Part 3

Again Isa Das shook his head as he made reply,—“I have bought nothing, O my friend!”

“Then thou hast lost thy rupee?” cried Gunga Ram.

“I have not lost it,” said Isa Das with cheerfulness.

“Thou hast not kept, nor spent, nor lost it; then hast thou been so mad as to give it away to some poor neighbour?” asked Gunga Ram, who would not so much as have given away an anna to his own brother.

“I have given it to One who is rich,” replied Isa Das; and he added to himself,—“to One who for our sakes was yet content to be poor.”

“If thou hast given thy good rupee to one who is rich already, thou hast indeed acted the part of a fool!—unless, indeed, he be likely to repay thee thy money with interest,” said Gunga Ram.

“A hundredfold—a thousandfold,” thought Isa Das, as he lifted up his eyes towards heaven. “It is there that I would lay up my treasure.”

VI.

On the following evening there was a great dinner at the bungalow of Manton Sahib. All the English gentlemen of the station were invited, and amongst them came Padre Logan.

There was much talk at the dinner-table on various matters,—the last news from Europe, the state of the crops, the movements of the governor-general, and the chance of a war in Burmah. At last Padre Logan observed to Manton Sahib, to whom he sat opposite, “I hear that yesterday you had a narrow escape from drowning.”

“Yes,” replied Manton Sahib; “I missed the ford when attempting to cross the river, lost my seat in the saddle, and never in all my life felt myself nearer to death than I did when the waters came rushing around me, for I am unable to swim. I believe that I should not have been sitting at this table to-day, had not three ryots, capital swimmers, come to my rescue.”

“And you gave each of them a rupee,” observed Padre Logan.

“Unlucky rupees they were,” cried the commissioner, shrugging his shoulders.

“How so?” inquired Padre Logan, whilst the rest of the company at table became silent in order to listen.

“Why, before the day was over, one of the fellows got drunk on his rupee,” replied Manton Sahib. “He actually attacked my bearers with a stick when I was going home in my palki in the evening, and was so noisy and troublesome that I was obliged to send him to prison.”

“But another of the ryots made a very different use of his rupee,” observed Padre Logan.

“That is to say, he made no use of it at all,” replied the commissioner. “But the very circumstance of his having the money brought the poor fellow to grief.”

“How so?” asked Colonel Miller, an officer who sat at the end of the table.

“A rumour had been abroad,” thus Manton Sahib made reply, “that week after week, and month after month, this ryot, whose name is Gunga Ram, has been saving money, pie by pie. But no one was sure of the matter, for the man’s earnings were so small that it was hard to believe that he should be able to scrape any money together. But it appears that Ya’kub, in his drunkenness, had made it known throughout the bazaar that Gunga Ram, like himself, had received a present from me; and perhaps rumour had turned the one rupee into ten.”

“That is likely enough,” said Padre Logan.

“Be that as it may, poor Gunga Ram had to pay dearly for his love of money,” said Manton Sahib. “About midnight some thieves entered his hut, and searched it, but at first could find nothing in it. Determined to reach the supposed hoard, the villains seized poor Gunga Ram, and cruelly tortured him to make him confess where he had buried his money. In his agony the poor wretch told them the place. The cries of Gunga Ram reached the ears of some of the police, who came to his aid; but before they entered the hut the thieves had made off with the money, and the police found only the miserable Gunga Ram stretched on the ground bleeding and groaning. He was carried off to the hospital at once. Thus you see that I had some cause to say that mine were unlucky rupees.”

“You have told us of the fate of two of the receivers of your gift,” observed the English padre; “let me now tell you something of the third ryot, and of the use which he made of his rupee, which may perhaps be to you yet more surprising.”

“One of the fellows is lodged in an hospital, another in a jail,” said Colonel Miller, laughing; “I suppose that the story of the third will be that he bought a rope with his rupee, and hanged himself in the next mango-grove.”

Most of the rest of the company laughed; but Manton Sahib turned attentively to listen to what Padre Logan was going to say. “What did the third man do with his money?” he inquired.

