The Karma of Love (Bantam Series No. 14) by Barbara Cartland Page B

through the Bay of Biscay.
    Orissa had decided that he was neither a clever nor an ambitious man. But he was a good mixer and because he liked both comfort and the company of other people, he was quite content with his position as Ship’s Doctor.
    The patient with the bandaged thumb departed and Dr. Thompson said to Orissa.
    “Now, Mrs. Lane, you look well enough ! So I cannot believe you need my services.”
    “No, thank you, I do not,” Orissa replied. “But there is a woman who does but who will not ask your help.”
    She explained to the doctor about Mrs. Mahla’s illness and that she was the wife of her teacher.
    She had the feeling that because the Indian woman was a Third Class passenger, Dr. Thompson was quite glad not to have the bother of treating her.
    “It is all the same with these Indians,” he said in a disparaging tone. “They do not care for our type of food and practically starve themselves to death on the voyage. But the woman has not got long now before she w ill be back on rice and chapatti s which suit her far better than anything else.”
    “In the meantime her husband says she is in considerable pain,” Orissa said gently.
    The doctor produced from a cupboard a bottle filled with a white-looking liquid.
    “Tell him to give her two tablespoons of this every four hours,” he said. “It should settle her stomach, and here are a few pills which will make her sleep.”
    “Thank you very much,” Orissa said gratefully.
    “It is more faith-healing than anything else with those people,” the Doctor said. “Tell her to throw in a prayer to the right god and she’ll soon be better.”
    Orissa thanked him again and carrying the medicine went back to the cabin where Mr. Mahla was waiting.
    She told him what the Doctor had prescribed and he was profuse in his gratitude for her kindness in obtaining the medicines.
    “Let us take them to your wife right away,” Orissa suggested.
    “You are quite certain you do not mind visiting my humble cabin?” Mr. Mahla asked. “My wife would deem it a very great honour that such a gracious lady should come to see her, but I do not wish to impose upon your good nature.”
    “It is no imposition,” Orissa said. “I would very much like to meet your wife. I should have suggested it before.”
    They went down the stairways which led from the First Class Deck to the Second Class and again to the Third.
    Despite the assurance Orissa had received from the Steward that the other decks were unusually comfortable she could not help noticing how hot and stifling it was below.
    The passages were narrow, undecorated and the Mahlas’ cabin when they reached it seemed far too small for the number of people it contained.
    Mr. Mahla, Orissa learnt, had six children. The family was all packed, eight of them, into a cabin which was intended to hold four and there hardly seemed room to turn round.
    There was no doubt that Mrs. Mahla was in pain.
    She was lying down and groaning with her hands crossed over her stomach but she made a great effort to try to sit up when her husband introduced Orissa.
    “Do not move,” Orissa begged. “I am here because I know you are ill and I have brought you some medicine which I hope will make you better.”
    “I am in pain—I shall die before we reach home,” Mrs. Mahla groaned.
    “I promise you will not do that,” she said, “and you must think of the children. What will they do if you are too ill to look after them?”
    The children, who ranged in age from a few months to a girl of perhaps ten years old seemed apparently to think this was their cue because they began to cry out to their mother that she must get well for their sakes.
    They were all extremely pretty children. Orissa liked their large, brown, soulful eyes and the manner in which even the small ones managed to induce a soft pleading note into their musical voices.
    She persuaded Mrs. Mahla to swallow tablespoonfuls of the Doctor’s medicine right away. Then she