I was now as hungry to learn as I once was for food, and was soon
changed from one class to another. I could not help learning for it was
a delight to me. On entering the school I was put in a class studying
English, and I gave my whole mind to learning this language, and the
munshi who taught this class, seeing me so interested, allowed me to
study with him out of school hours. Each new word and idea gave me
extreme pleasure. I was very busy with my lessons, caring little for the
simple sports of the boys. Yet busy as I was, often at night and often
when I was sitting under the big tree my thoughts went back to the two
upper rooms in that little court. It all seemed like a dream, and yet so
real.
I always commenced with those rupees, poured into the dear mama’s lap. I
could not go beyond their clinking sound, for at that moment my
conscious life was born. I saw the white sahib standing there, the
pitiful face of the mama, the tears running down her cheeks. I saw her
clinging to his feet and him rushing from the room, and heard again her
wailing cries. How well I recalled her sitting day after day, from week
to week, peering with those large eyes toward the west; how the two men
carried her away, so far away that she never returned. The grief I then
experienced always came to me whenever I thought of her. Then followed
the thoughts of that desperate poverty, the fearful zemindar, our
wanderings, the scene at the death of the new mama, and always the good
old faqir came in for a grateful thought.
The little sister—was she ever left out? Never. That little face,
radiant with smiles and the mama’s eyes, my joy, my all, how could I
forget her? Recalling these chapters of my life always gave me pain
instead of pleasure, yet they would be remembered. If we could blot out
all the pain and follies of the past and retain only the good and
pleasant, what happy mortals should we be! But memory is eternal.
My reveries always ended with thoughts of the sister, and one day my
desire about her became so intense that I felt I must see her. I had
often been told that some day I would be taken to see her, and this kept
me quiet, but now it seemed the time had come. I went to the sahib and
begged him to let me go at once. He said that the next morning early he
would send a munshi with me. I scarcely slept at all that night. I arose
a number of times and went out to see if morning had not come. At the
first glimpse of it I aroused the munshi and we departed, for a number
of miles on a bullock cart and then by what he called the rehl. This was
a wonderful experience to me, but I was thinking only of the little
sister, wondering if she had grown, how she would look, what she would
say and a thousand things about her and what I should say to her. The
munshi on the way had bought some little ornaments, playthings and
sweets for me to give to her, as he said we must not go khali hath, and
it was very good of him to think of it, as no one ever should go with an
empty hand.
How happy was I when the rehl stopped and I caught sight of the
orphanage. I was trembling with joy and could scarcely walk. We soon
reached the door and were shown into a room where there was a mem sahib.
The munshi told her our errand. “O,” said she in Hindustani, “the little
one has gone. A sahib and mem sahib came and said they would take her to
be their little girl.” “Who are they and where have they gone?” asked
the munshi. I heard nothing but the word, gayi, gone. It was the same
word that I heard when the mama went away. My intense anxiety, kept on
the stretch for so many hours, at the mention of that fatal word, was so
suddenly checked, that it seemed that I was not dying but was dead. I
remembered nothing more, but it must have been hours after that I found
myself lying upon a cot and some one bathing my head.
A day or two after we left for home. The munshi was very sad and
disappointed, for he had shared my joy in anticipation, as he now shared
my sorrow. I took no pleasure in looking out of the windows of the rehl,
nor cared whether we stopped anywhere or whether we went on. My heart
was dead, my life had stopped and all desire had ceased. The dear mama
and all I knew of her came to mind. She had gone, and now that little
playful sister, how beautiful she appeared to me, she had gone too, and
I would never see her again. My cup of sorrow was full, overflowing, and
the dead aching pain in my heart choked me, and the more I felt the more
I wished that I might be gone too as they were. I cannot tell how much I
thought and felt, for who can measure the heart’s sorrows? Life for me
had changed, for its only joy and hope was dead. I went through the
usual routine of school duties, hardly conscious of what I was doing. I
took no pleasure in anything. The boys tried to sympathize with me, but
as they could do nothing they left me alone. The mem sahib talked to me
and said, “It was the will of God.” I had been by this time taught a
little about God. I could not see why it was the will of God that I
should suffer so when I had not deserved it. I had seen some of the boys
punished because they had done something wrong. I could see the right
and justice of this, but what had I done to deserve punishment? I had
always been kind to the little sister and loved her better than myself.