“He gave it to Padre Ghopal, to help to rebuild the little native church that was thrown down by the flood,” was the padre’s reply.

All the company looked surprised. No one had been surprised to hear of a man getting drunk on bang, or of another being tortured and robbed; but they regarded the poor ryot’s free-will offering to God as a very strange thing indeed.

“I can scarcely believe it,” said Colonel Miller; and his face expressed doubt yet more than did his words.

“I was myself present when Isa Das gave his rupee into the hand of Ghopal,” said the English padre.

“Then I can only say that this ryot gives me a higher opinion of the natives of India than I ever had before,” observed Colonel Miller.

“You see, sir,” said Logan, addressing himself to Manton Sahib, “that not all of the rupees went to the thieves or to the seller of bang.”

Manton Sahib was silent for some moments, reflecting deeply. At the time of his preservation from drowning he had thanked God for saving him from death, but never till he heard of the gift of the poor ryot had he thought of bringing a thank-offering, an acknowledgment of the mercy shown to him by God. The poor man’s piety kindled a feeling of piety in the breast of the wealthy Sahib, even as one torch is kindled by another.

“Are the natives, then, so anxious to have their church built?” the commissioner asked of the clergyman.

“Many wish it to be built,” was Padre Logan’s reply; “but Isa Das is the only one of whom I have yet heard as helping the cause by a gift.”

“Then let his example be followed,” cried Manton Sahib; “and my help shall not be wanting. Tell Ghopal, that whatever sum of money he may succeed in gathering from his native flock for the building of the church before Sunday next, shall be doubled by me.”

“Ghopal will not gather much, I suspect,” observed Colonel Miller to Manton Sahib; “your purse will not be greatly lightened.”

“Whether the sum be small or great, I will keep to my promise,” said the commissioner; “and the heavier the drain on my purse, the better shall I be pleased.”

VII.

Before the rising of the sun on the following morning, Padre Logan was on his way to the house of Ghopal, to carry to him the news of the commissioner’s promise. Before the sun had set on that day, Padre Ghopal had visited the dwelling of every native Christian in the place, and in every house had told of the poor ryot’s offering, and of the rich commissioner’s offer. Never had such interest and excitement been shown amongst the Christians before. The punishment of Ya’kub, the erring one, and the robbery of the money of the unfortunate Gunga Ram, were known to all; and the story of the three rupees from the lips of Padre Ghopal fell with more effect upon the ears of the hearers than ten sermons might have done. “God is great!” they exclaimed. “Happy is he upon whom rests the blessing of the Most High. Without that blessing, even money may bring but sorrow and shame.”

Padre Ghopal carried with him a bag to receive the contributions of the people. When he started in the morning, there was but one rupee in the bag—that one was the offering of Isa Das; but before Ghopal returned to his home the bag had become a heavy burden, full of pice, annas, and rupees. Those who had never given before now gave with thankfulness and joy.

“I was going to spend much on the marriage festivities of my daughter,” said one; “I will spend less on feasting and show, that I may have something to spare for the work of God. May the Lord Jesus grant His favour to my child; that is far better than dance or feasting could be.”

“I had intended to buy a new horse,” said a baboo; “but I will make my old pony carry me yet another year. I will ride him with pleasure; and mounted upon him, will go from day to day to see the house of God rising from its ruins, for I shall have put many bricks in that church.”

Margam, the mother of Padre Ghopal, had no money to give; but, with a happy smile, she drew from her arm a silver bangle, and dropped it into the bag of her son. “Let the silver be changed into bricks for the house of the Lord,” said the pious woman.

Before the appointed Sunday arrived, Padre Logan and Ghopal together, with thankful surprise, counted out the money which had been poured by rich and poor into the treasury of the Lord. The coppers and the silver together, and cowries also, that were found in the bag, amounted to a goodly sum; and when the last rupee had been counted, Padre Ghopal lifted up his eyes to heaven, and exclaimed, “God be praised! He hath answered our prayers even beyond our hopes. There is lying before me in these heaps half of the money required to build up our church!”

