With a very heavy heart and sorrowful countenance a man of the name of
Tulsí Rám sat in his dwelling. He found no rest by night and no pleasure
by day. His hookah[36] brought him no sense of repose. He cared not to go
forth to visit his friends. Tulsí Rám scarcely touched the food placed
before him by Juwalí his wife.
The heart of the gentle Juwalí was very closely knit to that of her
husband. She was as the creeping plant which throws its tendrils round
the tall tree; and as the leaves of the two are mingled together, so
until now had the thoughts and hopes of Juwalí been mingled with those of
Tulsí Rám. Happy the man who has such a wife as Juwalí!
The gentle woman had long watched in silence the sorrow of her husband;
she had sighed when she heard him sigh, and grieved because she beheld
him grieve. At last Juwalí could keep silence no longer.
“Why is my lord so sorrowful?” she said; “why has sleep fled from his
eyes? and wherefore doth he put away food from him? To share the troubles
of my lord, would be to me a dearer privilege than to enjoy all kinds of
pleasures in an ivory palace.”
Then Tulsí Rám opened his heart to his wife, for he had none other in
whom he could safely confide. “Know, O Juwalí!” said he, “that some time
since, from beyond the dark water, there came a messenger from my great
Father, Kamíl Rahím,—that Father whom I never have seen, but who loves
me with exceeding great love. This messenger, whose name is Narayan Das,
brought to me and to my three brothers, Mulá Mal, Biharí Lal, and Nihál
Chand, the following message:—
“I bring to you, O brothers! good tidings from your great and merciful
Father, who ever careth for His children. There is a treasure hidden for
you at the foot of a Cross, even jewels of priceless value,—a ruby called
Pardon, a pearl called Purity, and a diamond called Heaven. The three
jewels are joined together in one setting of gold, and never must be
divided one from another. He who wears these jewels over his heart will
have safety in danger, perfect health, and become the heir to a glorious
throne. The treasure is a free gift from your Father, and each one of you
who shall seek for it in the right way shall possess it for his own.”
“These are wonderful tidings indeed!” exclaimed Juwalí; “but did my lord
and his brothers believe them?”
“Mulá Mal would not believe,” replied Tulsí Rám; “he would not so much as
listen to Narayan Das, or read the letter which the messenger had brought
to him from our Father;” and Tulsí Rám, as he spoke, laid his hand on a
book called the Bible, which Juwalí had often heard him reading aloud to
himself. “Biharí Lal, on the contrary, believed the brave and earnest man
who had left his native land, and come through trials and dangers, to
bring good tidings to us. But my second brother’s heart was set on his
merchandise and his business, and he put off seeking for the treasure
till a more convenient season.”
“Alas!” cried Juwalí, “in the midst of all his cares and his pleasures,
poor Biharí Lal was smitten by cholera, and he passed away from earth,
even as the rain sinks in the sand and is seen no more.”
“When I stood by the funeral-pile of Biharí Lal,” said Tulsí Rám, “I
resolved in my heart that I would not delay searching for the treasure
as my poor brother had done. I girded myself and set out on my journey.
Great was my desire to wear over my heart the jewels of Pardon, Purity,
and Heaven.”
Juwalí did not venture to ask, “And did my lord find them?”—for she saw
by the anguish written on his face that Tulsí Rám had never possessed the
treasure.
“But I found the journey to be one of exceeding difficulty,” continued
Tulsí Rám with a sigh. “To possess myself of the promised jewels, I had
to cross a river called Baptism, to pass which was to break my caste;
and I could not reach it without descending, with much danger and pain,
a very steep bank. On this bank grows thickly that plant with exceeding
sharp thorns whose name is Persecution, and briers whose names are Loss
and Contempt. Juwalí, I went some steps forward; but then I stopped
short, for I could not, I dared not go further! The thorns and briers had
torn my garments and wounded my flesh. I groaned in the anguish of my
spirit. Great as was my longing to possess Pardon, Purity, and Heaven, I
could not endure the suffering through which I must pass to win them.