When I was so hungry that I could barely stand up, and got a few grains
of parched rice or grain, I gave them to her. I took more pleasure in
seeing her eat them than in eating them myself. Her smile to me was my
joy. If God was one of love and tender mercy, as I had been told, why
was it His will that I should lose my sister and suffer so terribly? If
I had done nothing for her, had ill treated her, then it might be the
will of a just God to have deprived me of her as a punishment.
Such were my thoughts. I was but a child, a very ignorant one, yet I had
my thoughts, such as they were. Children often think more than their
elders give them credit for, and this is stranger still, since all were
children once. Since that time I have often thought of myself, and could
never believe my sufferings to have been according to the will of God.
It is so common for people when they do not understand a thing to
attribute it to this cause and make that an excuse for their ignorance
and mistakes. I remember several of the questions, Was it the will of
God that I should be born without a father unlike all the other boys?
They had something to be proud of, though the fathers of most of them
were dead; but even a dead father was better than none at all. Was it
the will of God that our mama should suffer so much and then go away and
leave us alone in the world? Was it the will of God that we should be
separated and now be lost or as dead to each other? It is so much safer
to lay the blame on God, or make His will an excuse for sins and follies
than to blame ourselves, for to do the latter would be self-reproach,
which is rather disagreeable; and to accuse our fellowmen might be
resented, which would be dangerous. But God is so far away and keeps
quiet.
I could not be resigned, yet following the routine of school duties, no
matter how heavy my heart was, my grief gradually lost its power over
me. What a blessed thing it is that time has the power of alleviating
our sorrows and not allowing them to fall one upon another until we are
crushed by them! I did not forget, but endured what seemed to me an
inevitable fate or something, no matter what.
Months passed. I gave myself wholly to my studies with true delight in
them. I rose from one grade to another, and became quite happy except
when I thought of those who had gone. I was still the “Little One,” for
even the sahib and mem sahib had come to call me by that name. I became
used to it, as it suited me as well as any other.
One morning the sahib who had found me in the serai and brought me to
the school came, with several others, with our sahib into the yard. Most
of the boys were at play, but stopped to look at the sahibs. Standing a
little behind them I heard the magistrate sahib, as I learned he was
called, ask, “Where is the boy I brought you who never had a father?”
“That Eurasian?” said our sahib, “we call him the ‘Little One,’ as he
had no name and he is the smallest one of the lot.” One of the other
sahibs asked, “Why not call him Japhet, and some day he can go in search
of his father?” They all laughed, and our sahib said that “Japhet” might
do as well as any other, so I was Japhet to him ever afterward, and to
others to this day.
The older boys, however, had a chance. They exclaimed “That Eurasian!”
as applied to me, so I was “That Eurasian” to them, and this name
abideth with me still. Thus it was that I came by my two names that
through all my life have been hurled at my poor head; one the donation
of a Commissioner, the other of our worthy Padri. If I never got
anything else from that school, I got this legacy of names.
A number of months now passed, when one morning the magistrate sahib
came again. Passing into the yard I overheard him say, “I am greatly
interested in that Eurasian, or, as I think, we named him, Japhet, the
one in search of his father. What kind of a boy is he?” Our sahib
replied, “He is one of, or rather, he is the best and brightest boy we
have in school. He is a little one, as we for a long while called him,
but he leaves the larger boys behind in all his studies.” This was so
unexpected to me that I dodged behind a pillar; still I could hear what
was said. The magistrate continued: “I have often thought of him, in
fact, taken a fancy to him, and if you don’t mind, and will let me have
him, I will take him away and educate him myself.” As the magistrate had
brought me there, and as he was the big man of the district, whose word
was law, and as our sahib had a great respect, almost fear of him, any
boy of us could have told that his proposal would be accepted.
Our sahib in reply said that he would be sorry to lose Japhet, but it
would be for his good to go, as he would have greater advantages. He
then called out to the crowd of boys, “Japhet! Where is Japhet?” One of
the larger boys pulled me out from behind the pillar, and brought me
into the presence of the sahibs. Little as I was and ignorant, I was
conscious that I ought not to have heard what was said about me, and I
held my head down in shame, though they probably thought my
embarrassment was caused by fear of the sahibs. It is often in life
lucky as well as unlucky for us that we are misunderstood.
