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A LITTLE LAMP.
ISA DÁS, as has been related, had been much despised and abused after becoming a Christian; and even after the first excitement after his baptism had passed away, when prevailing sickness made even enemies avail themselves of his medical skill, it was not forgotten that he was one who had broken caste. Hindus took his medicines as if they feared pollution, and if they gave in return cowries or pice, they dropped them into the Christian's hand, avoiding oven the touch of one whom they deemed unclean.
But when the rumour spread through the town that Isa Dás was going to quit it, that he was now the confidential Munshi of a grand Government Sahib, in whose service he was sure to make heaps of rupees, a great change came over his neighbours.
"Trust my word for it, Isa Dás will make his fortune at last!" cried the woman who had been the first to bring to him her almost expiring child. "This morning I saw him walk through the bazaar, looking like a fakir, with clothes that would hardly hold together. This evening he is wearing a good turban, and a blanket with a border of red, and looks like a sardar. We did not value him enough while we had him, and now he is going away!"
"Hae! Hae!" sighed her neighbour, who had once been vociferous in abuse of the newly-made Christian. "Who will now come to us in our need? Who will ease our pain, and give back health to the sick, and watch by the dying? Alas! That Isa Dás should leave us!"
Is it not written that "When a man's ways please the Lord, He maketh even his enemies to be at peace with him"? (Prov. xvi. 7).
Isa Dás had a good many farewell visits to pay, but his time for preparation was so short that he could only go to a few. Amongst these few was Gopal, the kahar.
"We are never likely to meet again in this world; would that I had any sure hope of a meeting in the next!" said Isa Dás. "I have talked with that man, I have prayed for him, I have tried to lead him to Christ; but I sometimes fear that the seed of the Word has been with him like that sown by the wayside, which the birds of the air carried away."
When Isa Dais reached Copal's door, to his surprise and pleasure, he heard within the mud-built dwelling the familiar voice of his missionary friend. Isa Dás entered through the low doorway, and as he stood in the half-darkened room, he heard the sick man thus answer some question put by the missionary.
"O sir! It was goodness—mercy—love that drew me towards the Saviour. I remember the proverb, 'As the Goru is, so is the disciple;' as is the Deity, so is the worshipper. I thought, 'if all men should follow the examples of Khrishna and Mahadeo, the world would not be fit to live in; if all women were like the goddesses Kali and Doorga, the land would be running with blood. If theft, lying, and murder be crimes in a human being, can they be worthy of gods?'"
"The deities whom you speak of never existed; they are but the creation of men's minds, and those very wicked polluted minds," said the missionary. "He must have been deeply sunk in vice indeed who could even imagine such wickedness as your so-called religious books attribute to the false gods whom you worship."
"I only worship the one true God," replied Gopal faintly. "I cast myself, sinner as I am, at the feet of the Holy One who died for sinners."
"Has this change come from the teaching of your friend Isa Dás?" asked the missionary, who saw the Christian standing within the dwelling.
"Not so much from his teaching as from his life," replied the kahar. "He told me that his Master the Lord Jesus was holy, and I saw that the servant also is holy. He told me that the Blessed One went about doing good, and I saw that His disciple followed in His steps. He told me that the Saviour endured wrong and insult, and in dying prayed for His enemies; I saw Isa Dás bearing persecution in silence, and doing good to them who did evil to him. Then I said in my heart, 'Surely this religion is divine! It is on the good tree that good fruits grow.' From Isa Dás I have learned that from a pure faith comes a holy life, and it is therefore, O Sahib! that I wish to be baptised and confess Christ before all, ere I die."
On hearing this, Isa Dás rejoiced greatly in spirit; he saw that he had neither spoken nor suffered in vain. He knelt down by the charpai of the dying kahar, and pressed his wasted hand, while from the Christian's heart fervent thanksgiving arose that another precious soul had been drawn out of the slavery of sin, into the glorious freedom of God.
"Isa Dás, I see that you have not forgotten that word of the Lord, 'Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven,'" (Matt. v. 16), said his missionary friend.