I turned back, O wretched man that I am! I turned back;” and Tulsí Rám
groaned aloud.
Tears dropped from the eyes of Juwalí. She had heard enough of the
Father’s letter, from the lips of her husband, to feel sure that the
treasure which he had lost was one of priceless value. Juwalí had even,
with great pains, learned to read a little herself from the Book which
her husband prized, and she had thought much, by night and by day, over
what she had heard and read.
“What makes my shame and grief all the greater,” continued Tulsí Rám
after a pause, “is to know that my brave and noble youngest brother,
Nihál Chand, has done what I dared not do. He trampled down the thorns
under his feet; he heeded not the briers of Loss and Contempt; he pressed
on as a strong racer who seeth the goal near, and already heareth the
shouts of those who will behold him lay his hand on the prize. He was as
a hero who flincheth not in the day of battle. Nihál Chand burst through
Persecution; he crossed the waters of Baptism; and now, without doubt, he
is wearing the Father’s gift, all his sins pardoned, his virtues shining
forth in his life, and his spirit rejoicing in hope of a crown to be worn
for ever and ever. I, on the contrary, a wretched coward, shall bewail
my weakness to the end of my days, and shall at last perish without
pardon, and sink into outer darkness.”
Tulsí Rám smote his breast, for he felt as a criminal who heareth the
sentence of death. Then Juwalí who sat at her husband’s feet, lifted up
her mild eyes and spake thus:—
“O my lord! surely it is not too late to do now what Nihál Chand has
done; it is not too late to arise and go forth to seek the treasure. My
lord will take yon staff of Prayer in his hand, and with it beat down
some of the briers and thorns. It is far better to have the flesh torn
than the heart broken; it is better to suffer for a short space than to
be wretched for ever.”
Tulsí Rám listened with some surprise to such brave words from the
lips of a woman. Then said he, “Behold, I see _two_ staffs of Prayer.
Wherefore should two be provided?”
Then Juwalí blushed and drooped her head, as in a low voice she replied,
“I, even I, am ready to go with my lord.”
“Thou!” exclaimed the astonished husband. “Canst thou, feeble woman,
endure the thorns of Persecution and the briers of Contempt? Hast thou
no regard for thy caste? Thou art weak, and a stranger to the dangers of
the world; thou hast ever been sheltered from all troubles, as the pearl
shut closely up in its shell.”
Juwalí grasped the staff, and said, though with a trembling voice,—“I am
weak, but I can lean hard upon Prayer. As for troubles, will it not be a
joy to share them with my dear lord? Let all my neighbours despise me,
so that I be but fair in his eyes. As regards caste, surely the highest
caste of all is to belong to the family of the Great King. O my lord,
let us set forth at once; let us cross the river of Baptism together! I
am but a woman; but I have learned from that blessed Book that the great
Father loves His daughters as well as His sons; and who knows whether
even for me some gift may not be reserved? Unworthy as I am even to look
upon them, may not I too, possibly, receive the jewels of Pardon, Purity,
and Heaven?”
Then Tulsí Rám, as from a sudden impulse, sprang to his feet. “Shall a
woman be ready to leave all, and dare all, and suffer all,” he exclaimed;
“and shall a man shrink back like a coward! O Juwalí, light of my eyes!
thy voice is like the voice of hope to thy husband. I will follow the
example of my brave brother; come what may, we will cross the waters of
Baptism.”
