Was Isa Das a poorer man on account of what he had given to God? No one
would have thought so, who could have seen with what a light step and
happy face he returned to his home that evening. The rich flower of joy
grows on the prickly shrub of self-denial; the flower blooms even in this
world, but the fruit will be gathered in the next. As Isa Das passed
along the dusty road which led to his hut, everything on which he looked
seemed to add to his joy. There was the golden light of sunset; Isa Das
beheld it, and said to himself, “Light is the gift of God.” He passed
where the thirsty cattle were drinking at the river, and said to himself,
“Water is the gift of God.” Isa Das remembered his own blessings, and
said to himself,—“Eyes to see, and ears to hear, and hands to work, and
feet to walk,—these also are gifts of God. The great Father in heaven
loves to give. He gave His only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth
in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life (John iii. 16). God
hath called us to be His children; and shall not the children be even as
the Father, and also delight in giving? Yea, to give freely and to give
joyfully,—this is the right of the children of God.”
When Isa Das came in sight of his humble home, his little boy, his
well-beloved, ran forth to meet him. The child had a flower in his
hand,—a small flower which he had plucked to give to his father. Isa Das
caught up the child and kissed him, and took the small flower from the
little hand with a smile of acceptance, as if it had been the Koh-i-noor
worn by the Queen. “My loving child,—he also is a gift from God,” thought
the ryot.
When Isa Das entered his humble home, he found that his wife had
carefully prepared the evening meal. It was but a very simple meal, but
Isa Das blessed God before he ate it as thankfully as if he had been
sitting down to a feast. Then he told his wife of all that had happened;
for Isa Das was the Christian husband of a Christian woman, and they
shared all each other’s sorrows and joys, and nothing that the one did
was ever hidden from the other. The love which Isa Das and his Lakhdili
felt for each other was also the gift of God.
When the wife heard of the gift of the rupee, her eyes sparkled with
pleasure, for she thought,—“My husband will perhaps buy a new chaddar
for me, or bangles to put on the arms of our dear little boy;” but when
Isa Das told Lakhdili that his money had gone to be, as it were, a brick
in the church, she was too good a wife and too good a woman to say aught
against what her husband had done.
“Oh, husband! thou hast done a good work,” said Lakhdili; “and good works
are the ladder by which holy men, as thou art, climb to heaven.”
“Oh, woman!” cried Isa Das with earnestness, “thinkest thou that by
good works we poor sinners can climb to heaven? As well might I gather
a heap of date-stones together, and think by mounting on them to reach
the noonday sun! Heaven is Christ’s free gift; He bought it for us with
His own blood. But we love Him who gave us the gift,—we love Him as my
little child loves me,—and our offerings are even as this flower which my
darling gathered to place in the hand of his father.”