FIRST VISIT TO A ZENANA.
ROBIN was very busy during the rest of the week, but the nature of his
occupation was kept a profound secret, into which no one was allowed to
enter but Harold. On the Monday morning, when the family was partaking
of their warm daliya and milk, Harold turned to his wife and said, “You
have often told me, my love, that you would like to take a part in
mission work here.”
“I should like it of all things!” exclaimed Alicia. “You know that I
have seen something of the kind of thing already, as I have been with
mission ladies into four or five zenanas, and I learned a lesson for
future use. You know, darling, that I can read the Bible fairly in Roman
Urdu; I have also learned some texts, and I have a famous book of
pictures. I have practised my stock of bhajans [native songs] till I
begin really to like them, though I thought them so frightful at first.”
“How many bhajans can you manage?” asked Robin.
“Why, to tell the truth, only two; but many musical-boxes play no
greater number of tunes, and, like a musicalbox, I’ll go over and over
again. I think that I am ready, at least to make a beginning;” and
Alicia glanced with a shy smile at her husband.
Harold met that look with one of affectionate encouragement; he was
pleased with the spirit shown by his bride. “I could not let you go to
any doubtful place,” he observed, “or let you do any really rough work;
but I think that I have found an opening for you into a respectable
house, where my young wifie is not likely to be exposed to any
annoyance. Kripá Dé tells me that you would be welcomed by his aunt, a
Kashmiri like himself, who would feel honoured by a visit from an
English Mem Sahiba. She lives in a kind of fort on the other side of
Talwandi.”
“I think that I know the place,” said Alicia, “for there is only one
house that looks in the least like a fort. It is high, and surrounded by
walls. I have often longed to pass them and have a peep at the ladies
within.”
“The ladies within wish to have a peep of you, my love. The family is of
high caste. I have made careful inquiries, and I think that in that
house you may make your first attempt to begin mission work in
Talwandi.”
“But how am I to go? We have no gári like the ladies in Lahore and
Amritsar, who visited no end of zenanas. Am I to go on foot, or ride
father’s tattu, with no proper saddle?”
“Robin will, I believe, answer that question for you,” replied Harold,
with a glance at his brother.
“It is time for me to let my cat out of the bag,” said Robin gaily. “I
have given you no wedding present yet, Alicia, for I could not get it
ready before. It is bigger than your clock, and is to have its
siren—_inside_. It is made to go, and faster than ever a chimney-piece
clock could go. It is not intended to strike, and yet strike it may if
awkward urchins come in the way. In short—”
“Behold it!” said Harold, as two men, supporting either end of a long
pole on their swarthy shoulders, carried a doli into the veranda and set
it down.
The party went out to see it.
“This is the Mission Miss Sahiba’s special conveyance,” observed Mr.
Hartley. “In places like this where a gári is not to be found, or, if
available, could hardly be used in the narrow, crowded streets, a doli
is a most convenient vehicle.”
Alicia praised her doli as much as she could, though thinking that a big
square box had not much of grace or elegance to recommend it. She
admired the pink print with which it was covered, and the neat green
blinds at the sides. Alicia did not utter aloud the question in her
mind, “I wonder how I shall pack myself into my box?”
However, this is an art easily learned, and Alicia soon felt fairly at
home in her doli. The men lifted the pole on their shoulders; and Robin,
delighted with the success of his work and the thanks which it brought,
paced with long strides beside it as it made its first trial trip. Mr.
Hartley and Harold re-entered the bungalow and went to their several
occupations.
“Why should I not go at once to the fort, and give Harold a surprise by
my promptness in obeying his wishes?” said Alicia to Robin from her
doli. “Just bring me my picture-book and Urdu Bible. You will see them
on my table. I will make my first call this morning.” Alicia had never
forgotten Robin’s answer to her question, “Shall I not make a capital
missionary?” and was impatient to show him that his implied doubts were
quite unjust.
Robin ran back for the required books. He was highly amused at his
pretty sister’s energy, and regarded Alicia’s first essay at
zenana-visiting much as he would have regarded a first attempt at
skating. To him it was rather a matter for fun.