Very early in the following morning, before the sun had risen, Tulsí
Rám and Juwalí, each with a staff of Prayer in hand, and the husband
with the Book in his bosom, started from their home and commenced their
journey. The earth was glowing in the bright light of the sun before they
reached the top of the bank which overlooked the river of Baptism. By
this time the slender frame of Juwalí was weary; but she leaned on her
staff, and looked now tenderly at the husband whose steps she followed,
now on the glorious sky above her. Juwalí thought of Pardon, Purity, and
Heaven, and then she forgot her weariness. Till now Tulsí Rám had walked
on in front; but he stopped on the top of the bank, and let his wife come
up with him. He feared that she would never have strength to pass through
the terrible thorns of Persecution. Tulsí’s own heart was again failing
him; but when he looked sadly and anxiously at Juwalí, she met his look
with a smile.
“Wilt thou not wait and rest a while?” asked the husband.
“Oh no; I am ready at once to go with my lord,” replied Juwalí, so
cheerfully that the soul of Tulsí Rám was filled with wonder. Beholding
the courage of a woman, his own greatly revived.
Together the two began to descend the bank. Tulsí Rám was so anxious
about his wife that he scarcely felt how the thorns were tearing his
own flesh. Never had Juwalí been so dear to the soul of her husband
as now, when, in a woman with weak frame but brave spirit, he beheld
his fellow-heir of eternal life; no mere plaything or slave, but the
companion of his dangers, the sharer of all his trials. Juwalí suffered
even more than did her husband. After the fashion of Indian women, Juwalí
wore many rings in her ears;[37] and the briers and thorns caught in
these rings, so that the wearer’s course was stayed, and she was as a
prisoner fastened in bonds. Tears gushed from the woman’s eyes. Tulsí Rám
tried to lend his aid to release his wife, but only himself became more
painfully entangled in the sharp thorns.
“O Juwalí! what can we do?” exclaimed Tulsí Rám.
Juwalí’s answer was in her act. She lifted up her small bleeding hands,
and broke off one by one the ear-rings which hindered her progress, and
left them hanging upon the thorns.
“See, I am free!” she cried, smiling, as Tulsí Rám, by a desperate
effort, also released himself from the briers.
“Thou art losing thy jewels, O beloved!” said the pitying husband.
“I seek better and brighter jewels,” replied Juwalí. “Shall I regret
these baubles if I ever possess the ruby of Pardon, the pearl of Purity,
and the diamond of Heaven?”
And so the two travellers reached at last the bottom of the bank,
panting, weary, pierced with thorns, but still not seriously hurt. The
waters of Baptism flowed before Tulsí Rám and Juwalí. Hand-in-hand the
husband and wife passed through those clear waters, the coolness of which
afforded to them wondrous refreshment. Tulsí Rám had grasped the hand of
his wife to help her across, but Juwalí scarcely needed his help. When
they reached the opposite bank, Tulsí Rám looked at Juwalí, and lo! never
before had her face shone with such heavenly beauty! It was even as the
brightness of the moon when the clouds have passed away, and her silver
light falls softly on earth. And never to Tulsí Rám had Juwalí’s voice
sounded so sweet as when she exclaimed, “O lord of my heart! the river is
passed. Let us rejoice and give thanks.”
The opposite bank was less steep, though still made difficult of
ascent by the thorns of Persecution. But the spirit of Tulsí Rám had
now acquired fresh courage. Having once crossed the river which he
had dreaded, and having found in it nothing to harm him, but only
refreshment, Tulsí Rám felt all his strength return. Cheerfully he lent
his aid to the weary but happy Juwalí, and the two soon stood at the top
of the bank, from which their glad eyes could see the Cross on the hill.
“Our treasure is yonder, and it will soon be ours!” exclaimed Tulsí Rám.
Scarcely had he uttered the words when he and his wife were startled by
the sound of a terrible groan,—such a groan as is uttered only by one in
mortal anguish or pain.
“Look yonder, my lord,” cried Juwalí; “there is a man lying beneath yon
palm-tree. Perhaps he is wounded or dying; hark to his terrible groans!”
At the sound of her voice the poor wretch half raised himself from the
ground, so that Tulsí Rám could behold his face. Distorted by pain as was
that face, with what surprise and distress did Tulsí Rám recognize in his
features those of his brave brother, Nihál Chand.
