i^iiCUWARTA 
 
 )fdlATO- OTM e R-SKCTCHeS 
 
 ■.WMA 
 
 5-Y-7\HN\€,-h-S(AAL\ 
 
LIBRARY OF THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
 PRINCETON, N. J. 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 Mrs. Huston Dixon 
 
 BV 3265 .S54 
 
 Small, A. H. 
 
 Suwarta, and other sketch© 
 
 of Indian life i 
 
S U W A R T A 
 
 Un^ Qtbcv Sl^etcbes 
 
 OF 
 
 INDIAN LIFE 
 
 BV / 
 
 ANNIE H. SMALL 
 
 Author of " Light and Shade in Zenana Missionary Life, 
 
 T. NELSON AND SONS 
 
 Lon.ioii, F.diiibujxh, and Xeiu York 
 1894 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THE following sketches are history and not 
 fiction, although for obvious reasons neither 
 place nor date is stated. For the place, it is enough 
 to remind the reader that India is a continent : my 
 reminiscences belong to cities almost as distant the 
 one from the other as John o' Groats from Land's 
 End, For the date, any time these fifteen years 
 will give an idea accurate enough for all purposes. 
 For the persons I have here tried to introduce, they 
 belong to widely differing races and castes and posi- 
 tions in the social scale ; their languages are foreign 
 not only to us but to each other ; Raghoba would 
 count the proud Bai Saheb as an unclean thing, the 
 Moulvi would defile himself by eating bread which 
 Suwarta or Shiwadi had touched : yet all meet, I 
 trust, amicably enough within the covers of my 
 little book. Is this a whispered prophecy of the 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 day when all shall unite to sing " unto Him who has 
 redeemed us to God by His blood out of every tribe, 
 and tongue, and people, and nation ; and has made 
 us to be unto our God a kingdom and priests " ? 
 
 There are in our land many societies and unions 
 striving together by prayer and by effort to hasten 
 that glad day. With one of these I had many years 
 of most happy connection ; and I have therefore 
 much pleasure in inscribing these reminiscences of 
 service abroad to the Society with which I had con- 
 nection at home — 
 
 The Woman's Foreign Missionary Society 
 
 OF THE 
 
 Free Church of Scotland. 
 
 A. H. S. 
 
 Edinburgh, Nov. i8gj. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 SUWARTA, 
 
 
 
 
 9 
 
 A FAMILY GROUP, 
 
 
 
 
 i6 
 
 RAHIMUNISSA, 
 
 
 
 
 49 
 
 THE STORY OF A SITE, 
 
 
 
 
 56 
 
 A MOSLEM REVIVAL OF RELIGION, 
 
 
 
 
 65 
 
 A MOULVI'S STORY, 
 
 
 
 
 74 
 
 THE DAUGHTER OF THE MOON, 
 
 
 
 
 81 
 
 KHATIJA, 
 
 
 
 
 94 
 
 A VISIT TO A TEMPLE, 
 
 
 
 
 100 
 
 A FAMINE ORPHAN, 
 
 
 
 
 109 
 
 MY DISCIPLINES, 
 
 
 
 
 117 
 
 SAIDANI, 
 
 
 
 
 125 
 
 ASAHEL, 
 
 
 
 
 132 
 
 THE BENI-ISRAEL, 
 
 
 
 
 145 
 
 LOST, 
 
 
 
 
 150 
 
 A MUTINY, 
 
 
 
 
 154 
 
 ASHABI. 
 
 
 
 
 161 
 

 I' ?^i 
 
 
 SUWARTA S HOME. 
 
 SUWARTA. 
 
 ( Extracted from my Journal. ) 
 
 I HAVE had a curious and interesting glimpse 
 of human nature to-day, which is almost worth 
 while recording in full. Suwarta has been for a con- 
 siderable time under religious impressions ; she was 
 indeed one of those who rose when called upon at the 
 evangelistic meetings in November, and expressed 
 her desire to be a Christian. She has not hitherto 
 taken me into her confidence; and as she has always 
 been a thoughtful, conscientious girl, I have not been 
 sure whether there was a real change or not. Last 
 evening's lesson with the elder girls was upon Peter's 
 denial of our Lord, and the text I gave as a motto 
 was, '''Not tJiat we are sufficient of ourselves but 
 
lO SUWARTA. 
 
 our sufficiency is of God'' (2 Cor. iii. 5) ; and in the 
 few words I said, I rather emphasized the fact of 
 our own human weakness than dwelt upon the his- 
 tory of Peter's fall. 
 
 Late in the evening there came a tap at my door, 
 and Suwarta appeared. 
 
 " Please, Missie," she said, " I have been thinking 
 of the Bible-lesson very much, and I wish to tell 
 you something. Please don't think me very bad." 
 
 I concluded that some serious confession must 
 follow such a beginning, and giving her a stool to 
 sit upon, said encouragingly, — 
 
 " Well, dear, what is the difficulty ? " 
 
 "Missie, I think Peter could have kept from 
 denying Jesus if he had liked." 
 
 "Do you?" I asked. "Well, so do I, Suwarta; 
 if only he had not been so proud before the tempta- 
 tion. Do you remember — 
 
 ' He that is down need fear no fall, 
 He that is low no pride ' ? " 
 
 But Suwarta was not yet satisfied, and evidently 
 found an explanation of her difficulty no easy 
 matter. I watched her sweet face for a few mo- 
 ments, and then said, as gently as I could : " Tell 
 me, dear Suwarta, what is in your mind. I will 
 help you if I can." 
 
SUWARTA. 1 1 
 
 " I do wish to be a Christian, Missie," she whis- 
 pered shyly at length, " and I do try to be good. I 
 read every day, and pray to God, and I have been 
 so happy ; but to-night Peter's story has made me 
 unhappy again, because you said that we could not 
 be good ourselves." 
 
 " And you think you can, dear ? " 
 
 "Yes, Missie, if I try." 
 
 " Well, then, Suwarta, suppose you just go on 
 trying. But remember, dear, that past sin has to 
 be got rid of; that when we break one command, it 
 is as if we had broken all ; and that wrong thought 
 and wrong motive are just as truly sin as wrong 
 action, because God looks down into our hearts." 
 
 The girl looked awed for a moment ; but her 
 self-reliance came to her aid, and she once more 
 expressed her assurance that " trying very hard " 
 meant success. 
 
 " Very well, Suwarta," I said, as she rose to go ; 
 " I shall like to know how you get on. When will 
 you begin ? " 
 
 " Now — to-night." 
 
 " Then may I ask you to do something ? Will 
 you come and tell me the first time you feel you 
 have failed ? That may be a long time hence, but 
 will you remember to come and tell me ? " 
 
 To this Suwarta agreed, and we bade each other 
 
12 SUWARTA. 
 
 good-night. As a rule I pray with any girl who 
 comes to speak to me, but somehow it did not seem 
 appropriate in this case, and we parted with only the 
 usual evening salutation. 
 
 I retreated at once to my bedroom, being un- 
 usually tired ; and had just lowered my light, when 
 Suwarta appeared once more in her white night 
 attire. 
 
 " Please, Missie," she said, " I am going to begin 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " Why not to-night, Suwarta ? " 
 
 " Because I did wrong quite suddenly to-night," 
 was the rather shamefaced confession. " One of 
 the girls had gone to sleep on my bed, and I got 
 very angry. I am so sorry ; but I'll begin to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 " All right, Suwarta. Good-night," I said ; and 
 as I lay down, I pondered over the wisdom or un- 
 wisdom of my dealing with this case. Was it better 
 that the child should learn her weakness by bitter 
 experience, and so learn it thoroughly ; or ought I 
 to have tried to explain in mere words the lesson 
 she needed ? And I fell asleep while moralizing 
 with myself that my teaching that evening had been 
 far in advance of my own experience. Like Su- 
 warta, I have a pretty strong faith in my own will, 
 notwithstanding many a downfall. 
 
SUWARTA. 13 
 
 I was awakened this morning early by a voice 
 outside my door, and the usual, " Please, Missie." 
 
 " Well ? " I called. '' Come in." 
 
 " Please, Missie " (Suwarta again !), " I am so sorry 
 to disturb you, but you told me to come at once." 
 
 " Any difficulty, dear ? " 
 
 " Yes ; Prema put water on my face to waken me, 
 and I got very angry again. I was sound asleep, 
 and had no time to remember." 
 
 With some difficulty I repressed a strong inclina- 
 tion to laugh at the forlorn little figure. I succeeded, 
 however, in saying gravely, — 
 
 " Well, Suwarta, what do you mean to do now ? " 
 
 " I shall begin now. I shall tell Prema I am sorry 
 I was cross, and then I shall begin." 
 
 Clearly this was to be a case of " try, try, try again ;" 
 so I sent the child away with a word or two of en- 
 couragement, and proceeded to prepare for prayers. 
 Of late each of us has repeated a text before our 
 hymn ; and Suwarta had chosen an appropriate 
 motto for the day, which she stated in a triumphant 
 tone which amused me — " I will walk within my 
 house with a perfect heart." Evidently her two falls 
 had in no way damped her ardour ; Peter was not 
 more sure of himself than was my dear little pupil. 
 I had hardly finished breakfast, however, when she 
 reappeared. This time she declined to explain the 
 
14 SUWARTA. 
 
 nature of her failure, but insisted that it was only 
 because she " forgot " that she failed, and that she had 
 now fastened a piece of ribbon to the front of her 
 jacket "to remember her," so that she must begin 
 again " only once more." 
 
 There were several forgets, however, for each of 
 which there was a ready excuse, although after each 
 she started with less courage. The climax was 
 reached during the first hour of afternoon school, 
 when, to my astonishment, I heard Suwarta's voice 
 in loud altercation with the pundit. Such a thing 
 had never happened before, and I arose from my 
 class and crossed the schoolroom. The pundit evi- 
 dently did not understand this new development in 
 his favourite pupil, and stood gazing at her rather 
 helplessly. 
 
 " What is this, master ? " I asked. 
 
 " Suwarta is very troublesome this afternoon. Miss 
 Saheb ; she has done no work at all. But she was 
 never naughty before, and I do not wish to complain. 
 Perhaps she is not well." 
 
 " Suwarta must do her work," I said, " and do it at 
 once;" but knowing well the struggle which had led 
 to this most unwonted scene with the good girl of the 
 school, I touched her shoulder gently as a hint that 
 I understood and sympathized. There was a mo- 
 mentary struggle, but it ended in her taking books 
 
SUWARTA. 15 
 
 and slate and going quietly on with her work. After 
 supper I found an opportunity of saying, — 
 
 " If you would like another talk this evening come 
 over to my room." 
 
 We have had a long talk ; probably we have both 
 learned something from the day's experiences. At 
 any rate, we did not part this time without com- 
 mitting ourselves to God's keeping. 
 
 " What text w^ill you say to-morrow, Suwarta ? " 
 I asked as we parted. 
 
 She smiled through her tears at the recollection 
 of the text she had repeated in the morning, as she 
 answered, — 
 
 " I shall say bits of two texts — ' The Lord turned, 
 and looked upon Peter ; ' ' And Peter went out, and 
 wept bitterly.' " 
 
THE OLD HOUSE. 
 
 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 \' 
 
 Characters and Scenes f)-oni a Mahometan Zenana. 
 
 N ideal Oriental home ! 
 1\. The great ruinous block was swarming with 
 life — life romantic, tragic, solemn, joyful, mysterious, 
 commonplace — had one only had time or opportunity 
 to enter fully into its secrets. But the most a mis- 
 sionary can do, as a rule, in such a house, is to make 
 as many friends as possible, and to afford as much 
 teaching, aid, or comfort as possible to such as need 
 what she has to give. Here, however, were unusual 
 facilities even in the course of ordinary visitation for 
 the study of human nature, especially such phases of 
 it as are developed by purdah life. 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 1 7 
 
 I suppose that I never saw even the half of the 
 population of that building ; yet to tell of all whom 
 I did see and know, from the stately Bai Saheb to 
 the crippled old invalid who " had suffered many 
 things of many physicians, and was nothing bettered, 
 but rather grew worse," would fill a volume. It will 
 be enough to take almost at random half-a-dozen 
 characteristic scenes from this zenana, sketching 
 these very slightly, and leaving the imagination of 
 the reader to run to and fro at will over the rest of 
 the gloomy old place. 
 
 The house in its best days must have been more 
 commodious than beautiful, now it is positively 
 hideous. One side of the square, that facing the 
 entrance archway, has fallen into disrepair : there is 
 no vestige of a roof; the window-frames are shutter- 
 less ; and the walls are fast crumbling away. The re- 
 maining three sides are dwelling-houses, in which live 
 relatives of the Saheb, nearer or more distant, poorer 
 or richer, but all more or less dependent upon him. 
 
 The centre of the square is a well-built tank, in 
 
 which play thousands of glistening fish, and around 
 
 which are smooth square blocks of stone whereon 
 
 the men stand to bathe, or whereupon they beat 
 
 their clothes into whiteness, — and into rags. Below 
 
 are, as usual, public rooms, a great hall wherein 
 
 feasts religious and otherwise are held, and smaller 
 
 3 
 
1 8 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 rooms, the lounging-places of groups of men, who, 
 recHning upon their mats or charpais, smoking their 
 hookahs, playing cards, or gossiping, while away the 
 weary hours of the day ; for the possession of a little 
 money is a dangerous thing in a hot climate, insidi- 
 ously inviting to indolence and selfishness. There 
 are several staircases, none in a very good state of 
 repair. We use, as safest to life and limb, that which 
 is best lighted. It is dirty — what staircase is not in 
 this land ? — and steep, and broken, and dark ; but it 
 has carried safely a generation or two of men, and, 
 at rare intervals, of women ; and we may be well 
 assured it will not be repaired until it falls through, 
 let us hope without carrying anybody with it. Up- 
 stairs upon the landing are doors enough to bewilder 
 a stranger, before each of which hangs a purdah ; 
 and aloncr the o-alleries on each side are also doors 
 and windows, all purdahed. Each door leads into 
 the house of one or another member of the clan : 
 that is, the room or rooms where live the wives and 
 children of the men we passed below. The house 
 is, in fact, a town on a small scale; and each of these 
 purdahs shuts in so much family history, while all 
 taken together — however, I found that to be im- 
 possible, as will be seen later on. 
 
 Which brings me naturally to the inhabitants of 
 the house. 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. I9 
 
 HER LADYSHIP. 
 
 My first introduction to the Bai Saheb was char- 
 acteristic, as I discovered when I knew her better. 
 A somewhat imperious message was sent to one of 
 our schools to the effect that the Bai Saheb had the 
 honour to request that the Miss Saheba would call 
 upon her. I already knew the lady well by reputa- 
 tion. Her alms were the subject of public discus- 
 sion. At Bakra-Id, the Feast of the Goat, held in 
 memory of the gracious deliverance wrought for the 
 patriarch Ishmael, when Alia, by the hand of an 
 angel, saved him from the knife of his father Ibrahim, 
 twenty poor families received from her bounty a 
 dinner of goat's flesh ; and at each other festival a 
 similar seasonable gift was bestowed. Never was 
 fakir's cry heard below her window in vain. A 
 servant was commanded to bring food or fruit, the 
 dole was filled, and lowered gently to meet the arms 
 of the holy man who waited confidently below. It 
 was said, too, that no woman ever exceeded her in 
 the regularity of her devotions, or in the rigour of her 
 fasting, or in the general saintliness of her life. Yet 
 was there always a something left unsaid, to be whis- 
 pered where no tales could be carried — a something 
 which left the impression of a hard, bitter, uncom- 
 promising woman. Was love the one thing lacking ? 
 
20 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 When the invitation reached me I drove out to 
 the old house at once, somewhat curious, I confess, 
 regarding its meaning, being well assured that what- 
 ever else she might have in view, she had no desire 
 to bring her family under Christian influence. 
 
 On being admitted within the purdah leading to 
 her rooms at the head of the staircase which I have 
 already described, I found myself in a handsome 
 diwan->^/^ana.* A bright Persian carpet covered the 
 floor, and beautifully-carved blackwood furniture 
 stood in stiff array round the walls. Shelves bore 
 upon them a variety of massive silver dishes, bowls, 
 and trays ; while a brass bed was the central and 
 somewhat incongruous ornament. A number of 
 smaller rooms apparently branched off from this 
 central room. The purdah of one of these was drawn 
 aside to admit me, and here I was received with 
 much distinction by a middle-aged, dignified, aristo- 
 cratic dame. We exchanged the usual civilities — 
 they mean no more in this country than they do in 
 England — then, judging it best to enter into busi- 
 ness at once, I asked whether I could be of any 
 service. 
 
 " I hear that you go about in the city teaching 
 girls and women ? " 
 
 To this indictment I pled guilty. 
 
 * Reception room. 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 21 
 
 " Do you go to the house of any one who invites 
 you ? " 
 
 " Unless I find good reason to decHne doing so." 
 
 " Your father is a padri,* I beheve ? " 
 
 " He is." 
 
 " And you take all this trouble for God's name's 
 sake ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 So far my answers appeared to give satisfaction, 
 and there was a pause while the lady drew to her 
 side the inevitable pan-dan,-f- and daintily prepared 
 and presented the unwelcome mouthful. Then she 
 resumed. 
 
 " But you Christians have such dreadful customs, 
 that you must pardon me for asking more questions. 
 Your ladies and gentlemen dance all night some- 
 times. Is this not true ? " 
 
 I pled guilty, adding, however, the excuse that it 
 was a custom which had not the same associations 
 which nautches have in this country ; also I added, 
 for she was looking very severe, that many of us did 
 not dance at all. 
 
 " Do you dance ? " was her next very direct in- 
 quiry. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then do you go to those dreadful races where 
 
 * Minister, lit. father t Silver spice-box. 
 
22 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 our men waste all their money, and come home 
 drugged with English brandy ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Miss Saheba will pardon me for one more ques- 
 tion. Miss Saheba doubtless knows our laws. Do 
 you drink wine ? " 
 
 " I do not, lady." 
 
 She now rose and left me, returning after a little 
 with two young women, whom she introduced as her 
 daughters. 
 
 " I am anxious they should learn English," she 
 said, " and such English customs as will be good for 
 them to know ; but I have feared, having heard 
 much about English ways, to put them under the 
 charge of a teacher. Then I heard of you, that you 
 were a priest's daughter, and I thought they might 
 be safe. Will you teach them ? " 
 
 This was a new experience to me, and one only 
 to be borne because it was new. As a rule, the 
 catechizing and the making of conditions is on our 
 side. I determined not to be too easily caught ; 
 and while smiling in a friendly way to the girls, I 
 said that I was a missionary, and taught the Chris- 
 tian faith. To this, with a proud toss of the head, 
 which threatened that opportunities for doing so in 
 her house would be few, she answered that that was 
 no difficulty. In the same manner she set aside 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 23 
 
 other conditions which I made, and eventually day 
 and hour were agreed upon for a first lesson. 
 
 The girls and I speedily formed a strong friend- 
 ship, and for their sakes I bore with their mother. 
 She proved, as I had foreseen, a very dragoness over 
 us. No asides were allowed ; we were kept most 
 steadfastly to the work in hand ; we w^ere interrupted 
 and hampered at every turn by orders to translate 
 for her benefit the lesson we were studying. As for 
 missionary work proper, I saw that she intended 
 effectually to prevent it. The only outlet I had for 
 long was in the singing of hymns, which, strange 
 in one of so hard a nature, the Bai Saheb herself 
 greatly enjoyed, and encouraged even to the extent 
 of uniting her own very masculine and unmusical 
 voice with ours. But Bible lessons were strictly 
 prohibited for long. 
 
 " Are we not also Kitabi log [people of a book] ? 
 Why should we try to convert one another?" w^as 
 her answer to a very direct appeal on one occasion. 
 
 Then I tried a little wholesome neglect, and for 
 two or three weeks absented myself When sum- 
 moned to the lady's presence once more, I told her 
 that my time was more than occupied already with 
 pupils who were willing to read the Gospel, and that 
 I really could not undertake to go on with such as 
 declined to do so. 
 
24 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 " You are evidently afraid of the Gospel," I said. 
 " There are those here in the city who find it their 
 greatest comfort. They have the first claim upon 
 me." 
 
 " Bring the book," she said at last. 
 
 " Remember," I answered, " I do not wish to 
 force it upon you. You will find easily an English 
 teacher who will come without it ; indeed, I shall 
 search for one if you wish." 
 
 " No, no," said Zahibunissa ; " do anything with 
 us, but do not leave us again, as if you did not care 
 what became of us." And so, for the sake of the 
 girls, I once more resumed the weekly visit. But 
 the Bai Saheb outwitted me constantly by such 
 means as I could not condescend to use in return ; 
 and only the appealing looks of Fathma, and the 
 friendly squeezes which Zahibu gave my hand 
 when her mother's head was turned away, prevailed 
 with me to waste the hours I did upon a house of 
 which I wrote : — " No missionary work is lost when 
 the Bai Saheb's hour is left out of the week's 
 planning." 
 
 The Bai Saheb was a woman in whom did not 
 exist, or I never discovered, any womanly weak- 
 ness at all. She ruled husband, poor man, and 
 daughters, and the large population of the house, 
 with an iron rule ; and though often most distaste- 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 25 
 
 ful, her will was never disputed. I am wrong ; it 
 was disputed once, by one who, when roused, proved 
 as strong of will as herself, and who triumphed. But 
 that triumph cost the rebel, as will be seen, home, 
 and family, and all religious and social fellowship 
 with her own people. 
 
 ZAHIBUNISSA AND HER HUSBAND. 
 
 The elder of the Bai Saheb's daughters was a 
 clever, bright girl of seventeen or eighteen years, 
 very accomplished, as Moslem women count accom- 
 plishments : that is, she read Arabic with more 
 understanding of its meaning than is common, she 
 also read Persian, Urdu, Gujerati, and Hindi ; she 
 worked most exquisite embroideries in gold and 
 silver thread ; and she was an heiress in her own 
 right — the last of which charms had been her ruin, 
 for it had brought her a husband of birth more than 
 equal to her own, but of character and manner of 
 life far too degraded to be described here. He was 
 essentially a " brutish " man, devoted to eating and 
 drinking and pleasure-hunting ; another edition, as 
 I often thought, of poor " Cousin Amy's " boorish 
 mate, though, fortunately for this poor wife, the 
 " grossness of his nature " had no power to draw her 
 down. She made a brave struggle to win him in 
 
 4 
 
26 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 the early days of their married Hfe. By the time I 
 knew the couple she had lost hope, and contented 
 herself with keeping him in order. He was promptly 
 ordered out of sight when his presence was not de- 
 sirable, which, thanks, alas ! to English brandy, was 
 far too often ; his pocket money was limited, and 
 even fines were occasionally imposed ; while all was 
 done with a graceful dignity which, had he been 
 worthy of the name of man, must have roused him 
 into something like independence of character. I 
 learned most of these particulars from the ordinary 
 gossip of the house. The first occasion upon which 
 I myself saw Zahibunissa roused to action was dur- 
 ing the last illness of her father. 
 
 I missed her husband one day from amongst the 
 hookah-smokers below, and Zahibunissa told me 
 with a joy which, poor girl, she could not conceal, 
 that he had left home with the intention of making 
 a long tour through the country. He was thoroughly 
 tired of the enforced quiet which his father-in-law's 
 illness imposed, and had asked her for money to 
 join a party of friends who intended to travel all the 
 cold season. She was too loyal a wife to saj' that 
 she rejoiced in her freedom, and she sternly forbade 
 any expression of gladness in her presence ; but she 
 could not hide the rest which had come to her with 
 the prospect of his absence for some months. 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 2J 
 
 " She gave him five hundred rupees for his trip," 
 whispered one of the other women, " and she thought 
 it a cheap price to pay for his absence." 
 