The lady and Robin proceeded, chatting cheerfully as the doli jogged
along, as far as the outer gate of the fort, which was encompassed by a
mud wall. The tall building itself was of brick, quite devoid of
windows, but with squares of open brick-work so let into the upper part
of the house as to give the appearance of perforations, through which
the inmates of the zenana, themselves unseen, could peep at the world
below.
“It looks rather like a prison,” observed Alicia, “and I see no bell at
the gate.”
“We must rattle the chain to give notice of our coming,” said Robin, who
had just helped to extricate Alicia from her square box.
The rattling was repeated twice, and then the door was opened just
widely enough to let two dogs, furiously barking, rush out. The
doli-men, called kahars, threatened the animals with their staves; one
threw a stone at the fiercer dog, and made him go limping and howling
away.
“I don’t like this,” said Alicia timidly. “Perhaps the dogs may come
back, or there may be others inside. Robin, please go in first.”
“Go in!” repeated Robin in affected horror. “I would rather venture into
a bear’s den than into a zenana. It is only open to lady visitors, you
know.”
“But can’t I send in the kahars to see that the way is clear?”
“No; the kahars, being men, must remain outside. See, there are girls
within the court-yard peeping curiously at you. They will show you the
way to the ladies. You have really nothing to fear.”
Alicia, a good deal against her will, had to enter the court-yard alone.
The kahars remained outside with the doli, and Robin went back to the
bungalow. Brown girls, with a profusion of metal ornaments on their
heads and a wondrous number of rings in their ears, called to the
English lady to come on. They stood in a doorway at the other side of
the court-yard,—a doorway which evidently led to the interior of the
large building. As Alicia hesitated, the Hindu girls called more loudly,
giggled and laughed, but did not attempt to approach the lonely
stranger.
“How can I possibly cross the yard with that horrible cow and calf and
two hideous black buffaloes right in my way?” thought the frightened
girl. “I have always been warned not to go near a cow with a calf. I see
that the creature is tied, but she looks fierce, and I doubt that there
is safe room for me to pass her. What shall I do! what on earth shall I
do!”
At last Alicia called out in her best Urdu to the girls, “Send man
animals take away,” enforcing her demand by signs; but neither words nor
signs had the slightest effect. Whether the Hindus understood the lady
is a matter of doubt. They certainly took no measures to obey her; they
merely saw that she looked frightened, and her misery rather amused
them.
Alicia saw that she must either go back or go on; the latter course she
deemed dangerous, the former dreadfully disgraceful.
“I think that there is just room to pass the cow; and as the buffaloes
are resting on the ground, I am not so much afraid of them: besides,
buffaloes’ horns bend backwards—they do not look made for goring.”
Thus reassured, but anxiously watching the cow, Alicia, carrying her bag
of books and white-covered umbrella, made a few steps forward. She was
only a little afraid of the recumbent buffaloes, but had never
calculated on the great clumsy beasts being afraid of her. It was so,
however. The animals, who had never seen a European before, started
simultaneously to their feet.[1] The terrified girl thought that they
were going to make a rush at her, but she gave them no time to make it.
Trembling with fright, Alicia fled to the entrance doorway, and through
it hurried into her doli, and in an excited voice bade the kahars carry
her home. The buffaloes recovered from their unreasonable fright sooner
than did the lady.
Alicia, extremely mortified at her failure, left her doli a short
distance from her home, hoping to be able to retire into the bungalow
unobserved. But, as it happened, all the three missionaries were in the
veranda, a consultation on some difficult case having drawn them
together.
“Why, Alicia, where have you been?” exclaimed Harold, who thought his
bride too young to be wandering about without escort.
“What brings you back so soon?” cried Robin. “I ran home almost all the
way, yet have only won the race by a neck. You must have paid the fair,
or brown, ladies a very short visit indeed.”
“What visit has been paid?” asked Harold.