“Can it be! Yes, surely it is my own brother,” exclaimed Tulsí Rám,
hastening towards the spot.
It was indeed poor Nihál Chand who, in a state of weakness and suffering,
was lying under the tree. He feebly held out his arms, and was soon in
the embrace of Tulsí Rám.
“What ails my brother?—he who is twice my brother—for have we not both
passed through the waters of Baptism; are we not both Christians?” cried
Tulsí Rám,—“though you were a Christian before me.” Christian is the new
name given to those who have passed through the river.
“Oh, call me not Christian!” exclaimed the miserable Nihál Chand; “I am
not worthy of the name.”
“What has happened; what have you done?” exclaimed Tulsí Rám with
anxiety, for he saw that the anguish of his brother was great.
It was some little time before Nihál Chand was able to tell his sad
story. His head drooped on his breast with shame. His brother wondered
that one who had so bravely crossed the river of Baptism should now
appear so weak and wretched. At last Tulsí Rám inquired, “Could my
brother not find the jewels, the gift of our Father,—even the ruby, the
pearl, and the diamond?”
“I found them; yes, I found them,” groaned Nihál Chand, “but I never wore
them over my heart, and now I have lost them for ever—for ever!” Then the
stream of his grief found vent in words, and to the listening Tulsí Rám
and Juwalí Nihál Chand thus poured forth the tale of his sorrow and sin:—
“I had not long passed the river of Baptism when I was joined by a
stranger, dark in face, but wearing gaudy attire, and of a smooth and
flattering tongue.”
“Methinks I know him,” said Tulsí Rám; “surely his name is Temptation.”
“He walked by my side,” continued Nihál Chand, “praising my courage and
zeal, till my heart was lifted up with pride, and I thought that nothing
but success and glory could be before me. I reached the foot of the
Cross; there I found, according to the words of my Father’s messenger,
a precious golden casket. On opening it, I found within a beauteous
ornament,—even the magnificent jewels joined together in one setting
of gold. Over the ruby, Pardon, were inscribed the words, _Thy sins be
forgiven thee_. Round the pearl, Purity, appeared engraved, _Holiness,
without which no man shall see the Lord_. And I beheld written round the
glittering diamond, _It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the
kingdom_. Never was there an ornament so precious or so beautiful as this
free gift from our Father.”
The eyes of Juwalí sparkled at the description given by Nihál Chand.
Tulsí Rám inquired,—“Why did you not at once, O my brother, place the
treasure upon your heart?”
“Because of the words of Temptation, treacherous Temptation!” exclaimed
the miserable Nihál Chand. “He persuaded me that though Pardon is a
precious gift, and Heaven a prize that the mightiest rajah might covet,
yet that the pale pearl, Purity, was what few would desire to wear.
Temptation offered me in its stead a yellow stone, which he said was of
greater value, and to which he gave the name of Pleasure. Woe is me! woe
is me! that ever I listened to the voice of Temptation, that I ever was
persuaded to part with my pearl for that which afterwards broke in my
hands, as a piece of worthless glass! I thought that I could give away
Purity and yet keep Pardon and Heaven. I let Temptation take my treasure
into his hand, that he might separate the pearl from the ruby and
diamond. But the three may never be divided. Temptation, taking advantage
of my worse than folly, rushed suddenly away whither I had no power to
follow him, bearing with him all that I had dared so much to win.”
“Leaving nothing with you!” cried Tulsí Rám.
“Leaving remorse and shame, and a wretched imitation of a jewel, called
Pleasure, which I found to be utterly worthless. Nor have you heard
the end of my story. I wandered about for a while, unwilling to remain
by the Cross, yet more unwilling to return to the city which I had
left with such bright hopes and brave resolutions. At last I laid me
down to sleep, but from that sleep I was startled by a sharp pain. The
venomous reptile whose name is _Uljhánewale gunah_[38] had noiselessly
crept towards me and inflicted this wound in my breast;” and raising his
mantle, Nihál Chand showed a dark spot, which marked where the reptile’s
fang had left its deadly poison.
