The Bear Garden
[Illustration: JULLANIE AMONG THE GRASSES.]
"THE fruit of the lotus--a capsule--ripens below the surface of the
water. When the seeds are ripe and leave the berry, a small bubble of
air attached to them brings them to the surface, and the seeds are
carried wherever the wind and waves take them until the bubble bursts;
when the seed, being heavier than water, sinks to the bottom, and then
begins to grow to form a new plant, which may be at some distance from
the parent one. In this simple way the lotus plant is enabled to
spread." So says our botany book; and the thought of the lotus seed in
its little air-boat floating away over the water to be sown, perhaps,
far from the parent plant, is full of suggestion, and leads us straight
to the Bear-garden.
A lotus-pool, a bear-garden--the connection is not obvious. _Alice_ in
her wanderings never wandered into bewilderment more profound than such
a mixture of ideas. But this is the way we get to it: We have called
these little children Lotus-buds--for such they are in their youngness
and innocence; and the underlying thought runs deeper, as those who have
read the first chapter know--but the Lotus-buds must grow into flowers
and must be sown as living seeds, perhaps far away from the happy place
they knew when they were buds. The little air-boat will come for them.
The breath of the Spirit that bloweth where it listeth will carry them
where it will, and we want them to be ready to be sown wherever the
pools of the world are barren of lotus flowers. And this brings us
straight to the newest of our beginnings in Dohnavur--the Kindergarten.
An ideal kindergarten is a place where the teachers train the scholars,
and we hope to have that in time; at present the case is opposite, and
that is why it has its name, the name that conflicts with the
lotus-pool--the Bear-garden.
In this peaceful room Classes B, C, and D have taken their young
teachers in hand--Rukma, Preena, and Sanda. Of these Rukma (Radiance)
has the clearest ideas about discipline; Preena (the Elf) knows best how
to coax; and Sanda, excellent Mouse that she is, has the gift of
patience. These three (who after all are only school-girls, continuing
their own education with their Prema Sittie) are attempting to instruct
the babies on the lines of organised play; but the babies feel they have
much to teach their teachers, and this is how they do it:--
Prema Sittie goes into the room when the kindergarten is in progress,
and from three classes at once babies come springing towards her with
squeals of joy, and they clasp her knees and look up with eyes full of
affection and confidence in their welcome. "Go back to your place!" she
says, and tries to look severe; with a chuckle the children obey, and
she looks round and takes notes.
Chellalu is lying full-length on the bench, with a look of supreme
content on her face, and her two feet against the wall. Pyarie has
turned her back to the picture that is being shown, and is tying a
handkerchief round her head. Ruhinie, an India-rubber-ball sort of baby,
has suddenly bounced up from her seat, and is starting a chorus, of
which she is fond, at the top of her not very gentle voice; and Komala,
a perfect sprite, is tickling the child who sits next to her. "Sittie!"
exclaims the distracted teacher, "they won't learn anything!" Or if she
happens to be the Mouse, she is calmly engaged with the one good child
in her class.
The next group is stringing beads on pieces of wire. "Look, look!" and
an eager babe holds out her wire for admiration, and probably spills her
beads in her effort to secure attention. If she does, there is a general
scramble, beads rolling loose on the floor being quite irresistible. One
wicked baby sits by herself and strings her beads on her curls.
A few minutes later it is mat-plaiting; and the agile little fingers are
diligently weaving pieces of blue and yellow material, bits over from
their elder sisters' garments, beautifully unconscious that they are
supposed to be working the colours alternately. Sometimes in the gayest
way they exclaim: "Sittie! It's wrong! it's wrong!" Occasionally there
is a howl from a child who has been pinched by another, or whose
neighbour has helped herself to her beads. Sittie crosses the room
hurriedly. "What's the matter?" With tears rolling down her cheeks the
victim points to her oppressor. "May you do that?" is the invariable
English question. It is answered by a shake of the head, the tiniest
baby understanding that particular remark. The injured baby smiles. A
reproof, or at worst a pat on the fat arm next to hers, satisfies her
sense of justice, and she is content.
When an English lesson begins, those afflicted with delicate nerves are
happier elsewhere. One class has a toy farmyard, another a set of
tea-things, the third a doll which every member of the class is aching
to embrace. The teachers and children alike are inclined to talk with
emphasis; and if you stand between the three classes you hear queer
answers to queerer questions, and wonder if the babies at Babel were
anything like so bewildering.
But this vision of the kindergarten is hardly a fortnight old; for
Classes B, C, and D are of recent development, and are made up of some
heedless characters, as Chellalu and Pyarie, who could not keep up with
class A, and a few more young things from the nursery who were wilder
than wild rabbits from the wood when we began. Also it should be stated
that from the babies' point of view white people are only playthings.