“And Manton Sahib will double the amount,” said the joyful Padre Logan. “He is a man who will never flinch back from keeping his promise.”

Padre Logan was right; nor had the commissioner the slightest wish to flinch back from keeping his promise. Manton Sahib rejoiced to help those who were helping themselves. Never had the Englishman written anything with more pleasure than when he dipped his pen and made out a cheque on the Bank of Bengal for the remainder of the sum required to complete the building of the church.

Fast went on the work of building; the church seemed to grow rapidly, as rice when the water rises around it. Every one in the Christian village rejoiced to see its progress, and many who could give no money gave a helping hand to the work.

“This is our own church,” the people would say; “we need no more money from England. We ourselves, with the Commissioner Sahib’s help, have built our house of prayer, and we will support our minister also. It is a good thing to offer freely and joyfully to the Lord. ‘God loveth a cheerful giver’” (2 Cor. ix. 7).

Before the rainy season arrived the little church was built and roofed in; and there was a glad gathering of all the people to celebrate the opening of the holy house with prayer and songs of praise. Gunga Ram and Ya’kub were there; the one had left his hospital, the other had been dismissed from jail. Gunga Ram had a pale cheek, and a deep scar left by a wound; and poor Ya’kub could scarcely lift his eyes from the ground, for shame covered his face. These two poor ryots joined in the prayer, but their voices were not heard in the songs of joy.

After the meeting was over, Gunga Ram and Ya’kub joined Isa Das, who was standing a little apart, his hands clasped, his face bright with happiness, as he looked at the beautiful building standing where only ruins had been.

“Ah, my brother!” cried Gunga Ram, “this is indeed a day of rejoicing for thee. Behold God hath heard thy prayer, and hath greatly prospered thy work.”

Gunga Ram spoke from the heart, for during the time of his sore sickness and pain God’s Holy Spirit had spoken to his soul. Gunga Ram had resolved that out of his little earnings a tenth part should always henceforth be devoted to holy uses, the support of his pastor, and the relief of the poor. Gunga Ram would seek to lay up for himself treasure in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, nor thieves break through and steal.

“I am as joyous as if I were sultan of the world,” said Isa Das, “when I look on that house, in which I hope that the gospel will be preached from generation to generation.”

“And thou thyself hath built that church,” said Gunga Ram.

“I build a church!—I, who am but a poor ryot!” exclaimed Isa Das in surprise. “Thou dost not well, O Gunga Ram, to speak words of mockery to thy friend.”

“They are not words of mockery, but words of truth,” replied Gunga Ram. “Without thy prayers and thy offering, that church would not have been standing there this day. It is thou who didst build that church.”

“I laid but one brick,” said Isa Das.

“But as from the seed springs the tree, so from that one brick laid in faith and prayer that goodly building hath risen,” said Gunga Ram. “O my brother, I have learned a great lesson whilst lying wounded and in sore trouble,—a lesson which is worth more to me than the nine rupees which the robbers carried away. Our money is as seed-corn which the Lord, the great Land-owner, commits to His servants that they may sow and reap a hundredfold. Ya’kub was as one who grinds the seed-corn and eats it, and lo, his field is brown and bare when the green blade is springing up in the fields of others around him! I was as one who hides his seed-corn till the time for sowing is past, and that which might have brought forth good fruit becomes corrupted and mouldy. But thou, O Isa Das, thou hast been as one who does the bidding of his lord, and in the day of harvest greatly rejoices. For is it not written in the Word of Truth, _He that soweth to his flesh, shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the spirit, shall of the spirit reap life everlasting_?” (Gal. vi. 8.)

III.

The Pugree[14] with a Border of Gold.

