On the following evening there was a great dinner at the bungalow of
Manton Sahib. All the English gentlemen of the station were invited, and
amongst them came Padre Logan.
There was much talk at the dinner-table on various matters,—the
last news from Europe, the state of the crops, the movements of the
governor-general, and the chance of a war in Burmah. At last Padre Logan
observed to Manton Sahib, to whom he sat opposite, “I hear that yesterday
you had a narrow escape from drowning.”
“Yes,” replied Manton Sahib; “I missed the ford when attempting to cross
the river, lost my seat in the saddle, and never in all my life felt
myself nearer to death than I did when the waters came rushing around me,
for I am unable to swim. I believe that I should not have been sitting
at this table to-day, had not three ryots, capital swimmers, come to my
rescue.”
“And you gave each of them a rupee,” observed Padre Logan.
“Unlucky rupees they were,” cried the commissioner, shrugging his
shoulders.
“How so?” inquired Padre Logan, whilst the rest of the company at table
became silent in order to listen.
“Why, before the day was over, one of the fellows got drunk on his
rupee,” replied Manton Sahib. “He actually attacked my bearers with a
stick when I was going home in my palki in the evening, and was so noisy
and troublesome that I was obliged to send him to prison.”
“But another of the ryots made a very different use of his rupee,”
observed Padre Logan.
“That is to say, he made no use of it at all,” replied the commissioner.
“But the very circumstance of his having the money brought the poor
fellow to grief.”
“How so?” asked Colonel Miller, an officer who sat at the end of the
table.
“A rumour had been abroad,” thus Manton Sahib made reply, “that week
after week, and month after month, this ryot, whose name is Gunga Ram,
has been saving money, pie by pie. But no one was sure of the matter,
for the man’s earnings were so small that it was hard to believe that he
should be able to scrape any money together. But it appears that Ya’kub,
in his drunkenness, had made it known throughout the bazaar that Gunga
Ram, like himself, had received a present from me; and perhaps rumour had
turned the one rupee into ten.”
“That is likely enough,” said Padre Logan.
“Be that as it may, poor Gunga Ram had to pay dearly for his love of
money,” said Manton Sahib. “About midnight some thieves entered his hut,
and searched it, but at first could find nothing in it. Determined to
reach the supposed hoard, the villains seized poor Gunga Ram, and cruelly
tortured him to make him confess where he had buried his money. In his
agony the poor wretch told them the place. The cries of Gunga Ram reached
the ears of some of the police, who came to his aid; but before they
entered the hut the thieves had made off with the money, and the police
found only the miserable Gunga Ram stretched on the ground bleeding and
groaning. He was carried off to the hospital at once. Thus you see that I
had some cause to say that mine were unlucky rupees.”
“You have told us of the fate of two of the receivers of your gift,”
observed the English padre; “let me now tell you something of the third
ryot, and of the use which he made of his rupee, which may perhaps be to
you yet more surprising.”
“One of the fellows is lodged in an hospital, another in a jail,” said
Colonel Miller, laughing; “I suppose that the story of the third will
be that he bought a rope with his rupee, and hanged himself in the next
mango-grove.”
Most of the rest of the company laughed; but Manton Sahib turned
attentively to listen to what Padre Logan was going to say. “What did the
third man do with his money?” he inquired.
“He gave it to Padre Ghopal, to help to rebuild the little native church
that was thrown down by the flood,” was the padre’s reply.
All the company looked surprised. No one had been surprised to hear of a
man getting drunk on bang, or of another being tortured and robbed; but
they regarded the poor ryot’s free-will offering to God as a very strange
thing indeed.
“I can scarcely believe it,” said Colonel Miller; and his face expressed
doubt yet more than did his words.
“I was myself present when Isa Das gave his rupee into the hand of
Ghopal,” said the English padre.
“Then I can only say that this ryot gives me a higher opinion of the
natives of India than I ever had before,” observed Colonel Miller.
“You see, sir,” said Logan, addressing himself to Manton Sahib, “that not
all of the rupees went to the thieves or to the seller of bang.”
Manton Sahib was silent for some moments, reflecting deeply. At the time
of his preservation from drowning he had thanked God for saving him
from death, but never till he heard of the gift of the poor ryot had he
thought of bringing a thank-offering, an acknowledgment of the mercy
shown to him by God. The poor man’s piety kindled a feeling of piety in
the breast of the wealthy Sahib, even as one torch is kindled by another.
“Are the natives, then, so anxious to have their church built?” the
commissioner asked of the clergyman.
“Many wish it to be built,” was Padre Logan’s reply; “but Isa Das is the
only one of whom I have yet heard as helping the cause by a gift.”
“Then let his example be followed,” cried Manton Sahib; “and my help
shall not be wanting. Tell Ghopal, that whatever sum of money he may
succeed in gathering from his native flock for the building of the church
before Sunday next, shall be doubled by me.”
“Ghopal will not gather much, I suspect,” observed Colonel Miller to
Manton Sahib; “your purse will not be greatly lightened.”
“Whether the sum be small or great, I will keep to my promise,” said the
commissioner; “and the heavier the drain on my purse, the better shall I
be pleased.”