"They were very good before you came!" is the unflattering remark
frequently addressed to us; and as we discreetly retire, the babies do
seem to become suddenly beautifully docile. But even so they might be
better, as an unconscious comedy over-seen this morning proves. I was in
the porch outside the door, when Rukma, pointing to a blackboard on
which were written sundry words, told Chellalu to show her "cat," and I
looked in interested to know if Chellalu really knew anything of
reading. Chellalu brandished the pointer, then turned to Rukma with a
confidential smile, "Cat? Where is it, Accal? Is it at the top or at the
bottom?" Rukma, who has a keen sense of the comic, seemed to find it
difficult to look as she felt she ought. Chellalu caught the twinkle in
her eye, and throwing herself heartily into the spirit of the game,
which was evidently intended to be a kindergarten version of Hunt the
Mouse through the Wood, she searched the blackboard for cat. Then to
Rukma: "Accal! dear Accal! Tell _me_, and I'll tell _you_!"
There is nothing that helps us so much to be good as to be believed in
and thought better than we are; and the converse is true, so we do not
want to be always suspecting Chellalu of sin; but this last was entirely
too artless, and this was apparently Rukma's view, for she sent Chellalu
back to her seat and called up another baby, who, fairly radiating
virtue, immediately found the cat.
The next room--which Class A (the first to be formed) has to itself--is
a haven of peace after the Bear-garden. It is a pleasant room like the
other, pretty with pictures and with flowers. And the little bright
faces make it a happy place, for this class, though serious-minded, is
exceedingly cheerful. There is the demure little Tingalu, the good child
of the kindergarten, its hope and stay in troublous hours, and the
quaint little trio, Jeya, Jullanie, and Sella--this last is called
Cock-robin by the family, for she has eyes and manners which remind us
of the bird, and she hardly ever walks, she hops. Mala and Bala are in
the class, and a lively scamp called Puvai.
The kindergarten is worked in English, helped out with Tamil when
occasion requires. This plan, adopted for reasons pertaining to the
future of the children, is resulting in something so comical that we
shall be sorry when the first six months are over and the babies grow
correct. At present they talk with delightful abandon impossible to
reproduce, but very entertaining to those who know both languages. They
tack Tamil terminations to English verbs, and English nouns make
subjects for Tamil predicates. They turn their sentences upside down and
inside out, and any way in fact which occurs to them at the moment, only
insisting upon one thing: you must be made to understand. They apply
everything they learn as immediately as possible, and woe to the unwary
flounderer in the realm of natural science who offers an explanation of
any phenomena of nature other than that taught in the kindergarten. The
learned baby regards you with a tender sort of pity. Poor thing, you are
very ignorant; but you will know better in time--if only you will come
to the kindergarten, the source of the fountain of knowledge.
The ease and the quickness with which a new word is appropriated
constantly surprises us. As for example: one morning two babies wandered
round the Prayer-room, and, discovering passion-flowers within reach,
eagerly begged for them in Tamil. One of the two pushed the other aside
and wanted all the flowers. "Greedy! greedy!" I said reprovingly, in
English. "Greedy _mine_!" was the immediate rejoinder, and the little
hand was held out with more certainty than ever now that the name of the
flower was known. "Greedy _my_ flower! _Mine!_"
But some of the quaintest experiences are when the eloquent baby,
determined to express herself in English, falls back upon scraps of
kindergarten rhyme and delivers it in all seriousness. On the evening
before my birthday I was banished from my room, and the children
decorated it exactly as they pleased. When I returned I was implored not
to look at anything, as it was not intended to be seen till next
morning. Next morning the babies came in procession with their elders,
and while I was occupied with them out on the verandah, Chellalu and her
friend Naveena, discovering something unusual in my room, escaped from
the ranks and went off to examine the mystery. I found them a moment
later gazing in astonished joy at the glories there revealed. "Who did
it all?" gasped Chellalu, whose intention, let us hope, was perfectly
reverent. "God did it all!"
The one kindergarten class taught entirely in Tamil is the Scripture
lesson, illustrated whenever possible by pictures; and being always
taught about sacred things in Tamil, the babies have no doubt about the
language in use in Bible days. But sometimes a little mind is puzzled,
as an instructive aside revealed a day or two ago. For their teacher had
told them in English, not as a Scripture lesson, but just as a story,
about Peter and John and the lame man. The picture was before them, and
they understood and followed keenly; but one little girl whispered to
another, who happened to be the well-informed Cock-robin: "Did Peter and
John talk English or Tamil?" "Tamil, of course!" returned Cock-robin,
without a moment's hesitation.