"My light; oh, it is unworthy of the name!" exclaimed Isa Dás, shrinking more from praise than he had done from persecution. "My light is as the feeble spark in the earthen lamp, the lamp made of the clay which is in itself so worthless that men trample it under foot! What was I a year ago but a poor idolater, a worshipper of Shiv, with his mark on my forehead!" *
* Natives often draw lines on their foreheads, and from these lines being horizontal or perpendicular may be known which of the false gods they specially adore.
"And now," said his friend, "on that brow the water of baptism has been sprinkled, the sign of the cross has been made. Hereafter, through the merits of Christ, there may the crown of glory shine! God grant that both to you and this new believer may be fulfilled the promise made to Christ's redeemed, 'His servants shall serve Him, and they shall see His face, and His name shall be in their foreheads'" (Rev. xxii. 3, 4).
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GANESH THE MILKMAN.
ISA DÁS started on his travels, but not before he had had the joy of seeing poor Gopal admitted by baptism into the Christian Church. The two parted, not indeed without sorrow, yet cheered by the hope of meeting again in a world where sickness and death are unknown.
Mr. Madden's duty was to travel through districts visited by famine, to start relief works, and see what else could be done for the suffering people. It was said that he carried in his camel trunks lakhs and lakhs of rupees of Government money. As around the jar of honey swarm innumerable flies, so around the Sahib came numbers, not only of the poor, but sellers of grain, sellers of rice, contractors, and all those people who pay court to the powerful and rich.
Isa Dás was Mr. Madden's confidential servant, and every one looked upon him as a door by which they could gain entrance into a treasury of favour. His recommendation could procure an audience with his master; a word from him, it was supposed, would cause extortion to be winked at, and raise the unworthy to a lucrative post. Never had Isa Dás, even before becoming a Christian, received so much honour as he did now; never had he heard so many flattering words. Instead of titles of contempt, he was now called huzur (your highness), Maharaja, and provider for the poor.
And not only low salams and compliments were offered, but rupees and many other gifts by which men try to bribe the favour of those who can aid them to make unlawful gains. Great was the amazement of greedy bunniah and cheating contractor to find that the native Christian would not so much as touch a bribe. Isa Dás steadily refused to receive any present. As he had before given up his profitable occupation of writing charms as being an acted lie, quite unworthy of a Christian, so he now prayerfully resolved never to be persuaded to accept any species of bribe.
Isa Dás was regarded as a fool by those who could not understand his motives, and by no one more so than by Fath Shah, the Sahib's Mahomedan bearer.
"It is only the blind man who tramples on the coin that lies in his path, as if it were not worth the picking up," said the bearer, who had always a sharp eye for his own interest. "Your salary is but ten rupees; if you were clever, you could make it fifty at least." *
* I had written thirty; but my more experienced native critic induced me to alter the number to fifty.
"There are some gains that prove losses in the end," said Isa Dás, "and some cleverness that turns out to be worse than folly. I do not care to follow the example of Ganesh, the seller of milk."
"What was done by Ganesh?" asked the bearer, who, as he sat smoking his hookah, was glad to listen to a story.
"Ganesh was the possessor of a rare cow, of which the milk was so rich and good that he was ordered to bring some twice every day to the palace for the special use of the Rajah's little daughter. Ganesh was well paid, yet was he not satisfied with his honest gains. He said to himself one morning, as he was carrying the milk in a brazen vessel on his head, 'I have two seers of milk on my head now; my cow gives less than she gave last week, and my profits will be less. But how easily by adding a little water I could make my two seers into three.'"
"He was the son of an owl not to have thought of that before," said Fath Shah. "Is there any seller of milk in all Hindustan so foolish as not to mix it with water?"
Isa Dás, without replying, went on with his story. "So Ganesh went on to a little stream that was flowing from a fountain near and filled up his brazen vessel with water; then, with a satisfied mind, carried his three seers' weight to the palace."
"Yours is not much of a story," said Fath Shah. "Such things happen everywhere, and on every day of the year."