 Studies went on that season with great regularity ; 
 and the Bai Saheb, being much occupied with her 
 dying husband, relaxed the strictness of her watch. 
 The girls, who were both in sore need of sympathy 
 and friendship, were able to speak of their sorrows, 
 and to claim the love which their mother was un- 
 able to give them from the friend who belonged 
 neither to their race nor their faith. Zahibunissa 
 inherited not a little of her mother's strength of will. 
 That she disliked a study was to her rather a reason 
 for continuing than for giving it up. I never heard 
 her allow that any task I set to be done was difficult 
 to work or to understand. If she did not fully follow 
 a lesson, she never acknowledged her failure, but 
 thought the subject out before our next meeting, 
 when, as a rule, she was able to give a very lucid 
 explanation of the difficulty. Thousands of English 
 girls will answer to this description ; but English 
 girls are to the manner born, and trained from in- 
 fancy. We do not often find such pupils in Indian 
 zenanas ; when found, we make much of them. 
 
 Her husband — for it is with Zahibu as a wife that 
 we have to do — had not been gone many weeks when 
 one day she drew from under her pillow three or 
 
28 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 four telegrams and asked me to read them. They 
 were all from her husband, and were dated from 
 a city in the North-West Provinces, Each stated 
 most urgently that travelling was far more expensive 
 than they had imagined ; that he had reached his 
 last rupee, and must stay where he was until she 
 sent him what would bring him home again. A 
 curl of the lips was her only sign of feeling as she 
 held out her hand for the telegrams and hid them 
 under her pillow again ; and I saw that even her 
 mother thought it best to make no remark. 
 
 As I rose to leave, Zahibunissa said in a low tone, — 
 
 " Missie Bai, last year you made the same journey 
 that my husband is making. Do you remember 
 how much it cost you ?" 
 
 " Within two hundred and fifty rupees." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 In the afternoon of the same day a covered car- 
 riage drove up to our door, and when privacy had 
 been secured, Zahibunissa alighted. 
 
 " Would Missie Bai have the kindness to write 
 out a telegram to my husband ?" said the girl, whose 
 face for the moment almost too nearly resembled 
 her mother's in its stern and set expression. 
 
 " With pleasure," I answered, fetching at once the 
 necessary form and a pencil. " What do you wish 
 me to say?" 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 29 
 
 " Say that I have bought a bungalow at the river 
 side, and have no ready money in hand at present." 
 
 " Is this true, Zahibu?" 
 
 " Certainly, it is true ; I knew you would not send 
 the telegram if it were not Besides, my only safety 
 lies in having no money. God help mc !" 
 
 " And will you leave him at Patna?" 
 
 " As long as he cares to stay. He has raised 
 money when necessary before now ; let him do so 
 again." 
 
 She was quite right, for when the days of mourn- 
 ing for the old man were ended, Zahibunissa's 
 husband reappeared, less a man, if possible, than 
 ever, and more obviously a crushing burden upon 
 his wife. Outwardly, indeed, she rendered to him 
 all the duty and obedience that were his due, ad- 
 dressing him with respect, preparing with her own 
 hand the dainties wherein his soul delighted, and 
 waiting upon him, when sober. But a less sym- 
 pathetic and pained onlooker than I might well 
 have seen how she loathed him when under the in- 
 fluence of " English brandy." 
 
 "Where is Zahibu?" I asked one day when she 
 did not appear for her lesson. 
 
 " She has gone aw^ay," was the reply. " She has 
 taken her husband to their house in his native vil- 
 
30 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 lage, where ' English brandy ' will not be found, and 
 where she may force him to be sober." 
 And I never saw Zahibunissa again. 
 
 FATHMA. 
 
 A much less outwardly attractive pupil than Za- 
 hibunissa was her sister Fathma. She was a heavy, 
 sleepy-looking girl, with a countenance which at first 
 impressed one as sullen. Ere long, however, a very 
 tender sympathy possessed me in place of this some- 
 what unpleasant first impression ; for Fathma was as 
 clinging as her sister was self-reliant, and nowhere 
 within or without that great house had she found a 
 staff to lean upon. Zahibunissa was kindly, but 
 naturally enough was absorbed in her own cares ; the 
 weak old man, their father, could afford little sym- 
 pathy, far less aid ; while if the Bai Saheb could be 
 said to be more stern and unloving towards one per- 
 son than she was towards all, that person was poor 
 Fathma. This aloneness was apparent even \\'hen I 
 first made acquaintance with the family, and found 
 how precious to this girl was a look of love or a word 
 of praise ; and as sorrows increased, and her sensitive 
 nature shrank more and more into itself, I would fain 
 many a time have taken her into my arms, and whis- 
 pered, " Come away with me ; I love you." 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 3 1 
 
 When first 1 knew Fathma she was betrothed to 
 a man of some position and wealth in another town ; 
 but it was said that rumours of her lack of beauty 
 had reached the bridegroom's family — in any case, 
 the match was broken off in a manner most humili- 
 ating, if not insulting, to the poor girl. As if this 
 were not enough, she was visited with extreme 
 harshness in her home on account of the so-called 
 disgrace implied to the family, and her spirit was 
 thus lacerated and wounded at every turn. That 
 she had become the subject of gossip amongst the 
 members of the large household in no degree light- 
 ened her heavy burden ; and even from my unspoken 
 sympathy she shrank as a sensitive plant does 
 against the gentlest touch, and for weeks I greatly 
 dreaded for her som^e serious mental catastrophe. 
 
 That a husband of some sort must be found for 
 her, and that without delay, was the one possible 
 decision, and I was not surprised, though still deeply 
 anxious, when informed by her mother one morning 
 that Fathma was to be married almost immediately. 
 
 " She does not look very like a bride, does she ? " 
 said the Bai Saheb sarcastically, looking across 
 at the downcast face opposite. " She fails to see 
 that a cross-eyed, plain girl who has already lost 
 a husband must take what she can get." 
 
 " Are you satisfied, Bai Saheb ? " I asked, for my 
 
32 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 heart sank strangely at this manner of announcing 
 what is as a rule so very joyful an event in an 
 Indian house. 
 
 " Oh, I am only too glad to get her off my hands. 
 We shall have no tamasha at the marriage, so I 
 regret I shall be unable to invite you, Missie Bai. 
 We intend having the ceremony at once, and her 
 father's state of health forbids any noise or excite- 
 ment," with which extra stab — for to an Indian o-irl 
 the marriage festivities are most important — the 
 Bai Saheb rose and left us. 
 
 I took Fathma into my arms and kissed her, 
 feeling convinced that a good cry would bring relief. 
 After a little she began to speak quietly. 
 
 " My heart is hot. O Missie Bai, what marriage 
 is this ? Could I not be as you are ? Why should 
 I marry ? This man has wives and children, but 
 he wants money. He takes my dowry, and I am 
 thrown in, with the understanding that he need not 
 take me home unless for a visit, just to say I am 
 a wife. I see through it all, although they pretend 
 that I stay here only until my father be laid in his 
 grave. You will see I shall spend my life here, not 
 there." 
 
 I could hardly credit this, and tried hard to re- 
 assure the poor girl ; but she was right. Her father 
 lay for months in his grave, the period of mourning 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 33 
 
 was long over, before there was any hint of Fathma's 
 going "home." But she did at last set off to the 
 distant village in which he lived ; and as Zahibunlssa 
 had also gone away, my visits to the Bai Saheb's 
 rooms ceased for a time. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " Fathmabi is home again," said another pupil in 
 the house one day ; " they say she is very ill." 
 
 I called at once. A woman whom I thought a 
 stranger rose from the bed and put her hands in 
 mine. I drew her towards the light. It was 
 Fathma, developed from a drooping, spiritless girl 
 into a crushed and heart-broken woman. She had 
 no tears now, no interests, no life. Looking into 
 her eyes that morning, I found myself asking sadly, 
 " Is it possible that hope has given permanent place 
 to despair here, and this girl not more than seven- 
 teen ? It cannot be." I bent all my energies to 
 rouse her. She never named husband or home, nor 
 did I ; and to this day I do not know how the 
 weeks of her absence had been spent. But, ignoring 
 her listlessness, I strove to interest her in books and 
 work, and in the little life which would one day 
 come to her as her very own, and for the sake of 
 which she must live and even be careful of herself. 
 She tried for a time to carry out my suggestions ; 
 but her mechanical efforts were more painful to 
 
34 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 witness than the inertia which had now become 
 natural to her, and at lengrth I ceased to trouble 
 her, trusting that nature would do what friendship 
 had failed to do. But I visited her room constantly, 
 leaving little hints of a "very present Help in 
 trouble," or of a life beyond this where sorrow and 
 sighing are unknown. 
 
 ***** 
 
 A silent house aroused my dread one morning, 
 and I called at one of the other doors to inquire for 
 Fathma. 
 
 " Her baby was born last night. I believe she is 
 asking for you," was the reply. Taking off my 
 shoes, I slipped quietly into the room. Fathma 
 turned when she heard me, and her look and smile 
 nearly broke my heart. I knelt down at her side. 
 
 " You are not very ill, are you, dear ? " 
 
 " Oh no, — I am not made — of the kind — ^who die. 
 — I wish I were ! — But my baby will die. — I have 
 known it all along. — I am glad. — She is a girl." 
 
 The words came in broken, gasping phrases, and 
 I turned away to look at the child. 
 
 " Let me see her in your arms," whispered the 
 mother. 
 
 I lifted the tiny creature. An ordinary doll 
 would have weighed more in my hands, and many 
 a doll is larger. But it was neither the size nor the 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 35 
 
 weight of that smallest morsel of human life I had 
 ever seen that filled me with awe, and caused me 
 to lay her down and hasten from the mother's sight. 
 
 The little baby's face was very beautiful, her 
 features very perfect. Silky black hair shaded the 
 tiny forehead, long eyelashes and eyebrows lay like 
 finest pencillings upon the soft skin. I never saw 
 so lovely a child. But the heritage of an anguish 
 which had proved to herself unutterable had passed 
 heavily on from mother to infant, and had left its 
 sign in the most piteous, weary, heart-broken coun- 
 tenance I ever saw. It haunted me for months ; it 
 haunts me at times to this day. 
 
 It was a relief to hear on the next day that the 
 little baby was away, taken gently from the burden 
 which weighed down its tiny life. I think her 
 mother was glad too. At all events she expressed 
 no sorrow. She even listened with some show of 
 interest to the words of Him who called and still 
 calls to Himself the little children. 
 
 Fathma's story is one of unmitigated sadness — 
 sadness the deeper that words cannot tell it, so that 
 its secret can only be dimly guessed at. 
 
 But may it not be well for us who live in com- 
 parative light, now and then to lift the veil which 
 hides from us the darkness and mystery which 
 
36 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 surround the lives of too many of our fellows ? We 
 cannot — oh, how helpless we are ! — penetrate the 
 darkness or unravel the mystery. Only One can do 
 that ; but we can surely bend all our efforts to let 
 in a little glimmer of light, or to stretch out into the 
 darkness the hands of sympathy and of love. 
 
 THE merchant's WIFE. 
 
 As I was leaving the Bai Saheb's rooms one day, 
 1 noticed far along one of the galleries a purdah held 
 aloft and a hand beckoning. As no other person 
 was in sight, I conjectured that this silent call was 
 addressed to myself, and walked along towards the 
 door. 
 
 "At last you have come," said a cheery voice. 
 " How often I have watched for you and made signs 
 to you, and you never saw me." 
 
 " No, I never saw you. I am very sorry. But 
 why did you not send for me ? I am often in the 
 house. You could easily have come yourself to the 
 Bai Saheb's room, for instance, and fetched me." 
 
 "Do you not know the Bai Saheb yet? There 
 are many of us who wish you would come and teach 
 us, but we know the Bai Saheb will only let you go 
 where she pleases." 
 
 " That is nonsense, lady. I go where I please ; 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 37 
 
 and if you wish me to visit you, I shall be most 
 pleased to come. Will you not gather all those who 
 wish to learn into one room, so that you may learn 
 together ? " 
 
 "We never leave our own rooms, you know, and 
 it would take you all day to teach in the rooms 
 where we wish for you." 
 
 " Forgive me for contradicting you — you often 
 meet in each other's rooms. I have myself daily 
 seen ladies on the galleries." 
 
 " Yes, one or two quietly talking, you will see ; 
 but we should never be permitted to meet and learn 
 in one room. I doubt whether your visiting in 
 separate rooms w^ould be long allowed to pass. 
 Meantime all your pupils are friends of the Bai 
 Saheb." 
 
 " Well, never mind that. You wish to learn ? " 
 
 " Yes, if my husband will consent. I long to be 
 able to learn." 
 
 " And I long to teach you," I said heartily, though, 
 truth to tell, I had pupils enough ; but there was 
 something very wholesome and refreshing in this 
 little woman. It was impossible to resist her. 
 
 " Here he is ! " she said, hastily retiring behind a 
 screen which divided the room. "You ask him to 
 allow me to learn." 
 
 He was a good-natured-looking, plump, little man. 
 
38 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 who, before I realized the change, filled the seat his 
 wife had vacated. 
 
 " She has got you to see her at last. Madam 
 Saheb," he said, laughing. " My life has been a 
 burden these weeks past on your account ; and 
 to-day I came home early from my work to try to 
 see you as you left the Bai Saheb's house, and to 
 bring you to our poor room. I waited downstairs 
 in vain until I felt you must have escaped me, and 
 came up to comfort my wife." 
 
 Here was a good-natured husband ! 
 
 " Your wife wishes to learn to read," I said. 
 
 " Yes, she has some notion of that sort. But what 
 use in the world will it be to her? You English ladies 
 are like men; you have men's brains" — nobody 
 was present with physiological knowledge enough 
 to contradict this statement — " but our women, they 
 are only fit to sweep floors and cook dinners." 
 
 That this gentleman's wife fulfilled both of these 
 functions well, the pretty clean room and his own 
 comfortable condition amply proved. That her 
 brains were equal to a heavier strain than these 
 required she herself evidently believed, for from 
 behind the screen came a little mocking laugh. I 
 had enough ado to keep a serious countenance while 
 I once more pled her cause, and eventually gained 
 his offhand permission to " try " her. 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 39 
 
 " Try " her I did, and with such good effect that 
 one day, not very many weeks later, I walked in 
 upon the young couple ; she being engaged in 
 writing a letter for him, as being the swifter and 
 more accurate scribe of the two. 
 
 '* Woman, whom custom had forbid to fly 
 The scholar's pitch, the scholar best knew why " — 
 
 had, if a most expressive vulgarism may be per- 
 mitted, " scored " once more ! 
 
 AN OLD LADY S TALE. 
 
 In a small back room of the old house I spent 
 many a pleasant hour. The inhabitants were reck- 
 oned amongst the "poor relations" of the Bai 
 Saheb, yet they had the rare art of making even 
 poverty look comfortable. The beloved swing-bed 
 hung from the roof; well-lined cushions and rezais 
 were placed conveniently along the walls for those 
 who preferred the floor to the swing ; there was 
 even an ancient chair for such as affected English 
 ideas of comfort. Some gaudy vases and plates 
 adorned the niches in the walls, which, if not in them- 
 selves aesthetic, lent a cheerful appearance to the 
 room. The window was so high above the street 
 that it could be kept wide open without any breach 
 
40 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 of purdah privacy. In the window stood a Httle 
 iron pail, to which was attached a long rope. When 
 the cry of the beggar was heard from the street 
 below, these ladies, like the Bai Saheb, let down a 
 little food by means of this pail. The action was 
 the same as the Bai Saheb's,the gift itself was pro- 
 bably much smaller, the motive which prompted it 
 certainly was much purer ; for here, in this little 
 attic, dwelt charity of the truest and noblest kind. 
 
 They were four generations. The dear old great- 
 grandmother, very frail and helpless now, but full 
 of loving-kindness to all, gratitude for any little 
 service done to her, and patient endurance of the 
 suffering and weariness which are incident to ex- 
 treme old age. Her daughter, and her son and his 
 wife, and their four little ones, made up the family. 
 They lived in perfect union, unless the gently-ex- 
 pressed reproaches which the young wife spoke to her 
 mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law when they 
 spoilt the babies be reckoned as a breach of it ; but 
 as she never could be severe herself, I think her re- 
 proaches were accepted as permission to repeat the 
 offence the next time a woman came to the door 
 selling sweetmeats or fruit. It was truly a restful 
 home to visit. 
 
 The oldest lady was always a deeply-interested 
 listener when the Bible-lesson was given, and often 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 41 
 
 supplied us with illustrations, either from the " tradi- 
 tions" or from her own experience of life, which 
 helped to impress the lesson upon the minds of 
 us all. I have often regretted that I neglected to 
 preserve some of her tales. Only one remains, and 
 it is quite beautiful enough to tell. We had been 
 speaking of the shortness of time, and the folly of 
 setting our hearts upon those things which perish in 
 the using, and which, however precious to us, must 
 one day be left to others. 
 
 '' I heard long ago," said the old lady, " a beauti- 
 ful story which illustrates that thought. May I tell 
 it to you ? " And here is the story as nearly as pos- 
 sible in her own words : — 
 
 " Many years ago, in a far-distant land, there 
 lived a great and noble Sultan, who feared God and 
 was merciful towards his subjects. 
 
 " One day, as he rode through the streets of the 
 city, he passed a fakir, who sat by the wayside ask- 
 ing alms. And this was the fakir's cry : — 
 
 • What is kept is lost, 
 What is given is saved.' 
 
 These words struck the Sultan, who rode thought- 
 fully home to his palace, repeating them to him- 
 self Throughout the day they rang in his ears, 
 
 6 
 
42 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 and all night he lay awake pondering their mean- 
 ing. 
 
 " In the morning he summoned his viziers and 
 counsellors to his chamber, who were much aston- 
 ished to behold the pale and troubled countenance 
 of their King. 
 
 " ' I have a question to ask of you, my friends/ 
 said the Badshah ; ' answer me truly. When I die, 
 what will you give me to carry away with me?' 
 
 " The viziers stood speechless, thinking within 
 themselves, ' The Badshah has gone mad.' 
 
 " After a pause the Sultan repeated his question. 
 ' Ye answer me not. I ask yet again, When I die, 
 what will you give me to carry away with me?' 
 
 " At last an aged courtier stepped forward, and fall- 
 ing at the feet of his King, said, ' O King, thou wilt 
 be as the poorest of thy subjects ; let not thy serv- 
 ants here live after thee, for they can give thee but 
 a white linen cloth wherein to wrap thy body.' 
 
 " ' And that is all ye can do for your Sultan ?' said 
 the King, gently raising the old man, and embracing 
 him. ' Yea, ye are but flatterers that call all this 
 wealth mine ; now is the beggar the equal of the 
 Badshah.' 
 
 " The scribes were then summoned with haste, 
 and a proclamation was issued in the King's name, 
 and forwarded to the remotest parts of his dominions. 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 43 
 
 It called to the King's palace on a certain date all 
 those who were in great poverty or distress, that he 
 might himself hear their complaints. 
 
 " ' Truly,' said the scribes and counsellors, as they 
 obeyed the command, ' our Badshah goes mad 
 apace.' Yet no man dared contradict or reason with 
 his Majesty, for his countenance was grave and 
 troubled, and he opened up his designs to none. 
 
 " On the appointed day the palace was crowded 
 with suppliants. The Sultan saw each, and from 
 his own stores relieved the needs of each — house to 
 the homeless, clothes to the naked, food to the 
 hungry, gentle and kind words to the sorrowful. 
 By evening little remained in the palace save the 
 resting-place of the King and food for the evening 
 meal ; but his countenance beamed with joy and 
 peace. As he sat, ere retiring to rest, with his 
 trusted counsellors around him, he said, — 
 
 " ' Ye have marvelled much this day ; hearken 
 now to me ;' and he recited the words of the fakir 
 by the wayside : — 
 
 • What is kept is lost, 
 What is given is saved.' 
 
 " ' And,' said the King, ' when I asked of you 
 what ye would give with me to the other land, ye 
 promised me naught save the shroud of the poorest. 
 
44 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 Then, thought I, the fakir says aright ; and be it 
 henceforth my lot to earn the love and gratitude of 
 my people' — and while his face shone with holy 
 joy, he added under his breath — 'and treasures in 
 Paradise.' 
 
 " In the morning, when the counsellors came as 
 usual to summon the Badshah to prayer, he lay, as 
 they thought, in a peaceful sleep ; but on approach- 
 ing his bed, they found that he was dead." 
 
 THE HUSBAND OF THE BAI SAHEB. 
 
 There is a true appropriateness in thus designat- 
 ing the head of the clan which dwelt in the old 
 house through which we have been somewhat aim- 
 lessly wandering ; for truly, although the rightful 
 king and lord over the family, he had, long ere 1 
 knew him, subsided into the meek and much-endur- 
 ing husband of his wife ! 
 
 I saw very little of him until he lay upon his death- 
 bed, but what little I did see led me to the con- 
 clusion that, having been thrown back upon himself 
 in any attempt to win the affections of his wife, he 
 had, to use a common phrase, " turned religious," 
 and had found, in carrying out many little forms and 
 ceremonies, such solace as his nature required. For 
 he was a simple soul, without even the capacity to 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 45 
 
 feel pain or need as his daughters did. That he 
 had something Hke a sense of sin I discovered one 
 day, when he sent for me to the bedroom where he 
 lay very weak and ill. Not knowing what he desired 
 of me, I made a few conventional remarks expres- 
 sive of sympathy, and asked whether I could help 
 him in any way. 
 
 " You will sit down for a little," he whispered. 
 I brought a chair to the side of the bed and 
 obeyed. 
 
 " I am very weak," he said, " very ill ; I shall 
 never be well again. And I am sad here " — laying 
 his hand on his heart. " You pray for the girls, do 
 you not? I wish to ask you to pray for me too. 
 You pray always in the name of Jesus ?" 
 
 " We do," I said. " And do you wish me to pray 
 for anything in particular ?" 
 
 " Pray to God to have mercy on my soul, and to 
 forgive all my sins." 
 
 He was quite worn out with the effort of speaking, 
 and shut his eyes, whilst I repeated two or three of 
 the most simple messages of mercy. Whether he 
 heard or not I never knew ; I was never asked to 
 see him again. 
 
 But to the very end he struggled to perform all 
 the little acts of devotion with which he had striven 
 to fill his life. I happened to know his doctor, who 
 
4^ A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 complained bitterly to me of the difficulty he had 
 in getting this patient to obey orders. 
 
 " He is the most obstinate old fool I ever saw," 
 said the irate physician one day, meeting me upon 
 the stair. " He is suffering much from swellings of 
 the feet. These I bandaged with care yesterday, 
 and left orders that the bandages were to remain as 
 they were until to-day, when I should myself attend 
 to them. To-day I found them removed ; and was 
 pretty sharp with the whole crew, as you may be- 
 lieve. What do you think the old chap said ? He 
 informed me quite calmly that his religion would 
 not allow him to pray with his feet covered, and 
 that the bandages must come off so many times a 
 day. I mildly hinted that the success of my treat- 
 ment depended upon the bandages. 
 
 " ' If my life depends upon them, I cannot help it,' 
 said he. ' Duty to God is before duty to myself 
 
 " ' All right,' said I ; ' but don't blame the 
 doctor!'" 
 
 Poor old man, in such religious ceremonies had 
 lain all his consolation in life, and in them he per- 
 severed to the last. During his long illness he per- 
 formed every act of devotion required of him most 
 faithfully, rising on the morning of his death before 
 daylight to repeat his prayers, and then laying him- 
 self on his bed again to die. His history, so empty, 
 
A FAMILY GROUP. 47 
 
 SO useless, so childish, yet withal so punctilious and 
 earnest, caused me many an hour of questioning-. 
 It was such a poor, feeble imitation of the service 
 of God ; yet was that weak old man walking accord- 
 ing to such light as he had. 
 
