AN ACCEPTABLE OFFERING.
WHEN Isa Dás received his first month's salary from his master, he felt
himself indeed a rich man. Every pice of it had been honestly earned.
As he tied up the silver in his kamarband many thoughts regarding the
use of money came into the mind of Isa Dás. He was truly a Christian,
and, therefore, looked at the matter in a Christian point of view.
"I have now no wife or children to support, and this money is more than
enough to supply my needs, unless I choose to eat richer food, wear
finer clothes, and instead of using my own feet hire a tatoo (pony).
Can I do nothing better with my money? My Saviour used to say 'It is
more blessed to give than to receive.' It is a blessing to receive a
regular salary, but in spending it well, we may find a greater blessing
still."
As Isa Dás went about his daily occupations, he still thought and
thought, "What shall I do with my money? When I was a Hindu how much I
spent on pilgrimages and melás, and feasting fat Brahmins! Going to the
Hurdwan melá * cost me hundreds of rupees, and almost my life! If the
Hindus make sacrifices for their religion, shall the follower of Christ
do less for his? The Lord, when He left heaven to save us, 'though he
was rich, yet for our sakes he became poor.' For us He gave up glory,
happiness, yes, life itself, and shall we give up nothing for Him? O
Lord! Let me count it not only my duty but my delight to lay my little
offerings at Thy feet!"
* For some particulars of this melá see note at the end.
Isa Dás resolved from that day, that every tenth rupee that he earned,
he would regard not his own, but the Lord's; he would look upon his
salary as nine rupees. This was his simple duty, he felt that he could
not do less. But the Christian was not contented with this. He would
not merely give that of which he would never feel the loss; he resolved
to live simply and deny himself unnecessary indulgences, in order that
he might have more to give away.
"But in what way shall I spend my offering?" thought Isa Dás. "I
see plenty of misery around me, so much that my money seems but as
a drop given to a thirsty camel. My master is engaged every day in
distributing Government relief in very large sums. If I only knew of
some one in need who is not likely to be found amongst the crowds of
noisy beggars, if, above all, I could find some servant of Christ in
want, how much better to bestow my small alms there, where every anna
would tell."
Isa Dás then remembered that his missionary friend had asked him to
search out a poor family of native Christians living in a village five
or six miles from the town at which he was staying.
"These respectable people may be in great need," said Isa Dás to
himself, "and yet held back from actual begging. I will at least go and
see them, if I can get leave from my master to visit the village of
Paniput, such, I remember, was the name of the place where dwells Ditu
the Christian."
Isa Dás presented himself before Mr. Madden, and requested a few hours'
leave of absence.
"You are quite welcome to spend the rest of the day as you please,"
said the Sahib. "I am myself going to take a holiday to enjoy a little
shooting. I have heard that a wild elephant has been doing great
mischief in the neighbourhood, so am about to take my men and beat the
jungles. Would you not like to come with the party?"
Isa Dás would have liked it very much, for he had never before had
a chance of seeing such sport, but he thought it better to take the
present opportunity of finding out Ditu. He therefore declined the
Sahib's offer, as it was not a command, but was a little hurt when he
was about to start for the village to hear Fath Shah's jesting remark
that the Christian was wise no doubt in choosing some safer kind of
amusement than that of hunting a rogue elephant.
The feeling of annoyance soon passed away. As Isa Dás made his way over
the fields, according to directions which he had received, his heart
was even as a bird that on a rosebush singeth for joy.
"What am I, a poor sinner," thought he, "that God should show me such
marvellous kindness! While so many want, He bestoweth on me enough and
to spare! He crowneth me with loving-kindness and tender mercies! He
hath shown me the path of life, and made me glad with the Gospel of
mercy. Surely there is not one in this world who hath more cause to
bless and praise the Lord for His goodness!"
Isa Dás reached the mud-built village before the hour of sunset. He
knew that he should have bright moonshine to light him on his return,
therefore there was no need to hasten back. His first object now was to
find out in what part of the village dwelt the Christian family.
He saw a man by a well, driving his buffaloes round and round, while
the water fell from the Persian wheel, to irrigate his little patch of
ground. Approaching this man, Isa Dás was about to ask the question,
"Where dwells the zemindar, Ditu?" when a sound which reached his ears
made the question needless.
From a rude mud hut near, came the music of a bhajan (a kind of Hindu
song), voices young and old were singing, "Jesus Christ has saved my
soul?"
"I need no other guide!" thought Isa Dás. "In this poor place
Christians are singing the Saviour's praises. Let me join them, they
will not treat me as a stranger, for a holy tie unites all those who
love the Lord Jesus."
Seating himself close to the open doorway, Isa Dás joined in the
well-known bhajan. He was not long suffered to remain outside. Ditu—for
the dwelling was his—made his brother in the faith come in, and Isa Dás
was soon prostrating himself in worship with the only Christian family
in that village.
When Ditu's simple prayer was ended, and all had risen from the posture
of devotion, the zemindar asked a few questions of him who had so
unexpectedly joined them. The mention of the missionary's name was
enough for an introduction, had any been needed.
In a few minutes the two Christians were conversing together as freely
and as pleasantly as if they had been friends of long standing. The
conversation lasted while Ditu's young daughter, Tara, busied herself
in preparing the evening meal.
"You have prayed with us, you will not refuse also to eat with us?"
said the zemindar to Isa Dás.
Isa Dás gladly consented to remain to this the only meal of which this
needy family partook through the long day, for the famine pressed
heavily also on them. Isa Dás wished to see more of these Christians,
for their humble home seemed to him like an oasis in the midst of a
desert. Here was no separation between husband and wife, parents and
children, there was neither praying apart nor eating apart. In that
home the wife's subjection was that of love, and the maiden's pardah
that of modesty.
The first glance of Isa Dás at the place showed him that the abode
was one of poverty; the second glance that it was the abode of peace.
There was unwonted cleanliness also; in this, the hut presented a great
contrast to the house in which had dwelt the far wealthier oilman.
The meal was but of rice, served on plantain leaves, and hospitality to
the stranger made the small portions of parents and children smaller
still. Nothing was touched till Ditu had reverently thanked God for the
food provided. Then, indeed, little time was lost, the younger children
ate eagerly, and, all too soon, every grain of rice disappeared from
the leaves.
Isa Dás left nothing on his green plate, but he took care to leave
something beneath it. He smiled to himself as he hid his offering under
his leaf to think what surprise and pleasure it would cause in the hut
when they found that their plantain bore silver fruit!
[Illustration]