TWO MARRIAGES.
THE first visit of Isa Dás to Ditu's home was by no means the last. The
family were full of gratitude for the preservation of Tara, and he who
had risked his life to save her was always sure of a welcome.
It was a great pleasure to Isa Dás to open his heart to a Christian
countryman. He conversed freely with Ditu on the former events of his
life, on past trials which he had, as it were, hitherto kept in a
locked-up chamber. That chamber was indeed full of painful memories. I
will give a brief record of the early days of Shiv Dás, the Hindu, that
the reader may contrast them with those of Isa Dás, the Christian.
Shiv Dás was married when he was but seven years old. The child's
wedding took place with all the ceremonies which Hindus deem suitable,
and all the show in which they delight. The bridegroom's procession
extended for nearly a quarter of a mile; loud was the sound of the
tom-toms (drums); and enough of money was spent on feasting and
fireworks to have fed the family for years. Many pice were given to
beggars, many rupees were bestowed on the priests. All present declared
that such a tamasha (show) had never before been seen in that town. The
little bride-child was loaded with jewels, and the cost of her outfit
left her father in debt to the day of his death!
And what followed the grand wedding? Even as the most brilliant
fireworks leave but a few ashes, and, perhaps, an evil savour behind,
so was it with the marriage of Shiv Dás. The boy and girl thus wedded
never cared for each other. They had but been joined together with a
gilded chain; the gilding wore off, the weight of iron remained behind.
Shiv Dás grew up a thoughtful youth with a cultivated mind; he
delighted in study. Lachmi was a silly creature, with scarcely a
thought beyond what finery she should wear, what jewels she should put
on. But she had a sharp tongue and an evil temper. Her presence was to
her husband as that of a swarm of wasps who buzz and who sting.
One little girl was born in the house when Shiv Dás was about twenty
years old. The child was an object of love to her father, but was
utterly neglected by Lachmi, who was grievously disappointed that she
had not given birth to a boy.
About two years afterwards, Lachmi set her heart on going to the great
Hurdwan melá, and bathing in the sacred Ganges.
Shiv Dás, unlike his more ignorant wife, had little faith in the
holiness of the Ganges. He foresaw great trouble and expense, and
possible danger, from attending the melá, Hurdwan being at a great
distance from his home.
But Lachmi gave her husband no peace till she had wrung from him
an unwilling consent. Shiv Dás had to leave his situation and
spend all his savings to gratify the wish of his superstitious and
pleasure-seeking wife. He took Lachmi and her little one, both adorned
in jewels, in a covered bullock-gari to the great melá, at which many
hundreds of thousands of Hindus assembled.
That time Shiv Dás could never remember without horror. At first he was
dazzled by the show and the glitter, the banners, the music, and the
processions, which seemed to be endless. Then Shiv Dás saw things from
which his soul revolted, even though he had been brought up as a Hindu.
"Can even the Ganges wash away such sins as I see around me?" he said
to himself.
Soon followed what was to Shiv Dás a grievous misfortune. He had gone a
short distance to buy some sweets for his child, and a pair of gugurus
(anklets, with bells) for her slender feet. What was the father's
grief, on his return, to find his little one missing! Perhaps she had
been lost in the crowd; perhaps murdered for the sake of her jewels!
In vain, during the rest of that miserable day and the whole of that
following night, poor Shiv Dás searched for his lost one amidst that
surging mass of human beings. In vain, he made offerings to idols. He
never saw his darling again.
More misery was to follow. Lachmi, who felt the loss of her child far
less than did her husband, pursued her design of bathing in the holy
river. But the rush of thousands and thousands of pilgrims, all bent
on the same object, was so terrific, that in spite of the efforts of
the police, hundreds were pushed by their companions over a ravine, and
miserably perished. Amongst this number was Lachmi; she had had her
heart's desire, and it had cost her her life.