 When dead, the Bai Saheb's husband became 
 much more important than ever he had been in his 
 lifetime. As head of the family he was awarded 
 such a funeral as had not been seen in our city for 
 years. As a saint, there was laid beside him in his 
 grave a letter signed by all the male members of 
 the family, addressed to God, commending the de- 
 ceased to His mercy and goodness, and enumerating 
 in full all the virtues and holy deeds of his life, 
 which, I suppose, having hitherto overlooked them- 
 selves, his family feared that the Supreme Being 
 might also have failed to see. 
 
 As for the Bai Saheb, she was a most exemplary 
 widow to outward appearance. Yet even the death 
 of the husband to whom she owed the position she 
 held, and who had been her companion for so many 
 years, failed to reveal the slightest touch of true 
 feeling or sorrow. She would have missed her mid- 
 day cup of coffee more than she missed her husband. 
 ***** 
 
 Such are a few of the glimpses of life which I 
 
48 A FAMILY GROUP. 
 
 caught in passing out and in of the stragghng old 
 house. One more only I intend to draw out of the 
 obscurity of that zenana ; but as she literally did 
 emerge from within those walls, I shall award her a 
 chapter to herself 
 
RAHIMUNISSA. 
 
 A BATTLE FOR WOMAN'S RIGHTS. 
 
 RAHIMUNISSA was a widow, who had hitherto 
 lived with a son in another city, and was 
 come to pay a long visit to her relatives in the Bai 
 Saheb's house. The first time I met her I saluted 
 her as " Bai Saheb," so marked at first sight was 
 the physical resemblance between the cousins. Five 
 minutes later, wondering that even for a moment 
 my eyes should have been betrayed into so great 
 a blunder, I was tempted to apologize for it to my 
 new friend. Later on again I discovered that the 
 likeness was not after all so slight. True, Rahi- 
 munissa had that trait which the Bai Saheb lacked, 
 which we term womanliness for lack of a better 
 definition ; but behind this my new acquaintance 
 had more than her own share of the Bai Saheb's 
 chief qualities, strength of will and decision of 
 character. That the two women dreaded a collision 
 was evident, for they rarely addressed each other 
 
5C RAHIMUNISSA. 
 
 save upon the most trivial subjects. Possibly their 
 wills had already clashed. I often wondered why 
 Rahimunissa chose to live in an atmosphere which 
 even an occasional visitor to the house felt to be vol- 
 canic, especially as she had a small income of her 
 own, and was independent of the family. Probably 
 this was one more instance of the strength of the 
 patriarchal system ; if so, it was also a very good 
 example of its failure to secure a peaceful home life. 
 
 Rahimunissa had never, until she and I met, come 
 into contact with an Englishwoman ; and while she 
 entered enthusiastically into our lessons, Bible and 
 secular, her interest centred in the study of the posi- 
 tion which Englishwomen occupy as free, educated, 
 and independent, if so they choose, of marriage. 
 Every opportunity of quiet conversation upon these 
 points was seized ; and as Rahimunissa was not a 
 girl whose whole life might be ruined by discontent, 
 but a middle-aged woman of independent means, 
 I spoke to her with perfect freedom of the ideal 
 which Christian women may set before them as 
 possible of attainment — an ideal which includes in- 
 dependence of character and life, a sphere of use- 
 fulness which only a woman can fill, and freedom to 
 choose that sphere for herself — in addition to those 
 traits peculiarly womanly from which no true woman 
 
RAHIMUNISSA. 5 1 
 
 will willingly part. Rahimunissa drank in such 
 teachings with an avidity which amused me. That 
 they were likely to have any practical bearing upon 
 her life I never dreamt. 
 
 At this time I had great difficulty in finding suit- 
 able teachers for our zenana schools, and one day 
 I happened to mention this difficulty in Rahimu- 
 nissa's hearing. 
 
 As I was leaving the room she said, " Missie Bai, 
 do you think I could teach in your school ? " 
 
 " Ah, I only wish I could get you ! " 
 
 " Well, I shall come. Give me the salary you 
 gave your last teacher, to make up for the wear and 
 tear of clothing, for I am not very rich, and I shall 
 be so glad to try it." 
 
 My good fortune was almost too great to be 
 believed, for in every sense this was good fortune. 
 A lady teacher in our school would insure good 
 accent, good manners, and eventually, no doubt, 
 the confidence of a good class of people. Besides, 
 this particular lady had, if I were not mistaken, 
 the attributes of a good teacher — firmness, patience, 
 faith in herself, a large amount of general infor- 
 mation, a vast selection of tales, a motherly dis- 
 position, and last, if not a Christian, her opposi- 
 tion to Christianity had vanished. She had never 
 allowed prejudice to govern her, and her candid 
 
52 RAHIMUNISSA. 
 
 nature saw that, however difficult to accept, our faith 
 had a Hving power in it. Altogether I was greatly- 
 encouraged by this unexpected offer. 
 
 I meant to be down at the school before her on 
 Monday morning, for the lack of a teacher had made 
 our unruly little creatures more unruly than ever, 
 and none could quell their tumult save myself 
 Naturally I felt anxious that our new teacher, who 
 by the way had never seen a school in her life, 
 should not experience too great a shock on the very 
 first morning. She had been beforehand with me, 
 however. There she was, supreme already, the 
 children sitting like little angels in their proper 
 places, and the work evidently going on quite in- 
 dependently of " Missie Bai." I heaved a deep sigh 
 of relief, and retired to other duties a happy woman, 
 feeling that my troubles were past. 
 
 But I was reckoning without a great many factors 
 which go to make up the sum of troubles and 
 worries. The next day Rahimunissa told me that 
 she feared there were difficulties before us in her 
 home ; for when it was discovered that she had 
 actually undertaken to teach in a school, especially 
 a mission school, the horror of the family knew no 
 bounds. The whole of the morning had been spent, 
 she said, in trying to persuade her to give it up. 
 But the taste of independence which even that 
 
RAHIMUNISSA. 53 
 
 one day had given her had been very sweet, and 
 Rahimunissa declared to them and to me her firm 
 determination to continue the work she had under- 
 taken. 
 
 A few days later persuasion gave place to threat- 
 ening, w^hich had only the effect of arousing into 
 action all the firmness and determination which had 
 hitherto slumbered for lack of opposition. Step by 
 step they goaded her on until the day when nothing 
 was left for her save complete emancipation. But it 
 was emancipation at the cost of home, and friends, 
 and social and religious fellowship. I have the his- 
 tory as it occurred, page by page, in her own words, 
 which are far more graphic and concise than mine 
 could be. 
 
 " Missie Bai, I have been miserable until now. 
 Surely you would never persuade me to give in to 
 them ? My sons are all grown up and married ; 
 their father — God rest his soul! — needs me no 
 longer. What have I to do? Until I saw you I 
 tried to be satisfied with books ; but we crave more 
 than books." 
 
 ***** 
 
 "And what have my family to say? They say 
 none of our people have broken purdah before. 
 Have I broken purdah ? They say that I have food 
 
54 RAHIMUNISSA. 
 
 and clothing and all that I need, and that it lowers 
 the family that one of us should work. I say I am 
 better for working. They offer to give me money 
 if I would stay at home. Do they think my heart 
 pines for rupees? I am now happy. I mean to 
 stay with you." 
 
 ^ 7K ^ TT ^ 
 
 " Missie Bai, I am sorry to give you trouble ; but 
 I must find a house for myself and my old mother. 
 Will you help me? The Bai Saheb tells me I must 
 leave the house, and my son says he dare not keep 
 me. I am sorry to give up his little children, but 
 I knew this separation would come. I know my 
 people ; they are hard. Once, years ago, one of our 
 men became a Christian, and I know how bitterly 
 they hated him, and how they scorned his desire for 
 friendship. They will do the same to me." 
 
 " They have now put me out of the mosque ; and 
 our people have had warning against receiving me 
 into their houses, or asking me to any festival. This 
 is the Bai Saheb's doing, and they will not dare to 
 disobey her. I suppose she hopes to frighten me 
 back to the house. I shall never return to her house ; 
 not for all she could give or withhold — NEVER ! " 
 ***** 
 
 "Have you heard the latest? Some of the men 
 
RAIIIMUNISSA. 55 
 
 came to my rooms last night, and said they intended 
 to take the case before the High Court. They 
 really thought they could alarm me ! Missie Bai, 
 we shall let them take us up to court, and make 
 them prove that according to the law of Islam a 
 woman may not teach a girls' school. If they prove 
 it, I shall give in. But they know better. The 
 Bai Saheb may turn me out of her house, the assem- 
 bly may excommunicate me from the mosque, my 
 sons may weakly submit to their mother's being so 
 treated : these things are in their hands, the law is 
 not. Let them do their worst, but I am free." 
 ***** 
 So to this day Rahimunissa teaches in a girls' 
 school. She is by no means a perfect woman, and, 
 sad to say, all her knowledge has failed to bring her 
 to the feet of Christ. She is as independent of 
 Him as she has been of her family. Nevertheless, 
 she knows that to Christianity she owes the freedom 
 she sought and won ; and surely we owe her some 
 admiration for the gallant fight she has fought for 
 " Woman's Rights." 
 
THE STORY OF A SITE. 
 
 Suggested by the Title-deeds of a Mission Schoolhotise. May i, iSgs. 
 
 FIFTY years ago ! The scene is a busy one, for 
 this is the high road leading from the heart 
 of the city out to the sacred hill of Parwatti, with 
 its many temples, its stately worship, its community 
 of holy Brahman priests and beggars, its ancient 
 fortress from the battlements of which the last of 
 the kings, only a few years ago, watched the battle 
 which snatched from him his kingdom, and forced 
 him to flee ignominiously from his capital. Parwatti 
 may be said to be the centre of attraction towards 
 which these crowds of men and women — laden with 
 offerings of flowers and rice, laden also doubtless 
 
THE STORY OF A SITE. 57 
 
 with a heavier, though unseen, burden of sorrow and 
 suffering and sin — are drawn. 
 
 Of the busy multitude, however, not a few turn 
 aside to a small wayside place of worship, where a 
 cluster of temples is tended by a monastery of holy 
 Gosavis. These saints (?) live in a small hut adjoin- 
 ing their more imposing places of worship, whose 
 gilded domes may be seen from afar down the street, 
 and whose richly-carved and solid blocks of stone 
 will bear comparison with the workmanship of any 
 of the temples upon the more famous hill without 
 the city wall. Early in the morning do the Gosavis 
 rise and tend their gods, after which, according to 
 their courses, some wander through the city begging 
 food or money from door to door ; while others re- 
 main to receive the free-will offerings of the worship- 
 pers who perform their pooja at the shrines, and to 
 bask under the shadow of their one spreading tree in 
 the enjoyment of the leisure to which their sacred 
 office entitles them. Very sacred, all but divine, do 
 these saints in their ashes and paint appear to the 
 simple people who throng to the little spot, and many 
 rich offerings are devoted to the service of the temples 
 in payment of vows, or in deprecation of the anger 
 of the gods, not alone offerings of fruit or flowers 
 or grain, but more valuable gifts of gold and silver. 
 Thus it happens that one god has eyes of ruby, while 
 
 8 
 
58 THE STORY OF A SITE. 
 
 curious tales are told of gods and goddesses made of 
 solid gold, who own ornaments to the value of many 
 hundred rupees, amongst which is one necklace 
 gifted to the little monastery by the king himself 
 when, on the day he fled, he accepted its shelter for 
 several hours, and was kindly treated in his distress 
 by the priests. 
 
 A prosperous little community of sleek, well-fed, 
 though naked and ash-besprinkled and filthy Gosa- 
 vis in the heart of a thriving and religious Hindu 
 community : what could be more suggestive of living 
 on through many years to come? 
 
 ^ ¥fr ^ ^ 
 
 Twenty-five years ago! The same street still, and 
 the same houses, yet in some subtle manner changed. 
 The upper- storied windows are not now thrown 
 wide open to admit the cool morning air; or if open, 
 a screen is drawn across them to prevent the too 
 curious gaze of passengers on the opposite side. 
 And in place of the workmen in wicker and brass, 
 and the sellers of garlands and other temple re- 
 quisites, the curious click of the weaver's shuttle is 
 now heard at every door ; and within, upon rough 
 looms, may be seen saris and cholis in blue and 
 yellow and scarlet, of richest silk interwoven with 
 heavy golden thread. These weavers wear a differ- 
 ent costume from the basket -makers and brass- 
 
THE STORY OF A SITE. 59 
 
 founders, and speak another tongue, and scorn to 
 wear upon their foreheads the marks of an idolatrous 
 worship. The change has doubtless been gradual, 
 but it has been sure. In this district the little 
 temples are not now the fashionable places of 
 worship ; while a hundred yards below the little 
 monastery there stands in its trim compound a 
 neat, snowy-walled, square mosque, to which the 
 weavers hasten at the hour of prayer to worship 
 the great Supreme Being, who is so far away, 
 so terrible in His justice, so awe-inspiring in His 
 silence. 
 
 And the monastery bears the marks of change 
 also ; for at the door of the ruinous little house 
 children are playing where no children were, and 
 their toy is nothing less than the sacred bull who, 
 upon his stately pedestal of polished stone, was 
 wont in olden days to guard the door of one of the 
 temples. The gilding is rapidly vanishing from the 
 domes, slabs of carved arches and pillars lie care- 
 lessly around, and in the building once sacred to a 
 Hindu idol a number of men are busily engaged in 
 building up a tazia to the memory of Hassan and 
 Hoosein, the grandsons of the Prophet. 
 
 At a certain hour each morning and evening a 
 few Gosavis wend their way from some other quarter 
 of the city, unlock the doors of the one remaining 
 
60 THE STORY OF A SITE. 
 
 temple, and perform their sad and heartless devo- 
 tions before a god whose eyes of ruby have long 
 since disappeared, and who would be much the 
 better of a coating of red oil-paint ; he has indeed 
 all the signs of neglect. Hinduism has emigrated 
 from the spot. Islam reigns in its stead. The 
 temple and its grounds are now the property of 
 Mahometans ; and the title-deeds of the estate bear 
 the curious promise that so long as any of the old 
 priests survive, right of way shall be granted to them, 
 so that the temple services may not lapse whilst a 
 worshipper remains to perform them. 
 
 To-day ; and it is May-day ! What a picture of 
 reawakening life does the very name suggest to 
 one's imagination ! Praise is its motto : — 
 
 "Mountains and all hills ; 
 Fruitful trees and all cedars : 
 Beasts and all cattle ; 
 
 Creeping things and flying fowl 
 
 Both young men and maidens ; 
 Old men and children : 
 Let them praise." 
 
 The song of May-day here in India is set in another 
 key ; and sung, if sung at all, to the sole accompani- 
 ment of the dreary sighing of the wind through the 
 dry and dusty branches of the trees. Life is in 
 
THE STORY OF A SITE. 6 1 
 
 slumbering mood. The " beasts and all cattle, creep- 
 ing things and flying fowl," lie gasping in the com- 
 pound ; the singing of the birds is low. I stand at 
 the window and look down the street ; not a sign of 
 life ; doors and windows are closed ; the familiar 
 click of the weaver's shuttle as he works at his loom 
 is silent ; there are no children playing around the 
 doors ; they will not return to school to-day. I may 
 take up my pen once more. It is the same street ; 
 these are the same houses, though doubtless the old 
 men and women whose day is fading into darkness 
 are the boys and girls of my last picture. A few 
 steps beyond this house there still stands the tidy 
 little mosque ; while from the door beside me I look 
 straight out upon the little group of ruined temples. 
 The Gosavis' hut alone has completely disappeared. 
 I sit at this moment upon the spot where it once 
 stood, and am sheltered within a neat little building 
 of brick, furnished with benches and tables, maps 
 and black-boards. No hideous god here to be pro- 
 pitiated with costly gifts ; no unknown Supreme 
 Ruler to be worshipped from afar with fear and 
 trembling. Yet prayer does ascend daily from 
 within this house, for many shrill child voices unite 
 in saying each morning, "Our Father, who art in 
 heaven ; " while above the gallery, in symbolic pro- 
 minence, hangs a representation of One of majestic 
 
62 THE STORY OF A SITE. 
 
 mien but gentle countenance, around whom are 
 gathered Httle ones, upon whose heads His hand 
 rests tenderly. 
 
 What matters it that, as rumour insists, in digging 
 up the foundations of the old monastery the work- 
 men found and concealed a copper vessel containing 
 the treasure of the old Gosavis, when we have the 
 opportunity of offering daily to all, old or young, 
 who enter the walls of our little house the priceless 
 gift of a true Friend, who will yet be as " treasure 
 trove " in many a home and many a heart ? For 
 this little building is dedicated to the service of 
 Jesus Christ, and He will surely reveal Himself to 
 many a poor, needy soul here. Surely the Lord is 
 in this place. 
 
 A slow, feeble step has just passed the window, 
 and I rise to watch a solitary bent old man, who, 
 with a rusty key in one hand, and leaning heavily 
 upon the staff which he grasps in the other, totters 
 across to the door of the old temple, reverently 
 unlocks it, enters, sweeps the abode of his god, per- 
 forms his daily devotions, and then creeps away as 
 slowly as he came. This is the last of the old Gosavis. 
 
 The call to prayer is heard from the balcony of 
 the little mosque, its doors are thrown open, and a 
 
THE STORY OF A SITE. 63 
 
 few men quit their shuttles or their gossip, in order 
 to repeat their heartless prayers before the unknown 
 and unknowable God. But there is lack of life in 
 the service ; for the looms and the daily toil and 
 pleasure are very real, and the Spirit-land is very 
 vague and distant, a thought of dread rather than of 
 joy or comfort. 
 
 And to-morrow morning, and every morning, in 
 this little schoolroom will the story be repeated, so 
 familiar and so beautiful, of Him who neither re- 
 quires to be propitiated with offerings nor to be 
 approached with dread, who says to all, "Come; I 
 will give you rest." 
 
 We had a visitor a few days ago to our little 
 schoolhouse. " Shall I venture upon a prophecy ? " 
 he said as he left us. " Some day this will be more 
 than a schoolroom. It will yet become the Chris- 
 tian church of this district, in which those who have 
 accepted Jesus Christ will meet for worship and 
 communion." Who knows how near its fulfilment 
 is the prediction ? Fifty years ago — nay, twenty- 
 five years ago — who would have prophesied that this 
 would be Christian ground to-day ? 
 
 I turn back to my May-day Psalm of Praise, and 
 
64 THE STORY OF A SITE. 
 
 resume its joyful chorus where I left off a few 
 
 Both young men and maidens ; 
 
 Old men and children : 
 
 Let them praise the name of the Lord : 
 
 For His name alone is exalted ; 
 
 His glory is above the earth and the heaven." 
 
MOSLEM PLACE OF PRAYER. 
 
 A MOSLEM REVIVAL OF RELIGION. 
 
 1 SUPPOSE that human nature being the same 
 all the world over, religious human nature, 
 whatever the form of religion professed, must work 
 more or less in a very similar manner. Thus Hindu, 
 Buddhist, and Christian alike will be subject to 
 seasons of coldness and formality, as also to seasons 
 of more fervent devotion and higher faith. And 
 what is said of the individual, as we of the Christian 
 faith know to our cost, will equally apply to the 
 community or to the church. Over churches and 
 districts and whole countries there creeps at times 
 
 9 
 
66 A MOSLEM REVIVAL OF RELIGION. 
 
 a wintry chill, which lowers the pulse, causes the 
 life-blood to flow sluggishly, and deadens the nerve 
 centres, until life seems all but extinct. Then comes 
 a " revival," as we call it, which warms and quickens 
 and Invigorates the whole body. With those so- 
 called religions whose life consists for the most part 
 In outward ceremony and ritual I have too slight an 
 acquaintance to judge how a " revival " acts ; but I 
 have watched with considerable interest several such 
 occasions In Moslem communities. Some account 
 of one of these may prove Interesting. 
 
 Religious life was at a very low ebb with us, as 
 might be seen at the hours of prayer, when the 
 mosques and other prayer resorts which ought to 
 have been crowded were all but empty, even on 
 Fridays ; when men and women alike were far too 
 much occupied with their worldly concerns to do 
 more than repeat a hasty prayer. If they even did 
 so much when the " call " was heard echoing down 
 the street at the usual hours ; when, worst sign of 
 all, there was no opposition whatever to the mis- 
 sionaries, who were allowed to invade the homes 
 and to gather the children Into Christian schools 
 without let or hindrance. The few fervent spirits 
 one came across shook their heads mournfully as 
 they noted all this, and whispered to each other that 
 
A MOSLEM REVIVAL OF RELIGION. Cj 
 
 surely a day of judgment would come upon the 
 faithless followers of the Prophet, for their sins. 
 
 This deadness to — shall I say — spiritual things 
 was, I imagine, very generally felt over the land ; 
 for one heard of earnest Moulvis here and there 
 preaching in the streets, and striving to stir up the 
 people. Of one especially I heard, as I moved from 
 house to house, whose preaching was with great 
 power, and who was visiting all the larger cities of 
 our Presidency. Later, tidings reached us that he 
 intended spending some weeks in our midst, visiting 
 in turn those quarters of our town where Moslems 
 were chiefly congregated. At last he had arrived, 
 and had been received with great honour. 
 
 Ere long the Moulvi and his work were the one 
 theme of conversation amongst our pupils. His 
 methods were those of a Christian evangelist. At 
 certain hours he preached in the streets ; during 
 the greater part of the day he sat in the mosque 
 of the district in which he was working, ready to 
 converse with any who desired to see him more 
 privately ; while in the evening he preached again 
 either in a mosque or in the veranda of a house : 
 these services often being continued until midnight, 
 to which strain upon their time and strength the 
 people in their now awakened condition made no 
 objection whatever. They flocked to hear him at 
 
6§ A MOSLEM REVIVAL OF RELIGION. 
 
 any hour he chose, and were greatly moved under 
 his eloquent appeals and personal fascination. Of 
 the matter of his addresses I gathered little, save 
 that he bitterly condemned the rationalism which 
 English secular education was bringing with it, 
 pled earnestly for more esprit de corps amongst 
 all true followers of Islam, and on every occasion 
 sought to rekindle the religious sentiment and en- 
 thusiasm which had been so nearly extinct. It was 
 not long ere he discovered our unobtrusive little 
 mission, and his attitude towards it was very curious. 
 He visited two districts in which we had zenana 
 schools. In the first of these he was most uncom.- 
 promising in his opposition. "A school for girls 
 must be opened at once," was his command. " The 
 influence of the missionaries is everywhere most 
 pernicious ; all over the land they are gaining influ- 
 ence over our people, and by gifts and promises 
 weaning them from our faith. Let us keep the 
 education of our women and girls in our own hands, 
 and leave these Christians, with their unholy charms 
 and their unclean food, to their own devices." Curi- 
 ously enough, such tirades as these had little or no 
 effect upon our work. In fact, in this district the 
 Moulvi was hardly successful. The mosque was 
 certainly crowded day by day, and there was con- 
 siderable stir and some enthusiasm amonest the 
 
A MOSLEM REVIVAL OF RELIGION. 69 
 
 people. Also a partition, consisting of very open 
 trellis-work, was put up in the mosque boys' school, 
 from behind which girls were now to be taught to 
 repeat the Koran along with the boys. To this 
 charming purdah arrangement, accompanied as it 
 was by the promise of payment for attendance, a 
 few little girls were attracted. But our fears for our 
 work were disappointed : our best pupils heard the 
 Moulvi preach all night, and returned to school in 
 the morning. As the weeks passed we feared our 
 adversary less, until at length one day we ventured 
 to question the children as to their reasons for 
 cleaving to us notwithstanding the Moulvi Saheb. 
 " Because he said things of you which were not 
 true," was the sturdy reply. The learned Moulvi 
 had overreached himself 
 
 But he learned wisdom by experience, as even 
 learned Moulvis must condescend to do. He now 
 migrated to another Mahometan district, where also 
 we had a school, and once more snatches of his 
 sermons were ringing constantly in our ears. But 
 their tone was changed, and the burden of his mes- 
 sage regarding Christian missionaries was this : — 
 
 *' Ah, how sadly we Mussulmans have degenerated, 
 that, with all our light and knowledge, we need 
 Christians to come and teach us ! We, who ought 
 to be spreading the truth as did our ancestors of 
 
70 A MOSLEM REVIVAL OF RELIGION. 
 
 old, are sitting- idly still, and allowing these noble 
 and good followers of Jesus to come from their land 
 to teach not the heathen only, but us Moslems. Let 
 us arouse ourselves, my brethren, from our lethargy, 
 and open schools for our children, both boys and 
 girls, and let us teach our women ourselves ; and 
 thus set free the good missionaries to teach idolaters 
 and heathen. Let us show the power of our faith 
 by sacrificing something for it." 
 
