TRY AGAIN.
THE following morning, Alicia timidly said to her husband, “If you
approve, Harold, I think that I will try again to enter the fort. I have
been praying about it.”
“That’s my brave little bride!” said Harold. “I will make arrangements
to prevent your being exposed to any unnecessary alarm or annoyance.
Kripá Dé shall meet you at the outer gate, pilot you across the
court-yard, and usher you into the presence of the purdah-nishins”
(women secluded in their zenanas).
“Is Kripá, who is almost if not quite grown up, allowed to enter the
ladies’ apartments?”
“Oh yes,” was Harold’s reply: “lads brought up in zenanas are allowed
the freedom of them, even when no longer mere boys. I have heard lady
missionaries say that they find their best listeners amongst such
youths, especially in those who have received some light from attending
a mission school. Kripá Dé’s aunt is, I understand, the wife of the
principal sircar of the fort; she is, in fact, the greatest lady in
Talwandi. If the way were not made thus straight before you, I should
hardly sanction your going at all, young as you are, and inexperienced.
Now my great, I may say my sole, hope of reaching the women of Talwandi
is through my Alicia.”
Mr. Hartley, when leading the family devotions, did not omit offering a
special petition for the young wife thus about to commence mission work.
He prayed earnestly that her mouth might be opened, and that the Lord
might be her strength in weakness, and her stronghold in trouble.
Especially did the venerable man pray that being emptied of all
self-seeking and self-will, his daughter might be a chosen and
sanctified vessel, meet for the Master’s use. Alicia felt solemnized as
well as strengthened by the prayer.
Both Harold and Robin accompanied the doli as far as the gate of the
fort, and lingered near till at the summons of the rattled chain the
door was opened by Kripá Dé. His fair, bright young face spoke welcome,
and with native courtesy the Kashmiri youth relieved the lady of the
weight of her bag. At Kripá’s sign the dogs ceased to bark, and the
nervous buffaloes that were still in the court-yard showed stolid
indifference to everything but their food. The cow was so quietly
ruminating that Alicia was ashamed of having ever been afraid of so
harmless a creature. Passing through the second doorway, where the Hindu
girls had stood, Alicia, with her guide, entered another but smaller
yard, where were a good many noisy, curious children in scanty apparel.
This being also passed, Alicia through a third doorway entered the
building itself. As the fort was high, the visitor had an idea that she
would have to mount a staircase; but entering suddenly almost complete
darkness, Alicia was unable at first to see the least indication of
steps. In this part of the country staircase-windows were luxuries quite
unknown.
“Where is the stair? I can see nothing. Must I turn to the right or the
left?” said the young lady, stretching out her hand to feel the brick
wall.
“This way,” cried Kripá Dé in front; and Alicia could now dimly trace
the steps before her. They were steep, narrow, and not in particularly
good condition. Alicia had a vague consciousness of plenty of dust below
and cobwebs above.
“How strange it is,” thought the lady, as she groped her upward way,
“that people of high caste and easy means, living in a large, lofty
house, should not care for comfort, cleanliness or light. What a
marvellous difference Christianity makes even in what only belongs to
this world!”
The train of dirty, eager children followed the lady up the stair.
Alicia emerged into light, and entered what might be called a gallery,
raised above three sides of the smaller yard, with a low parapet over
which there was a clear view of all that passed below. Behind this
gallery were wooden pillars, some of them prettily carved, but rather
dark with age, and in by no means perfect repair. Behind these pillars
were women’s apartments, and above them a flat roof. On this roof, and
another higher still, women, mostly wearing chaddars (veils), and almost
all wearing ornaments, were peeping down at the strangers. The effect
was picturesque; for the bibis on the highest perch stood out in bold
relief against the background of a clear sky. Alicia found herself the
object of a good deal of curiosity amongst the female denizens of the
fort. They had never seen an English visitor before.