"You have not yet heard the end," said the Christian. "After spending some hours in gossip, and making purchases in the bazaars with the money paid for the milk, Ganesh was returning to his home, when he was suddenly seized by the officers of justice on a charge of murder. The little princess and two of her attendants had been taken violently ill after partaking of the milk. The attendants suffered greatly; the poor little princess died."
"How could it have happened!" exclaimed the bearer.
"The wretched Ganesh was put to the torture, and in his agonies confessed that he had mixed the milk with water taken from a certain spring. The spring was examined, and a few feet higher up than the place where Ganesh had filled up his vessel was found the bloated body of a dead serpent, whose venom had mixed with and poisoned the water. The Rajah, full of anger and grief at the loss of a favourite child, put the wretched Ganesh to death."
"I do not see what your story has to do with taking dasturi, or fingering bribes," said the bearer.
"The connection is this," said the Christian. "All unrighteous gains have in them the venom of sin, and though for a while unseen, like the poison in the milk, for every ill-gotten pice we shall have one day to give an account. He whom we Christians own as our Lord once asked the solemn question, 'What shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?' (Mark viii. 36-37). I value mine at far more than fifty rupees a month, nor would risk it for a crore (ten millions) of rupees."
"Your silly scruples will bring you to poverty," said the bearer.
"No fear of that," said the Christian; "it may indeed make me seem poor as regards rupees, but in reality I shall be no loser, for it is written, 'The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it'" (Proverbs x. 22).
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AN ACCEPTABLE OFFERING.
WHEN Isa Dás received his first month's salary from his master, he felt himself indeed a rich man. Every pice of it had been honestly earned. As he tied up the silver in his kamarband many thoughts regarding the use of money came into the mind of Isa Dás. He was truly a Christian, and, therefore, looked at the matter in a Christian point of view.
"I have now no wife or children to support, and this money is more than enough to supply my needs, unless I choose to eat richer food, wear finer clothes, and instead of using my own feet hire a tatoo (pony). Can I do nothing better with my money? My Saviour used to say 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.' It is a blessing to receive a regular salary, but in spending it well, we may find a greater blessing still."
As Isa Dás went about his daily occupations, he still thought and thought, "What shall I do with my money? When I was a Hindu how much I spent on pilgrimages and melás, and feasting fat Brahmins! Going to the Hurdwan melá * cost me hundreds of rupees, and almost my life! If the Hindus make sacrifices for their religion, shall the follower of Christ do less for his? The Lord, when He left heaven to save us, 'though he was rich, yet for our sakes he became poor.' For us He gave up glory, happiness, yes, life itself, and shall we give up nothing for Him? O Lord! Let me count it not only my duty but my delight to lay my little offerings at Thy feet!"
* For some particulars of this melá see note at the end.
Isa Dás resolved from that day, that every tenth rupee that he earned, he would regard not his own, but the Lord's; he would look upon his salary as nine rupees. This was his simple duty, he felt that he could not do less. But the Christian was not contented with this. He would not merely give that of which he would never feel the loss; he resolved to live simply and deny himself unnecessary indulgences, in order that he might have more to give away.
"But in what way shall I spend my offering?" thought Isa Dás. "I see plenty of misery around me, so much that my money seems but as a drop given to a thirsty camel. My master is engaged every day in distributing Government relief in very large sums. If I only knew of some one in need who is not likely to be found amongst the crowds of noisy beggars, if, above all, I could find some servant of Christ in want, how much better to bestow my small alms there, where every anna would tell."
Isa Dás then remembered that his missionary friend had asked him to search out a poor family of native Christians living in a village five or six miles from the town at which he was staying.
"These respectable people may be in great need," said Isa Dás to himself, "and yet held back from actual begging. I will at least go and see them, if I can get leave from my master to visit the village of Paniput, such, I remember, was the name of the place where dwells Ditu the Christian."
Isa Dás presented himself before Mr. Madden, and requested a few hours' leave of absence.
"You are quite welcome to spend the rest of the day as you please," said the Sahib. "I am myself going to take a holiday to enjoy a little shooting. I have heard that a wild elephant has been doing great mischief in the neighbourhood, so am about to take my men and beat the jungles. Would you not like to come with the party?"