It was a happy day for Hassan, the Christian moonshee,[15] when all arrangements were settled for the marriage of his daughter Fatima with Yuhanna, a highly respectable baboo,[16] who held the same faith as himself. Hassan had had a time of great trouble both before and after his baptism; old friends had turned their back upon him, and those who had often eaten his bread had crossed to the other side of the road when they saw him. Reproach had been cast upon his name, and sharp words had pierced his soul like a sword. Yet Hassan had held fast to the faith which he had embraced; he had borne losses and endured reproach, strengthened by prayer,[17] and helped by the counsels of Alton Sahib, the English friend who had first placed a Bible in the hands of his moonshee. The storm of persecution had now passed over; men ceased to revile one whom they could not but respect; Hassan earned a comfortable livelihood by teaching; and now his daughter’s betrothal to the baboo whom above all others he preferred for a son-in-law, was as a crown to his prosperity.

“We will have a grand wedding, O Margam,” said Hassan to his wife; “a great _tamasha_,[18] and plenty of feasting!”

“And my daughter shall have goodly garments, meet for the bride of Yuhanna,”[19] said the smiling Margam. “She shall have a shawl woven at Amritsar, and embroidery from Delhi, and slippers worked in blue and silver, such as are worn by the begum.”[20]

“And what shall I have, O father?” cried little Yusuf, the youngest child of the moonshee, and dear to his heart as the light of his eyes.

“Thou at the wedding of thy sister shalt have a new pugree with a border of gold,” said Hassan, bending down to kiss fondly the brow of his child.

“For the wedding festivities and the goodly garments money must be borrowed,” observed Margam, who knew that the expenses to be incurred would amount to a sum much greater than her husband could earn in a year by teaching.

“Yes, I must borrow,” said Hassan calmly, but with a look of thought. “To whom shall I go for the money?”

“To Nabi Bakhsh,” suggested Margam.

“Not to Nabi Bakhsh, of all men!” exclaimed the moonshee; “he is an usurer who would squeeze juice out of a date-stone! Not to Sadik, for I owe him five rupees already.”

“There is the English Sahib; he is a great friend of my lord,” observed Margam; “surely when he hears that the money is required for a wedding-feast he will be ready to lend.”

“And Alton Sahib is able to do so,” cried Hassan; “his salary is five hundred rupees a month, and I doubt that he spends more than three. He has the smallest and worst bungalow in the station, and keeps fewer servants than a clerk on the railway would do. The Sahib must be laying up money; and he is so much my friend that I am sure that he would help me in this my need. To-day is a holiday in the school where I teach; my time is therefore my own, and I will go at once to the Sahib.”

“And as you come back by the bazaar, O father,” cried the eager little Yusuf, “be sure that you do not forget to buy for me the pretty new pugree with a border of gold.”

“I will not forget it, O my child,” said the moonshee with a smile, as he rose to depart.

Hassan had pleasant thoughts whilst he went on his way towards the bungalow of Alton Sahib. He considered how the Lord had brought him through all his troubles, and after the storm of adversity had given the sunshine of joy to His servant. “Those who despised me will envy me now,” thought Hassan; “my daughter is to marry a good man and a prosperous man, and the grand feast which I shall prepare will show to all that this is an occasion of great joy and rejoicing.”

When Hassan came in sight of the little bungalow of Alton Sahib, his thoughts flowed in another channel.

“It is strange that a government Sahib should choose to live in a place little better than a stable,” said the moonshee to himself. “That bungalow is only fit for owls and rats, and will come down in the next rains. The Sahib is at home, I see, for there is the syce[21] leading away his horse from the door. Horse, did I call it! How can an English Sahib ride such a wretched tattú?[22] The tall man’s feet must almost touch the ground as he rides. There is only one thing which I do not like about Alton Sahib. He is as good a Christian and as true a friend as ever trod the earth, but he must have a close fist, and be uncommonly fond of his money. I never hear of his entertaining a friend: and he seems to make his coat last for ever; I wonder whether he ever intends to buy a new one! I like a Sahib to spend freely, and never take to counting the pice. Does not the Bible say, ‘Lay not up for yourselves treasures on earth’? Why does one who loves God as the Sahib does hoard up his money thus? It is a grievous fault in the Sahib.”

Hassan forgot the Sahib’s fault when he stood in his presence, met his kindly smile, and heard his hearty congratulations on the approaching marriage in his family. Hassan was asked to take a seat; there were but two chairs in the room, which was very poorly furnished indeed.

