The Pugree[14] with a Border of Gold.
It was a happy day for Hassan, the Christian moonshee,[15] when all
arrangements were settled for the marriage of his daughter Fatima with
Yuhanna, a highly respectable baboo,[16] who held the same faith as
himself. Hassan had had a time of great trouble both before and after
his baptism; old friends had turned their back upon him, and those who
had often eaten his bread had crossed to the other side of the road when
they saw him. Reproach had been cast upon his name, and sharp words
had pierced his soul like a sword. Yet Hassan had held fast to the
faith which he had embraced; he had borne losses and endured reproach,
strengthened by prayer,[17] and helped by the counsels of Alton Sahib,
the English friend who had first placed a Bible in the hands of his
moonshee. The storm of persecution had now passed over; men ceased to
revile one whom they could not but respect; Hassan earned a comfortable
livelihood by teaching; and now his daughter’s betrothal to the baboo
whom above all others he preferred for a son-in-law, was as a crown to
his prosperity.
“We will have a grand wedding, O Margam,” said Hassan to his wife; “a
great _tamasha_,[18] and plenty of feasting!”
“And my daughter shall have goodly garments, meet for the bride of
Yuhanna,”[19] said the smiling Margam. “She shall have a shawl woven at
Amritsar, and embroidery from Delhi, and slippers worked in blue and
silver, such as are worn by the begum.”[20]
“And what shall I have, O father?” cried little Yusuf, the youngest child
of the moonshee, and dear to his heart as the light of his eyes.
“Thou at the wedding of thy sister shalt have a new pugree with a border
of gold,” said Hassan, bending down to kiss fondly the brow of his child.
“For the wedding festivities and the goodly garments money must be
borrowed,” observed Margam, who knew that the expenses to be incurred
would amount to a sum much greater than her husband could earn in a year
by teaching.
“Yes, I must borrow,” said Hassan calmly, but with a look of thought. “To
whom shall I go for the money?”
“To Nabi Bakhsh,” suggested Margam.
“Not to Nabi Bakhsh, of all men!” exclaimed the moonshee; “he is an
usurer who would squeeze juice out of a date-stone! Not to Sadik, for I
owe him five rupees already.”
“There is the English Sahib; he is a great friend of my lord,” observed
Margam; “surely when he hears that the money is required for a
wedding-feast he will be ready to lend.”
“And Alton Sahib is able to do so,” cried Hassan; “his salary is five
hundred rupees a month, and I doubt that he spends more than three. He
has the smallest and worst bungalow in the station, and keeps fewer
servants than a clerk on the railway would do. The Sahib must be laying
up money; and he is so much my friend that I am sure that he would help
me in this my need. To-day is a holiday in the school where I teach; my
time is therefore my own, and I will go at once to the Sahib.”
“And as you come back by the bazaar, O father,” cried the eager little
Yusuf, “be sure that you do not forget to buy for me the pretty new
pugree with a border of gold.”
“I will not forget it, O my child,” said the moonshee with a smile, as he
rose to depart.
Hassan had pleasant thoughts whilst he went on his way towards the
bungalow of Alton Sahib. He considered how the Lord had brought him
through all his troubles, and after the storm of adversity had given the
sunshine of joy to His servant. “Those who despised me will envy me now,”
thought Hassan; “my daughter is to marry a good man and a prosperous man,
and the grand feast which I shall prepare will show to all that this is
an occasion of great joy and rejoicing.”
When Hassan came in sight of the little bungalow of Alton Sahib, his
thoughts flowed in another channel.
“It is strange that a government Sahib should choose to live in a place
little better than a stable,” said the moonshee to himself. “That
bungalow is only fit for owls and rats, and will come down in the next
rains. The Sahib is at home, I see, for there is the syce[21] leading
away his horse from the door. Horse, did I call it! How can an English
Sahib ride such a wretched tattú?[22] The tall man’s feet must almost
touch the ground as he rides. There is only one thing which I do not like
about Alton Sahib. He is as good a Christian and as true a friend as ever
trod the earth, but he must have a close fist, and be uncommonly fond of
his money. I never hear of his entertaining a friend: and he seems to
make his coat last for ever; I wonder whether he ever intends to buy a
new one! I like a Sahib to spend freely, and never take to counting the
pice. Does not the Bible say, ‘Lay not up for yourselves treasures on
earth’? Why does one who loves God as the Sahib does hoard up his money
thus? It is a grievous fault in the Sahib.”