 The good Moulvi had touched the right chord this 
 time, and we saw something of what a revival of re- 
 ligious enthusiasm may be. The impulse which the 
 people received was immediate and powerful. Our 
 schoolroom overlooked the mosque, and from its 
 windows we were able to view the daily services. 
 The number of worshippers grew, as it seemed to 
 us, in a day, to a congregation far too large for the 
 little building. Its compound became a marvellous 
 scene. To its farthest corner it was crowded with 
 a mass of deeply earnest men, standing, kneeling, 
 prostrating themselves, as the various stages of their 
 devotions demanded. One felt awed by the sight, 
 even while its practical result touched us but too 
 nearly. For here also a school was opened, and so 
 eager were the people to relieve " the noble and 
 good " missionaries of the burden of the education 
 of Moslem children, and thus " to set them free to 
 
A MOSLEM REVIVAL OF RELIGION. 7 1 
 
 go to heathen and idolaters," that in a day our 
 flourishing Httle school was reduced to two infant 
 class pupils ! 
 
 The Moulvi was charmed with this happy result 
 of his efforts, and now set himself to build up the 
 work whose foundations had been so successfully 
 laid. A great midnight meeting was convened, at 
 which, as we were informed, " thousands " of men, 
 women, and children were present. 
 
 The Moulvi made an appeal for funds to carry 
 on the work. A schoolhouse must be built without 
 delay. What were the people themselves prepared 
 to do? The district was, he owned, a very poor 
 one, and much could not be expected, but each 
 family ought to do what its members could for the 
 faith ; and to encourage them, he, the Moulvi, held 
 in his hand a letter from a wealthy gentleman whose 
 devotion to Islam was well known amongst them, 
 wishing them all success in their efforts, and promis- 
 ing that for every Rs. loo raised by them he would 
 add another. The enthusiasm of the meeting was un- 
 bounded. Men started to their feet and made offers 
 of as much as they could give ; women and children 
 broke off their bangles and anklets, and laid them 
 at the feet of the preacher ; most touching of all, as 
 costing effort, and being done after the excitement 
 of the meeting was over, poor women went from 
 
72 A MOSLEM REVIVAL OF RELIGION. 
 
 door to door grinding corn for a few coppers, to be 
 given as their contribution to the good cause. 
 
 Underneath our windows the foundations of the 
 new girls' school were laid, and we watched sadly 
 the rising of the mud and brick walls ; and the 
 Moulvi went his way well satisfied with the results 
 of his work amongst us, to set other missionaries 
 free to work for heathen and idolaters, and to pro- 
 mote similar revivals of the true faith in other cold 
 and lifeless districts. 
 
 Should we close our work ? There was great 
 temptation to do so. Yet we had weathered such 
 storms as this, not so severe, perhaps, nor so universal, 
 but quite as trying. Besides, was not our Master 
 greater and more powerful than the false prophet ? 
 
 " Do not close, Missie Bai," said our teacher, 
 herself a Mahometan. " I know their school will 
 not last ; they will not have patience. Do not I 
 know my own people ? " So we devoted ourselves 
 to our tiny class of tiny children, kept our school- 
 room as cheerful as possible, and awaited the pro- 
 gress of events with what patience we could summon 
 to our aid. 
 
 As the weeks passed, one after another of our old 
 pupils returned to us ; houses which had been closed 
 against us were reopened ; the mosque compound 
 
A MOSLEM REVIVAL OF RELIGION. 73 
 
 became less and less an object of interest at the 
 hours of prayer as the number of worshippers 
 dwindled to the two or three old men who had ever 
 been faithful. As for the little schoolhouse, its walls 
 were there truly, but funds failed ere a roof was 
 added ; and when the rainy season came the mud 
 walls gradually melted away, until nothing was left 
 save a little heap of bricks and clay to remind us of 
 the great " revival " through which we had passed 
 but a few months before. 
 
 " Better," one day remarked the teacher already 
 quoted, when speaking of this experience — " better, 
 Missie Bai, to keep on with our religious duties 
 quietly and steadfastly, trying to remember God 
 every day, than to forget them and Him for months, 
 and do all the worship of our lives in a few exciting 
 days, only to live as we did before after the excite- 
 ment is over." 
 
 Are there not Christians who would echo the wise 
 remark of the Moslem woman, as I did, with an 
 emphatic — 
 
 " You speak the truth, teacher." 
 
 10 
 
KORAN AND BEADS. 
 
 A MOULVrS STORY. 
 
 IT was after one of the very few occasions upon 
 which our unpretending little mission appeared 
 in public that this gentleman, Mr. Ahmad Hissa- 
 muddin, first called upon me. He was a stranger 
 in our city, merely passing through it, indeed, e7i 
 route for the Nizam's Dominions, where he had 
 relatives. Hearing that there was to be a gathering 
 of Moslems in connection with one of the missions 
 in the town, he decided to be present, and to hear 
 what the missionaries had to say. Very plain words 
 were spoken that day regarding our aims alike in 
 schools and visiting, so that had there been any 
 question in the minds of the people as to our true 
 motives in coming amongst them, henceforth there 
 could be none. Women and girls would be placed 
 
A MOULVfS STORY. 75 
 
 in our charge with full understanding of the risk 
 they ran. 
 
 This gentleman was, as I have said, present on 
 the occasion, and on the following day he and 
 another Mahometan friend, whose wife was a 
 pupil, called at the mission-house. Both expressed 
 cordially their interest in and sympathy with our 
 desire to help their women and girls, and their 
 assurance that we should have great success. After 
 thanking them for their kind words, I turned to the 
 stranger with the usual polite (?) questions : " Where 
 do you come from?" "Where are you going?" and 
 so on. 
 
 The replies to this catechizing formed one of those 
 histories which missionaries and other workers hear 
 so gratefully now and again, reminding us how little 
 we know where and when and how the seed sown 
 in the morning or dropped by the willing hand at 
 evening time will find prepared soil and prosper. 
 I give the story as nearly as possible in his own 
 words : — 
 
 " Our home, ever since I was a little child, has 
 
 been in the city of L . My father died soon 
 
 after I was born ; but he left us a little property, 
 and we had neither debt, nor anxiety about eating 
 or drinking, clothing or shelter. My mother was a 
 
^6 A MOULVl'S STORY. 
 
 very good, religious woman, and we lived together 
 in happiness and peace until she died a few weeks 
 ago. It is because I have lost her that I have left 
 my home, and am travelling so far from my own 
 country. 
 
 " One of the most vivid and happy recollections 
 of my childhood is of an English lady, the wife of 
 an officer I think, who found out our home, and 
 used regularly to visit my mother. There were no 
 
 zenana missionaries in L at that time ; but this 
 
 lady was a true missionary. She brought not only 
 pretty fancy-work to teach my mother, she brought 
 the Gospel also, and read it to us. My mother never 
 said very much about this reading. She listened 
 politely, as any lady would, but she never spoke in 
 the house to me or to the servants upon the subject. 
 She was always a silent woman, and died as silently 
 as she had lived. 
 
 " But upon me, the young child playing at the 
 lady's feet, and worshipping her for the kind words 
 she stooped to speak to the fatherless child, all that 
 she read made a deep impression. I listened to 
 every word, and by the time that the lady left 
 
 L , when, as I fancy, I must have been seven or 
 
 eight years old, I" had vowed to learn to read as 
 soon as I could, and then to get for myself a copy 
 of the Gospel. My teachers praised me for my 
 
A MOULVrS STORY. J J 
 
 quickness and interest. They did not know how 
 strong was the child's motive in studying. I must 
 read, so I felt, the whole story, parts of which had 
 so laid hold upon my childish imagination. 
 
 " I was quite grown up before I got the book. 
 Though there were by this time missionaries in our 
 city, I never had courage to ask for a Bible, or to 
 tell anybody of my eager desire to know its contents 
 fully. I did at last buy one when on a visit to Cal- 
 cutta, and since then it has been my constant study. 
 I have read every part of it. I have compared it 
 most carefully with the Koran ; have turned up all 
 the parallel passages in the two books ; have com- 
 pared the various parts of the Bible, the one with 
 the other, — asking God all the time to show me the 
 truth regarding the two conflicting revelations. 
 First, I was convinced that we Moslems have been 
 mistaken in supposing that the Bible has been tam- 
 pered with since its completion ; and then I saw that 
 the whole taken together is one book, with one history, 
 07ie thought, one aim, a.nd one end. Therefore it is 
 to me truth that all was intended to point towards 
 Jesus the Messiah as the latest and the greatest of 
 the prophets. Thus I came to believe, though it was 
 very hard to believe, that He died, that He rose again, 
 that — as that wonderful Gospel of St. John (Miss 
 Saheba, I think that is the most wonderful book 
 
78 A MOULVl'S STORY. 
 
 that was ever written) puts it — He was the Word 
 of God, the Son of God, the Light and the Saviour 
 of the world. I have never all my life been a true 
 Moslem. How could I be when my one childish 
 ideal was a Christian lady? But since I began to 
 study the Bible I have really been a follower of Jesus 
 the Messiah. 
 
 "It so happens that 1 have never known any 
 missionary, although I have been in Christian 
 churches, and have heard preaching ; but my friend 
 here told me that he was sure you would be willing 
 to read with me, and to explain the many difficulties 
 which still remain. If you would do me this kind- 
 ness, I should stay for a few weeks." 
 
 Thus on two mornings a week half an hour was 
 devoted to reading with this most interesting in- 
 quirer. We gave him a reference Bible, and a lesson 
 upon the ways in which references may be used 
 occupied one morning. This opened up a new 
 region of delightful study for him. A morning 
 devoted to the titles of our Lord remains in my 
 memory as one which was most helpful to myself, 
 as also one spent amongst the Old Testament Mes- 
 sianic prophecies. And, as always, one learned 
 lessons from one's pupil. On the first morning, 
 when we had taken our seats in the front veranda 
 
A MOULVIS STORY. 79 
 
 of the mission-house, with a small table between us 
 for notebooks and Bibles, I proceeded at once to 
 suggest what might, as I thought, be a useful method 
 of study. 
 
 " But the Miss Saheba will not open God's Word 
 without prayer ? " he said. 
 
 I found that he had already great familiarity with 
 all parts of the book. He quoted St. Paul as freely 
 as he quoted the Koran. He could repeat from 
 memory passage after passage of St. John's Gospel, 
 from which he had gained most of his insight into 
 the work of Jesus Christ. He had also formed a 
 very definite ideal of what a " follower of Jesus " 
 ought to be. Indeed it was here that he stumbled ; 
 for when I tried to place before him his duty with 
 regard to confession of his faith in Christ if he 
 really were His follower, the invariable excuse was 
 that he would bring discredit upon his profession if 
 he made it. 
 
 For a (qw weeks he remained with us, during 
 which time he paid regular visits to the mission- 
 house. Then a summons reached him from his 
 friends at Hyderabad, who had begun to wonder 
 at his delaying to go to them. He obeyed the 
 call, and we lost sight of him. How often it 
 happens thus with us, that promising inquirers dis- 
 appear ere we have the joy of seeing them take 
 
80 A MOULVl'S STORY. 
 
 their stand openly upon the side of the Master who 
 is appeahng to them ! We always have, however, 
 or should have, the comfort of knowing that He can 
 follow such where we cannot, and can lay detaining 
 hands upon them even when they appear to be 
 trying to elude His grasp. Still, such unfinished 
 stories invariably leave a sense of dissatisfaction. 
 We should like to know the end. But in this very 
 thing lies the main difference between real life and 
 fiction ; and it is with real life that we have here 
 to do. 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF THE MOON. 
 
 IN all the long street was no prettier or better-kept 
 house than that. I had looked longingly at it 
 many a time, for, with its snowy walls, green shutters, 
 and double-tiled roof, it presented the very ideal of 
 coolness and comfort. There was another reason 
 for my curiosity. Throughout the district — indeed 
 I may say throughout the town — the name of the 
 Chaudri's wife was the very synonym for perfect 
 womanly beauty. She was the daughter of a pupil 
 of mine, a poor woman named Chandbi,* and from 
 childhood had been known by no other title (used 
 first as a pet name, and later with reference to her 
 unusual loveliness) than " Chandki beti," the Daugh- 
 ter of the Moon. Many had been the suitors for the 
 hand of the girl. 
 
 " From the four corners of the earth they come 
 To kiss this shrine, this mortal breathing saint," 
 
 was very much the tenor of Chandbi's tale when she 
 
 * A very common female name. Chajid is the moon, 
 11 
 
82 THE DAUGHTER OF THE MOON. 
 
 got upon her favourite theme, the offers she had 
 received and refused for her " Fair Portia." At 
 length came a lover — if one may speak of lovers in 
 such a case — whose offer exceeded even her am- 
 bition. The wealthy and high-born Chaudri heard 
 of the dowerless beauty, and commanded his mother 
 to call and inspect the girl, and to bring him word 
 concerning her. The old lady's report must have 
 been satisfactory, for her visit finally decided the 
 fortunes of the Daughter of the Moon, who was 
 duly handed over, after a fortnight of lavish fes- 
 tivity, in which the whole neighbourhood were in- 
 vited to join, to be the lady of the white house 
 already described. Who would not have desired to 
 see the heroine of such a romance? Still, my 
 audacity did not reach the point of walking up to 
 and demanding admission from the dignified gentle- 
 man in white, with magnificent gold-bordered turban, 
 who was occasionally to be seen standing at the 
 door receiving and graciously acknowledging the 
 respectful salutations of all the passers-by. 
 
 Nevertheless, I had my eye upon that house. 
 And my eye was rewarded one day when, from 
 a small end window, a white chaddar was waved 
 deliberately ; and when, in reply, I made salaam, a 
 little brown hand signalled an invitation. I stepped 
 from my garri with alacrity, and knocked at the 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF THE MOON. 83 
 
 half-open front door. The master of the house im- 
 mediately appeared, and cordially offered his hand. 
 
 " His sisters " — pointing to a boy seated at his 
 lessons — " have been calling to me to call you these 
 many days ; but I said we must not trouble the lady. 
 It is of your great kindness to come into my poor 
 house." 
 
 Here I found an opportunity of expressing my 
 admiration of the house ; and, ignoring the fact that 
 I was there by invitation, I asked permission to pay 
 my respects to the ladies. So, after a few polite 
 remarks on both sides, the Chaudri led the way to 
 the inner apartments of the house. Having given a 
 loud knock, he threw the door open, and, cautiously 
 holding the purdah aside, he asked me to enter. 
 There was a momentary scuffle, for in the semi- 
 darkness it appeared to me that the room was 
 crowded with women, and that they fell upon me 
 violently and with one accord ; and when I came to 
 myself, I was seated upon a Persian mat, with a 
 bolster of yellow satin to lean upon, surrounded by 
 a crowd of inquisitive faces, and answering as well 
 as I could the usual hundred-and-one polite ques- 
 tions. " Was I married ? " " Why not ? " " How 
 old was I?" "Had I much jewellery?" "Why 
 did I wear none ? " " Where was my home ? " " Had 
 I any brothers ? " " How many times a day did I 
 
84 THE DAUGHTER OF THE MOON. 
 
 eat food ? " " Why were English people white ? " 
 "Was our country really so cold that an Indian 
 could not live in it?" And so on to the end. 
 Politeness demanded a similar catechism on my 
 part, which chiefly consisted in questions regarding 
 the relationship in which each of my hostesses stood 
 to the others. The deaf old lady was Khatijabi's 
 maternal grandmother, while the stout dame in 
 green was the Chaudri's paternal aunt. The various 
 babies ranging from three weeks to seven years of 
 age were brothers or sisters, uncles or aunts, nephews, 
 nieces, or cousins, paternal or maternal, the one to 
 the other. In dire confusion I at length called a 
 halt, saying that I should learn my lesson gradu- 
 ally ; and it ^^'as while we were enjoying a hearty 
 laugh over my mistakes that an inner purdah was 
 drawn aside, and we became conscious of a new 
 arrival. Until this moment I had forgotten the 
 Daughter of the Moon, and it had not occurred to 
 me that none of the women around me claimed to 
 be the wife of the Chaudri. The lady in dark-blue 
 framed in the doorway, holding back the purdah 
 in an attitude so unconsciously graceful, recalled at 
 once the romantic story ; and before we had ex- 
 changed the usual polite "Live for ever," I knew 
 that the hidden heroine of the many tales I had 
 heard stood before me. 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF THE MOON. 85 
 
 The Daughter of the Moon failed to fulfil my 
 expectations. Notwithstanding the air of grace and 
 dignity, suggestive of a noble and high-toned char- 
 acter, which one meets with occasionally even in a 
 zenana, and w^hich this lady possessed in a marked 
 degree, I was at first considerably disappointed. 
 There w^as much that must be read out of that face, 
 as it were, before one could enjoy the beauty of its 
 features. And while we exchanged polite common- 
 places, I was reading as in a book, first, that which 
 seemed to be the permanent expression of the coun- 
 tenance — a hungering, questioning, unsatisfied, very 
 pathetic look ; and then the effect upon her of my 
 visit — displeasure with the happy group around me 
 (who now, by the way, were silent enough), distrust 
 of myself, and unwillingness to accord me a wel- 
 come. I also felt convinced that in receiving me 
 at all, she was only obeying the command of her 
 husband, not following any hospitable impulse of 
 her own. 
 
 I need hardly say that this lady interested me 
 more deeply than any of the genial women and girls 
 w^ho had been chatting so brightly a few^ minutes 
 before, and that I there and then vowed to win the 
 friendship and confidence of the Chaudri's wife. My 
 first visit had lasted long enough, however, and I 
 now rose to take leave. 
 
S6 THE DAUGHTER OF THE MOON. 
 
 " You will come and teach us ? " shouted a chorus 
 of shrill voices. I looked towards the lady of the 
 house and waited. 
 
 " The Chaudri will be pleased if the lady will 
 visit our poor house," she said softly, and with this 
 very cold invitation I had to be content meantime. 
 An hour was arranged, and I departed. 
 
 I now became a regular visitor at the white house, 
 and learned to know all its inmates more or less 
 intimately. The Chaudri, having been partially 
 educated in a Christian school, was quite free of 
 prejudice against Christianity, though he acknow- 
 ledged to have got beyond all religion himself 
 " Religion is a good thing for women," he would 
 say. " And I am not opposed to your faith ; it is 
 most beautiful, and to believe it can harm no one. 
 You may make my wife and family Christians — 
 if you can," this last being added in a tone which 
 suggested that the task would not be an easy one. 
 
 Thus it came about that from the first I used 
 great freedom of speech in this house. And the 
 women were attentive and interested, all save one. 
 As week after week passed, I was baffled in every 
 attempt to reach the heart and sympathy of the 
 Daughter of the Moon. Yet the more securely she 
 shut herself against me, the more eager was I to take 
 the citadel. Her unrest was so marked, its cause so 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF THE MOON. 87 
 
 difficult to reach. Few Mahometan women have 
 so happy a home as hers was. Though perhaps a 
 httle tyrannical, the Chaudri was a most devoted 
 husband, and had but one wife. She had a bright 
 young family of sons and daughters growing up 
 around her ; she was in perfect health ; had no 
 thought for the morrow's needs, no apparent cause 
 for anxiety to act as a weight upon her spirit. 
 
 She was, as a rule, present during the hour I spent 
 in the house, although she learned nothing, and 
 evinced no interest either in reading or needlework. 
 The Bible lesson she most emphatically disliked, 
 and showed this feeling as openly as politeness 
 would allow. This is a common experience with 
 new pupils, and we have often to wait long for any 
 change of attitude ; and I was willing to wait in 
 this case as in others, though growing daily more 
 anxious to win the confidence of this reserved and, 
 as I feared, sorrowful woman. 
 
 My journal notes increased interest in our more 
 serious conversations as the year wore on. We read 
 the Gospel by St. Mark ; and as we slowly followed 
 the wonderful Life — so very wonderful when heard or 
 read for the first time — more than one of the pupils 
 appeared to realize its personal and special connec- 
 tion. Controversy had been happily avoided ; in- 
 deed, I had a shrewd suspicion that the one listener 
 
88 THE DAUGHTER OF THE MOON. 
 
 capable of controversy was that one silent and ap- 
 parently uninterested listener. Once or twice I 
 fancied that she made a movement as if to speak ; 
 but she refrained, and held herself steadily in check. 
 
 Ramzan stole upon us. The usually lively house 
 became quiet ; the women rested and prayed and 
 gossiped, missing the welcome diversion of the daily 
 cooking. It was a grave circle which awaited me 
 on my first visit after the fast commenced, although 
 the quieting influence of the Chaudri's wife was for 
 once withdrawn. I was told in a somewhat mysteri- 
 ous whisper that she was asleep. 
 
 " She will be very ill before the fast is over," said 
 her sister-in-law ; " she is far too particular. You 
 have seen how religious she is, Missie Bai ?" 
 
 No, I had never dreamed of such a thing. The 
 lady bore no resemblance whatever to the ordinary 
 portrait of a religious Mahometan woman. One 
 never saw her with a Koran, nor at prayer ; she 
 never quoted the Prophet, nor related any of those 
 innumerable traditions in which such women de- 
 light ; the name of God was never upon her lips ; 
 she showed no disgust when the name of Jesus 
 Christ was mentioned. Yet the thought being sug- 
 gested that the lady's burden was her religion, it 
 was as if the whole secret and mystery of her life 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF THE MOON. 89 
 
 were laid bare before me. I almost shrank from 
 seeing her again, and dreaded reading that which 
 she had hitherto so carefully concealed from me. 
 
 She was present at the next lesson, however, 
 changed almost past recognition. Thin and hag- 
 gard were the features, most weary the attitude, and 
 the eyes wild and questioning, as if they strained 
 after some unseen object. Simple fasting had not 
 wrought this change ; surely she must be ill. She 
 sat at a distance from the other women, and looked, 
 I thought, rather wistfully at me. I gave to each 
 her work, then crossed the room to her side. 
 
 " Ought you to fast?" I asked. " Are you strong 
 enough to bear it ?" 
 
 " It is a small thing to do," she replied ; " only one 
 month in the year devoted to God and to prayer." 
 
 " And do you find that it helps you ?" 
 
 " That does not matter ; it is God's command. 
 Do you Christians never fast, Missie Bai?" 
 
 " Sometimes," I said ; " but not for your reason, 
 Bibi. Will you tell me why you fast?" 
 
 " God commands it ; and then it is the least thing 
 we can do. We have a year's sin to think of Does 
 your Jesus give you no command ?" 
 
 " He speaks of fasting sometimes, but He leaves 
 time and manner to ourselves. If we fast, it is not 
 for any of your reasons." 
 
 12 
 
90 THE DAUGHTER OF THE MOON. 
 
 It was most surprising to myself to be in close 
 conference with the Chaudri's wife. Her reserve 
 had melted completely. She had made room for me 
 by her side ; and when, in the course of our con- 
 versation, her sister-in-law approached us, she very 
 unceremoniously sent her away. I now tried to 
 explain the Christian doctrine of the forgiveness 
 of sin. 
 
 " You speak of sin, lady," I said. " I feel sin too, 
 and like you am afraid of it, and like you, too, would 
 gladly fast to have it removed. But we Christians 
 believe that only God's forgiving ws freely \n\\\ help 
 us, and that is where Jesus the Messiah means much 
 to us. He has showed us how to reach God." 
 