Alton Sahib listened smilingly to all that Hassan had to tell him about the baboo who was to become his son-in-law,—how much respected he was by all, and how much property he had in his village. But the smile passed from the Sahib’s face when Hassan, after much other conversation, told the object of his visit, and asked for a loan of two hundred rupees.

“I have not the money,” said the Sahib gravely; “and if I had, it would be against my conscience to lend it.”

Hassan could scarcely refrain from an exclamation of surprise. He glanced round the room in which he sat, and Alton Sahib, who quickly read the minds of men, perceived that in that of the moonshee was arising the thought, “Can the Sahib be speaking the truth?”

The face of the Englishman flushed; he hesitated for several moments, as if it were a painful effort to him to utter that which he was about to say.

“Hassan, I seldom speak to any one about my private affairs,” said the Sahib at last; “but I believe that it will be better both for you and for myself if I do so now. You think me close-handed and unwilling to part with my money; you may even think me insincere, and therefore a most inconsistent Christian; but I spoke but truth when I said that I had no money. The fact is”—the Sahib lowered his voice as he went on—“the fact is, that I am in debt to a friend;” and the flush on the young man’s brow and cheek deepened as he uttered the words.

Hassan’s surprise was now twofold; he wondered how the prudent Sahib could have got into debt, and he wondered why any one should blush to own that he had done so. There was nothing shameful to Hassan in the idea of being in debt; like many of his countrymen, he thought it a very small matter, scarcely a misfortune, and not in the least degree a disgrace. It was clear that debt was not regarded in the same light by the English Christian.

It had often been a matter of regret to Alton Sahib to see how lightly debt weighed on the consciences of many in India. He took a deep interest in the spiritual welfare of Hassan, whom he regarded as a brother in Christ. “Shall I see my brother sin, and not tell him of his error?” thought Alton Sahib. “Debt in this land is as the canker-worm in the grain, or the hidden abscess in the human frame. I can best show Hassan how I abhor it by letting him know what efforts I have myself made, and am now making, to get rid of the plague.”

“I feel it due to myself to let you know something of the circumstances that involved me in the debt from which I am, and have been for years, struggling to free myself,” said the young Sahib, after another pause. “When I was in Calcutta, not long after my first arrival in this country, I was robbed at a hotel of all the ready money which I possessed. This was, of course, a source of annoyance to me, but not of serious difficulty, as I had a wealthy friend in a station in Bengal, who would, I knew, at once advance whatever I required to pay my hotel-bill, and to take me up to the Punjaub, the province to which I had been appointed. I believed that the loan would be very soon repaid by my father in England.”

“Your excellency’s mind must have been quite at rest in the matter,” observed the moonshee.

“As I dipped my pen,” continued the Sahib, “to write to my friend the judge to ask for a loan of three hundred rupees, the very smallest sum that would suffice to cover needful expenses, a servant brought in letters from England. I laid down my pen and opened the first one, little guessing the heavy news which it would contain. The letter informed me that, by the failure of a bank, all my father’s property, the savings of many years, had been swept away; and that he who had risen in the morning believing himself to be in affluence, had lain down at night in a state of poverty, which illness made more distressing.”

“Alas! the news was heavy indeed!” exclaimed Hassan.

“My father has since been called to that happy home where there is no more trial,” said Alton Sahib with a sigh; “he had laid up treasure in heaven, in that bank which never can fail. But at the time of which I speak his need was pressing; I wrote to the judge in haste, but instead of borrowing, as I had intended, three hundred rupees with the assurance that the money would be repaid in two months, I asked for the loan of five thousand rupees, to be repaid I knew not when, that I might send home help at once to my sick and afflicted father.”

“And the Judge Sahib gave the money?” asked Hassan.

“At once, most generously, most readily,” replied the young English Sahib; “nor do I believe that he would ever ask me for one rupee of the money again.”

“All is well, then, your excellency,” observed Hassan; “the Judge Sahib is rich, he needs not the money, the matter is no trouble to him.”