Hassan forgot the Sahib’s fault when he stood in his presence, met his
kindly smile, and heard his hearty congratulations on the approaching
marriage in his family. Hassan was asked to take a seat; there were but
two chairs in the room, which was very poorly furnished indeed.
Alton Sahib listened smilingly to all that Hassan had to tell him about
the baboo who was to become his son-in-law,—how much respected he was by
all, and how much property he had in his village. But the smile passed
from the Sahib’s face when Hassan, after much other conversation, told
the object of his visit, and asked for a loan of two hundred rupees.
“I have not the money,” said the Sahib gravely; “and if I had, it would
be against my conscience to lend it.”
Hassan could scarcely refrain from an exclamation of surprise. He glanced
round the room in which he sat, and Alton Sahib, who quickly read the
minds of men, perceived that in that of the moonshee was arising the
thought, “Can the Sahib be speaking the truth?”
The face of the Englishman flushed; he hesitated for several moments, as
if it were a painful effort to him to utter that which he was about to
say.
“Hassan, I seldom speak to any one about my private affairs,” said the
Sahib at last; “but I believe that it will be better both for you and
for myself if I do so now. You think me close-handed and unwilling to
part with my money; you may even think me insincere, and therefore a most
inconsistent Christian; but I spoke but truth when I said that I had no
money. The fact is”—the Sahib lowered his voice as he went on—“the fact
is, that I am in debt to a friend;” and the flush on the young man’s brow
and cheek deepened as he uttered the words.
Hassan’s surprise was now twofold; he wondered how the prudent Sahib
could have got into debt, and he wondered why any one should blush to own
that he had done so. There was nothing shameful to Hassan in the idea of
being in debt; like many of his countrymen, he thought it a very small
matter, scarcely a misfortune, and not in the least degree a disgrace.
It was clear that debt was not regarded in the same light by the English
Christian.
It had often been a matter of regret to Alton Sahib to see how lightly
debt weighed on the consciences of many in India. He took a deep interest
in the spiritual welfare of Hassan, whom he regarded as a brother in
Christ. “Shall I see my brother sin, and not tell him of his error?”
thought Alton Sahib. “Debt in this land is as the canker-worm in the
grain, or the hidden abscess in the human frame. I can best show Hassan
how I abhor it by letting him know what efforts I have myself made, and
am now making, to get rid of the plague.”
“I feel it due to myself to let you know something of the circumstances
that involved me in the debt from which I am, and have been for years,
struggling to free myself,” said the young Sahib, after another pause.
“When I was in Calcutta, not long after my first arrival in this country,
I was robbed at a hotel of all the ready money which I possessed.
This was, of course, a source of annoyance to me, but not of serious
difficulty, as I had a wealthy friend in a station in Bengal, who would,
I knew, at once advance whatever I required to pay my hotel-bill, and to
take me up to the Punjaub, the province to which I had been appointed. I
believed that the loan would be very soon repaid by my father in England.”
“Your excellency’s mind must have been quite at rest in the matter,”
observed the moonshee.
“As I dipped my pen,” continued the Sahib, “to write to my friend the
judge to ask for a loan of three hundred rupees, the very smallest sum
that would suffice to cover needful expenses, a servant brought in
letters from England. I laid down my pen and opened the first one, little
guessing the heavy news which it would contain. The letter informed me
that, by the failure of a bank, all my father’s property, the savings of
many years, had been swept away; and that he who had risen in the morning
believing himself to be in affluence, had lain down at night in a state
of poverty, which illness made more distressing.”
“Alas! the news was heavy indeed!” exclaimed Hassan.
“My father has since been called to that happy home where there is no
more trial,” said Alton Sahib with a sigh; “he had laid up treasure in
heaven, in that bank which never can fail. But at the time of which I
speak his need was pressing; I wrote to the judge in haste, but instead
of borrowing, as I had intended, three hundred rupees with the assurance
that the money would be repaid in two months, I asked for the loan of
five thousand rupees, to be repaid I knew not when, that I might send
home help at once to my sick and afflicted father.”
“And the Judge Sahib gave the money?” asked Hassan.
“At once, most generously, most readily,” replied the young English
Sahib; “nor do I believe that he would ever ask me for one rupee of the
money again.”
“All is well, then, your excellency,” observed Hassan; “the Judge Sahib
is rich, he needs not the money, the matter is no trouble to him.”