 She listened attentively but incredulously. 
 
 " It is a very easy thing your faith," she said, 
 smiling. 
 
 "Do you think so?" I asked. "I think yours is 
 much more easy. You and I are proud : we should 
 rather fast and work and punish ourselves than take 
 everything and give nothing. I found it very hard 
 to become a Christian." 
 
 " But you, were you not born a Christian ?" 
 
 " Oh no ; nobody was ever born a Christian. 
 Some become Christians when very young, and some 
 only when they are old ; but to be a Christian 
 means to let Jesus Christ do all for us. So, you see, 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF THE MOON. 91 
 
 to be a Christian is not just like being an English- 
 man or an Indian." 
 
 '■' That explains why you are not all alike," she 
 said. " All take the name, but some only are the 
 thing." 
 
 I felt that she had hit the mark, little as she 
 knew of us, and answered sorrowfully, — 
 
 " You speak truth, lady ; and the best of us are 
 very far from what we ought to be. This is our 
 constant grief" 
 
 " You must tell me more, Missie Bai, but not 
 beside these chatterers. You will come some day 
 when the fast is over and see me alone." 
 
 And so what I had longed for, and almost despaired 
 of, came about. The door was now unlocked, and 
 never quite closed again, although at some times it 
 was more open than at others ; for she very reso- 
 lutely opposed much of our teaching. 
 
 " You are able to receive this doctrine," she would 
 say ; " my nature will not accept it. Your religion 
 has much truth in it ; but we are also people of a 
 book, and our later revelation supersedes yours, as 
 yours did the Jews'. God teaches by degrees. The 
 Jews had God and sacrifices ; Christians had God 
 and Jesus the Messiah ; Mahometans have God 
 alone. Ours is the more difficult faith ; but it is 
 higher than yours, who have three Gods." 
 
92 THE DAUGHTER OF THE MOON. 
 
 Once I tried to reach her through the place given to 
 woman in Christianity, but was far from successful. 
 
 " God has given to man perfect power over woman, 
 and it is easy to understand the reason. Are we 
 not the greater sinners ? did we not indeed bring 
 sin upon man ? The law is not cruel ; it is just. 
 If a woman be happy, and the mother of sons, she 
 can only say, ' God is merciful' If not, it is no 
 more than she deserves. There will be far more 
 women than men in hell." 
 
 At length she was persuaded simply to hear the 
 story of Christ, which I read as usual almost with- 
 out explanation. It impressed her deeply. 
 
 " Tell me what you Christians really believe about 
 Jesus the Messiah," she asked one day. 
 
 "What does the Koran say of him?" I asked. 
 " Do you think He was as the other prophets?" 
 
 " No, He was not." 
 
 " Bibi, did you ever hear of a sinless man ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then what shall we say when we find a Man in 
 whom even his enemies find no fault ? " 
 
 She looked in my face in silence for several 
 seconds ; the question was to her a hard one, and 
 her beautiful face was troubled. But if anything, 
 the Chaudri's wife was candid ; and she replied after 
 that pause slowly and thoughtfully, — 
 
THE DAUGHTER OF THE MOON. 93 
 
 "Yes, Missie Bai, He was different from the other 
 prophets, being without sin ; and He was more be- 
 loved of God — so beloved that God in a special 
 manner called Him ' viy Sony 
 
 Further than this the Daughter of the Moon never 
 came. Sometimes it appeared as if her heart yielded 
 the adoration which her intellect refused. At all 
 events, her opposition was withdrawn, and her life 
 was softened and sweetened. The austerity gradu- 
 ally disappeared, and the true beauty of her char- 
 acter deepened the beauty of her countenance. 
 
 Of a deeply religious nature — a nature in which 
 was much both of the ascetic and the mystic — one 
 could not but hope that even when, as happened 
 soon after the above confession, missionary influence 
 was unavoidably withdrawn, the truth would lay 
 hold upon her and draw her into a full acceptance 
 of Jesus the Messiah. 
 
K H A T I J A. 
 
 KHATIJA was an irrepressible ! She was a 
 child out of a very miserable home, where 
 
 poverty and quarrelling abounded. One would have 
 
 thought, after a glimpse 
 into its internal arrange- 
 ments, that there was little 
 in her surroundings to 
 make life bearable, far less 
 happy. One little hovel 
 of a room held them all — 
 opium-smoking father, ir- 
 ritable delicate mother, and 
 three or four unhealthy- 
 looking little ones. Khatija 
 was the eldest child — head 
 nurse, head cook, and head 
 messenger. It must have 
 been a very weary little 
 body that lay down to rest 
 
 at night many a time. Yet she never flagged, 
 
 '***^^^S^ 
 
K HAT I J A. 95 
 
 never looked cross, nor lost for a moment the sense 
 of humour, which was, as we used to tell her, the one 
 intellectual gift which Mother Nature had bestowed 
 upon her. 
 
 I confess that for a time I failed completely to 
 understand her ; she looked so bright and capable, 
 while she made nothing whatever of her studies. In 
 those days our encounters were not satisfactory. 
 
 " Khatija, could you not make your stitches a 
 little larger, and your sewing a little dirtier?" 
 
 " Oh yes, Missie Bai," very seriously. 
 
 " Khatija, why don't you learn your lessons 
 better?" 
 
 " God knows, Missie Bai ; how should I know?" 
 
 The child was disappointed in herself, I think, and 
 did not understand why she failed. 
 
 I set myself to study her. I visited her home and 
 found out the nature of her daily life, and learned from 
 her mother that the little drudge was an obstinate, 
 naughty child w4iom nothing but beating w^ould tame. 
 That this was a mistaken reading of my pupil's nature 
 I was assured, as also the suggestion of our teacher 
 that she had no brains, and never would learn. So 
 I watched and waited, and tried to win her confi- 
 dence by giving her small duties which brought her 
 constantly to my side. The more I saw of her the 
 more I felt that here was a child who would never 
 
g6 KHATIJA. 
 
 be educated by the ordinary school methods ; con- 
 ventionaHty — even such as we have amongst our 
 Indian children, and it is conventionality of the most 
 unconventional pattern — she had none. She must 
 be allowed to learn after her own methods ; she must 
 be led by invisible leading-strings ; she must even, 
 in consideration of the drudgery of her home life, be 
 allowed to go and come pretty much as she pleased. 
 Thus, as far as the discipline of a school would 
 allow, I gave Khatija perfect freedom. This done, 
 we found in her a most engaging and apt pupil. 
 
 What Khatija did not understand clearly she took 
 leave to disbelieve or question; as, for example, when 
 giving a very simple lesson upon the sun, and the 
 motions of the planets, which the whole class ac- 
 cepted blindly upon my testimony, Khatija's scep- 
 tical look called forth the question : — 
 
 "Do you not believe what I have been telling 
 you ? " 
 
 The answer was a very expressive " Kl ! " 
 
 It was at Bible lesson that Khatija shone. The 
 stories told as past history one day returned to us 
 upon the next as vivid scenes from the streets of 
 our own city. Thus the Pharisee did not fast twice 
 a week, but kept Ramzan as Ramzan ought to be 
 kept ; and if he did not give tithes like a good Jew, 
 he fed the fakirs like a good Moslem. The good 
 
KHATIJA. 97 
 
 Samaritan lived in the next street to ours ; he was, 
 I believe, a native Christian, and had once spoken a 
 gentle word to Khatija in passing. As for Dives, 
 perishing of thirst, he prayed that Lazarus might be 
 sent to his aid with "a /otafiil^' of water." 
 
 " Did I tell you that, Khatija? " 
 
 '' You said that the rich man wanted Lazarus to 
 dip his finger in water, and touch his lips ; but what 
 would that be to a thirsty man ? " 
 
 After a lesson upon the temptations and seduc- 
 tions of our great enemy, Khatija solemnly assured 
 us that she had seen him. 
 
 "When?'^ and "Where?" asked half-a-dozen 
 voices. 
 
 " Hush ! don't speak of it," said the child in an 
 awed tone. 
 
 Later on I tried to learn from her what she meant 
 by her statement; but she was evidently afraid to 
 speak even in a whisper about the vision, and I 
 learned no more than that it was at dusk one even- 
 ing that " Shaitan " had appeared to her. 
 
 Khatija's masterpiece was, I think, at a geography 
 lesson. We were engaged in performing a journey 
 from our city to Edinburgh. Up to Bombay we 
 travelled by rail ; took ship across to rocky Aden, 
 
 * Brass vessel. 
 13 
 
98 KHATIJA. 
 
 and through the Red Sea, pausing to recall its 
 miraculous story ; we threaded the canal ; sailed 
 smoothly to Brindisi ; traversed Italy and France 
 via the Mont Cenis Tunnel ; crossed from Calais to 
 Dover ; and thence to London and Scotland. The 
 children were all intelligent ; no particular escaped 
 them ; and they received both the canal and the 
 tunnel with a steady if somewhat awe-stricken faith. 
 When we reached Scotland there was a pause ; then 
 Khatija asked, — 
 
 "Is that your country ? " 
 
 " Yes," I replied, while it occurred to me that 
 Great Britain surely occupied less space than usual 
 in our map of the hemispheres ! " But," I hastened 
 to add, "you see these patches of pink spread all 
 over the continents ? These are all parts of Britain. 
 We long ago became too many for our small island, 
 and have spread thus over all lands." But my ex- 
 planation failed to satisfy ; that small speck in that 
 out-of-the-way north-west corner of Europe was all 
 that could be shown for Great Britain, and Khatija 
 somehow felt that she had been cheated. 
 
 " Surely," she said at last, " if your people can cut 
 a land in two to let ships sail between, and can dig 
 through miles of mountain for a railway, you might 
 fill up some of the sea around your small country, 
 and so make it look a little larger ! " 
 
KHATIJA. 99 
 
 I should not like to be too partial, but I doubt 
 whether many children from the same poor class in 
 Scotland would have produced so brilliant a sugges- 
 tion from their unaided imagination ? 
 
 I returned from furlough to find Khatija on the 
 eve of her marriage. But she ran in to see me on 
 the morning I paid my first visit to the school. 
 Throwing her arms round me, and with tearful 
 eyes, she began a loving greeting. But sentiment 
 was not \\^x forte. Jumping off my lap, she struck a 
 penitential attitude, and said, — 
 
 " Missie Bai, we have grown wicked rapidly while 
 you were away. You will have no time to teach 
 now ; your time will be spent in beating Satan out 
 of us." 
 
 " Shall I begin with you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but — I forgot — I am going away. I shall 
 never be good any more." 
 
 Two or three quiet talks only we had, and then 
 she also drifted, as so many drift, out of sight — 
 never, I hope, out of memory. 
 
A VISIT TO A TEMPLE. 
 
 RAGHOBA was once a friend of mine, but I 
 lost his friendship, and in place of profound 
 salaams and cordial greetings when we happened to 
 meet at the street corner or in the market square, 
 he learned to scowl or turn his back upon me. By 
 this changed aspect " hangs a tale," as also one of 
 the most anxious half-hours I ever spent, as far as 
 my own personal safety was concerned. 
 
 My acquaintance with Raghoba began on this 
 wise. While I waited at the door of a pupil's house 
 one morning to discover whether she intended tak- 
 ing her weekly lesson, I was accosted by a young 
 fellow, who brought an invitation to visit the house of 
 a Maratha Brahman a little farther down the street. 
 " They have heard that you know their language," 
 was the reason given for the invitation. Duly I 
 presented myself at the front veranda of Raghoba's 
 house, and was received with great distinction, al- 
 
A VISIT TO A TEMPLE. 10 1 
 
 though I disclaimed at once any further knowledge 
 of Marathi than consisted in being able to read a 
 little and to sing a few Christian hymns. 
 
 " You must sing us hymns, then," was Raghoba's 
 somewhat imperious request. I obeyed, and there, 
 in the open veranda, with half-a-dozen men around 
 me beating the floor and nodding their heads to keep 
 time, and with a small crowd of men and women 
 outside, attracted, doubtless, by the strange music 
 and the unknown tongue, I sang an old favourite, 
 " The Beloved Friend," and several other h}'mns as 
 they came to recollection. The sentiments of these 
 called forth no opposition ; that was evidently lost in 
 the pleasure of hearing the beloved sounds of the 
 mother tongue once more in this far-away land. 
 
 Refrain, 
 n I 
 
 THE BELOVED 
 
 FRIEND. 
 
 ] V 
 
 y 1 • - - 
 
 \ V 
 
 /T r> • J 
 
 1 ^ ' 
 
 
 ((7)^-0 
 
 r 
 
 • J J 
 
 W . "^ / Ly 1 
 
 
 What a Friend we have in Je - sus 
 
 i 
 
 :•=«: 
 
 W±EU 
 
 All our sins and griefs to bear. 
 
 i 
 
 Fine. 
 
 r7\ 
 
 :S^ 
 
 J ii=i- 
 
 •^' 
 
 What a Friend we have in Je - sus 
 
I02 
 
 A VISIT TO A TEMPLE. 
 
 i=ii 
 
 What 
 
 i 
 
 pri - vi - lege 
 
 to car - ry 
 
 ^=^s 
 
 P 
 
 Ev' 
 
 ry - thing 
 
 God 
 
 in prayer. 
 
 ^J 
 
 Oh, what peace we 
 
 oft 
 
 en for - feit. 
 
 i^=p: 
 
 -m « — ! 
 
 ^t^=t=: 
 
 Oh, 
 
 what need - less pain we bear, 
 
 ^^^^^^ 
 
 not car - ry 
 
 All 
 
 be 
 
 cause 
 
 we do 
 
 i 
 
 ^ 
 
 Ev' 
 
 ry - thing 
 
 to God 
 
 in prayer. 
 
 ^ S 0- 
 
 ^■ 
 
 What 
 
 a Friend we 
 
 have 
 
 in Je - sus ! 
 
 When at length for very weariness of voice I 
 ceased, the head of the family, whom I had recog- 
 nized as " Raghoba," thanked me in name of all for 
 my visit, and asked me to return soon ; mingling 
 
A VISIT TO A TEMPLE. I03 
 
 compliments upon my accent, with asides to the 
 effect that Marathi was the only language fit for a 
 gentleman, a sentiment which called forth unpleasant 
 replies from the by-standers. I was then allowed to 
 depart. Thus Raghoba's path and mine first crossed 
 each other. 
 
 He was, as I ought to have said at the outset, a 
 big burly Brahman, who wore no more clothing than 
 was absolutely necessary, unless a pair of huge gold 
 earrings be accounted clothing ; and from whom, 
 notwithstanding valiant efforts to overcome the feel- 
 ing, I had an instinctive shrinking whenever I came 
 into contact with him. This was at least once a week, 
 for my Marathi hymns were in great request ; and it 
 became a habit to step into the veranda at a certain 
 hour of a certain day to sing a little to the men, 
 with, it must be confessed, ulterior designs upon the 
 inner rooms where, behind the chicks, certain female 
 figures were dimly visible. I had not yet got beyond 
 the veranda, however, when my intercourse with the 
 family was brought to a sudden and untimely end. 
 This was the way of it. 
 
 One morning Raghoba, who was a very proud 
 man, as all Maratha Brahmans are, told me that the 
 impossibility of in any way repaying my kindness in 
 visiting them — which visits had been the source of 
 so much enjoyment to himself and his friends — had 
 
104 A VISIT TO A TEMPLE. 
 
 been causing him some trouble. " We have been 
 wondering what we could do to give you some plea- 
 sure in return. You would not care for a dinner, 
 so we do not ask you to accept one ; but it has 
 occurred to us that you would perhaps like to see 
 our temple and our god, so if you will go we shall 
 be very happy to take you." 
 
 Most willingly would I have been excused from 
 this " treat," but I was a young missionary, and not 
 yet versed in the art of saying " no " politely ; and 
 so behold us, Raghoba and I, heading a procession 
 of some seven or eight Brahmans, wending our way 
 through by-lanes of our city, into which I had never 
 penetrated before, to pay a visit to a Hindu idol. 
 The temple proved to be a small, square, roofless 
 building, consisting really of four verandas facing in- 
 wards. The shrine occupied one veranda, while the 
 other three were evidently used as lounging places. 
 I was conducted into the one opposite the shrine, 
 where, hung from the rafters by heavy brazen chains, 
 was a wooden swing, such as one sees in large zena- 
 nas. Raghoba politely asked me to be seated ; and 
 I obeyed, now fully conscious that the situation was 
 a difficult one. Raghoba and his friends retreated 
 to the two side verandas, whence they were able 
 alternately to gaze upon their god and upon me. 
 Then there was silence. The atmosphere of the 
 
A VISIT TO A TEMPLE. I05 
 
 place was oppressive, I could hardly breathe ; and it 
 seemed to my excited imagination that the powers 
 of speech and of motion were already failing under 
 the evil influences around me. There, full in my 
 face, was the little stone shrine, sheltering its shape- 
 less yet fiendlike image, the only definite features of 
 which were the great leering eyes standing out with 
 horrible distinctness from the mass of red oil-paint 
 and the garlands of sickly- smelling flowers. It 
 seemed to me that those eyes glared at me with 
 devilish pleasure in my horror ; and I closed mine, 
 unable to bear their fascinating gaze, and for the 
 moment forgetful of the presence of the Brah- 
 mans. 
 
 It was Raghoba himself who first noted my closed 
 eyes, and he said with a sneering laugh, which went 
 far to make me gather my wits together : — 
 
 " Ah, the Mem Saheb prays. Christians always 
 pray with their eyes shut. They are afraid to look 
 upon their God ; or perhaps they are afraid they 
 will remember that He is not there at all, as He is 
 not to be seen. Is it not so, Mem Saheb?" 
 
 " It is true that we close our eyes," I answered ; 
 " but you have not got hold of our true reason." 
 
 "And what is your true reason?" asked one of 
 the men. 
 
 " It is because when we pray we desire to forget 
 14 
 
I06 A VISIT TO A TEMPLE. 
 
 the things that are around us, and to concentrate 
 our thoughts upon the worship of our God." 
 
 " Tell us what you think of our god," was the 
 next question. At that instant, as by a flash of 
 pure heavenly light shed upon hell itself, a vision of 
 the horrid sin, the cruelty, and the black darkness 
 of this religion arose before me. Whatever came of 
 timidity, I felt bound to speak God's truth to these 
 men ; and fixing my eyes full upon the hideous re- 
 presentation of their deity, I said quietly, — 
 
 " My friends, I cannot tell you what I think my- 
 self of your god. I can only tell }-ou what is written 
 about it in our Shastra : — 
 
 ' Wherefore should the nations sa}', 
 Where is now their God ? 
 But our God is in the heavens : 
 He hath done whatsoever He pleased. 
 Their idols are silver and gold, 
 The work of men's hands. 
 They have mouths, but they speak not ; 
 Eyes have they, but they see not ; 
 They have ears, but they hear not ; 
 Noses have they, but they smell not ; 
 They have hands, but they handle not ; 
 Feet have they, but they walk not ; 
 Neither speak they through their throat. 
 They that make them shall be like unto them ; 
 Vea, every one that trusteth in them.'" 
 
 I rose from the swing and moved towards the door 
 
A VISIT TO A TEMPLE. IO7 
 
 in the dead silence which followed, and which seemed 
 to me to last an hour ; although it must have been 
 no longer than two or three seconds ere those men 
 had mustered the might of their fury, and hatred, 
 and wickedness. These found utterance at length 
 in a torrent of words which, fortunately, I only half 
 comprehended ; they did not belong to the vocabu- 
 lary which a missionary is likely to acquire. Enough 
 that they shouted out their hatred against Chris- 
 tians, their God, and his Christ ; and vowed ven- 
 geance upon me if I lingered within the sacred 
 precincts of their temple one instant longer. 
 
 The door was closed, and I stood until Raghoba 
 came to himself so far as to open it ; and the last 
 thing I saw, as, trembling and hysterical I hastened 
 away along the lanes towards the main road, was 
 his countenance. I thought that at that moment 
 he had taken upon him the very image and likeness 
 of the god he worshipped — 
 
 " They that make them are like unto them; 
 Yea, every one that trusteth in them." 
 
 So ended my friendship with Raghoba, the Mar- 
 atha Brahman. And yet, for years, I never saw a 
 gate which resembled the gate of his temple, nor 
 felt the sickly odour of the flowers which adorned 
 his idol, nor even experienced the peculiar short 
 
I08 A VISIT TO A TEMPLE. 
 
 motion of a zenana swing-bed, without a shudder- 
 ing sensation of dread and horror. 
 
 A Httle experience teaches that there are times 
 for speech and times for silence ; possibly silence 
 would have been wiser on this occasion. Yet I 
 have never regretted that for once those men heard 
 stated in the plainest terms the truth about their 
 abominable gods, and their own only too close re- 
 semblance to them. 
 
A FAMINE ORPHAN. 
 
 " A T'OU will be much touched, dear , to hear 
 
 X that your old friend Shiwadi has gone home. 
 He died two days ago." 
 
 Yes, these tidings affect me very deeply, not only 
 because Shiwadi was a much-loved friend and cor- 
 respondent, but because he was one of " our boys." 
 How they come back to recollection, the miserable, 
 half-starved little fellows, in many cases full of 
 disease, who came to our door to be taken in, 
 nursed, trained, and loved. One could write a 
 volume of reminiscences — comical, some of them, 
 as reminiscences of boys are sure to be ; pathetic, 
 too, not a few ; and one or two, ah, so painful, in 
 view of our apparent failure to bring out the good 
 or to stamp out the evil in their natures. 
 
 Still, such reminiscences are only interesting to 
 those who knew " our boys." To tell the short story 
 of one of them will be enough, and I choose, as being 
 
no A FAMINE ORPHAN. 
 
 nearest my thoughts, this little lad Shiwadi, who has 
 just " gone home." 
 
 His start in life was pathetic enough, for he was 
 literally a waif. Motherless and fatherless, he and 
 a small sister were turned out of their home by an 
 unnatural stepmother, and left to their fate. One's 
 brain reels at the bare thought of the thousands of 
 unwelcome little ones who wander, loveless and 
 homeless, in our hard, cold world. Some find 
 shelter and home, whilst others — ! God forgive us 
 that we ever sleep or eat without a thought of them ! 
 
 This little brother and sister were of those who 
 found resting-places, the boy with us, the girl in a 
 similar orphanage. 
 
 Shiwadi was a mite of a child when he came 
 amongst us, and probably owing to early hardships 
 he never grew as some of the others did. To the 
 end he was considerably under the average height. 
 His mental powers developed rapidly, however, and 
 he was a capital scholar all through the usual school 
 course, and served a very satisfactory apprenticeship 
 to his trade — that of printing. In addition, he had 
 a wonderful voice, a clear, true, ringing treble, which 
 developed into a very sweet tenor. He loved to use 
 his voice in sacred song, or in any department of 
 our religious services ; and it was in connection with 
 his singing that I first caught a glimpse of the 
 
A FAMINE ORPHAN. Ill 
 
 spiritual change which came over him later on. A 
 special effort was being made to reach educated 
 men in our city by a series of Sunday afternoon 
 addresses. As a help to the speaker, a small choir 
 went down to sing a few hymns, and of course Shi- 
 wadi was one of us. Standing at my side, he sang 
 with an expression and feeling which I had never 
 before noticed the words — 
 
 " In the Cross, in the Cross, 
 Be my glory ever." 
 
 I glanced round and saw, as one now and again 
 does see, the countenance transfigured by the joy 
 of the soul. One almost envied the fresh, }'oung 
 nature accepting the mystery of the Cross so joy- 
 fully, and singing its power so sweetly. But I am 
 anticipating. 
 