Isa Dás would have liked it very much, for he had never before had a chance of seeing such sport, but he thought it better to take the present opportunity of finding out Ditu. He therefore declined the Sahib's offer, as it was not a command, but was a little hurt when he was about to start for the village to hear Fath Shah's jesting remark that the Christian was wise no doubt in choosing some safer kind of amusement than that of hunting a rogue elephant.
The feeling of annoyance soon passed away. As Isa Dás made his way over the fields, according to directions which he had received, his heart was even as a bird that on a rosebush singeth for joy.
"What am I, a poor sinner," thought he, "that God should show me such marvellous kindness! While so many want, He bestoweth on me enough and to spare! He crowneth me with loving-kindness and tender mercies! He hath shown me the path of life, and made me glad with the Gospel of mercy. Surely there is not one in this world who hath more cause to bless and praise the Lord for His goodness!"
Isa Dás reached the mud-built village before the hour of sunset. He knew that he should have bright moonshine to light him on his return, therefore there was no need to hasten back. His first object now was to find out in what part of the village dwelt the Christian family.
He saw a man by a well, driving his buffaloes round and round, while the water fell from the Persian wheel, to irrigate his little patch of ground. Approaching this man, Isa Dás was about to ask the question, "Where dwells the zemindar, Ditu?" when a sound which reached his ears made the question needless.
From a rude mud hut near, came the music of a bhajan (a kind of Hindu song), voices young and old were singing, "Jesus Christ has saved my soul?"
"I need no other guide!" thought Isa Dás. "In this poor place Christians are singing the Saviour's praises. Let me join them, they will not treat me as a stranger, for a holy tie unites all those who love the Lord Jesus."
Seating himself close to the open doorway, Isa Dás joined in the well-known bhajan. He was not long suffered to remain outside. Ditu—for the dwelling was his—made his brother in the faith come in, and Isa Dás was soon prostrating himself in worship with the only Christian family in that village.
When Ditu's simple prayer was ended, and all had risen from the posture of devotion, the zemindar asked a few questions of him who had so unexpectedly joined them. The mention of the missionary's name was enough for an introduction, had any been needed.
In a few minutes the two Christians were conversing together as freely and as pleasantly as if they had been friends of long standing. The conversation lasted while Ditu's young daughter, Tara, busied herself in preparing the evening meal.
"You have prayed with us, you will not refuse also to eat with us?" said the zemindar to Isa Dás.
Isa Dás gladly consented to remain to this the only meal of which this needy family partook through the long day, for the famine pressed heavily also on them. Isa Dás wished to see more of these Christians, for their humble home seemed to him like an oasis in the midst of a desert. Here was no separation between husband and wife, parents and children, there was neither praying apart nor eating apart. In that home the wife's subjection was that of love, and the maiden's pardah that of modesty.
The first glance of Isa Dás at the place showed him that the abode was one of poverty; the second glance that it was the abode of peace. There was unwonted cleanliness also; in this, the hut presented a great contrast to the house in which had dwelt the far wealthier oilman.
The meal was but of rice, served on plantain leaves, and hospitality to the stranger made the small portions of parents and children smaller still. Nothing was touched till Ditu had reverently thanked God for the food provided. Then, indeed, little time was lost, the younger children ate eagerly, and, all too soon, every grain of rice disappeared from the leaves.
Isa Dás left nothing on his green plate, but he took care to leave something beneath it. He smiled to himself as he hid his offering under his leaf to think what surprise and pleasure it would cause in the hut when they found that their plantain bore silver fruit!
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THE WILD ELEPHANT.
ISA DÁS left the mud hut with very pleasant feelings. It was the first time that he had seen a native Christian family, for in his own town he had been the only convert. He had known Christianity in its power to sustain and comfort; he now saw how it can beautify and brighten even the humblest lot.
"However poor he may be, Ditu is a happy man," thought Isa Dás, "and he who weds the modest Tara will be a happy man too."