Tulsí Rám and Juwalí beheld the wound with grief and alarm.
“O Nihál!” exclaimed the brother, “I know too well what are the effects
of the bite of the _Uljhánewale gunah_. No serpent is more to be dreaded.
The remedy is at once to cut out the wounded part. This must be done,
and at once.” And Tulsí Rám drew forth a sharp knife which he carried in
his girdle. On the handle of that knife was engraved its name—_Help from
above_.
Nihál Chand was a brave man, and yet, strange to say, he shrank like a
child from the pain which his brother thought it needful to inflict.
“No, no!” he cried, with an impatient movement of the hand; “such sharp
remedies are not required. Do not the healing leaves of Good Intentions
grow abundantly in yon thicket? It will suffice to lay them upon the
wound; they will soon draw all its poison away.”
Tulsí Rám, distressed and anxious, took out hastily from his bosom his
Father’s letter, and quickly turned over the pages, to find if it gave
any directions for the treatment of a case like that of his brother. Very
grave was his face, and earnest his tones, as he read aloud the words
of Him who is truth itself: _If thy hand offend thee, cut it off: it is
better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go
into hell, into the fire that shall never be quenched: where their worm
dieth not and the fire is not quenched._
“What is the meaning of those terrible words?” inquired Nihál Chand, who
trembled to hear them.
“O brother! the meaning is clear,” cried Tulsí Rám. “Whatever be the
anguish which it may cost, by the means of _Help from above_ we must part
from and cast from us whatever is tainted by the poison of sin. You can
never have health, never have peace, nay, your very life is in imminent
peril, unless whatever has been poisoned by the _Uljhánewale gunah_ be
instantly and thoroughly cut away.”
Poor unhappy Nihál Chand looked like one in despair. Even the lightest
touch on the poisoned place gave him pain; how could he then endure
suffering which the knife would inflict?
Juwalí had taken the Book from the hand of her husband, and now, with
a trembling voice, read this sentence aloud: _Let the wicked forsake
his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto
the Lord and He will have mercy upon him, and unto our God, for He will
abundantly pardon._
The words were words of hope, and from hope some courage came back to
the heart of Nihál Chand. “I will submit,” he said; “and if I suffer, I
suffer but according to my deserts.”
Silently but sadly Nihál Chand endured the needful anguish; the part
poisoned by the serpent was cut away, while Juwalí, on her knees, wept
and prayed for her erring brother.
“Now, O Nihál! you have parted with that which kept you from peace,” said
the faithful Tulsí Rám, whose heart had bled for the sinner even while,
with _Help from above_, he had inflicted the pain; “now once more you may
hope to possess our Father’s gift of Pardon, Purity, and Heaven.”
“Never!” groaned Nihál Chand. “When I yielded to Temptation, when I gave
up my threefold treasure, it was lost to me past recovery. Go on, ye
happy ones! for the treasure may still be yours; but as for me, I shall
carry a scar on my breast, and a deep wound in my heart, to my grave.”
Nihál Chand closed his eyes, for he was too faint and too much exhausted
to speak more, far less to proceed on his way. The souls of Tulsí Rám and
Juwalí were full of compassion for him who so bitterly repented having
given way to Temptation, and who so mourned over the disgrace which he
had brought on the name of Christian. Tulsí Rám resolved to remain for a
while by his brother, till Nihál Chand should be refreshed by a little
rest. Juwalí, at her husband’s desire, retired to the distance of a few
paces, leaving the brothers together. There Juwalí knelt down and prayed
for her husband, and for herself, and for the penitent Nihál Chand. Then,
being very weary, Juwalí dropped asleep at the foot of a banyan-tree.