A native lady, with gold-bordered chaddar, and bedizened with a good
many jewels, courteously received the missionary’s wife. Chand Kor was
fairer than most of the bibis, but not so fair as her nephew young Kripá
Dé. A charpai was dragged out for the lady’s accommodation, and in order
to show her honour a white cloth was spread upon it. Alicia did not
quite know how to dispose of herself on the bedstead, so she sat on it
English fashion, with her feet resting on the earthen floor. But from
various quarters the cry, “Sit nicely,” made her draw up her feet and
assume the position which with Orientals is _à la mode_. There is
etiquette in zenanas.
Alicia was assailed with a number of questions: a few she understood, a
few she guessed at, a few were as utterly unintelligible as if uttered
in the Hottentot tongue. The visitor was asked about her father and
mother, the number of her brothers and sisters, how long she had been
married, and what salary she received. In the meantime dirty hands were
fingering her dress, and curious eyes examining the few ornaments which
she wore. Alicia felt puzzled and confused. She looked around for her
ally, Kripá Dé; but he was no longer present—he had gone away to his
school.
To stop the babel of sounds and the stream of questions, Alicia began to
sing one of the two bhajans which she had learned. The effect of this
was magical: the hubbub was hushed, the most talkative of the Hindus was
for a few minutes silenced.
Alicia then opened her picture-book to give more direct instruction. She
had carefully, with her husband’s help, prepared her first lesson, which
was on the lost sheep. Alicia had learned the parable by heart, and had
brought with her three good coloured prints to illustrate it. As a
preliminary Alicia said, “What is this?” pointing to the picture of a
sheep.
Heads were bent forward, and the picture examined.
“What is this?” repeated Alicia.
“Sher” (tiger), said the first woman who ventured on a reply.
“Hathi” (elephant), suggested another.
A third, equally discriminating, guessed that the picture was that of a
_fish_.[2]
“How will it be possible to get any spiritual ideas into the minds of
those who cannot distinguish the commonest objects?” thought Alicia. She
forgot that this was probably the first time that the women had looked
on the picture of a sheep: their eyes were untrained as well as their
minds.
At the exclamations uttered, a young girl, quite as fair as Kripá Dé,
turned to have a distant view of the wonderful book round which the
bibis were crowding. It was but distant, for the girl did not rise from
her place on the floor, near what looked like a round hole. Into this
hole the fair creature, and a darker and stronger-looking woman beside
her, were pounding away with alternate blows of what appeared to be
short wooden clubs. The natives in this manner separate rice from the
husk. The laborious occupation had made the young girl’s chaddar fall
back on her shoulders, revealing a pale but to Alicia singularly
interesting face.
Footnote 2:
Such guesses were actually made when A. L. O. E. showed such a print.
“Is not such work too hard for one so young?” said Alicia; for the
slight, delicately-formed frame of the girl strongly contrasted with the
stout figure and strong thick arms of her companion in labour.
“Premi always beats rice,” said Chand Kor, as if that were sufficient
reply; and in a sharp tone she bade Premi go on with her work. The
pounding, which had been suspended for two minutes, perhaps to rest
weary arms, perhaps to give the woman the opportunity of giving a glance
at the pictures, was instantly resumed.
“I suppose that Premi is Kripá Dé’s sister—she is white also,” observed
Alicia. The observation met with no denial, though it was evident, from
the contrast between the girl’s coarse dress and the youth’s very
elegant attire, that they occupied very different stations in Chand
Kor’s zenana.
“Why does Premi wear no jewels?” asked Alicia.
“She’s a widow,” said a rough-featured middle-aged woman, whose fat
brown arms were encircled with at least half-a-dozen bracelets.
“A widow—and so young!” exclaimed Alicia. She had often heard of
child-marriages; but seeing is a very different thing from hearing. It
shocked her to think of the fairest inmate of the zenana being doomed to
life-long labour and degradation. The dejected, hopeless expression in
eyes which looked as if they might sparkle so brightly under their long
dark lashes, awoke in Alicia a sense of compassion. “Is she a relation
of yours?” asked Harold’s wife of the middle-aged woman.
“She is my father’s widow,” was the reply.
“You mean your son’s!” exclaimed Alicia.