Isa Dás did not now at all regret having missed the sport of hunting for the wild elephant. He had heard a good deal about it at Ditu's house, for the exploits of this formidable creature formed a topic of conversation in every village in the district. It appeared that this elephant had been captured some time before, and partially tamed, but that he had apparently gone mad. He had snapped his tether, killed his mahout, and had then rushed off to the jungle. There he had since taken up his abode, a terror to the villagers around, for he not only devoured sugar-canes and trampled down crops, but he attacked every human being whom he met.
A reward had been offered by Government for the destruction of such a dangerous animal, but hitherto all attempts to kill him had failed. It was believed that several bullets were lodged in his body, but they appeared to have no effect unless that of rendering the beast more savage. It was a dangerous and difficult thing to follow him up to his haunts.
"I wonder where this fierce brute is hiding now?" thought Isa Dás. "He was last heard of three cos from this village, when he killed a poor fellow who was driving a bullock-waggon. Three cos is no great distance for an elephant to traverse. He would be an awkward customer to meet on a lonely road."
Even as the thought passed through the mind of Isa Dás, he heard a sound at some distance, as of some large animal breaking through the brushwood. The moon was at the full, and shining with a glorious radiance which made objects almost as distinctly visible as by the light of day. Looking in the direction whence the sounds proceeded, Isa Dás was startled to see the huge head and part of the back of a large elephant above the jungle which he was about to enter.
The animal was moving fast, and towards a spot not far from the place where Isa Dás was standing. The village was quite near, and the traveller's first impulse was to rush back to Ditu's house, which he had quitted not many minutes before. But he was afraid of being overtaken, and in a large mango tree close beside him Isa Dás saw a nearer place of refuge. The tree was too large for the strongest elephant to tear up by the roots. Isa Dás was an active man; he swung himself up into the tree, and in two minutes had mounted up high enough to be out of reach of the elephant's trunk.
The animal did not appear to notice Isa Dás, hidden as he was among the thick green foliage. It was a grand sight, from a place of such safety, to behold the monarch of the jungle bursting forth from his retreat!
The elephant had not seen Isa Dás, but it was clear that the animal had caught sight of some one else, for turning sharply to the right, and trumpeting loudly, he rushed towards the well which has been before mentioned as being at the entrance of the village. Isa Dás from his high position had a clear view of the well, with its silent wheel and brick parapet distinctly seen in the moonlight. A maiden had gone thither with earthen vessel on her head, to draw some water. It was she of whom the elephant had caught sight. The sudden noise startled the poor girl, she dropped her pitcher, and with a shriek of terror fled for her life. But Isa Dás saw that poor Tara—for it was she—had not a chance of escape, for the elephant gained on her at every stride!
"Shall I see her trampled to death before my eyes, without making an effort to save her!" exclaimed Isa Dás.
He shouted at the top of his voice, but the elephant did not turn. Isa Dás could do nothing for the girl, unless he could draw the wild beast's attention upon himself. But to descend from his tree would be like courting certain death. There were but few moments for thought; but in these few moments Isa Dás recalled the Saviour's words, "We ought to lay down our lives for the brethren." With another, yet louder, shout, Isa Dás dropped down from the branch on which he had mounted, and, taking up a stone, flung it with such force and good aim that it rebounded from the monster's tough hide!
The blow did not injure, but it was enough to divert the attention of the elephant to another victim. Leaving the girl, whom he had almost overtaken, the beast turned and rushed straight at Isa Dás, who had no time to mount again into his tree. He felt that he had saved the maiden's life at the cost of his own.
On came the monster at furious speed. Isa Dás's brain reeled; he was conscious of being struck to the earth; he saw the huge uplifted trunk waving above him,— the enormous head descending with deadly force! Then there was the loud report of a gun. The elephant had been struck in the vulnerable part just over the eye, and the bullet had entered the brain. With a scream of pain and rage, he rolled over on his side, and lay a helpless, quivering mass on the plain!
"Alas! I have come too late to save my poor servant!" cried a voice, which was that of Mr. Madden, who now came up with his gun. "I saw the monster strike the poor fellow to the ground!"
It was almost with the astonishment with which he would have beheld a corpse restored to life that Mr. Madden saw Isa Dás rise to his feet, bruised and shaken, indeed, but without a broken bone, or a scratch on his skin.