In vain Tulsí Rám strove to give comfort and hope to his younger brother;
in vain he spoke of the mercy freely offered to all who repent and cast
away sin. Though the poisoned part, by means of _Help from above_,
had been cut away from the breast of Nihál Chand, a painful wound yet
remained, nor could he forget the past.
“Oh! that I had resisted Temptation,” he cried; “oh! that I had pressed
to my heart the jewels of Pardon, Purity, and Heaven; the poisonous
reptile would have lost all power to injure me then.”[39]
Nihál Chand was sinking deeper and deeper into despair, when Juwalí,
having arisen from sleep, advanced towards the brothers with radiant joy
sparkling in her eyes.
“O my lord,” she exclaimed, addressing herself to her husband, “I have
been sent in my sleep a strange and beautiful dream. Behold, I saw
Temptation, the dark enemy, the robber of souls, hurrying away with the
jewels of my lord’s brother in his grasp,—even the ruby, the pearl, and
the diamond joined in one setting of gold. Suddenly a white dove swooped
down from the sky, and caught the jewels out of the evil one’s hand, and
bore them away out of sight. Then I heard a voice, sweeter than music;
and these were the words which it uttered: ‘Let the penitent who sorrows
for sin, let the penitent who hath put away sin, again search for his
forfeited treasure, and he shall find it once more, where he sought for
it at first, even at the foot of the Cross.”
The first gleam of hope that had appeared on the face of the wounded
Nihál Chand brightened it as he listened to the account of the dream
of his sister. Leaning heavily, very heavily, on a staff of Prayer, he
struggled to his feet, and in a voice faint yet resolute he said,—“Let us
go, and at once. If I, poor wounded sinner, must die, I will at least die
at the foot of the Cross!”
Onwards the three Christians sped together. There was small difficulty to
Tulsí Rám, with his knife, _Help from above_, in removing the earth which
covered a golden casket. The Christian eagerly raised and opened it, and
Juwalí uttered an exclamation of delight as she looked on its contents.
There lay three splendid ornaments, each containing three matchless
jewels, worth more than all the crowns of the world,—even the ruby of
Pardon, the pearl of Purity, and the diamond of Heaven!
On his knees, and with head bowed down, as deeply feeling how unworthy
he was of his Father’s gift, Nihál Chand received his restored treasure,
and pressed it first to his lips and then to his wounded breast. But no
sooner had the jewels been placed near his heart than, to his amazement
as well as delight, new health and strength were poured into his frame.
Nihál Chand’s wound became perfectly healed, and, springing to his feet,
he again stood erect, a brave and rejoicing man; a Christian strong to
wrestle against Temptation, and overcome it wherever he should meet it
again.
And, like Nihál Chand, Tulsí Rám and his much loved wife, Juwalí, the
faithful and meek, wore over their hearts for ever the ruby, the pearl,
and the diamond, their sins all pardoned, and their lives made pure.
Rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation, continuing instant in prayer,
the three Christians looked forward to the glorious time when, having
been faithful unto death, they should receive the crown of life which the
Lord hath promised to them that love him.
* * * * *
O reader! in this story have you read anything of your own? You may
have crossed the waters of baptism, you may have received the name of
Christian, but have you yielded to temptation, is the venom of the
reptile, besetting sin, whether pride, or falsehood, or the love of
money, at this moment poisoning your soul? Oh! cut away and cast the evil
from you, by means of help from above, or you will surely perish in your
sin. Even for your wound there is healing, even for your guilt there is
pardon; the pearl of purity may yet be yours, you may yet inherit the
kingdom of heaven. _The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin_;
the Holy Spirit is given in answer to prayer. But oh, delay not! for time
is short, the day of grace may soon be past. It is the penitent sinner,
the faithful and the persevering, who at the foot of the cross shall find
the priceless treasures—the ruby, the pearl, and the diamond—Pardon,
Purity and Heaven!