The magistrate smiled upon me. What a world of pleasure there is in
receiving only a smile! They cost so little, why are they not oftener
given? As he turned away he said to our sahib: “I will let you know in a
few days.” Shortly after, going among a crowd of the larger boys among
whom I was so small that I was hid by them, one, who understood English
better than most, called out, “Do you know what the magistrate sahib
said about that Eurasian?” “No,” said they, “what was it?” “Why, he is
going to take him out of the school, and educate him himself!” “Wah!
Wah!” shouted some of them, who were rather envious of me for being
promoted out of their classes. They had also twigged the story of
Japhet, and said: “Then he will go in search of his father!” “But he
never had a father!” said another. “Wah! Wah!” was the only reply. I did
not like the bantering tone, though I did not understand the joke, but
as I had heard what the magistrate sahib said, these little things did
not disturb me much.
As the months passed, the magistrate sahib often came with our sahib
into the yard as if to see the school, but when I saw his smile towards
me, I felt, though I never dared say so, that he came on purpose to see
me. One day, as he turned to go out, I overheard this remark: “He is
quite small yet, perhaps I had better wait awhile.” This startled me,
and made me fear that I might never grow larger, and always have to
remain. This, then, was the reason why I was not taken away. I at once
made up my mind that I would grow, make myself taller by some means. The
first step was to find out how tall I was, so I stood by a post in the
house, and had one of the boys mark with a pencil my height, and to
conceal my object, I made a similar mark for him on another post,
suggesting that every Sunday morning we would come to the posts and see
how much we had grown during the week.
I studied the subject very carefully. I concluded I must eat more, that
I must take more exercise, walk, run and leap, and especially to
practice on the bars, and suspend myself from them by my arms and chin.
I had serious thoughts of tying a rope to each of my legs, with stones
at the other ends to hang down over the foot of the charpoy at night,
but fear of the ridicule of the boys prevented me doing this. I found
myself when walking or sitting in school, straightening up so as to be
as tall as possible. I often ran to a little hillock outside where there
was a good breeze. I then expanded my chest; took in long breaths to see
if I could not swell and make myself broader. I swung my arms around,
drew them backwards, upwards and downwards, turned somersaults, as if
bent on becoming an acrobat.
I often wanted to go and measure, as I felt sure that I was growing, but
waited patiently for Sunday morning. It came. The result was surprising.
I was above the mark, while the other boy had not grown a hair’s
breadth. I was elated, and determined to increase my efforts. The extra
food, the abundant exercise, the stretching, bending, pulling myself
upwards was everything, but I could not get rid of the idea that my mind
had a good deal to do with it, so I thought constantly of growing,
longing to be taller, wishing it with all the power of my mind. Aside
from my studies, my mind was wholly absorbed in growing taller. I
reasoned upon the subject like a philosopher, to get every advantage I
could. Another week passed, again I had grown, and so on for a number of
weeks, a little more each week. Then I became somewhat frightened. What
if I go on at this rate? I would be like a tall bamboo, a great, awkward
pole of a boy and man. I thought of our sahib; a tall, lean, lanky man,
who seemed as if he never got enough to eat. Years afterward, when I
could think more naturally, I concluded that he had stretched himself so
much trying to look into heaven to learn about God’s decrees that he
neglected broadening himself toward his fellowmen, for his religion was
such a straight up and down thing that it lacked all breadth. He had so
much theology, that it made him lean to carry it. The boys could not
suggest a question about anything, but he had a cut and dried answer
ready, as if he had it pressed and laid away in a drawer, like a
botanical specimen. Everything in him was dried and prepared with care
without any of the juice left. He was a good and kind-hearted man, in
his way, but his way was very narrow. Yet, I can say this of him,
without any exaggeration, that I think he did more good than harm, and
is not that saying a great deal to the credit of anybody?
I was greatly pleased with the result of my endeavors, though somewhat
alarmed at what might happen. If necessary, to prevent myself growing
too tall, I would stop eating, take no exercise, carry a weight in my
turban, and at night have two sticks, one at the head and the other at
the foot of my charpoy, to keep me from stretching out too much; with
these provisions in mind, I concluded to run the risk and go on for a
few weeks longer. The same result followed.