"This is a miracle!" exclaimed the Englishman.
Isa Dás pointed to the spot where he had lain; two deep holes in the soil showed where the elephant's tusks had entered on either side of his body!
"A hair's-breadth escape, indeed!" cried Mr. Madden. "I gave you up for lost."
"I gave myself up for lost," said Isa Dás; "I had scarcely time to commend my soul unto God; but praised be He who can save to the uttermost both body and soul!"
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TWO MARRIAGES.
THE first visit of Isa Dás to Ditu's home was by no means the last. The family were full of gratitude for the preservation of Tara, and he who had risked his life to save her was always sure of a welcome.
It was a great pleasure to Isa Dás to open his heart to a Christian countryman. He conversed freely with Ditu on the former events of his life, on past trials which he had, as it were, hitherto kept in a locked-up chamber. That chamber was indeed full of painful memories. I will give a brief record of the early days of Shiv Dás, the Hindu, that the reader may contrast them with those of Isa Dás, the Christian.
Shiv Dás was married when he was but seven years old. The child's wedding took place with all the ceremonies which Hindus deem suitable, and all the show in which they delight. The bridegroom's procession extended for nearly a quarter of a mile; loud was the sound of the tom-toms (drums); and enough of money was spent on feasting and fireworks to have fed the family for years. Many pice were given to beggars, many rupees were bestowed on the priests. All present declared that such a tamasha (show) had never before been seen in that town. The little bride-child was loaded with jewels, and the cost of her outfit left her father in debt to the day of his death!
And what followed the grand wedding? Even as the most brilliant fireworks leave but a few ashes, and, perhaps, an evil savour behind, so was it with the marriage of Shiv Dás. The boy and girl thus wedded never cared for each other. They had but been joined together with a gilded chain; the gilding wore off, the weight of iron remained behind.
Shiv Dás grew up a thoughtful youth with a cultivated mind; he delighted in study. Lachmi was a silly creature, with scarcely a thought beyond what finery she should wear, what jewels she should put on. But she had a sharp tongue and an evil temper. Her presence was to her husband as that of a swarm of wasps who buzz and who sting.
One little girl was born in the house when Shiv Dás was about twenty years old. The child was an object of love to her father, but was utterly neglected by Lachmi, who was grievously disappointed that she had not given birth to a boy.
About two years afterwards, Lachmi set her heart on going to the great Hurdwan melá, and bathing in the sacred Ganges.
Shiv Dás, unlike his more ignorant wife, had little faith in the holiness of the Ganges. He foresaw great trouble and expense, and possible danger, from attending the melá, Hurdwan being at a great distance from his home.
But Lachmi gave her husband no peace till she had wrung from him an unwilling consent. Shiv Dás had to leave his situation and spend all his savings to gratify the wish of his superstitious and pleasure-seeking wife. He took Lachmi and her little one, both adorned in jewels, in a covered bullock-gari to the great melá, at which many hundreds of thousands of Hindus assembled.
That time Shiv Dás could never remember without horror. At first he was dazzled by the show and the glitter, the banners, the music, and the processions, which seemed to be endless. Then Shiv Dás saw things from which his soul revolted, even though he had been brought up as a Hindu.
"Can even the Ganges wash away such sins as I see around me?" he said to himself.
Soon followed what was to Shiv Dás a grievous misfortune. He had gone a short distance to buy some sweets for his child, and a pair of gugurus (anklets, with bells) for her slender feet. What was the father's grief, on his return, to find his little one missing! Perhaps she had been lost in the crowd; perhaps murdered for the sake of her jewels!
In vain, during the rest of that miserable day and the whole of that following night, poor Shiv Dás searched for his lost one amidst that surging mass of human beings. In vain, he made offerings to idols. He never saw his darling again.
More misery was to follow. Lachmi, who felt the loss of her child far less than did her husband, pursued her design of bathing in the holy river. But the rush of thousands and thousands of pilgrims, all bent on the same object, was so terrific, that in spite of the efforts of the police, hundreds were pushed by their companions over a ravine, and miserably perished. Amongst this number was Lachmi; she had had her heart's desire, and it had cost her her life.