The Scripture lessons are usually given by Arulai, whose delight is
Bible teaching. "So that as much as lieth in you you will apply yourself
wholly to this one thing, and draw all your cares and studies this way,"
is a word that always comes to mind when one thinks of Arulai and her
Bible. She much enjoys taking the babies, believing that the impressions
created upon the mind of a little child are practically indelible.
Sometimes these impressions are expressed in vigorous fashion. Once the
subject of the class was the Good Samaritan. The babies were greatly
exercised over the scandalous behaviour of the priest and the Levite.
"Punish them! Let them have whippings!" they demanded. Arulai explained
further. But one baby got up from her seat and walked solemnly to the
picture. "Take care what you are doing!" she remarked impressively in
Tamil, shaking her finger at the two retreating backs. "Naughty!
naughty!"--this was in English--"take care!"
One of the favourite pictures shows Abraham and Isaac on the way to the
mount of sacrifice. This story was told one morning with much reverence
and feeling, and the babies were impressed. There were tears in Bala's
eyes as she gazed at the picture, but she brushed them away hurriedly
and hoped no one had noticed. Only Chellalu appeared perfectly
unconcerned. She had business of her own on hand, and the story, it
seemed, had not touched her. The babies are searched before they come to
school, and all toys, bits of string, old tins, and sundries are removed
from their persons. But there are ways of evading inquisitors. Chellalu
knows these ways. She now produced a long wisp of red tape from
somewhere--she did not tell us where--and proceeded to tie her feet
together. This accomplished, she curled herself up on the bench like a
caterpillar on a leaf, and to all appearances went to sleep. Why was she
not awakened and compelled to behave properly? asks the reader, duly
shocked. Perhaps because on that rather special morning the teacher
preferred her asleep.
[Illustration: ARULAI AND RUKMA, WITH NAVEENA.]
The story finished, the children were questioned, and they answered with
unwonted gravity. "What did Isaac say to his father as they walked alone
together?" An awed little voice had begun the required answer, when
Chellalu suddenly uncurled, sat up, and said in clear, decided Tamil:
"He said, 'Father! do not kill me!' _Yesh!_ that was what he said."
When first the babies heard about Heaven, they all wanted to go at once,
and with difficulty were restrained from praying to be taken there
immediately. There was one naughty child who, when she was given
medicine, invariably announced, "I will not stay in this village: I am
going to Heaven! I am going now!" But they soon grew wiser. It was our
excitable, merry little Jullanie who summed up all desires with most
simplicity: "Lord Jesus, please take me there or anywhere anytime; only
wherever I am, please stay there too!" Some of the babies are carnal:
"When I go to that village (Heaven), I shall go for a ride on the
cherubim's wings. I will make them take me to all sorts of places, just
wherever I want to go."
The latest pronouncement, however, was for the moment the most
perplexing. "Come-anda-look-ata-well!" said Chellalu yesterday evening,
the sentence in a single long word. The well is being dug in the
Menagerie garden and is surrounded by a trellis, beyond which the babies
may not pass, unless taken by one of ourselves. As we drew near to the
well, Chellalu pointed to it and said: "Amma! That is the way to
Heaven!" This speech, which was in Tamil, considerably surprised me, as
naturally we think of Heaven above the bright blue sky. The yawning gulf
of the unfinished well suggested something different.
But Chellalu was positive. "It is the way to Heaven. _I_ may not go
there, but _you_ may! Yesh! _you_ may go to Heaven, Amma, but _I_ may
not!" She had nothing more to say; and we wondered how she could
possibly have arrived at so extraordinary a conclusion, till we
remembered that it had been explained to the babies that any baby
falling in would probably be drowned and die, and so until it was
finished and made safe no baby must go near it. Chellalu had evidently
argued that as to die meant going to Heaven, the well must be the way to
Heaven; and as only grown-up people might go near it, they, and they
alone apparently, were allowed to go to Heaven.
These babies are nothing if not practical. Arulai had been teaching the
story of the Unmerciful Servant; and to bring it down to nursery life,
supposed the case of a baby who snatched at other babies' toys, and was
unfair and selfish. Such a baby, if not reformed, would grow up and be
like the Unmerciful Servant. The babies looked upon the back of the
offender as shown in the picture. "Bad man! Nasty man!" they said to
each other, pointing to him with aversion. And Arulai closed the class
with a short prayer that none of the babies might ever be like the
Unmerciful Servant.
The prayer over, the babies rushed to the table where their toys were
put during the Scripture lesson. Pyarie got there first, and, gathering
all she could reach, she swept them into her lap and was darting off
with them, when a word from Arulai recalled her. For a moment there was
a struggle. Then she ran up to Tingalu, the child she had chiefly
defrauded, poured all her treasures into her lap, and then sprang into
Arulai's arms with the eager question: "Acca! Acca! Am I not a
_Merciful_ Servant?"