Shiv Dás, desolate and almost beggared, attempted to return to his
home. But the frightful crowding together of multitudes of pilgrims
had produced its natural effect. Disease broke out among the crowds;
cholera spread. Shiv Dás, on his homeward way, was attacked by
agonising pains, happily near a town, or he would have died, as so many
do, uncared for and untended. Being in an hospital, and possessed of a
strong constitution, Shiv struggled through the disease, and so was not
numbered among the numerous victims to attendance at the great melá.
From that time Shiv Dás altogether lost all faith in the Hindu creed.
"The religion which leads men to believe that bathing in a river can
remove sin, and so leads to an appalling amount of disease, misery, and
vice, cannot be from a good God, but from some wicked spirit, enemy of
man!" he exclaimed.
A few years afterwards, as we have seen, Shiv Dás, the Hindu, became
Isa Dás, the Christian.
After telling the story of his sorrows one evening to his friend Ditu,
after a silent pause the convert remarked, "I had suffered so much from
my first marriage that I resolved never to contract a second; and after
my baptism the seeming impossibility of finding a Christian partner
confirmed me in my resolution. But oh! my brother, since I have entered
your home, my resolution has disappeared like dew under the rays of the
sun; and I now ask from you the only blessing needed to complete my
earthly happiness."
From that hour Isa Dás became the affianced husband of Tara.
———————
The second marriage of the convert was as unlike the first as anything
could possibly be. Without any pomp or show, in a little mission
church, Isa Dás was united to the zemindar's daughter. The bride's
dower was her purity and piety, her ornaments "a meek and quiet
spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price" (1 Pet. iii.
4). No treasures were spent at the wedding; the bride herself was a
treasure, which year by year her husband found increasing in worth.
Solomon's description of a good wife might have been the description
of Tara,—"Her price is far above rubies; the heart of her husband doth
safely trust in her. She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her
tongue is the law of kindness" (Prov. xxxi.).
So Isa Dás and Tara walked on their heavenly course together, happy
in mutual trust and love, happy to see their little ones growing up
around them. And they had deeper sources of joy even than these. They
were happy because they both had received from the Saviour the pardon
of sins; because they were fellow-heirs of His glorious kingdom, where
all the children of God—from the north and the south, the east and the
west—shall meet together and rejoice together in bliss that never shall
end.
———————
NOTE ON HURDWAN FAIR.
To show that the above description of the great Hindu melá is far
from being coloured, it is only needful to give a few extracts from a
description of the last one which appeared in a Calcutta paper, 24th
April, 1879:—
"The multitude which came in at last baffled all calculation. It is
now believed that the melá must have numbered between 750,000 and
1,000,000 of souls . . . Bathing at Hurdwan, during such a melá, may be
said never to cease. All day on the 11th the police were obliged to be
present up to eleven o'clock P.M. They were on the ground again at two
o'clock A.M. on the 12th, and from that time till ten o'clock at night
they were obliged to remain at their posts. It is said that several of
the brave men who worked so hard at the melá have died . . ."
Writing of the Bairagis, the correspondent goes on:—
"These mustered over 10,000 strong. During their passage over the
bridge an accident, which was accompanied with serious consequences to
some of themselves, occurred. Unable to restrain their enthusiasm, a
large number, from 200 to 300 of them, leaped from the bridge into the
main current of the canal. Most of those who could swim were taken up
at the nearest bridge; but it is feared that a considerable number sank
before they could reach it . . .
"Just before this took place, another still more serious accident
occurred at one of the barriers. This outer barrier stood at the end of
a masonry bridge that spans a deep ravine . . . The ravine below the
bridge is dry, and about thirty feet in depth . . . The crowd gathered
in overwhelming numbers behind this outer barrier, and notwithstanding
the efforts of the police to keep them back, kept surging to and fro,
till at last the front ranks were pressed outwards through the wooden
fence, and some 300 persons were driven headlong into the ravine . . .
"But the worst was yet to come. The evening of the 12th, though it
witnessed a general exodus from Hurdwan of many who had bathed in the
morning, yet witnessed among those who remained a fresh outbreak of
cholera . . . Many died during the night . . . The disease did not stop
there, and I fear it is still following the retiring pilgrims into all
parts of the country."
THE END.