This set the Hindu women laughing; Premi alone looked almost sternly
grave. Several of the bibis assured the lady that what Darobti had said
was true. Alicia could not doubt that Premi had been married to a man
old enough to have been her grandfather, and his death at so ripe an age
was visited on his poor young widow as a crime!
“Before the English annexed the Panjab,” reflected Alicia, “this
helpless victim would probably have been burned alive on the old mans
funeral pile. And now she is a drudge—a slave!” The sound of the heavy
thuds of the club wielded by Premi’s slender hands was painful to the
English lady. It was with an effort that Alicia opened her Urdu Bible
and attempted to read.
Attempted; for Harold’s wife did not, on that first visit, succeed in
gaining one attentive listener. She was interrupted ere she had finished
two verses by an attendant, who, by Chand Kor’s orders, brought her a
rupee, and something that looked rather like an ill-shaped cannon-ball
made of coarse and very brown sugar.
Alicia had been told beforehand simply to touch the money, should any be
offered. Had she put the coin into her pocket, sadly would she have
disappointed the offerer of the silver. But the big ball was something
different; it was intended to be retained, and Alicia had received no
instructions regarding the presentation of gur. She was afraid of giving
offence by rejecting the clumsy gift. Alicia wondered whether she were
expected to eat the huge lump of brown sugar; but its size and shape
made this an impossible feat. All that the lady could do was to take the
sticky mass into her hand (thereby sacrificing her glove), and to
express her thanks as well as she could by smiles and saláms.
Alicia then having come quite to the end of her Urdu, and feeling that
it would be impossible to read, rose from her charpai. Noisy
expostulations made her only the more anxious to depart. Again followed
by her juvenile escort, the young lady made her way down the dark stair,
and was glad when she reached the place outside the fort where her doli
was resting on the ground. She was rather encumbered by the gur, in
addition to her large bag and umbrella.
“Oh! here is a poor famished wretch, just the person to prize my brown
cannon-ball,” said Alicia to herself, as her eyes fell on a
disgusting-looking being just about to enter the court-yard—a thin,
gaunt man, scantily clothed, his matted hair daubed like his face with
ashes, which gave him a ghastly appearance. The man held aloft a pole
from which hung a variety of rags, bones, and other unsightly pendants.
Half averting her face, with a feeling of mingled repulsion and pity,
Alicia held out the gur to the beggar. The man muttered she knew not
what, but did not deign to touch what she offered.
On returning home, Alicia did not fail to give to the little missionary
party a full account of her visit, ending by telling of the poor wretch
disfigured with ashes and clothed in rags.
“Oh, how I wish that we had work-houses or alms-houses here, to which to
send such miserable objects!” cried the kind-hearted girl.
“The jogi would not thank you for imprisoning him in the most
comfortable alms-house that ever was built,” observed Harold. “The
beggar likes his wandering life, and the honour—I may say worship—which
he gains from the people, who regard him, as the poor wretch regards
himself, almost as a god upon earth.”
“O Harold, you are jesting,” exclaimed Alicia.
“You have little idea, my daughter, of the length to which superstition
can go,” observed Mr. Hartley.
“The dirty jogi would have thought himself defiled by taking food from
your clean white fingers!” cried Robin. “You thought him a scarecrow; he
sets up for a saint.”
“I could tell you an extraordinary story,” said Mr. Hartley, “and a true
one, which I had from my good friend Andrew Gordon of the American
Mission. It will show you in a striking manner how pretenders to
sanctity impose on the ignorant natives of India.[3]
“In a large village called Jandran, not long ago, lived twenty-five
families of Megs, a caste of weavers. These poor people had begun to
feel dissatisfied with their old religion, and to desire clearer light.
Whilst in this inquiring state they were visited by a fagir [religious
beggar], who resolved to offer himself to them as a guru, or religious
teacher.
“‘Have you people ever found God?’ inquired Maston Singh (such was the
fagir’s name).
Footnote 3:
For this story at fuller length, and many other curious anecdotes, see
the late Rev. A. Gordon’s interesting work, “Our Indian Mission.”
“‘No, we have not found God,’ was the honest reply of the simple
weavers.
