Gunga Ram, Ya’kub, and Isa Das were three poor ryots[11] who lived by
their daily toil, and earned scarcely more than enough to supply their
families with the bare necessaries of life. These men were neighbours
and friends; they had heard at the same time the gospel preached by the
good Pastor Ghopal; on the same day they had received baptism from his
hand, and professed their faith in Christ as the Lord. Wherever one of
these ryots was seen, it was certain that the other two would not be far
distant. And yet, though the three were all Christians in name, toiled in
the same field, and led the same kind of life, He who readeth the heart
saw as much difference between them as between the diamond which shines
in a rajah’s diadem and the pebble which the coolie tramples under foot.
One morning Gunga Ram, Ya’kub, and Isa Das, on their way to the
rice-field, passed close to the spot on which their pastor, Ghopal, by
the aid of the Sahib Log, had been building a church. Money had come from
praying people in England, and brick by brick the church had risen, until
only the roof was wanting. Then there came heavy rains, and the river
swelled and rose, and overflowed its banks. The storm beat against the
unfinished building, and the labour of months was swept away in a day.
The rain ceased, the river flowed again in its usual channel; but where a
goodly church had been rising, alas, there were now but ruins!
Gunga Ram, Ya’kub, and Isa Das stood gazing upon these ruins, sorrowful
to see the destruction wrought by the flood.
“The heart of the Padre Ghopal will be exceeding sad,” said Isa Das. “It
was his joy day by day to see his church rising, and to think of the time
when he should gather in it his people, as a shepherd gathers his flock.”
“He will build up the church again, and build it more strongly,” said
Ya’kub.
“Alas! my friend, where shall the money come from?” cried Isa Das. “I
heard Padre Ghopal say but yesterday, with tears in his eyes, that he
fears that he can get no more rupees from England. The Collector Sahib,
who gave thirty gold mohurs, has gone from the station; and Manton Sahib,
who fills his place, has refused to give even a pice.”[12]
“Manton Sahib is very stingy!” cried Ya’kub. “He has a grand bungalow,
fine carriages and horses, and feasts like a prince; he could give many
gold mohurs and not miss them. Why does he not help to build up our
church?”
“Manton Sahib told Padre Ghopal that the people should build one for
themselves,” Isa Das made reply.
Then his two companions shook their heads, and said bitter things against
the Sahib who cared not to help in such a good work.
“How can we who are so poor build a church?” exclaimed Ya’kub. “We live
in small huts, and seldom eat anything better than rice and fruit. I have
really not enjoyed one good satisfying meal since the marriage of my
younger brother, two years ago.” Ya’kub sighed at the remembrance of that
great feast—the rich dishes, the pastry, and the sweetmeats; for a feast
was to Ya’kub the greatest of joys, and he knew not when he should taste
such another again.
“If I were a rich baboo,” said Gunga Ram, “I would give a thousand rupees
to Pastor Ghopal for his church.”
“If I were a great rajah,” cried Ya’kub, “I would build a church all by
myself, and make it as grand as the Taj!”[13]
“I shall never be either baboo or rajah,” said Isa Das thoughtfully; “but
though I am only a poor ryot, I should like to put one brick in that
church;” and he looked, as he spoke, at the ruins.
“What is thy meaning?” asked his companions.
“O my brothers,” replied Isa Das, “did not the Pastor Ghopal preach
yesterday on the words of the Lord Jesus: _It is more blessed to give
than to receive_ (Acts xx. 35). When I heard him I said in my heart, ‘Is
that blessing kept for the rich; shall not the poor give something also?’”
“They cannot give,” cried Gunga Ram, to whom his pice were dear as the
drops of blood in his veins.
But Isa Das did not appear persuaded of the truth of these words. “Do
you not remember,” said he, “how, when the Lord Christ stood in the
Temple, and saw rich men casting into the treasury of God much gold and
much silver, and then a poor widow casting in two mites, He said to His
disciples, ‘This poor widow hath cast in more than they all’ (Luke xxi.
3). The Lord accepted the offering of her who had little to give, but
gave from the heart. I should like to put one brick in that church!”
And before Isa Das left the spot with his two companions, his wish had
formed itself into a silent prayer. “O Lord, Thou hast said it is more
blessed to give than to receive; help me to win that blessing. Thou dost
love the offering of the poor; show me the way to offer something to
Thee!”