 In his earlier school days his moral growth by no 
 means kept pace with his mental progress ; and for 
 long, while really the head of the school and our 
 best boy-printer, he showed no signs at all of de- 
 velopment on that side. He was a rough almost 
 coarse boy, with whom no familiarity could be al- 
 lowed ; and we often doubted whether in any true 
 sense he would requite the care and training he re- 
 ceived. An unusually serious misdemeanour proved 
 to be the turning-point of Shiwadi's life, for his offence 
 
112 A FAMINE ORPHAN. 
 
 was one which was punished by expulsion from the 
 school ; and to our great sorrow he left us. It was a 
 corresponding relief, after a time, to find signs of true 
 penitence In his attitude and life ; and the usual rule 
 never to receive again into the establishment a boy 
 once expelled was departed from in his case. He 
 returned to us completely changed In every respect, 
 and from that day never caused us a shade of anxiety. 
 
 There came a certain dignity into the small figure 
 which rarely means less than a moral uprightness 
 that has faced the tempter and vanquished him ; 
 his countenance became serious and even attractive, 
 his manner gentle, his character blameless. In due 
 time a good situation was found for him in a large 
 public printing-office in Bombay, where he soon be- 
 came a trusted " hand." 
 
 His earlier letters had a touch of sadness In them. 
 He pined for his home and his old companions ; 
 but when manliness and Independence were urged 
 upon him as duty, he made a vigorous effort to 
 overcome home-sickness, and succeeded to a great 
 extent. For two years he remained in Bombay, 
 when the disease so fatal to such as have had an 
 uncared-for childhood — decline — seized him, and he 
 was brought home to die. After a fortnight of 
 patient suffering, during which time his words were 
 very few, he slipped quietly away. 
 
A FAMINE ORPHAN. II3 
 
 " Shiwadi, is Jesus with you?" he was asked on 
 the night before he died. 
 
 He gently moved his head, and murmured, " Oh, 
 yes." 
 
 On the evening of the day he died he was lovingly 
 carried to the grave by his old companions, where, 
 with others who from our native church have gone 
 to rest, his tired body awaits the glorious resurrec- 
 tion which has been promised to those who sleep 
 in Jesus. 
 
 During the two years of his absence in Bombay 
 Shiwadi corresponded very regularly with his old 
 teachers and companions. Such letters as gave 
 glimpses of his inner life were carefully preserved ; 
 and although the broken English does not convey 
 his meaning very clearly, some extracts will, it is 
 hoped, be interesting. 
 
 " I received your letter of the 7th. Its thickness 
 astonished me much, until I opened it and found 
 the portrait of my childhood's teacher and dear 
 friend, who has, since I saw her, been all the way 
 
 to the Scotland and come back to us again It 
 
 is very hard for us to think that the air of our land 
 makes our father and mother [the missionary and 
 his wife] and our dear Missie Bai so thin and white. 
 
 15 
 
114 A FAMINE ORPHAN. 
 
 That God may keep you well, and looking like this 
 photograph, is my true hope and prayer. 
 
 " Bhaga and I are attending church service regu- 
 larly. I am very glad to say to you that I do 
 not forget my Bible-reading and prayer. Every 
 morning and evening I am doing this gladly. Many 
 young boys are not doing this when they are far 
 away from their kind masters and rulers, and of 
 course they are becoming Satan's children. And I 
 have seen many young boys in Bombay who are 
 heartily fond of earthly pleasures. I thank God He 
 has kept me far from such things. And I say now 
 for myself with no doubt, ' I am my Lord's, and my 
 Lord is mine.' And also I am glad to do his work 
 all my life. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow 
 me in all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in 
 my Lord's house for ever and ever. Of course it is 
 not easy for young boys such as I to say such 
 words, because whole life is full of the temptation. 
 But I am sure I can say such words, for I know 
 God is faithful, who will not allow me to be tempted 
 above my strength, and He makes the way to avoid 
 the temptation. And why should such precious 
 words be difficulty [to believe] ? What shall I write 
 now ? It is easy to spend the time in writing, but 
 I must mind the time of your work, not to lose it in 
 reading my letter. This is the report during the 
 
A FAMINE ORPHAN. II5 
 
 time of your absence in Scotland, and I hope it will 
 be a ' good tiding ' for you. — Your most obedient 
 and faithful schoolboy, 
 
 " Shiwadi." 
 
 " 's visit was very profitable and joyous for 
 
 us. But it was strange (for my part) that says 
 
 that young men must go to their own church only, 
 and help in the work of God with their own workers 
 only. I think it is a thought of selfishness. All 
 workers and churches are of one true God and 
 Saviour, and therefore all Christian men must help 
 to one another in the work and in all else. 
 
 " I am trying to do the work for my Master, and 
 I am sure my Master will help me." 
 
 '* I greatly desire to study more of the Bible at 
 heme. There are some hard sentences and verses 
 
 which I cannot understand, but I know very 
 
 well that by the grace of God fears that come like 
 
 mountains will disappear like straws I will study 
 
 more and more of this divine book, and my Lord 
 will surely help me to understand His wondrous 
 things. Glory to His name for ever and ever. 
 
 " I am exceedingly glad and thankful for the 
 book you sent me. I began it very joyfully, and I 
 know that God will help me to understand it." 
 
Il6 A FAMINE ORPHAN. 
 
 " During this week my one friend died from fever. 
 He was very joyful, and died a true Christian man. 
 I think I must be a catechist, and I hope to begin 
 to speak this month by the grace and help of God. 
 I am sure He will give me power and strength. I 
 did promise to do this at the new year, and I pray 
 that God may strengthen me for it." 
 
 " I am quite ready to do work for God, but have 
 not tried yet ; but / will speak for my Master in 
 this week." 
 
 " I pray God that the boys that go off from you 
 may not fall into evil ways, but become true Chris- 
 tians. May God make them fit for His service." 
 
 " Our work goes on well, and more work than 
 enough. For this reason I can undertake nothing 
 else 
 
 " Through our letters we meet, and I thank you 
 much and truly for your helpful words. But I do 
 not wish to give you trouble in writing to me. 
 When you really have time, you will do me the 
 kindness to send a little letter — as little as you like. 
 — Your obedient schoolboy, 
 
 " Shiwa Kessoji." 
 
MY DISCIPLINES. 
 
 THIS was the name by which they were named 
 in our house, those four or five men who ap- 
 peared at the front door at all hours of the day and 
 asked for " Missie Bai." They 
 were the colporteurs, who car- 
 ried Bibles, Testaments, Christian 
 school-books, and tracts through 
 the streets of the city and out to 
 the neighbouring villages, selling 
 them as they could at the nom- 
 inal prices charged by our Bible 
 and Tract Societies, and earning 
 for themselves a very small com- 
 mission upon the very small sum 
 made. At this time I had charge 
 of the work carried on by the a colporteur. 
 
 colporteurs, my duties being to distribute to them 
 the books for which they asked, keeping a list of 
 them, and to receive an account to the last farthing, 
 
Il8 MY DISCIPLINES. 
 
 or rather " cowrie," of the moneys which passed 
 through their hands. The transactions were very 
 small indeed, and not a little intricate to these un- 
 lettered men : for example, some tracts would be 
 priced two pice (about a farthing and a half), some 
 at two and a half, and some at three ; of the whole 
 price of these books three-quarters came to the 
 Society, and one-quarter was returned to the colpor- 
 teur as commission. The computations were often 
 a "discipline" truly, for I had not only to satisfy 
 myself of the correctness of these infinitesimal ac- 
 counts, but had to satisfy my men of their correct- 
 ness also. This had often to be done after the 
 fashion of an object lesson by ocular demonstration, 
 a process which might have proved entertaining 
 to a by-stander, but became from long practice 
 rather monotonous. 
 
 They were good, simple souls all of them, to 
 whom time was no object, and who very naturally 
 wondered why it should be an object to me or to 
 anybody else ; and they tried my patience sorely 
 many a time by appearing at the most unseasonable 
 hours to demand books to the value of, perhaps, 
 three farthings, which, as I used to say, did not pay. 
 One attempt I made to free myself from bondage, 
 when I engaged to sit in the office for one hour 
 daily, during which hour all business would be 
 
MY DISCIPLINES. II9 
 
 transacted, and after which office would be closed. 
 This arrangement worked well for a short time ; 
 but one sad day Poonaji appeared out of hours. 
 He required a Bible, and pled that he might lose 
 his chance of selling it if it were not given to him, 
 which would be a loss both to the buyer and to 
 himself. I relaxed my rule and brought the Bible. 
 On the following day, for an equally urgent reason, 
 Rewaji got a couple of tracts ; I also relieved him. 
 later on of some money which he feared he might 
 lose ; and on the third day resumed the habit of 
 going to the office when called for, now impatiently, 
 and again with the resignation of a martyr, but 
 always going, which was all that my Disciplines 
 required of me. Thus had they earned for them- 
 selves the title by which they went in our family 
 circle. 
 
 Perhaps of all my Disciplines the one whom the 
 designation most accurately described was an old 
 man named Bappuji. He was too frail to go about 
 the streets, and had been set up in business in a 
 very small shop in the heart of the city, where, amid 
 many discouragements and some persecution, he 
 succeeded in doing a little work. He was a good, 
 simple creature, as true a follower of Jesus Christ, I 
 am sure, as any member of our native church. I fear 
 
120 MY DISCIPLINES. 
 
 me his goodness and sincerity were many a time 
 lost upon me on reckoning day ; for if tlie others 
 were not briUiant arithmeticians, poor Bappuji's 
 methods of calculation beat them all. He was so 
 honest that he used to arrive bearing a large canvas 
 bag, in which lay every selfsame copper which had 
 come into his hands during the month. On one 
 occasion I think I counted two hundred and fifty, 
 and then tired of the effort before I had nearly 
 finished the heap ! In vain I entreated that when 
 sixteen annas had been reached he would exchange 
 them for a rupee, and thus relieve us greatly. Bap- 
 puji did not see the force of this suggestion ; and I 
 had to resign myself to sit upon a low stool, count- 
 ing out the dirty coins which he had deposited in a 
 heap upon the floor. Nor was this all. That so 
 many tracts at a third of a halfpenny each had been 
 sold would have been quite sufficient information 
 for the Society, but not for poor Bappuji, who was 
 nervously anxious that each tract should be named, 
 priced, and entered somewhere. 
 
 " But, Bappuji," I would say impatiently, when 
 pressed for time, " cannot you tell me the whole 
 number and value at once?" 
 
 " Missie Saheb knows that Bappuji is a silly old 
 man, and can't count," would be the answer ; upon 
 which I would try to be resigned, return to a gentler 
 
MY DISCIPLINES. 121 
 
 tone, and allow the old man to wander at will 
 through the long, unnecessary lists of booklets. 
 
 As I grew more intimate with Bappuji, however, 
 my own feelings towards him grew very tender and 
 loving. One or two momentary glimpses caught 
 in passing, of the inner hidden life, revealed a close 
 walk with God, a calm and heavenly frame, which 
 at first were hardly seen behind the little traits 
 which had so often annoyed me. More and more I 
 recognized that he was taught of the Spirit, and 
 that I might well sit at his feet and learn from him 
 lessons of simple and unswerving faith. His literal 
 interpretation of the words which, by the help of 
 two pair of spectacles and with laboured effort, he 
 spelt out, often threw light upon passages which 
 might have seemed mysterious to others ; while his 
 joyful acceptance of any promise he reached, as 
 really there for hzni, was a beautiful thing to see. 
 Many a lesson he taught me on the mornings on 
 which I went down to the little shop to take stock, 
 and many a time I curbed my impatience over our 
 slow progress by getting him to tell me what he 
 had been reading or thinking. One of these morn- 
 ings, a hot, trying morning it was, 1 remember 
 very specially. Bappuji was unusually slow, and 
 my nerves were unusually on the alert. I hovered 
 
 16 
 
122 MY DISCIPLINES. 
 
 for a while on the brink of irritable words — the 
 feelings were there, active enough ! — until at length, 
 duster in hand, I sat down on the top of the ladder 
 from which I had been reaching down books from 
 the higher shelves, and said, — 
 
 " Bappuji, I am very tired this morning, and must 
 rest for a little. Tell me what you have been 
 thinking of lately." 
 
 " O Missie Bai, I am a little child. I do not even 
 understand much. What can I tell you ? " 
 
 But when I pressed him, he sat down on a 
 bench, and, looking up at me, began the story he 
 had told me before of the way in which Jesus 
 Christ had won his love and then his trust ; how, 
 though he had never been able to count upon a 
 penny more than sufficed for the day's needs, he 
 had never lacked ; and how he was able now to 
 trust for his own old age, and for the wife and 
 children whom in the course of nature he must 
 leave soon. 
 
 Then he spoke of the people of his race, passing 
 and repassing the door of his little shop day by day, 
 as yet without even the knowledge of God ; how we 
 could trust them to His mercy until they did hear ; 
 and how assured he was that India would very soon 
 be won. A pathetic little word about his own child- 
 ishness and uselessness, and the weakness of any 
 
MY DISCIPLINES. I23 
 
 word he spoke for Christ, was very soon thereafter 
 to be tenderly recalled. 
 
 Bappuji ceased as he spoke that morning to be 
 an ignorant, trying old man ; he was my teacher 
 in that lesson of all others most hard to learn — of 
 unquestioning trust in the love and goodness and 
 knowledge of God. 
 
 "Tell me your favourite text, Bappuji," I said, 
 beginning to dust the shelf with renewed vigour. 
 " Have you one ? " 
 
 " Yes, Missie Bai ; one that just suits me. I 
 learned it long ago : ' It is good that a man should 
 both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the 
 Lord.'" 
 
 It will not be wondered at that after that morning 
 the old man was glorified into one of the saints with 
 whom to converse was a privilege and joy. It was 
 not for long. Not many weeks later he passed 
 gently away into the presence of the Friend whom 
 he had loved so well, after so short an illness that 
 none of us knew of it until he was gone. 
 
 The news of his death was brought to our door 
 by a young man belonging to a native Christian 
 family. With tears of which he did not pretend to 
 be ashamed rolling down his face, he said, — 
 
 " Bappuji, the old man, died during the night. I 
 am glad he has gone home ; but he was the dear 
 
124 MY DISCIPLINES. 
 
 friend of our family. His words and life brought 
 my father and us all to believe in Jesus." 
 
 This was indeed news to me, very touching 
 news ; for the dear old man had never told me that 
 he had really served Christ in bringing others to 
 Him. So the lesson Bappuji taught us in death as 
 in life was this, — 
 
 "Take heed that ye despise not one of these 
 little ones." 
 
OUIC FOUR FIRST PUPILS. 
 
 SAIDANI. 
 
 I WAS very tired, having wandered up and down 
 the streets of the city all that long, hot morning 
 in search of an "open door." But the doors were 
 all shut, nay locked, or so it seemed to me. The 
 district was a most suitable one in which to work, 
 and I had come out to search for many things — 
 some zenana pupils, an airy room In which to open 
 a girls' school, children to fill the room when found, 
 a woman to gather them, and a teacher to teach 
 them. Not one of these wishes had been fulfilled. 
 The sun's rays grew more fiery, my head ached, 
 and my spirit was depressed. I must go home un- 
 successful. 
 
126 SAIDANI. 
 
 I turned a corner, and my eye fell upon a group 
 of small children who had gathered around one 
 rather older than the rest, and were listening in- 
 tently to her graphic description of some scene or 
 occurrence. She was dressed in a thin red muslin 
 sari, with hideous yellow wavy lines crossing it 
 diagonally. Her ornaments were of the cheapest 
 description, her hands and face were far from clean, 
 and her hair was matted and untidy. The general 
 impression, received almost unconsciously, was of 
 poverty and neglect. The conscious impression was 
 one of sparkling eyes, a most attractive and intelli- 
 gent countenance, and a vivid imagination. For 
 how she did enjoy her own story ! The lithe little 
 figure was not a moment at rest ; the hands and 
 arms moved gracefully as if enacting again the 
 scene she described ; the face expressed as plainly 
 as the words the various emotions which her story 
 excited ; the shrill treble voice rang out clearly 
 and sweetly too. I was simply fascinated. Fiery 
 sun and throbbing head were quite forgotten, 
 and quick as thought I was in the centre of the 
 group. 
 
 " What is your name, dear ? " 
 
 " Saidani." 
 
 " Would you not like to learn to read ? " 
 
 " Yes," very promptly. 
 
SAIDANI. 127 
 
 " Well, I should like to teach you. Do you think 
 we could find a room for a little school ? " 
 
 A moment's thought. 
 
 " Oh yes, I know. The mother of Mariam has a 
 room, and Mariam would learn too. - Would you 
 like to see it ? " 
 
 We moved on, Saidani leading the procession ; for 
 her former listeners and a dozen or so other bairns 
 (who had gathered as children seem instinctively to 
 gather when there is anything unusual going on in 
 the street) followed to see the fun. The room was 
 not an ideal schoolroom by any means, but "the 
 mother of Mariam " was willing to give it for a con- 
 sideration. She had also a poor relative who would 
 gather children. Mariam proved willing to be en- 
 rolled a scholar, and the following morning was 
 appointed for the opening of the school. 
 
 The opening was duly accomplished. Saidani 
 had been busy. The room was swept ; four pupils 
 had been secured ; a hint regarding the use of water 
 and a comb had been acted upon, for the face shone 
 and glowed, and the hair had been oiled and plastered 
 down over the temples. The alphabet sheets were 
 distributed, and received on Saidani's part with a 
 hearty kiss, and school began. 
 
 School began, and it grew. The little room held 
 four children, but it would not accommodate 
 
128 SAIDANI. 
 
 twenty. Saidani shook her head over the heat, 
 kept the others from crowding upon me, fanned 
 me vigorously with an old punkah, and at last said, 
 "We must have a new school." So there was a 
 flitting, and again another flitting, and at last — but 
 I am anticipating. 
 
 Of course it was not long before Saidani's home 
 life and circumstances were well known to me. She 
 was the youngest child and only daughter of a poor, 
 hard-working man. Her mother had died in her 
 infancy, and the child had had very little care or 
 attention from father or brothers. By the time she 
 came to school she was housekeeper and cook and 
 general servant all in one, and her life had little play 
 or enjoyment in it. Before long, however, a strong 
 affection arose between her and her teacher — a 
 friendship which was a joy to us both. I found in 
 her an unusually bright and faithful pupil. Her 
 place in school was never vacant, her lesson was 
 always prepared, her slate always clean, her welcome 
 always loving. Home duties were got over in the 
 very early morning, that father or brothers might 
 have no cause for complaint. The schoolroom was 
 her special care. She proved a rigid disciplinarian 
 when placed in charge of the younger children. She 
 was the very life of the little institution. 
 
 And how she laughed ! Her sense of humour 
 
SAIDANI. 129 
 
 was most vivid. Long after all other faces were 
 grave, her voice would be heard behind her slate in 
 little peals of laughter. 
 
 " What are you laughing at, Saidani ? " 
 
 " At that dog." 
 
 " Which dog ? " 
 
 "The one that let the real piece of mutton go, 
 and shut down his teeth upon its shadow." 
 
 Saidani was proud, and could not bear to fail in 
 anything which she undertook. On one occasion, 
 after several days' holiday, she was asked to recite 
 a poem for the benefit of a visitor. To her own 
 horror and my surprise she broke down. 
 
 " That is not like you, Saidani," said I. 
 
 " Well, if people will shut up school, what can we 
 do but forget ? " 
 
 In time, thanks to the kindness of friends in Scot- 
 land, we were enabled to search out and procure a 
 piece of ground, and in due time a neat little build- 
 ing arose in which the school found room to expand. 
 In all the work Saidani took an intense interest, 
 and great was her rejoicing when the hired house 
 was vacated and the last flitting was over. By this 
 time she was the last of the original four pupils. 
 
 " Do you remember," she said, " how you spoke 
 to me on the street ? And then what a funny little 
 
 school we had ! You sat on a little stool, and we 
 
 17 
 
130 SAIDANI. 
 
 all sat on the floor, and we learned ' alif, be,' and ' O 
 God, Thou knowest me.'" 
 
 Yes, I forgot nothing ; and as I drew this dearest 
 of pupils to my side, I felt that Saidani all uncon- 
 sciously had been the door leading to this pleasant, 
 bright schoolroom, which would be in the days to 
 come a centre of light and blessing. 
 
 Saidani was not given to unveiling her deeper 
 thoughts and feelings ; but she loved her Bible 
 lesson and the hymns, and read the gospel story 
 with reverent interest. And she steadily fought 
 against any proposal of marriage, knowing that this 
 would end her connection with her beloved school. 
 
 Ill health compelled me at last to take furlough, 
 and sad farewells were exchanged. 
 
 In a month or two painful news with regard to 
 Saidani reached home. Her brothers, walking along 
 a street, had overheard two women speaking of their 
 sister. 
 
 " She is a Christian," they were saying. 
 
 "We must get Saidani married, and away from 
 that school," was their decision. And ere long a most 
 suitable offer reached them. The suitor wished an 
 educated wife, and was willing not only to waive 
 the question of a dowry, but to pay down so many 
 hundred rupees, to settle upon her a house which he 
 owned, and to throw in any amount of jewellery. 
 
SAIDANI. 131 
 
 Could so generous an offer be rejected for the very 
 inadequate reason that the man had already a wife 
 and children, and that Saidani wept, and prayed, 
 and refused to eat? The thought was absurd, and 
 the girl's nonsense was not to be tolerated. The 
 marriage was hastened, the price was paid, Saidani 
 was handed over duly, and the whole transaction 
 was comfortably concluded. And it did not matter 
 — why should it matter? — that in her new home 
 the bride sat pining away, lonely, and sad, and 
 uncared for. 
 
 In due time I returned, but was never allowed 
 to see my old favourite, and so there is nothing 
 more to add. Perhaps we shall hear the end of the 
 story some day. 
 
ASAHEL. 
 
 THIS was not his real name, although it was 
 the name by which he was known amongst 
 us, and it will serve our purpose as well as another 
 while we try to tell his tragic story. 
 
 He was only a servant of the mission, a chaprassi 
 or message-boy ; but he was of good caste, was 
 respected by his own people, and — highest qualifica- 
 tion in a chaprassi — he was, as his name implies, 
 " light of foot as a wild roe," and he turned not to 
 the right hand or to the left from following that 
 which he had undertaken to do. Alas, too, his end 
 was as tragic as was the end of the lithe and grace- 
 ful young son of Zeraiah, whose name he had 
 borrowed. 
 
 Asahel had his little weaknesses, as other men 
 have, but in the main he was a valuable servant, 
 faithful as Indian servants go, and useful in many 
 directions. He could be trusted with money or goods 
 
ASAHEL. 133 
 
 to any amount, or with the charge of the girls of our 
 boarding-school when out walking, or going through 
 the noisy bazaars on their way to church. When 
 thus " in charge," Asahel showed to great advantage, 
 and he knew it. He then appeared an inch or two 
 taller than at other times, he flourished his staff 
 bravely in the face of any rude fellow who ap- 
 proached our ranks too nearly, and testified his 
 devotion many a time by the use of stronger lan- 
 guage than was at all necessary towards any in- 
 offensive bazaar coolie who in the crowd was jostled 
 up against us. Perhaps the idea may have passed 
 through my mind that he did "protest too much." 
 I had only one occasion, however, of really testing 
 Asahel's valour or his capability as a protector. To 
 this day I cannot recall that evening without a 
 smile. 
 