“But it has been a sore trouble to me,” cried the young Sahib quickly; “I
could no more sit down quietly under that burden of debt, than I could
calmly endure to wear a chain of iron around my neck. My life has been
one perpetual effort to cast off that chain; link by link I have broken
it away. I lived from the first on half my income—lived as no other
English gentleman in my position would do. When my salary was increased,
I did not increase my expenses. I have endured to be thought stingy and
inhospitable, in a land where not to have the hand and the door open is
esteemed a great reproach. I could not give alms or entertain guests on
the money that was really another’s; it was better in man’s sight to be
unjustly considered mean, than in the sight of God to be dishonest.”
“Dishonest!” exclaimed Hassan in astonishment; the word did not seem in
his mind to be in the least suited for the occasion.
“Yes, dishonest,” repeated the Sahib; “money which we have borrowed is
not really our own,—it belongs to the lender.”
“It was his pleasure to lend it,” observed Hassan.
“But not his pleasure that it should never be returned,” rejoined the
Sahib with animation.
Still the moonshee did not appear persuaded that there could be any harm
in incurring a debt to a man who was rich enough to spare the money.
Alton Sahib rose and went up to his table, on which lay a Bible. He
turned over the pages, and then silently pointed out the text,—_Owe no
man anything, but to love one another_ (Rom. xiii. 8).
“I knew not that such a command was in the Bible,” observed the moonshee.
“But the Sahib was under necessity to break it.”
“Conscience does not reproach me for incurring my debt,” said Alton Sahib
gravely, “but conscience would give me no rest if I neglected doing my
utmost to pay back what I owe. I hope, when my last month’s salary comes
in on Monday, to send back the last rupee to my friend; and the day on
which I find myself free from debt will doubtless be one of the happiest
days of my life.”
“Ah! then the Sahib will be able, after all, to lend to his servant!”
exclaimed Hassan with pleasure; “the marriage of my daughter will not
take place for more than a month.”
Alton Sahib felt vexed that all that he had said had had so little effect
on the mind of the Christian moonshee. The young man closed the Bible and
returned to his seat.
“Moonshee Jé,” he said, “I borrowed money from pressing necessity; you
would borrow without necessity.”
Again surprise awoke in the breast of the moonshee. “Did I not tell your
excellency,” he said, “that I required money for the wedding festivities
of my daughter?”[23]
“And what necessity is there that those festivities should involve you
in great expense, or entangle you in debt?” said Alton Sahib. “If you
could be content to put aside pride and ostentation, to place simple fare
before a moderate number of guests, and avoid all waste and show, your
own means would suffice for the marriage expenses. Will your daughter
be more happy as a wife, because her wedding-feast has made her father
act in a way that befits not a Christian? Is God’s blessing on the union
to be procured by disobeying God’s command? What profit is there in an
expensive wedding-feast?”
“It is the dastur,”[24] observed Hassan, as if that expression were a
sufficient answer to all objections.
“O my friend!” exclaimed Alton Sahib, “you who condemn the worship of
idols, make not for yourself an idol of dastur. It was once the dastur in
England for Sahibs who received a slight affront to call out the offender
to some retired spot, that the two might shoot at each other with
pistols, that so the offence, however small, might be wiped out in blood.”
“A very evil dastur,” remarked the moonshee.
“But one so generally observed, that it was thought the deepest dishonour
to break through it,” said Alton Sahib. “But men were found brave and
faithful enough to break through such a dastur for the sake of Christ
and the gospel. It is now the dastur amongst Mohammedans to recite the
praises of their prophet; it is the dastur amongst Brahmins to wear their
holy threads; but you have broken through your dastur, and Brahmins,
converted like yourself to the Christian religion, have cast aside their
much-valued threads. Will you, O my friend, reserve _any_ dastur that is
contrary to the will of God? Will you say to your Heavenly King, ‘Lord! I
have given up for Thee the love of brethren, the favour of friends, many
of the things which I prized most upon earth; but I cannot—will not—even
to obey Thee, give up the dastur of half-ruining myself to have a grand
wedding-feast. I at my baptism renounced “the world, the flesh, and the
devil,” but I reserved one thing which is of the world which I will not
renounce.’”
The face of the moonshee looked troubled. His friend had pointed out
sin where he had hitherto seen no sin; dishonesty in what he had never
considered dishonest; shame in what he had never thought shameful. With
a deep sigh he made reply: “It is not for myself that I care; but what
would those of my household say if I bade them, on such an occasion, act
differently from all those who dwell around them!” Before the mind of the
moonshee arose the images of Margam and Fatima, and the loved child who
was perhaps the dearest of all. How could he bear to disappoint them,
and expose them to the taunts of their neighbours!
