SAVĀBS
There is a little Persian book, which many of the little boys learn to
read, called “Sad Hikāyat” or “A Hundred Stories.” Some of the stories
are very like Æsop’s Fables, and they are all supposed to teach the
children something. One story tells them that at the end of the world
God will take a great pair of scales, and as each person comes up for
judgment God will put his good deeds in one scale and his evil deeds in
the other. If the good deeds weigh heaviest he will go to Heaven, if
his evil deeds weigh the balance down he will go to Hell.
These good deeds are called _savābs_, and every Persian, whether
child or grown-up, hopes to get to Heaven by doing enough _savābs_ to
outweigh his sins.
So a little Persian boy or girl is not taught to try to always do
right or to always try to please and serve God, but only to do enough
right to outweigh the wrong he does, and if he feels he has done wrong
instead of confessing his sin to God and asking His forgiveness he
simply tries to balance it by a good deed.
And what a Persian boy or girl is taught of what is right and wrong is
very different from all you have learnt. First there is a definite list
of sins, which they can learn by heart, and nothing outside of this
list is considered a “sin,” though other things which are not right may
be called “errors,” which is a much less strong word.
As to good deeds there is more difference of opinion. One of the
“Hundred Stories” deals with this point.
A man was travelling in the desert and came to a well. He dismounted,
drove a stable-pin into the ground, and tied his horse to it while
he ate his meal. When he resumed his journey he left the pin in the
ground that other travellers coming there might tie their horses to it.
Presently a man on foot came along, and, not seeing the pin, knocked
his foot against it and hurt himself. He pulled up the pin and threw it
into the well lest any one else should hurt himself in the same way. A
discussion arose as to which of the two had done a _savāb_, the man who
drove the nail in or the man who took it out, and finally a learned and
holy man was consulted. After much thought he gave it as his opinion
that both had done _savābs_.
Every little act of kindness is a _savāb_, and this encourages good
nature and kindliness.
The children are taught to look out for chances of doing a kind action
and so balancing their wrong-doing. But at the same time they are
taught to think that if they do a certain number of kind deeds it
will not matter if they do wrong at other times. Little Rajab ‘Ali,
the muleteer’s boy, would run to fasten up the trailing head-rope of
another man’s mule, he would lend a helping hand to some stranger whose
donkey had fallen under its load, and between whiles he would treat
his own mules and donkeys most cruelly. He thought his cruelty did not
matter, because he had been kind as well.
A dishonest lad will try to wipe out his dishonesty by being regular
with his prayers or by an extra day’s fast. A man who has cheated
someone of ten _krāns_ will give a _krān_ to a beggar and consider
his account settled. One man tried to atone for the most outrageous
extortion and injustice by spending _part_ of his ill-earned gains on
good roads for the villagers and a free school, while all the time
he made no pretence of giving up his evil ways. Those he had injured
complained that now he would escape the punishment of God.
The Persians seem unable to realise the possibility of any other motive
for good works. When the missionaries first went to Yezd and opened a
medical mission, the people said, “What terribly wicked people they
must be to have to do so much good.”
One curious result of this idea of winning Heaven and securing better
places there by good works is that it almost destroys gratitude. The
beggar feels that he has helped you one step up in Heaven by accepting
your alms; then surely he has done you more good than you have done
him, and why should he be grateful to you?
The patients who are treated free at the dispensary have the same
feeling; the doctor improved their bodily state, but they have improved
his spiritual position.
It is considered a special work of merit to do anything for a _Seyid_,
that is, a descendant of Muhammad, so everyone tries to be kind to
_Seyids_, and they are so spoilt and are made so much of that they are
generally unbearably selfish, and think themselves the most important
people in the world.
Often in the dispensary the doctor is exhorted to do his utmost or to
break through some rule because the patient is a _Seyid_, and they are
incredulous and rather shocked when they are told that an ordinary
patient’s pain is just as great as a _Seyid’s_, and that all must be
taken in their turn.
Another result of this doctrine of works of merit, or _savābs_, as they
call them, is that even when a Muhammadan seems straight and honest
and altogether a good fellow you cannot entirely trust him, because he
has so many good works to his credit that he feels a few sins do not
matter, they are more than paid for beforehand.
A Persian’s idea of what is a _savāb_ is sometimes curious. Prayers,
fasting, pilgrimages, and the reading of the Quran are, of course, all
considered works of merit.
Marrying your father’s brother’s daughter is a _savāb_, though there
is no particular merit in marrying your father’s sister’s daughter or
your mother’s brother’s daughter.
Some Persian women inquired one day what each of three missionaries
living together ate for breakfast, and hearing that two had eggs, while
the third had not, they nodded at each other, as much as to say, “I
told you so,” and remarked, “It is a _savāb_. She wants to get a higher
place in Heaven.”
Giving money to beggars is always considered a _savāb_, but it is
considered a greater _savāb_ on Thursday than on any other day. Friday
is the Muhammadan holy day, and they call Thursday “the Eve of Friday,”
and on Thursday the beggars all call out as you pass, “It is the Eve of
Friday; give me a copper.”
The grown-up beggars generally, but not always, sit by the roadside
begging, but the children run alongside of you and are often very
persistent. There are nearly always beggars at the gate of any town,
asking those who are starting on a journey to give them an alms, and so
secure safety on their journey. If Jericho was anything like a Persian
town it was most natural that our Lord should find one blind beggar as
He went into the town (St Luke 18, v. 35), and one or two more as He
came out by another gate (St Matt. 20, v. 30), and that they should
address Him in almost exactly the same language.
Begging is often a very paying occupation, for so many people feel that
they have sins to make up for, that the cry, “Give me a copper. It will
be a _savāb_,” is a difficult one to refuse, especially if the copper
is only worth a farthing.
So well does begging pay that on more than one occasion the mothers
and wives of well-to-do tradesmen have been detected in old _chādars_
begging in the streets and at houses. The difficulty of recognising a
woman who is completely covered up with a black _chādar_ makes disguise
easy.
During the massacre of the Babis, a dissenting sect of Muhammadans,
in 1903, it was considered a _savāb_ to kill a Babi, but some of the
kindlier people thought it also a _savāb_ to save a life, even if it
was a Babi’s. One man is said to have been seen with a prisoner, in
great perplexity, saying, “I am quite sure of Hell for my sins, unless
I can do a big _savāb_; if this man is a Babi, my chance of salvation
is to kill him, but I am not sure whether he is, and if I kill a true
believer I shall be worse off than ever.”
But there are _savābs_ of a very different sort.
There was an old woman friendless and ill, and a Persian man found her
in the street, too ill to get home to the one wretched room where she
lived all alone. He did not know her, but he decided to undertake the
_savāb_. He sent across the town for a medical missionary, knowing the
Christians had the reputation of never refusing to help the sick poor.
He stayed there till the doctor arrived, and said that if she would
visit the old woman and provide the medicines he would send for them,
and would provide the food and nursing, and this he did until the old
woman died a few days later.
The adoption of a destitute child is not an uncommon _savāb_, and these
children are often treated very well and given a good start in life.
A kind action, as we have seen, is always considered a _savāb_, whether
it is helping a fallen mule to get up, giving a copper to a beggar, or
tending a friendless stranger in sickness and death. We may almost say
that this is the one redeeming point of a Persian’s religion. Generally
speaking, Persians are not improved by their religious ideas, for the
stronger their religious ideas are the worse their lives are, and what
one most admires in Persian character is least in accordance with their
religious beliefs.