 A series of evangelistic meetings was being held, 
 and such of our teachers and boarders as wished to 
 attend were marched each evening to the hall, 
 Asahel, of course, being on duty. He was greatly 
 troubled by the fact, which he communicated to me 
 with great solemnity, that our little procession had 
 become an object of interest to one or two soldiers 
 who frequented the meetings, who left the hall when 
 we left, and followed us to our home. It was diffi- 
 cult to complain of this, as I pointed out to Asahel, 
 
134 ASAHEL. 
 
 as our schoolhouse lay in the direct route towards 
 the barracks, and an appeal might very truly be 
 met with the innocent reply that they also were on 
 their way home. Therefore, notwithstanding Asahel's 
 valorous suggestion that he might knock them down 
 with his staff — a handsome bamboo cane, without 
 which Asahel was never seen to stir day or night — • 
 my orders were that no notice whatever should be 
 taken of our unwelcome followers, if followers they 
 were ; while I mentally resolved to miss none of the 
 services hereafter, nor to leave my charges to the 
 precarious aid of our pretty young teacher, even 
 when seconded by Asahel and his staff 
 
 It was towards the close of the week, the services 
 were growingly impressive, and the girls were walk- 
 ing home under the calm moonlight in solemn 
 silence. Asahel as usual strode at our side, vainly 
 endeavouring to suit his long, springing steps to our 
 slow paces, when, speaking in low, earnest tones to 
 each other, our two soldier "followers" passed us. 
 I think we all started, for the night was still, the 
 shadows of the trees fell eerily across our path, we 
 had all been occupied with our own meditations, 
 and, truth to tell, had completely forgotten them. 
 
 But Asahel ! His thoughts must have been 
 deepest of all ; for with a start, w4iich might more 
 literally be termed a leap, and a loud exclamation 
 
ASAHEL. 135 
 
 of fear, he span round our little ranks, and in less 
 time than I take to tell it had placed the girls be- 
 tween himself and our warrior foes. The soldiers 
 could not fail to see that they had surprised us, and 
 one of them turned to me with a polite, " Beg pardon, 
 ma'am," and then hastened along the road towards 
 the barracks. Fortunately for Asahel's character, 
 the girls did not see the joke ; it was as well that 
 they should not discover that Asahel was not a 
 hero. Heroes are not met with evxry day in this 
 commonplace and matter-of-fact nineteenth century 
 of ours ; besides, many an unheroic man and woman 
 has done good and faithful service, and has lived 
 and died under the shadow of real life tragedy. 
 Such was our Asahel. 
 
 When first he came into the service of the mission, 
 Asahel did not live in the mission compound, but 
 went home when his day's work was done. Home 
 meant much to him : it meant first a small two-roomed 
 house, his own property; it meant also in due time 
 the sweet little bride to whom he became devotedly 
 attached. What wonder ? She was the most charm- 
 ing of mischievous, untamed, black-eyed girl-wives 
 who ever tyrannized over weak man. No mother- 
 in-law was there to bring the bright spirit into proper 
 subjection ; the only other inmate of the house was 
 
13^ ASAHEL. 
 
 the mildest old aunt imaginable, who only lived to 
 humour and to cherish her darling. So there was 
 love and harmony in the little home to which Asahel 
 hastened night after night ; and if the trio were not 
 rich, they were almost ideally happy. 
 
 Fortunes do come unexpectedly, even outside the 
 novelist's pages ; and fortune came in most unlooked- 
 for fashion to this little house. Asahel had gone to 
 his work as usual ; and Yamuna had settled down to 
 rub and polish the brass and copper vessels, of whose 
 brilliancy she was justly proud ; and a little dog, to 
 which she had been kind, was playing at her side. 
 Forgetful that he was in the house of a vegetarian 
 Hindu, doggie bethought him to dig up the mud 
 floor for a bone. Yamuna contented herself at first 
 with giving him a gentle scolding, but as he persisted 
 she rose to frighten him away. A rim of something 
 bright in the torn-up floor attracted her attention. 
 She stooped and examined the spot; then, like a wise 
 little woman, mindful that visitors might appear, she 
 covered it up, sent the dog out of the room, and re- 
 sumed her task. 
 
 When her husband returned Yamuna uncovered 
 the loosened floor, and together they dug it up, and 
 drew out a brass vessel of considerable size, con- 
 taining money and jewels of some value, evidently 
 stored in that room by their possessor in troublous 
 
ASAHEL. 137 
 
 times, never to be claimed again. Asahel and Ya- 
 muna became moderately wealthy. The young wife 
 donned the pretty rings and necklets, and the mohrs 
 were exchanged for modern rupees as required. 
 Thus did fortune bestow her smile upon Asahel ; a 
 smile which, true to her fickle nature, she too soon 
 changed into a frown. There are years in the lives 
 of all into which a lifetime of experience is crowded. 
 Yamuna had not been a year the light of his home, 
 many weeks had not passed since the unexpected 
 riches had relieved them of any anxiety for the 
 future, when on one sad day Asahel returned from 
 his work to find his darling dying, too far gone for 
 even a farewell word, leaving in her place only a 
 miserable little infant. For weeks thereafter he went 
 about his work as one stunned and bereft of all 
 interest in life ; and it was only when the old aunt 
 followed her darling, and the baby had none to care 
 for him but his father, that the young widower 
 aroused himself Hitherto he had hardly noticed 
 the child ; now he begged a few weeks' holiday, and 
 devoted himself to this new care. But baby did not 
 take to his father's methods of nursing, and the 
 woman whom he hired to help him groaned under 
 the burden of a fretful and ailing child. 
 
 "You must get another wife," she said, "whose 
 duty it will be to look after house and infant." 
 
 18 
 
138 ASAHEL. 
 
 Asahel shrank from this course ; but it seemed the 
 only possible arrangement, and by the time he re- 
 turned to his duties another mistress reigned in the 
 little house in Yamuna's stead. 
 
 Some months later changes in the arrangements 
 of the mission necessitated Asahel's leaving his home 
 in the city, and taking up his abode for a time in 
 the mission compound. His wife and child accom- 
 panied him. The woman was as great a contrast to 
 the bright creature whom he had lost as could well 
 be. It was as if he had determined that nothing 
 should tempt him from his allegiance to her memory, 
 in spirit at least. Chandra was alread}' a widow — ■ 
 we discovered later that she had been a widow too 
 often to be canny — she was not young, was small- 
 pox marked, and had an ugly sinister expression 
 of countenance which was difficult to overlook. 
 Besides this, she discovered a strange aversion to 
 the little boy, which (infant as he was) the child in- 
 stinctively returned. It was not that she failed to 
 bathe, and clothe, and feed him ; but the tones of her 
 voice were cold, her manner hard, the touch of her 
 hands ungentle : in a word, love was absent, and he 
 knew it. Before many days, however, the little 
 fellow hardly needed his mother ; he became a great 
 favourite both with the teachers and pupils of the 
 school, and he was much with his father. Poor 
 
ASAHEL. 139 
 
 man ! It was soon clear enough to all that he had 
 been most unfortunate in his second marriage. 
 Chandra's voice was too often heard in our quiet 
 orderly compound, reminding us of the brawling 
 woman upon the housetop, scolding her husband, or 
 quarrelling with her neighbours. At last we inter- 
 fered, and insisted that the family must find a home 
 outside as before, Asahel alone remaining with us. 
 Vowing vengeance upon us all, Chandra according 
 to orders went away, leaving the child and the 
 father to peace and quietness. It was a curious 
 fact, noticed by us all, that from the day that 
 Chandra left us, the little boy began to thrive as 
 never before, and in a week or two was as round 
 and as plump as we could desire. It was impossible 
 to doubt now what we had always suspected, that 
 Chandra had been in the habit of drugging the child 
 with opium. 
 
 Our management of the child had only three 
 weeks in which to prove itself successful. At the 
 end of that time Chandra appeared one day, and 
 falling at my feet vowed that her voice should hence- 
 forth be unheard and her presence be all but invisible 
 if we would permit her return. She had, she said, 
 missed the child terribly, and she longed to return 
 without delay to her wifely and motherly duties. I 
 sent for Asahel, who, with visible reluctance, con- 
 
I40 ASAHEL. 
 
 sented to receive her again. We insisted once more 
 upon quietness, and assuring them that the very 
 first quarrel would result in the removal of the whole 
 family, dismissed them. Chandra repeated her pro- 
 mises of good behaviour, and held out her arms for 
 the child, who left his father most unwillingly. I 
 noted, half unconsciously, that a shudder passed over 
 the man's whole body as she kissed the little fellow's 
 forehead. He returned to his work in silence, however. 
 
 Two days later Asahel came to my side as I sat 
 alone at work. 
 
 " Can I speak to Miss Saheb? " he said. 
 
 '' Certainly," I said, " if you have not much to say, 
 for I am very busy." 
 
 " I just want Miss Saheb to promise one thing : 
 it is, that should anything happen to me, the mission 
 would become father and mother to my child. I 
 should like him to be brought up and educated with 
 your boys." 
 
 " But that would probably involve his becoming 
 a Christian." 
 
 " That would be my wish. Miss Saheb. I have 
 learned many things from Anandrao " (the catechist 
 who had prayers with our servants), " and though I 
 do not say very much, I have thought a good deal. 
 I should wish my boy to belong to the mission." 
 
AS AH EL. 141 
 
 " I am quite sure there would be no difficulty 
 about that, Asahel. If the mission did not under- 
 take the care of the child, I should do it gladly my- 
 self." 
 
 " You are very good, Miss Saheb, and your words 
 comfort my heart. But will you wTite a paper and 
 sign it, and I shall sign it, so that there may be 
 no trouble afterwards ? I am very anxious about 
 this." 
 
 Hitherto, truth to tell, I had listened and spoken 
 without any great seriousness. The probability of 
 Asahel's death was very remote, and I had more 
 anxiety for the time taken from my belated report 
 than for his child's future. Now, however, a certain 
 tremor in his voice startled me, and laying down 
 my pen I looked carefully at him, and even felt his 
 pulse. 
 
 " Why, Asahel, you are growing nervous," I said. 
 " Are you feeling ill ? " 
 
 " No, I am not ill. Miss Saheb ; but we do not 
 know what may happen on any day, and I should 
 like to have this matter of my child's future settled." 
 
 " Very well, Asahel," I answered ; " it shall be 
 done. As soon as I see Saheb I shall speak to him 
 about it ; and we shall consult the Magistrate Saheb 
 about the legal form of such a paper. I do not 
 know the law. You may be very sure of this, that 
 
142 ASAHEL. 
 
 should anything happen to you we should do all 
 that we could for your child." 
 
 It was the end of the month, when stores were 
 got in, and bills paid, and school rolls and schedules 
 filled in. Every moment was occupied. On the ist, 
 Asahel's duty was to carry out all unpaid bills, pay 
 them, and hand in the receipts. Before starting for 
 my morning's work in the city I gave him the 
 necessary money, and told him that I should be at 
 home to receive his accounts by a certain hour. I 
 never saw him in life again. 
 
 On reaching home I found all in confusion and 
 distress, and any number were ready to pour into 
 my ears the' evil tidings — " Asahel is dying." Ten 
 minutes before, he had sat down to his mid-day 
 meal, having done all his business, and laid upon my 
 table, with his usual exactness, all the receipted 
 accounts and the change received. Now he lay still 
 and helpless ; no remedy was of avail, and the 
 doctor, whom we hastily summoned, said he had 
 died some minutes before. 
 
 Chandra was apparently in great distress, but had 
 the presence of mind to lock all the boxes, and to 
 secrete the keys upon her own person. She also 
 kept firm possession of the little boy. 
 
 For the next few hours all was confusion. There 
 was little leisure for thought. The police and 
 
ASAHEL. 143 
 
 medical officers held an inquest, and returned a 
 verdict to the effect that Asahel had died of an 
 overdose of opium, taken probably in his dinner. 
 For reasons which they did not state they concluded 
 that he had made the mistake himself, and we had 
 no proof that it was otherwise. A cart was brought, 
 and the helpless body, which a few hours before had 
 been so active and lithe, was laid in it and carried 
 away. 
 
 Now I remembered my promise about the child, 
 and summoned Chandra to my room. I told her of 
 my promise to Asahel, of which she acknowledged he 
 had told her ; but she wept at the hardness of heart 
 which would desire to remove from her care the one 
 only thing left to her. She magnanimously said, 
 however, that the child should be allowed to choose 
 between us. Needless to say more than one came 
 forward and tried to win him ; but he turned from 
 us as from strangers, even from the girl who had 
 been most devoted to him during the time, only two 
 days before, that Chandra had been out of the com- 
 pound. He now clung eagerly to his stepmother, 
 who, with a smile of wicked triumph, turned from 
 us and followed the cart containing the remains of 
 the man whom at that moment most of us could 
 have sworn she herself had killed. 
 
 I wrote to a magistrate at once to inquire whether 
 
144 ASAHEL. 
 
 we had any claim upon the child, and his answer 
 sadly removed all hope. The child was the property 
 of his nearest relatives, and could not be taken from 
 them without their fullest consent. So it came 
 about that Chandra and the baby vanished com- 
 pletely, and were never heard of again. 
 
 " That boy will die as his father died," said one of 
 the sei-vants to me that night, "and Chandra has 
 enough of money and jewellery in those boxes to 
 enable her to live in comfort all the rest of her days. 
 She is a bad woman." And although I faintly 
 attempted to reprove the man for harbouring such 
 thoughts, my own echoed them all too literally. 
 
 As for my promise, I grieved over its non-fulfil- 
 ment for many days. Yet who could have foreseen 
 that within forty- eight hours that healthy man 
 would have thus disappeared from our midst, or have 
 imagined that his anxiety about his child's future 
 was caused by a premonition of his death ? In this 
 only could I find comfort, that had it been a case 
 of illness of the slightest nature, even the press of 
 many duties and heavy burdens which at that time 
 lay upon me would have been as nothing before the 
 father's anxiety and the child's future good. 
 

 THE BENI-ISRAEL. 
 
 NEARLY two thousand years ago, thus runs 
 the tradition, seven men and seven women, 
 strangers to those shores, were shipwrecked upon 
 the western Indian coast, 
 and there found a home 
 and a shelter. 
 
 They were a pecuHar 
 people, who carried with 
 them neither holy book, 
 nor definite history, nor 
 a law, yd were rich in 
 traditions which for them 
 had the sacredness of re- 
 velation, and in observ- ^ bem-israel giri„ 
 ances which, unless they possessed a mysterious re- 
 ligious significance, carried no meaning at all. Yet 
 were these traditions and ceremonies handed down 
 through the generations, and remain until this day. 
 
 These people were somewhat of a mystery to 
 their neighbours. Hindus called them S/mnwdr 
 
 19 
 
146 THE BENI-ISRAEL. 
 
 Teli — " Saturday oil-men " — from the fact that they 
 would do no trade upon the seventh day of the week, 
 and they reckoned them to be a caste of Mahome- 
 tans. Mahometans, however, disowned them, and 
 called them " Yahudi " — Jews — which title they re- 
 jected with scorn. They called themselves " Beni- 
 Israel " — the children of Israel — and there is little 
 doubt that they had a claim to the ancient name, 
 by which, indeed, they still love to be known. 
 
 Doubtless, as they grew and multiplied and 
 scattered themselves up and down the coast, there 
 may have been some intermarriage with the people 
 of the land ; but down through the centuries were 
 handed certain ancient customs — the observance of 
 the seventh day of the week as a day of rest ; the 
 circumcision of male infants on their eighth day ; 
 the setting apart of one day in the year as a day of 
 mourning for sin ; also certain family names, very 
 familiar to those who . study the ancient Hebrew 
 Scriptures. All of these proclaimed this little colony 
 to be, in the first instance at least, members of the 
 race beloved by us for the fathers' sake. 
 
 It was the late Dr. Wilson of Bombay who dis- 
 covered this small remnant of the lost ten tribes, 
 and both he and the early American missionaries 
 became deeply interested in their welfare. Schools 
 
THE BENI-ISRAEL. I47 
 
 were opened for their children, and they were 
 assisted in the task of rediscovering themselves. 
 Their own Scriptures were once more put into their 
 hands, and since those days they have made great 
 progress. They have built meeting-houses for them- 
 selves in all the towns and villages where any 
 number of them are settled. They have acquainted 
 themselves with their own law. Some of the better 
 educated amongst them have got into correspondence 
 with the leading Israelites in England and America. 
 One, for instance, who has since become a Christian, 
 interchanged letters with both Dr. Adolph Saphir 
 and Dr. Edersheim. One or two have even gone 
 on pilgrimage to the sacred city. It was an inter- 
 esting occasion in more than one way to us when 
 one of these, a Mr. Isaac, returned to his native 
 place, and at the request of some of our Christians 
 gave an account of his experiences in our little 
 church. He began after this fashion : " It is a plea- 
 sure to me to tell you of what I saw in Palestine, 
 the ' Holy Land ' to both Israelite and Christian." 
 He even gave some account of the Holy Sepulchre, 
 and he carried his audience fully with him when he 
 bewailed the possession of spots so sacred to us all 
 by the " infidel Turk." 
 
 The men, in all the towns where they are settled, 
 are industrious, independent, and have a decided 
 
148 THE BENI-ISRAEL. 
 
 tendency to rise socially. Many are in government 
 employment, and earn comfortable incomes ; and 
 those who have more than enough help their poorer 
 brethren, so that we rarely if ever see a Beni-Israel 
 begging. This esprit de corps is one of the pleasantest 
 features in the little community. In our city they 
 all live together in one quarter of the town, and 
 there is not a cleaner or better-kept district. They 
 have in their midst a prayer-room, a library, and 
 various benevolent institutions, and would doubtless 
 have schools had not the missionary societies already 
 occupied this field. 
 
 The one difficulty has been with the women, who 
 have borrowed from Hindus and Mahometans 
 many silly superstitions in addition to some which 
 are peculiarly their own. But this hindrance to the 
 rise of the community is fast disappearing. The 
 next generation of Beni-Israel women will, as far 
 as large towns are concerned, be comparatively well 
 educated. Several societies have large girls' schools, 
 and others are trying to reach older girls and women 
 in their homes. 
 
 It is curious to think that in a certain sense mis- 
 sionaries have given these children of Israel their 
 faith ; and sad too, for we would fain see them come 
 over to us altogether, accepting in Jesus Christ the 
 
THE BENI-ISRAEL. 1 49 
 
 Messiah for whose appearance they, with all their 
 brethren, still wait. But we have not been without 
 encourai^ement. In our city, through bitter persecu- 
 tion, one after another has professed the Christian 
 faith; and we have in our church — let me name one 
 family, the very names are dear. The old father, 
 long since gone to rest, was Bandoji (Benjamin). 
 He came alone, but was followed by his daughter 
 Abigail ; and at last, unable to resist the pleadings 
 of the old man, came Sarah his wife, and with her 
 three children, Jochebed, Dinah, and Elizabeth. 
 Rachel alone remains outside of the Christian 
 Church, though we may hope that she will yet take 
 her place with the rest of the family circle. 
 
L 
 
 LOST. 
 
 I TE RALLY a waif, her path lay alongside of 
 ours for a {qw days only, then — 
 
 She was a Brahman girl of some fourteen years 
 of age, physically a fine example of her caste — tall, 
 fair, and well-formed ; and she was as quick and 
 intelligent as she was " bonny." But, alas ! her 
 opportunities of learning had been in the school 
 of evil. Her father had been imprisoned, and was 
 eventually executed, for the murder of a child ; the 
 girl had also undergone a sentence as an accessory 
 to the brutal crime. She had acted as a decoy to 
 the poor little girl ; and the jewels, for the sake of 
 which the deed had been done, were found upon 
 her person. 
 
 We heard the sad tale when following our daily 
 round of work in the city, and we felt that some 
 effort must be made to rescue the girl from the 
 streets. We sought her out, and persuaded her to 
 
LOST. 1 5 1 
 
 come to the mission-house for a talk over her future 
 prospects. The case was a difficult one to deal 
 with, and the more so that evidently even that 
 conscience which in the heathen is to them a law 
 was asleep. Her language was low ; her remorse 
 for her own share in the murder very slight — she did 
 not even mourn for her father ; and her desire to 
 rise once more into a good and pure life was so 
 very vague that we doubted how far it really ex- 
 isted. Yet here she was, let loose upon the world, 
 her good name gone and her caste broken ; truly 
 a waif, for whom, unless a helping hand could reach 
 her, there was no apparent alternative save a life 
 of sin. 
 
 Sita was evidently flattered by our interest, and 
 condescended to listen to the suggestions upon 
 which we had agreed in mission council. These 
 were, that until we had matured plans and found 
 for her a home, she should take up her abode in the 
 mission-house, and begin to learn reading and sew- 
 ing. She was to sleep in my room, to stay in cer- 
 tain parts of the house when we were out at our 
 work, to make herself useful as far as possible, and 
 on pain of expulsion never to leave the compound. 
 Sita accepted all our conditions gladly. I imagine 
 that the novelty of living in a European bungalow 
 attracted her. Possibly there was still some faint 
 
152 LOST. 
 
 desire to return to a respectable life ; if so, she must 
 have known well that this was her only chance. 
 
 Things went well for a time, and we began to 
 allow ourselves to hope. She seemed to find enjoy- 
 ment in every task which was set before her ; her 
 supple fingers fell into the various uses of the needle 
 almost unconsciously ; reading proved no difficulty ; 
 the missionary's wife who undertook the lessons 
 declared that this was the pleasantest pupil whom 
 she had ever taught. I can recall now the thrill of 
 hope with which I watched the intelligent counte- 
 nance as, sitting upon the floor at that lady's feet, 
 she looked earnestly up into her face, listening to 
 the words of life. Surely this brand would be 
 plucked from the burning. 
 
 Thus Sita became the object of our tendcrest care 
 and watchfulness, and we even began to wonder 
 how we should get on without her when a suitable 
 refuge had been found. For, of course, to keep her 
 long in our home, so open to visitors of every de- 
 scription, so often left unprotected when we were 
 out at our work, was impossible ; and neither 
 boarding-schools nor orphanages were very suitable 
 places for a girl who had been in prison for aiding 
 in a brutal murder. 
 
 To our sorrow and sore disappointment the home 
 we searched for was never needed. We had been 
 
LOST. 153 
 
 too sanguine. Sita had acquired the nature of the 
 Arab ; the sheltered and necessarily confined life 
 became, after its novelty wore off, unbearable. We 
 discovered, after a time, that when we were out Sita 
 was out too ; and at length one day she disappeared, 
 never to return. We searched for her, and mourned 
 sadly over her ; but she had chosen her life, and it 
 was that of the streets. 
 
 Yet some shadow of a desire must now and again 
 have fallen upon the poor lost girl after " the better 
 things " of which she had had a glimpse. Twice, at 
 an interval of several years, I heard of a poor young 
 woman appearing at the doors of mission bungalows 
 far apart, and very far indeed from her own old home, 
 who bore the name of Sita, and who stated, as a 
 reason for expecting friendship and aid, that she had 
 once lived in our mission-house. In neither case, 
 however, was anything made of the poor wanderer. 
 Who can tell whether she may not yet tire of the 
 far country, and return humbly to her true Father's 
 house ? Never was prodigal son or daughter turned 
 from that door. 
 
 20 
 
A MUTINY. 
 
 CERTAINLY missionaries have no right to 
 complain of any lack of variety either in their 
 occupations or in the characters and incidents with 
 which they have to deal. This proposition has not 
 the merit of freshness, but it is suggested afresh by 
 the recollection of a " strike " in one of our schools, 
 and of the curious scenes through which we passed 
 in connection with it. 
 
 Our head teacher had been for some weeks very 
 unmanageable, causing us more trouble, as we often 
 remarked, than all the pupils taken together. She 
 was a legacy from the former superintendent of the 
 school, and did not conform easily to our arrange- 
 ments ; besides, she was not a Christian, and we had 
 been much tempted on several occasions to dismiss 
 her and to provide a teacher of our own choice, who 
 would be more willing to carry out our plans for 
 the future of the school. Thus we were not heart- 
 broken when we received from her one morning a 
 
A MUTINY. 155 
 
 letter containing her resignation, and request for a 
 certificate. She had received, as she condescended 
 to inform us, promises of work from two places, both 
 offering a much higher salary than we gave her ; 
 and though it grieved her to leave our service, she 
 felt that she must seize the opportunity of a rise in 
 position and ' prospects when God thus placed it 
 within her reach. 
 