““I am quite sure that you have not,’ said Maston Singh; ‘for God is not
to be found in the religion of either Hindus or Mohammedans. But I can
reveal him to you; and if I can bring him near to you, even causing your
eyes to see him, will you receive and follow me as your guru?’
“‘Most certainly,’ replied Rama, a leader amongst the Megs. ‘It is this
very thing that we are all earnestly seeking; this is the great desire
of our hearts.’”
“I wish that a Christian missionary had gone to these honest inquirers,
instead of a deceitful fagir,” said Alicia.
“The Megs were to hear the truth afterwards,” observed Mr. Hartley; “but
not until they had found out that it was not to be learned from a lying
fagir.”
“Pray go on with your story, dear father.”
“The poor Megs found that it was no trifling expense to have to support
such a guru as Maston Singh. He required daily a pound of meal, two
pounds of milk, besides spices, tobacco, and ghee [a kind of preserved
butter]. Nay, the greedy guru must fain have a servant besides. However
difficult it might be to the poor peasants to supply his numerous wants,
they resolved to make such efforts in order to be taught by him true
religion.”
“How could the man teach others what he did not know himself?” observed
Robin.
“For eighteen long months this guru went on eating and drinking at the
weavers’ expense,” continued the narrator, “teaching them to despise
both Mohammedanism and the religion of the Hindus.”
“No harm in that,” said Alicia.
“No harm, if Maston Singh had given the true in the place of the false
religions,” rejoined her father; “but the wretched deceiver summed up
his teaching at last with the blasphemous declaration, ‘Greater than man
there is none; whatever there is, therefore, is now before your eyes!’”
“Oh, the wretch!” exclaimed Robin: “did he mean his own miserable self?”
“He did mean himself,” replied Mr. Hartley. “The atheist, not content
with the honour accorded to a guru, claimed to be regarded as a being
divine.”
“Surely this opened the eyes of the Megs,” said Alicia.
“These poor weavers showed more intelligence than superstitious Hindus
usually do,” observed Mr. Hartley. “They did not at once fall down at
Maston Singh’s feet and worship him as a god. They said to the impostor,
‘You have indeed dug up Hinduism and Mohammedanism by the roots, but you
have not given us one ray of light.’ The honest people thereupon
consulted together, and after three days of warm discussion they thus
gave Maston Singh their decision in regard to his blasphemous claim:—
“‘We ask you to satisfy us just on one point. You say that there is no
being in the universe greater than yourself. Now, if you will give us
some proof of your power _to create and give life_, we will be content
to follow your teaching. We do not ask you to make a camel, or buffalo,
or an elephant, but only a little worm. You can make this of clay; but
make one, be it ever so small, and give it _life_, so that it shall go,
and we will believe.’”
“Well done, weaver philosophers!” laughed Robin. “Your proposition was a
poser indeed. One would have liked to see the atheist’s face when he was
asked to create a worm.”
“The poor weavers’ test was a good one,” remarked Harold,—“the Almighty
having reserved the power of giving life to Himself.”
“I hope that the wretched Maston Singh was kicked out of the village by
the Megs!” exclaimed Robin.
“No,” replied his father: “deceived and robbed as they had been, the
weavers behaved as Christians might have done. Their spokesman thus
rebuked the deceiver, who had betrayed their trust and fattened on their
bounty: ‘You have said there is no God; we can never receive this. There
is a Creator who made the earth and the heavens.’ Then the weavers,
without injuring him, sent the false guru away; and Maston Singh
departed—I hope with sorrow and shame—from those whose simple faith he
had vainly tried to destroy.”
“And did no Christian come to tell these dear people the true way to
salvation?” exclaimed Alicia.
“The messenger of Satan was followed by the messenger from God,” replied
Mr. Hartley. “The gospel was preached with success to the weavers. They
learned not only to revere the divine Creator, but to adore the blessed
Redeemer, who from the fallen worm—man—could raise the renewed man,
indued with life, and that life everlasting.”
“Oh, it is a grand thing to be a missionary, a _real_ missionary!” cried
Alicia Hartley.
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