“Go to your family; they too are Christians,” said Alton Sahib, “and, I
trust, Christians not only in name. Repeat to them what I have said to
you to-day. Ask them whether the pride of life which leads to sinful debt
be not condemned in this verse?—‘All that is in the world, the lust of
the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the _pride of life_, is not of
the Father, but is of the world. And the world passeth away, and the lust
thereof; but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever’ (1 John ii.
16, 17). Ask them whether in another world, nay, even one year hence,
the remembrance that a foolish dastur was given up for conscience’ sake
will not be sweeter than the recollection of the grandest display at a
wedding? The praise of man is as the gay paper-lamps at an illumination,
that last but for a night; the praise of God is as the stars in the sky,
that shone ere the day of our birth, and which will shine long after our
bodies have been laid in the tomb.”
Hassan arose, made his salám, and took his departure. His reason was
convinced, his conscience was aroused, he was almost persuaded to have a
simple and inexpensive wedding; but whenever he thought of his family his
resolution gave way.
“I will not return through the bazaar,” said Hassan to himself rather
sadly; “I should be too much tempted to buy for my darling the pugree
with a border of gold!”
No sooner was the shadow of Hassan seen on the threshold of his home
than little Yusuf, full of eagerness, ran forward to meet his father.
The child looked to see whether the moonshee had brought anything in his
hand, and the face of the little one showed disappointment when he saw
that the hand was empty.
“O father!” exclaimed Yusuf, “you have forgotten my pugree!”
“I forgot it not, my son,” said the moonshee, as, entering the inner
apartment, he seated himself on his carpet.
“Has my lord ordered any of the things needed for the great day which
is coming?” asked the smiling Margam, who was preparing the moonshee’s
hookah. Fatima thought of bangles[25] and ear-rings, but she was too shy
to utter a word.
“I have delayed making my preparations,” said the moonshee.
Margam saw that the mind of her husband was perplexed with much thought.
“Has the English Sahib then given nothing?” she ventured to ask.
“The Sahib has given a great deal of good advice, but advice which we
should all find it very hard to follow,” replied the convert. “Be seated,
O Margam and Fatima, and you shall hear what the Sahib says regarding
grand marriage festivities, and the debts to which, in this country, they
almost necessarily lead.”
Wondering, and rather fearing what might be coming, Margam and Fatima
seated themselves on the floor and listened. Little Yusuf took his
favourite place close to his father, whose hand he fondled in both his
own. The moonshee then repeated, almost word for word, what had passed
between himself and his English friend. Margam broke in every now and
then with an exclamation of surprise or displeasure; but Fatima listened
in silence, with her glance bent on the ground. The large eyes of Yusuf
were never taken from the face of his father; the child was eagerly
drinking in all that was uttered. Though he could not understand every
word, Yusuf took in the general meaning of much that was said.
When the moonshee ceased, there was a short silence in the room. Margam
looked vexed, and the downcast eyes of Fatima were brimming over with
tears. It would be to these women, Christians though they were, a
terrible trial to break through dastur on such an occasion as that of a
wedding.[26]
“I leave the decision to you all,” said the moonshee, glad perhaps thus
to escape from himself deciding so difficult a question. “Shall I borrow
from some one else, and have all things arranged according to dastur; or
shall we give up everything that is not necessary, to avoid displeasing
God by incurring debt?”
Again there was a short silence. Little Yusuf was the first to break
it. Clinging to his father, the child raised himself to a position high
enough for his lips almost to reach his parent’s ear, and then said
in a whisper,—which was, however, distinct enough to be heard by all
present,—“I will please the Lord Jesus by giving up my pugree bordered
with gold.”
The most learned discourse could not have had more effect than those
simple words of the child. The vexed look on the mother’s face changed to
a smile; and though two big tears dropped down the cheeks of Fatima, she
was able cheerfully to say, “I would rather please the Lord Jesus than
have Malika Victoria’s jewel, the grand Koh-i-noor!”
A few weeks afterwards, the marriage took place. Great was the surprise
amongst the neighbours of Hassan at the simple arrangements made for
the wedding. The feast was chiefly of fruit, the ornaments chiefly of
flowers; but the fruit was sweet, and the flowers fairer than anything
that man’s hand could have made. Fatima was a very happy bride, for she
thought to herself, “As the Lord deigned to come to the marriage at Cana,
we can ask Him to be present at this simple feast, where there is nothing
which my dear father is not able to pay for.” And no face at the wedding
looked brighter than that of little Yusuf; the snow-white pugree above
that happy young face needed no border of gold!