 We drove down to the school, cheerfully accepted 
 the resignation, wrote the certificate, and at once 
 set about the search for a successor. Having let it 
 be known in likely quarters that teachers might 
 send in applications to us, we returned to the school 
 to take our usual classes. 
 
 Everything was still. The classroom downstairs 
 was empty, classroom upstairs also empty, and in 
 the large schoolroom we found the whole school 
 standing in solemn and dignified array, as was 
 our custom at roll-call, or at opening and closing 
 prayers. 
 
 " What is this, girls ? '' I asked. " Go at once to 
 your classrooms." 
 
 " Please, Missie Bai, we have something to say to 
 you," said one of the older girls. 
 
 " Oh indeed ! " I replied. " Say it at once, then ; 
 we cannot waste time." 
 
 " We wished to say that we all intend leaving 
 
156 A MUTINY. 
 
 your school. We shall not stay here after our 
 teacher goes away." 
 
 " Is that all you have to say ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Very well, then, children, you can go. But, 
 first, I may mention what perhaps your teacher has 
 forgotten to tell you, that she leaves you at her 
 own request because she has found a better situation. 
 I am sorry that she does not seem to care for you 
 as much as you do for her. And now good-bye. 
 You will, of course, go downstairs as usual very 
 quietly, and take all your own books and slates with 
 you, leaving upon my desk those which belong to 
 the school. I give you ten minutes " — here I laid 
 my watch upon the table — " to gather your things, 
 after which I shall lock up the classrooms." 
 
 Never were sixty girls so taken by surprise. 
 Furtive glances I caught as they slowly moved 
 about the rooms, which I met with gracious 
 smiles. The teachers, especially the lady who \vas 
 the cause of the disturbance, hovered about help- 
 lessly near my table, hardly knowing whether to 
 speak or to be silent. Meantime, though it was no 
 easy matter to conceal my amusement, I was busily 
 employed gathering class books and rolls, dusting 
 and rolling up maps^ and tidying cupboards, as if a 
 mutiny were the most ordinary, everyday occurrence, 
 
A MUTINY. 157 
 
 or at most a slight deviation from the dull, trivial 
 round of translation, grammar, and history lessons. 
 
 When the ten minutes were up, I rang the bell 
 and walked slowly round the classrooms, saw them 
 cleared, locked them, and followed the last stra^crler 
 downstairs. Here I only delayed to remind the 
 head teacher, who lived below, that as the school 
 was now closed it would be well that she should 
 remove her goods to some other house at an early 
 date. Then, with politest adieus, I stepped into the 
 garri and drove away, leaving a very blank-looking 
 little group standing around the doorstep. 
 
 We had not to wait long for the next scene. On 
 the same afternoon a servant came to my room with 
 the announcement that a deputation from the city 
 were in the front veranda, and asked if I would be 
 pleased to speak with them. 
 
 " Alas, my holiday is not to be a very long one," 
 sighed I. 
 
 The veranda was pretty full. There were a num- 
 ber of the leading men of the district in which our 
 school was situated, most of them indeed being 
 fathers of present or former pupils ; all the teachers 
 were also there, of whom I can only say that they 
 had less dignity about them than usual. A back- 
 ground was formed in the outer porch by some 
 twenty of the older girls, who stood looking anx- 
 
158 A MUTINY. 
 
 iously in upon us. The situation was in all respects 
 satisfactory. 
 
 One of the gentlemen opened the proceedings 
 with a graceful speech to the effect that I was their 
 father and their mother. This preliminary remark 
 had not the charm of novelty, but it struck me on 
 this occasion with unusual force from the fact that 
 the speaker stroked tenderly as he spoke a hand- 
 some patriarchal beard, and wore the glorious crown 
 of a hoary head. I — well, I had not yet seen thirty 
 summers, and should probably have preferred the 
 filial to the paternal or maternal relationship in this 
 connection. This was a trifle, however, not to be 
 resented under the circumstances. I acknowledged 
 the intended compliment therefore, and he pro- 
 ceeded : — 
 
 " They, the parents, were for ever indebted to the 
 mission for the kind care which we exercised towards 
 their daughters, for the thorough education which 
 we gave them, for the moral and religious training 
 which they received in our schools. They were 
 therefore the more grieved when they heard what 
 had occurred that morning ; they were angry with 
 their children for their naughtiness, and rudeness, 
 and ingratitude towards their kind Missie Bai ; they 
 regretted deeply the pain which had been given. 
 They therefore hoped that their kind Missie Bai 
 
A MUTINY. 159 
 
 would be pleased to accept an apology, and would 
 reopen the school to-morrow." 
 
 One of the teachers now took up the tale. " They 
 were most humbly penitent for their share in this 
 unfortunate occurrence, and they wished here and 
 now to confess the whole truth. They had had no 
 rise in their salaries for a long time, yet they had 
 not liked to approach me on the subject in any 
 direct manner ; but they had hoped by means of the 
 letter which the head teacher had written to me to 
 draw me on to ask her and them what their cause 
 of dissatisfaction might be, and why they should 
 think of leaving our service. Had I done so, their 
 intention was to speak of this matter. Things had 
 not, however, taken the turn which they had ex- 
 pected ; it had not occurred to them that I should 
 accept of the resignation, far less dismiss the whole 
 school ! They now desired to say that they were 
 very sorry that they had not chosen a more honest 
 way of letting their wishes be made known." 
 
 It only now remained for the children in the porch 
 to be summoned by parents and teachers, and com- 
 manded to throw themselves at Missie Bai's feet 
 and to entreat her pardon. 
 
 I now closed the proceedings with a little speech 
 to the effect that any teacher in any of our schools 
 who wished to improve her position was most wel- 
 
l6o A MUTINY. 
 
 come to do so at any time. They got from our 
 mission, as they very well knew, quite as much as 
 they were worth to us, and perhaps this was the 
 best opportunity to state that we had no intention 
 of raising any salaries at present. As for the parents 
 of the children, I thanked them for their good 
 opinion, and put in a little word urging more regular 
 attention to the lessons given for home preparation, 
 so that our school might earn for itself a good posi- 
 tion amongst the educational agencies in the city. 
 To the girls, as I should probably have something 
 to say to-morrow, it was enough to say salaam ; and 
 so, with polite salutations on both sides, the little 
 party took leave. 
 
 Scene three was not nearly so impressive. It 
 occurred on the following morning, when once more 
 I found the classrooms empty and the schoolroom 
 crowded. The dux of the school read a formal apol- 
 ogy, in what was, I suppose, intended for poetry ; 
 after which I was duly garlanded, and presented 
 with bouquets and bracelets of roses and jessamine. 
 
 For a few days the steadiness, punctuality, and 
 general good-behaviour of that school were so pro- 
 nounced that, had we believed they would last, we 
 should have felt almost alarmed lest our missionary 
 occupation had gone. The goodness passed away in 
 due time, however ; but we never had another mutiny. 
 
ASHABI. 
 
 " ^ I ^HE work is very depressing just now; in 
 X fact, no pupil is giving me satisfaction save 
 dear old Ashabi." Thus runs my journal for one 
 day ; and indeed, during several years, there are few 
 pages of the volumes upon which Ashabi's name 
 does not appear prominently. 
 
 " Old " stands as a term of endearment in this case, 
 rather than as giving a true estimate of the lady's 
 age. She cannot have lived much over forty years, 
 and she does not look so old as she is. She has a 
 small, neat figure ; her movements suggest a woman 
 of twenty-five ; and her face, were it not marked 
 deeply by small-pox, would also be very youthful. 
 
 Still, all being said, as she has two grown-up sons 
 and two married daughters, and has been for twenty 
 years a widow, I can hardly claim for this heroine 
 that she has youth in her favour. Nor has she 
 beauty : small-pox, even when it spares the life of 
 its victim, ruthlessly destroys skin and complexion. 
 
 21 
 
1 62 ASHABI. 
 
 In Ashabi's case, I doubt whether at any time she 
 had much to boast of in regard to outward form. 
 When her name first appears in my journal, she is 
 described as plain and insignificant-looking, with a 
 " dour " expression of countenance, and very little to 
 recommend her, save that she could already read 
 and write her own language, and was quick and 
 diligent as a pupil. She was a religious woman in 
 the Mahometan sense of the term, was most punc- 
 tilious in regard to the hours of prayer, studied the 
 Koran faithfully, was devoted to the memory of the 
 Prophet, and showed the strongest aversion to the 
 name of Jesus Christ in any connection, save as one 
 of the prophets. She could pour forth traditions 
 upon every conceivable subject, and, needless to add, 
 knew far more than I did about Adam and Noah, 
 Abraham and Moses. 
 
 For long her opposition to our teaching tried my 
 patience sorely ; her ready intelligence when working 
 at any other subject rendered the more apparent her 
 bitter and rigid attitude towards the Bible lesson. 
 It affected the whole circle more or less ; it affected, 
 more than I was willing to own, my comfort even in 
 preparing the lesson. 
 
 The change in such cases is as a rule very gradual, 
 and takes place almost unconsciously to both teacher 
 and pupil. With Ashabi my experience was quite 
 
ASHABI. 163 
 
 the reverse. On one day she was the most bitter 
 opponent of the Bible amongst our pupils ; on the 
 next she brought me a copy of St. Luke's Gospel, 
 with a friendly smile and the words, — 
 
 " I wish to read the Injil, Missie Bai." 
 
 " This is the same Injil which I read with the 
 children, Ashabi, and which you have always dis- 
 liked so much." 
 
 " I know it is the same, and I wish to read it now. 
 The type of this copy is very small, and I thought 
 you would perhaps give me a larger copy." 
 
 " Certainly, Bibi," I said ; " you shall have one at 
 once. Will you tell me what has made you so sud- 
 denly change your mind ? " 
 
 " Yes, Missie Bai. Ishmael, my son, brought me 
 this copy last evening, and said, ' Mother, read this 
 Injil. You need not have any fear. It is beautiful 
 and good.' So I promised my son to read the 
 book." 
 
 " And how had Ishmael seen the book ? " I asked. 
 
 " He belongs to a club of young men who have 
 not had much education, and who read together to 
 increase their knowledge. They have just finished 
 reading the Injil." 
 
 Truly it was a day of good tidings — my most 
 hopeless pupil completely changed, and, better still, 
 news of a society of young men unconnected with 
 
164 ASHABI. 
 
 missionaries, and unknown to them, meeting to- 
 gether to study the history of Jesus Christ. There 
 was something touching, too, in this boy's desire 
 that his mother should read what had so deeply 
 interested himself. 
 
 No time was lost in procuring a copy of the 
 Gospel in larger type, and my offer to read it with 
 Ashabi was accepted gratefully. From that time 
 onwards, on every possible day, I devoted ten 
 mmutes to this pupil. Our plan of study was 
 simple. No explanations were made, save such as 
 were necessary to the understanding of the passage 
 read ; if the meaning was not clear, the verses were 
 read over a second and even a third time slowly 
 and carefully. Sometimes we would retrace our 
 steps a chapter or two, in order to understand not 
 only a special incident or parable, but the events or 
 circumstances which led to it. Ashabi's method of 
 study was a constant lesson to myself, as was her 
 whole mental and spiritual history from the day 
 upon which her opposition to Jesus Christ and His 
 gospel was withdrawn. The change in her attitude 
 was as complete as it was unexpected. It always 
 appeared to me that the moment of her consent to 
 read the Gospel, whatever internal conflict this may 
 have implied, was the moment of Christ's victory. 
 From the day on which we began to read the early 
 
ASHABI. 165 
 
 chapters of St. Luke's history — hard chapters for 
 either Jew or Mahometan — all was accepted simply 
 and literally, prejudice was gone, sympathy was 
 intense, her tone in reading became as reverent and 
 tender as it had been hard and defiant As for 
 the cherished Koran, it somehow reached the upper 
 shelf of the bookcase, and was ere long half-hidden 
 under loose papers and thick dust. 
 
 I am tempted to extract some of her remarks 
 from my journal : — 
 
 " I like the stories of the casting out of devils, for 
 Satan has, I think, special power over us Mussul- 
 mans. Our children are specially possessed. They 
 come to us like wild beasts, and w^e hardly know 
 how to make them human." * Then, very tenderly, 
 " But He cast out the devils. They cannot be where 
 He is." 
 
 " Missie Bai, I read late last night about the 
 sufferings and death of Jesus the Messiah — at least, 
 I tried to read, but could not. It was dreadful that 
 He should come to us to be so treated ! And when 
 I thought, ' I too am one of the same race,' I closed 
 the book and put it away ; the thought was ter- 
 rible." 
 
 " I seem to know Jesus the Messiah." 
 
 " I think you do know him, Bibi. Will you tell 
 
 * This is a libel upon Mahometan children. 
 
1 66 
 
 ASHABI. 
 
 me what He does for you when you think of 
 Him?" 
 
 " He calms me." 
 
 " ' Besides women and children.' You English- 
 women don't know what that means, Missie Bai. I 
 think these words were put in for Mussulmans ! " 
 
 ''9 
 
 Some of the mental struggles through which 
 Ashabi passed were severe, and, as with us all, there 
 were both defeats and victories. 
 
 When her younger son reached a marriageable 
 
 age, she began to look 
 around amongst her ac- 
 _ _ quaintances for a suit- 
 
 ^^p.-. y W^, : .; able bride for him. The 
 
 ^^ '^^^ J^ child whom she fixed 
 
 upon was a pupil in 
 one of our mission 
 j' schools — a very sweet, 
 
 dainty little creature of 
 about nine years of age. 
 Ashabi approached the 
 parents before she mentioned the matter at all to 
 me, for she knew well my views on the subject of 
 child-marriage. They agreed to the match on con- 
 dition that the betrothal and wedding should take 
 place with no further delay than was involved in 
 
ASHABI. 167 
 
 making the necessary preparations. Ashabi now 
 took me into her confidence, and explained her 
 motives in truly Jesuitical fashion. 
 
 "You see, Missie Bai, I am most anxious to have 
 the training of the child myself She comes here as 
 my daughter, not as Ishmael's wife, and it will be 
 my happiness to teach her. Then she will be in 
 your care too, and out of the hands of a most ig- 
 norant father and mother." 
 
 All of which was true ; but the apologetic tone, 
 and a certain return of the old hardness, showed that 
 Ashabi's sense of right was being violated, and that 
 these were but excuses made to her conscience and 
 to me. I watched the struggle anxiously, and re- 
 gretted deeply when the marriage was celebrated 
 with due solemnity and the usual expense and debt. 
 
 The next glimpse of her inner history amongst my 
 notes is in connection with the visit of a learned 
 Moulvi to our city, who was very successful in stir- 
 ring up the people to greater zeal for their own faith 
 and a deeper distrust of the missionaries. Some 
 account of his work I give in another connection. 
 As I have already hinted, with Ashabi's increasing 
 knowledge of the Christian faith, there was an un- 
 conscious loosening of her hold upon her own re- 
 ligion. Very gradually old customs were dropped, 
 until a day came when, as she told me with some 
 
1 68 ASHABI. 
 
 amusement, she had quite lost count of the months 
 and festivals. " I used to be the person to whom 
 all came for information," she said merrily. 
 
 The Moulvi was not long in the city ere he heard 
 of her, and he sent a special polite invitation to her 
 to call and see him, which she did, like Nicodemus, 
 " by night." 
 
 The usual respectful salutations having been ex- 
 changed, they seemed to have plunged at once into 
 a theological discussion. One would have given 
 much to have overheard it. Her own account of it 
 was something like this : " The Moulvi Saheb told 
 me that he had heard that I read the Gospel, and had 
 given up reading the Koran. Of course I confessed 
 that this was true. I told him that for long I had 
 not wished to read Christian books, but that I had 
 found the Injil good. The Moulvi Saheb is a good 
 man, Missie Bai ; he was very kind and patient with 
 me. He did not say the Injil was not good — that 
 would have made me angry ; but he reminded me 
 that the Moslem faith accepts the Gospel too (al- 
 though learned men have said that it was changed 
 by Christians to suit their belief), and acknowledges 
 Jesus the Messiah to be a great prophet and revealer 
 of God to man. He also reads the Gospel and 
 honours Jesus ; but he says he still believes that 
 God sent one prophet greater than He. I told him 
 
ASHABI. 169 
 
 that I had been thinking so much of Jesus that I 
 had really forgotten all else, and he said this was 
 a great mistake. I ought, while reading the Injil, 
 to continue the study of my own faith too." 
 
 " What did you say to that ? " I asked. 
 
 " I felt that what he said was perhaps true — that 
 I had somehow dropped my own faith without 
 knowing it. And so, Missie Bai, I have got down 
 the Koran, and shall read it with the Gospel." 
 
 Never did learned Moulvi give wiser advice. I 
 watched the progress of events now with an anxiety 
 I might have spared myself For a few days only 
 the Koran and the Gospel lay side by side. Then 
 the former was silently returned to the upper, dust- 
 covered shelf, and the Gospel once more reigned 
 supreme. Neither Ashabi nor I ever referred to 
 this significant fact, but it spoke far more than she 
 could have done of the power of the true to overcome 
 the false. 
 
 Some time later I wished to get a copy of the 
 Koran, and asked Ashabi whether she could pro- 
 cure one for me. There was a slight hesitation in 
 her answer, which made me add that I was willing 
 to pay well for it if necessary. 
 
 " It is not that, Missie Bai, but — will mine do?" 
 
 " But yours is very precious to you, is it not ? 
 You must not part with it." 
 
 22 
 
I/O ASHABI. 
 
 " That is nothing if it serve your purpose. Take 
 mine, Missie Bai," and she brought the old volume 
 down and tenderly dusted it. 
 
 " But you must allow me to pay you for it," I said. 
 
 " No, Missie Bai ; if it is worth anything at all, it 
 is worth more than money. It was given me by 
 my husband when Ishmael was born, and I read it 
 much for many years. It is old, and not worth 
 your acceptance, but take it." 
 
 " And I may give you nothing in exchange for it ? " 
 
 " If Missie Bai would give me the whole Bible in 
 Urdu some day my spirit would be made glad." 
 
 Alas, poor Moulvi Saheb ! and is this all you have 
 gained by your careful teaching ? 
 
 The exchange was effected, and the Bible which 
 took the place of the Koran has been, as Ashabi 
 expressed it, " doing hard work " ever since, being 
 read not only by herself but by a circle of friends 
 to whom it is sent on short periodical visits. " It is 
 becoming difficult to find my own mark amongst 
 them all," she would sometimes say. This was a dif- 
 ficulty of which I was by no means inclined to com- 
 plain. " The more marks the better," I would reply. 
 
 The influence of the teaching and spirit of Christ 
 was greater in Ashabi's case than I can well tell. It 
 revolutionized her nature completely ; it changed 
 
ASHAEI. 171 
 
 her very countenance. Those who saw her less 
 frequently than I did often remarked upon the bright 
 little woman, and one friend who knew her in the 
 old hard days failed to recognize her when they met 
 after the change. Yet the growth was so gradual 
 and so unconscious that I doubt much how far she 
 realized it herself. As for me, the whole was so 
 manifestly God's work that I almost feared with my 
 rough hand to touch it. To this day Ashabi has 
 never said in words, " I am a Christian." Others, 
 even amongst her Mahometan friends, have said 
 it often enough. 
 
 Is she a Christian ? I shall give one more re- 
 miniscence. If it does not answer the question, I 
 cannot. It is the history of the greatest struggle 
 with herself which I witnessed, and it was to me at 
 the time an " infallible proof" of the presence of a 
 living Christ. Only He could have so worked in 
 any human soul. 
 
 We had in the ordinary course of our reading 
 reached the command, '' Love your enemies^ Ashabi 
 paused over the words, and then, as she often did 
 when impressed, read the verse again. 
 
 " That is a command which cannot be taken as it 
 stands," she remarked in a decided tone. 
 
 "Why?" I asked. 
 
 *' Because it is quite impossible to obey it. If 
 
1/2 ASHABI. 
 
 you had an enemy you would know that, Missic 
 Bai." 
 
 " But, Bibi, it is there as a positive command, is 
 it not?" 
 
 " It must be poetry," was her rather sharp reply, 
 " and poetry never means all it says." 
 
 I repressed a laugh, and pointed out the fact that 
 poetry was printed in lines, and that this came as 
 one of a series of commands, all of which appeared 
 to be literally intended. 
 
 Something of the old, hard expression crossed her 
 face, as she said doggedly, — 
 
 " Well, this one is simply impossible. He could 
 not mean it. He must have wished us to remember 
 that, as far as possible, we should make no enemies, 
 and that we ought to be kind and loving to all. 
 Why, Missie Bai, you must have an enemy to 
 know what it means. / have an enemy, and I 
 know. Shall I tell you?" 
 
 " Please." 
 
 " Well, Ishmael is just twenty. He was an infant 
 a few days old when his father died of cholera very 
 suddenly, leaving me with four children and noth- 
 ing to live upon. His sister was rich, and had no 
 children, and it would have been most natural had 
 she offered to help me, for a time at least. Not that 
 I wished her help ; nobody has given me help yet, 
 
ASHABI. 173 
 
 save only" — this with a tender change of tone — 
 " save only God. Well, the body of my husband 
 was not yet carried away when my sister-in-law came 
 in, and before the mourners, and before my children, 
 she insulted me in such a manner as no respectable 
 woman would bear. I could not after that have ac- 
 cepted a cowrie from her, no, not if my infants had 
 been starving. I pointed her to the door, and from 
 that day have neither seen nor heard of her. You 
 know, Missie Bai, how careful a young widow must 
 be of her good name. Were I to speak to that 
 woman, my sons would cry out upon me. It would 
 be as if I acknowledged the insult to be true." 
 
 The case was a hard one, and I felt tongue-tied, 
 save that I reminded her of the insults heaped upon 
 Christ. But bitter memories had been stirred ; and 
 I left her sadly, dreading that she would brood over 
 them and harden her heart against Christ and His 
 teaching. 
 
 Next morning I drove over early, having spent an 
 anxious night myself But that relief of some sort 
 had reached her was apparent at once ; she was as 
 cheerful and brisk as usual. When we were alone, 
 she began at once, — 
 
 " You remember our reading yesterday, Missie 
 Bai ? How hard it was. After you had gone away 
 1 tried to forget it. T cooked a special dinner for the 
 
174 ASIIABI. 
 
 children, I read, and I worked ; but I could get no 
 rest. Then I lay down, and covered my face ; but 
 there was no sleep for me. Those words came one 
 after the other, and wrote themselves upon my heart. 
 Each word was so hard. ' LovE ' (would nothing 
 but LOVE do?) 'Your' (Missie Bai, that meant 
 MY) ' Enemies ;' and I thought of that dreadful 
 day again, and I hated my enemy. I tried to think 
 of other things, but I could not. My rest was gone ; 
 
 I rose and put on my chaddar I could not think 
 
 very much ; but after a little I called Ishmael, and 
 we walked across the city in the darkness, and I 
 knocked at my enemy's door. They had gone to 
 rest, but they rose ; and I crossed her threshold 
 after twenty years, and we made peace." 
 
 The story was told in rather a matter-of-fact 
 fashion ; she entered into no particulars regarding 
 her reception by her enemy, nor was there the slight- 
 est appearance of pride or self-satisfaction in manner 
 or words. That night visit might have been the 
 most commonplace of friendly calls, save that there 
 was a new serenity and calm about her which re- 
 minded one of the sea on the morning after a storm. 
 
 What that storm had been even I could only dimly 
 guess. In India most emphatically a woman's good 
 name 
 
 " Is the immediate jewel of her soul," 
 
ASHABI. 
 
 175 
 
 of which, if robbed, she is " poor indeed ;" and dur- 
 ing that night of anxiety I had never dreamed that 
 the struggle would end as it did. 
 
 That a little of the old nature remained was al- 
 most a relief. It appeared in the only additional 
 remark she vouchsafed on the subject, which was 
 made with a happy twinkle in her eye just as I was 
 leaving the house, — 
 
 " I am very glad my boys have situations and 
 that my daughters are married, Missie Bai ! " 
 
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