“I just tried to do what you wished,” said Alicia, colouring with shame;
“but I found a cow and two big buffaloes in the court-yard, and so—”
Footnote 1:
The writer herself so alarmed two yoked oxen by her appearance that,
with a violent plunge, they freed themselves from their yoke. At
another time, passing on the road a large beast led by a man, its
restive appearance made her call out to him, “Is it _nat-kat_?” “No;
it is _frightened_!” was the reply.
“You concluded that ‘She who fights and runs away may live to fight
another day,’” cried Robin, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Well, Alicia, I
don’t think that you’re quite made for a missionary Mem. When I marry
I’ll have a bride who goes to church in good strong boots instead of
white satin slippers.”
“Keep your ill-timed jests to yourself,” said Harold sternly, for he saw
that his wife was distressed.
Robin’s mirth collapsed in a moment. He was not accustomed to receive so
sharp a rebuke from his brother. It was his turn to flush very red.
“Alicia, forgive my foolish nonsense,” he said. “I am always speaking
when I should be silent.”
Alicia did not reject Robin’s offered hand, but, deeply hurt, she made
her way in tears into the house.
“How did this happen?” inquired Mr. Hartley.
“Alicia was eager to begin her mission work,” was Robin’s reply, “and
so, walking beside her doli, I took her to the fort. Of course I could
not go in.”
“I should have preferred having been consulted, and having had prayer
with her first,” said Harold gravely, and he followed Alicia into the
house.
“How wrong in me to forget that!” exclaimed Robin. “Alicia and I were
like two foolish, impatient children: neither of us thought of beginning
by prayer.”
“Can you wonder, my son, that no blessing followed?” said Mr. Hartley.
“Should we ever undertake the Lord’s work in a spirit of mere playful
adventure? It is possible, even in these days, to lay a presumptuous
hand on the holy ark of God.”
Later in the day, when Mr. Hartley and Alicia were alone together, the
missionary entered on the subject of consecrating all labours for the
good of others by prayer.
“If you try zenana-visiting again, my daughter, as I doubt not that you
will, I would recommend the habit of prayer both before and after your
work. You will need courage, you will need wisdom; love and patience
will be required. All are in the treasury of the Lord, and to be had for
the asking. Well said the poet, addressing the Giver of all good,—
‘With us is prayer,
And joy and strength and courage are with Thee.’
And as you speed on your way, my child, it will make your steps lighter
and your path brighter if you offer up ‘psalms and hymns and spiritual
songs, singing and making melody in your heart,’ though the Master alone
may hear. It has been well said that hymns are as wings to the soul.”
“It was very wrong in forgetting to pray for help,” said Alicia; “but
was I so very wrong in not exposing myself to danger? You have spoken to
me yourself about the duty of taking care of the bodily frames which God
has given us.”
“As regards not sacrificing health to gratify self-will,” was Mr.
Hartley’s reply; “but to serve God faithfully a missionary must
encounter some risks.”
“Even that of being gored?” said Alicia.
Mr. Hartley could not repress a gentle smile. “The chance of being gored
is so very, very small,” he observed, “that it may fearlessly be
encountered. In all my thirty years’ experience I never knew of one
European being gored, and scarcely more than four—no, five—that have
even been run at by buffalo or bull.”
“I might be a sixth,” observed Alicia. “What protection have I against
such an accident, going about, as I must sometimes go, all alone, in a
country that seems to swarm with horned cattle?”
“I think that my daughter should find her safeguard in the words, ‘Fear
not, for I am with thee.’ God’s grace enables us to reply, ‘I will fear
no evil: for thou art with me.’ It should be a missionary’s privilege to
fear nothing but sin.”
“I am afraid that I shall never be a good missionary,” sighed Alicia.
“Harold should have chosen a stout-hearted, strong-minded wife.”
“Harold is very well contented with his choice,” cried a familiar voice
behind her, and a kiss followed the words. “Do not be discouraged, my
love, at a little difficulty at the first start. With patience, pains,
and prayer you will be a capital missionary yet.”
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