One morning the magistrate came. As soon as he saw me he exclaimed,
“Why, my boy! How you have grown?” I was satisfied. I felt that I had
accomplished my purpose. He turned towards our sahib, and said he would
take me at once. I was allowed to take a few books. As the magistrate
said I did not need clothes, I took only those I wore. The trinkets I
had intended for my little sister, were carefully tied up in a little
package, so precious to me, they were not left. I was ready at once, and
salaaming to the lean sahib we went out of the gate, the boys giving a
vigorous cheer as a token of their good wishes which I gladly received
with a wave of my hand, we were soon out of sight, and I never saw that
school again. Not long after, the tall sahib died, and I have no doubt
that he got into that heaven toward which he had been stretching himself
so long. My “sahib without a beard” went to Wilayat, and the boys, I
suppose, soon scattered. Could I forget the school? Have I not been
reminded of it every day of my life by the two names I received there,
“That Eurasian” and “Japhet,” perpetual mementoes of that chapter in my
life?
The carriage, with the fine spirited horses, soon reached the
magistrate’s bungalow, and as we drove up under the portico, a crowd of
servants, durwans, chuprassies, bearers, khansamas, khitmutgars, all
came salaaming as if we were foreign princes. I say we, since they
turned toward me as some special favorite who had come sitting on the
seat beside the sahib. There was a broad veranda fringed with pots of
plants and flowers; this I took in at a glance. On a large carpet two
darzies were working, as if for dear life, though many a time afterward,
I saw them nodding when their master was not by. The first word of the
sahib was, “Darzi, kya, kuch kapra is larke ke waste bana sakte?” It was
clothes for me, clothes, a subject on which the great Scotch mental
tailor has laid so much stress. I had been so absorbed in the novelty of
what was transpiring, that I was unconscious of the poverty of my
appearance. Was not the great Newton once so absorbed in an experiment
that he put his watch in the kettle and boiled it, while he held the egg
in his hand to note the time? I always like to have some great example
to refer to when I find some lapse or mistake in myself. It is so
consoling, you know.
At the suggestion of clothes I took a look at myself; that is, as much
of me as there was in sight. I knew that my growth had lengthened me a
bit, but I had not realized that it had shortened and narrowed my
clothes at the same time. The thought that like a flash of light, very
warm too, rushed through me, that the boundaries of my coat did not
sympathize with each other by a number of inches, that the bottoms of my
trousers had sworn enmity to my feet, and were climbing in scorn toward
my knees, and what was left of these lower encasements were clinging to
my legs as tightly as bark to a growing tree. I could have hid behind
the bearer, or the dog, or anything.
All this reflection took place quicker than light can run, and was ended
by the darzi saying, “Huzoor, what kind of clothes?” The hukm was that
he was to get the best in the bazar, with a free hand and a free purse,
and to make everything “Europe” fashion. The whole thing was done in a
jiffy. I think that is the word; it will do as well as any. Then the
sahib said, “We will go into the drawing room.” We, that is, I and the
sahib, or the sahib and I,—we; how strange it sounded! He didn’t hukm me
at all. He asked me to take a chair. Now, I had never sat upon one of
them in my life. My legs! what could I do with them? I felt that I must
tuck them under me out of the way, but the sahib did not do that with
his legs, so I let mine hang. What else? He talked to me so kindly that
I soon felt easier; but it was a long time before I could get rid of the
awe I had for the barra magistrate sahib.
He asked some questions in his kindly way, to which I answered and used
the word “sahib.” At this he said, “You must not say sahib any more to
me. Call me Mr. Percy, for I am your friend; I will be as a father to
you if you will be a good boy.” I don’t know what I said, but I think I
told him I would try ever so hard. The thought flashed over me how hard
I had tried to grow to please him, and as I had succeeded in that I
would do my best in everything he suggested. Soon we went to breakfast.
Mr. Percy sat at one end of the table and I was placed at the other, a
table large enough for a dozen people. How strange it was! The shining
white cloth, and the great variety of food, dish after dish, when I had
never before had more than one dish, and not always enough of that. Then
my knife and fork and spoon, when I had never touched such things
before! what could I do with them? I watched Mr. Percy closely. He was
my working model. I wondered at the ease with which he handled his fork,
and was surprised that he did not run it into his nose or under his
chin. He told one of the khitmutgars to wait on me, and this man did his
best to help me.