Shiv Dás, desolate and almost beggared, attempted to return to his home. But the frightful crowding together of multitudes of pilgrims had produced its natural effect. Disease broke out among the crowds; cholera spread. Shiv Dás, on his homeward way, was attacked by agonising pains, happily near a town, or he would have died, as so many do, uncared for and untended. Being in an hospital, and possessed of a strong constitution, Shiv struggled through the disease, and so was not numbered among the numerous victims to attendance at the great melá.
From that time Shiv Dás altogether lost all faith in the Hindu creed. "The religion which leads men to believe that bathing in a river can remove sin, and so leads to an appalling amount of disease, misery, and vice, cannot be from a good God, but from some wicked spirit, enemy of man!" he exclaimed.
A few years afterwards, as we have seen, Shiv Dás, the Hindu, became Isa Dás, the Christian.
After telling the story of his sorrows one evening to his friend Ditu, after a silent pause the convert remarked, "I had suffered so much from my first marriage that I resolved never to contract a second; and after my baptism the seeming impossibility of finding a Christian partner confirmed me in my resolution. But oh! my brother, since I have entered your home, my resolution has disappeared like dew under the rays of the sun; and I now ask from you the only blessing needed to complete my earthly happiness."
From that hour Isa Dás became the affianced husband of Tara.
———————
The second marriage of the convert was as unlike the first as anything could possibly be. Without any pomp or show, in a little mission church, Isa Dás was united to the zemindar's daughter. The bride's dower was her purity and piety, her ornaments "a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price" (1 Pet. iii. 4). No treasures were spent at the wedding; the bride herself was a treasure, which year by year her husband found increasing in worth. Solomon's description of a good wife might have been the description of Tara,—"Her price is far above rubies; the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her. She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness" (Prov. xxxi.).
So Isa Dás and Tara walked on their heavenly course together, happy in mutual trust and love, happy to see their little ones growing up around them. And they had deeper sources of joy even than these. They were happy because they both had received from the Saviour the pardon of sins; because they were fellow-heirs of His glorious kingdom, where all the children of God—from the north and the south, the east and the west—shall meet together and rejoice together in bliss that never shall end.
———————
To show that the above description of the great Hindu melá is far from being coloured, it is only needful to give a few extracts from a description of the last one which appeared in a Calcutta paper, 24th April, 1879:—
"The multitude which came in at last baffled all calculation. It is now believed that the melá must have numbered between 750,000 and 1,000,000 of souls . . . Bathing at Hurdwan, during such a melá, may be said never to cease. All day on the 11th the police were obliged to be present up to eleven o'clock P.M. They were on the ground again at two o'clock A.M. on the 12th, and from that time till ten o'clock at night they were obliged to remain at their posts. It is said that several of the brave men who worked so hard at the melá have died . . ."
Writing of the Bairagis, the correspondent goes on:—
"These mustered over 10,000 strong. During their passage over the bridge an accident, which was accompanied with serious consequences to some of themselves, occurred. Unable to restrain their enthusiasm, a large number, from 200 to 300 of them, leaped from the bridge into the main current of the canal. Most of those who could swim were taken up at the nearest bridge; but it is feared that a considerable number sank before they could reach it . . ."Just before this took place, another still more serious accident occurred at one of the barriers. This outer barrier stood at the end of a masonry bridge that spans a deep ravine . . . The ravine below the bridge is dry, and about thirty feet in depth . . . The crowd gathered in overwhelming numbers behind this outer barrier, and notwithstanding the efforts of the police to keep them back, kept surging to and fro, till at last the front ranks were pressed outwards through the wooden fence, and some 300 persons were driven headlong into the ravine . . ."But the worst was yet to come. The evening of the 12th, though it witnessed a general exodus from Hurdwan of many who had bathed in the morning, yet witnessed among those who remained a fresh outbreak of cholera . . . Many died during the night . . . The disease did not stop there, and I fear it is still following the retiring pilgrims into all parts of the country."
THE END.