

“ Little? It only takes a little spark to reignite a flame, Mr. Caldwell.” She had responded.

He had given a weak smile.

“He will stay unconscious for a little while longer. He lost a great amount of blood before you found him, Miss Percy.”

She had nodded curtly, in denial of the fear that had begun to gnaw at her insides.

Elinor cleared her throat sharply; a habit of hers to cut short unwanted recollections. She continued to study the heavy book that lay open on her lap.

"And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.”

Her elegant finger traced the sentence across the page slowly.

The words began to blur.

She hurriedly rubbed her eyes, then glanced at the boy’s solemn face that lay on the feathery pillow.

She felt her stomach churn.

“ Oh, boy. Who are you? I wish you could speak to me.”

His eyelashes were highlighted by the sunlight that shone through the window; his lips were round and full, set in a peaceful stature. His forehead was broad, and his jaw well defined. As he lay there, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, Elinor sighed thoughtfully. She then began to sing.

The great creator

Made thee well

He sings a song

The angels tell

The mountains sing

The King is home!

I once was lost

He found my soul

Before long, the girl was on her knees, singing softly into the sleeping boy’s ear.

He heals the broken-hearted

He helps the blindman see

I call on him when I’m in need

He answers oh so sweet

Tis true that I do love my Father

And true that He loves me

Tis true I want the same for you

So come, and you will meet.

The lullaby’s tune slowly died out as the girl laid her head on the boy’s chest, ever so softly, and closed her own eyes. A final whisper reached out between the two.

“Sleep well, boy.”

The wind brushed both faces serenely, as a mother does to her sleeping young.

PART FOUR

The darkness I had succumbed to for so long finally loosed its grip on me, and I awoke in a room I did not know. I immediately knew it to be an Englishman’s, for no Indian’s hut that I knew of had walls or shutters like this room did. I did not feel fear, but curiosity. I was stiff all over, and my chest throbbed with a heaviness rather than pain. But when I managed to turn my tense neck, I saw the burden was no burden at all.

It was a girl.

A beautiful English girl, whose hair was that of golden silk, and who had eyelashes long and soft.

Only now did I feel fear jolt through me.

Fear of a stranger.

Fear of waking the beautiful creature, so intimate and lovely.

How did I come to be here?

I lay there, looking into her face for a long while; memorizing every feature.

Suddenly, her eyelashes fluttered open, and her eyes held an unknown emotion as we gazed at each other for the first time. It was all over in a second. She gasped.

My lips fumbled for words.

“ I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The girl sat up rigidly, and I noticed a tint of color in her cheeks.

“ No, no. Don’t be. I am very glad you did. I am sorry.”

I shook my head slightly, enduring the pain.

“ You are the first English woman I’ve ever seen up close.”

Elinor smiled nervously, flattening out her skirt.

I swallowed slowly, licking my dry lips.

“ Please, what is your name?”

She leaned forward.

“ Oh yes! My name is Elinor. Elinor Grace Percy.”

I smiled.

“ It is a beautiful name.”

She blushed and thanked me.

Her smile was enchanting, and I struggled to find words.

“ How did I get here?”

She told me how she had found me, and that I had been unconscious for a week and two days.

“ The doctor said you had lost a lot of blood, and that it would take you longer to recover.”

She looked me in the eyes.

“ And yet you’re awake.”

She held my gaze only for a little while, dropping her head abruptly and peering at her hands once more.

There was a pause before I decided to speak.

“ I had been walking with a jar of water from the stream with Rishi, a school mate of mine.” She immediately looked up, her eyes transfixed on my face, teeming with curiosity.

It was hard for me to continue the story when her deep blue eyes were set on me.

It gave me a queer sensation, but I pressed on.

“ It was my turn to carry the jug the next mile to the school house, and Rishi had gone ahead of me. When I got to the top of the next hill, there was no one to be seen. I then felt a terrible pain in my lower back, and I fell to the ground. I was picked back up by someone and tossed to the ground again and again. My nose started to bleed, and the man beat me until I knew only darkness. I guess that’s when you found me.”

The girl’s face was twisted in agony, and I saw a single tear roll down her cheek.

Shame and regret screamed in my head.

“ I’m sorry. I should not have told you.”

She sniffed, but shook her head.

“No. I’m so sorry.”

She hung her head and cried quietly.

Led by a strong inclination, I reached over to tuck one of her locks behind her ear.

She froze, but only for a moment.

I met her gaze, and smiled.

“ Thank you, Elinor Grace Percy, for saving my life.”

She smiled back, her cheeks pink and rosy.

“It was the Lord who led me to you.”

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Who is this Lord?”

The girls face turned white. She passionately stood up and grabbed a large book that lay on a table nearby.

She set it on her lap, and began to recite from its pages.

“God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.”

She flipped vigorously, her slender hands fingering through many leaves, searching for a certain message.

“Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. ‘“

“The Rock, his work is perfect, for all his ways are justice. A God of faithfulness and without iniquity, just and upright is he.”

She continued for several minutes, flipping through this book, and reading me things I did not understand.

Finally she read a sentence that struck me with a fierce blow.

“God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life “

“Eternal life?” I interrupted.

She looked up, her face shining with joy.

“Yes! Eternal life with no suffering, no pain.”

I paused. “But how?”

She only flew to another page, and read something that broke my heart, although I did not fully comprehend it.

“He was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.”

“Pierced?”

She had tears in her eyes.

“ Yes. Jesus, the perfect son of God, was willingly tortured and crucified on a Roman cross, paying the death penalty for all, so that we could live eternally with Him. His blood poured out for us is what washes us clean and saves us from our sins.”

I must have looked puzzled, because she laughed whole heartedly, her smile bright and wide.

She went on to explain what she called the gospel. There was something in her eyes that shone so vividly and genuine, that I did not tire of what she told me. I spent hours asking questions, and she answered all of them.

“The bible says that God knows his children by name!” She smiled, laughing joyously.

I paused; a familiar pain assaulted my heart.

“My parents named me broken. My name is Dalit.”

Elinor looked at me, and smiled.

“Yes, you were broken. But you don’t have to be.”

My heart skipped a beat.

She began to fidget with her hands.

“My name used to be broken too, once. I was never satisfied, and always felt lost and confused.”

She sighed.

“ One day, I decided my life wasn’t worth living. We live by a pond, and I couldn’t swim. I stood on a bridge above that pond, and when I was just about to drop into the watery depths, I heard a voice.”

My stomach twisted. I realized I had been holding my breath, and I exhaled slowly.

“ It was as soft as the wind blowing in my ear, but as strong as a lion’s roar. My chest burned with it’s strength and power, but my heart melted in it’s presence. It said only three words. ‘ You are mine.’

I ran home that day, and found that same statement in Isaiah 43:1. “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine.”

Elinor held my hand in hers, and met my eyes.

“ You were dying, Dalit. God saved you. He has chosen you. But to know Him, you must want Him with all your heart.”

Chosen.

The word quenched a thirst I had carried with me my whole life. Joy came rushing into my chest.

Chosen.

“Yes. I do want Him.”

She smiled.

"And He wants you.”