There was one thing I noticed but did not realize its object till
several months afterward. There were two large vases filled with sprigs
covered with flowers placed between us, so that Mr. Percy could not see
me except by leaning aside. For several weeks these remained in that
position, and I was left to work out my own salvation unseen. Afterward
they were placed so that we could see each other face to face. When they
had been changed I understood it all. I have often thought of that
little expedient of his to save me from embarrassment, and I bless him
for it, and for many other such little kindnesses.
Little things! and life is made up of them. A smile, a tear, a kindly
word, so easy to give and of such value to receive! It is not only the
one who does a great deed for a particular purpose, but the one who does
the many little deeds of good to the many, who is the real friend of
humanity.
As this is a truthful narrative of my experience, I must mention a
little incident. I always admire truth, even when it does take down my
own pride a bit. I knew what practice had done in my studies, and in my
experiment in growing, and as I thought over the subject I concluded to
have some practice with that knife and fork, so when Mr. Percy was
starting to go to his court, and gave an order to the khitmutgar to
prepare tiffin for me, I suggested to that worthy that I would have it
in the room allotted to me. He nodded assent, and when the time came the
tiffin was on the table. I told him that I would wait upon myself, and
he could go to his khana. I locked the door after him and then took a
general survey of the whole scene from the end of the room, then walked
to the chair, placed it, sat down, unfolded my napkin, and began to use
my knife and fork. After a few mouthfuls I placed my knife and fork on
the plate, laid down my napkin, lifted back my chair, arose and retired
to the end of the room for a new trial. For an hour I did this, and kept
up my tiffin practice for several weeks, until one evening, when the
vases had been replaced, Mr. Percy remarked, “Why, Japhet, you use your
fork as if you had been born with one in your mouth.”
At first I felt I must tell him of my practice, but waited a moment and
then did not do it. It is not always best to tell everything, even the
truth, nor to tell all at once, for if you tell everything to-day that
you know, what will you have left for to-morrow?
After dinner, Mr. Percy went with me to my room and bade me good night.
A bearer was appointed to wait upon me. I thought the big bedstead, with
its beautiful spread, must be an ornament to the room, and supposed that
I was to lie on the floor upon its fine rug, but said nothing, as I
reasoned that it was the business of every one to know his own business,
so I gave the bearer his rope and let him do as it seemed best unto him,
and I soon saw by his preparations that I was to lie on the bed instead
of the floor.
I was mightily troubled about getting out of my coat and trousers, for,
since I began that experiment in growing, they were to me and I to them,
as if we had been born simultaneously. The bearer had brought the night
clothes that the darzi had purchased. I have read how frogs get out of
their old skins, and I think that bearer must have known all about it. I
took everything as a matter of course, as if all was a daily habit of
mine, and I to the manner born. I was growing very fast. The bearer left
me and I slept. I almost wished for the old bare charpoy, for such
fearful dreams I had on that soft bed after that good dinner! One dream
was about getting into my trousers and coat again, and no end of worry
it gave me. Very early I was awakened by Mr. Percy calling me, saying
that he was going out to inspect a bridge, and would not be back to
breakfast before eleven or twelve o’clock; that I was to make myself
comfortable. So kind and considerate he was.
The bearer came and said that if I would lounge about in my pajamas for
a while, the darzi would have some clothes for me to try on. That bearer
was a jewel, a black diamond, a stoic, for he never even winked, or
hinted at the narrowness of my former apparel. I think if I had stood on
my head he would gravely have said that was the proper way for me to
stand, yet I suspect he had lots of fun in the servants’ quarters
talking about me. Upright as I am, I am somewhat of a suspicious nature;
that is, I often suspect others of doing just what I would do if our
circumstances were exchanged. I mention this, as I do not wish to be
considered better than I am or was at that time. I hate gilding, for I
always think there is flimsy, cheap material underneath.
When the clothes came, it took all the nonchalance I possessed to get
into them, and appear to be at ease. They were not exactly a fit, but
passable after a few alterations, so I emerged from my room. Then came
the jutiwala with his boots, the boxwala with his shirts, socks,
collars, neckties, and I was transferred into them, and transformed into
what I never expected to be. I hardly need say that I went to my room to
become acquainted with my new rig, so as to be ready for Mr. Percy. It
seemed my whole desire was in trying to please him.