Part 6

Nihál Chand doubted and hesitated. In his secret heart he preferred Pleasure to Purity; yet something within him whispered that it would be both foolish and wrong to part with any portion of the gift of his Father.

When Temptation saw that the Christian Nihál Chand hesitated, he knew that his own object was half gained already. Temptation turned the false stone, Pleasure, in every direction, so that the light should sparkle upon it. Again, in terms of contempt, he spoke of Purity, the pearl, as being only fit for women to wear.

At last Nihál Chand was persuaded to change the pearl for the bit of coloured glass. “Be careful,” said he, “in removing the pearl, not to injure my ruby or my diamond. I care not much for Purity of heart; but Pardon for the past and Heaven for the future are possessions with which I never will part.”

O foolish boast! O worse than foolish deed! Scarcely had Nihál Chand trusted his treasure into the hands of Temptation, ere the treachery of the thief was made clear. The deceiver suddenly darted down the hill, at such speed that the weary Nihál Chand, startled and surprised, had no power to follow. Very soon the deceiver, who had carried off the priceless treasure, was lost to view.

With bitter shame and grief Nihál Chand now returned on his steps, feeling like a lost and ruined man. Oh that he had had but the wisdom to know that purity of character, the health of the soul, is never to be divided from pardon of sin and the promise of heaven, so freely and lovingly offered by God, the all-merciful Father! Christ came to save us from the power as well as from the punishment of our sins.

* * * * *

O reader, have you understood the meaning of my parable, the lesson which is to the story even what the kernel is to the nutshell?

Ask your own heart whether you yourself resemble any one of the four men whose story you now have heard. Have you, like Mulá Mal, refused even to listen to the messenger who would bring you good tidings of pardon and peace through Christ, who came to seek and to save the lost? Will you not even read the Scriptures, to see for yourselves whether the message be true? Do you stop your ears and harden your heart when God’s servant comes to tell you of pardon, purity, and heaven, freely offered to man?

Or are you, like Biharí Lal, almost persuaded that the good tidings are indeed true; and yet, are you inclined to leave the matters that concern the soul to a more convenient season? Are you setting your heart on your merchandise or any worldly gains, when Death, the black camel that kneels at every man’s door, may even now, with noiseless tread, be approaching yours? Alas! remember the Saviour’s solemn warning,—_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?_

Or are you, like Tulsí Rám, a sincere believer in the gift of God, and one who heartily desires to obtain pardon for sin, purity of heart, and heavenly bliss when this short life shall be over? And yet, do you lack courage to take the decisive step which may cause your soul to be wounded by persecution, the step which will perhaps divide you for ever from all that on earth you hold most dear? Do you think that you can keep back from Christian baptism, and yet secure the Christian’s blessing? O weak and trembling believer, forget not the words of Christ the Lord,—_Whosoever shall confess Me before men, him shall the Son of man also confess before the angels of God. Blessed are they that are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven._

But you may be, O reader, one who has bravely passed through the waters of Baptism—you may be one who is now called by the name of Christian. At the foot of the Cross you may have found the treasure which is more precious than all besides. You may have the knowledge of the way to eternal life, you may believe in the Son of God, and you may be resting your hopes of heaven upon His finished work. But even now, oh, stand on your guard, for Temptation is near! An enemy, even Satan, is beside you, who would persuade you that every one who has been baptized is safe, even if his faith (_not living faith_) work no change in his life. The man who is willing to divide purity from pardon and heaven, will, like Nihál Chand, _lose all of the three_! He who wilfully throws away the white pearl, has lost the ruby and the diamond! For thus saith the Holy Saviour, He who is Truth, Righteousness, and Love,—_Not every one that saith unto Me, Lord, Lord, shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven_.

O reader, may God give to you grace to take the Holy Scriptures in your right hand, and the staff of Prayer in your left. May He so guide you by His Holy Spirit, which is promised in answer to prayer, that you may fearlessly and faithfully go on your way, treading under foot the thorns that lie in your path! And may He enable you not only to find, but to hold fast to the end, and wear in your heart, the priceless treasures—even free pardon for every past sin, the promise of a heavenly crown, and that purity of life by which every true Christian must seek to glorify God!

VI.

Jewels Found.

A SEQUEL TO THE STORY OF THREE JEWELS.

With a very heavy heart and sorrowful countenance a man of the name of Tulsí Rám sat in his dwelling. He found no rest by night and no pleasure by day. His hookah[36] brought him no sense of repose. He cared not to go forth to visit his friends. Tulsí Rám scarcely touched the food placed before him by Juwalí his wife.

The heart of the gentle Juwalí was very closely knit to that of her husband. She was as the creeping plant which throws its tendrils round the tall tree; and as the leaves of the two are mingled together, so until now had the thoughts and hopes of Juwalí been mingled with those of Tulsí Rám. Happy the man who has such a wife as Juwalí!

The gentle woman had long watched in silence the sorrow of her husband; she had sighed when she heard him sigh, and grieved because she beheld him grieve. At last Juwalí could keep silence no longer.

“Why is my lord so sorrowful?” she said; “why has sleep fled from his eyes? and wherefore doth he put away food from him? To share the troubles of my lord, would be to me a dearer privilege than to enjoy all kinds of pleasures in an ivory palace.”

Then Tulsí Rám opened his heart to his wife, for he had none other in whom he could safely confide. “Know, O Juwalí!” said he, “that some time since, from beyond the dark water, there came a messenger from my great Father, Kamíl Rahím,—that Father whom I never have seen, but who loves me with exceeding great love. This messenger, whose name is Narayan Das, brought to me and to my three brothers, Mulá Mal, Biharí Lal, and Nihál Chand, the following message:—

“I bring to you, O brothers! good tidings from your great and merciful Father, who ever careth for His children. There is a treasure hidden for you at the foot of a Cross, even jewels of priceless value,—a ruby called Pardon, a pearl called Purity, and a diamond called Heaven. The three jewels are joined together in one setting of gold, and never must be divided one from another. He who wears these jewels over his heart will have safety in danger, perfect health, and become the heir to a glorious throne. The treasure is a free gift from your Father, and each one of you who shall seek for it in the right way shall possess it for his own.”

“These are wonderful tidings indeed!” exclaimed Juwalí; “but did my lord and his brothers believe them?”

“Mulá Mal would not believe,” replied Tulsí Rám; “he would not so much as listen to Narayan Das, or read the letter which the messenger had brought to him from our Father;” and Tulsí Rám, as he spoke, laid his hand on a book called the Bible, which Juwalí had often heard him reading aloud to himself. “Biharí Lal, on the contrary, believed the brave and earnest man who had left his native land, and come through trials and dangers, to bring good tidings to us. But my second brother’s heart was set on his merchandise and his business, and he put off seeking for the treasure till a more convenient season.”

“Alas!” cried Juwalí, “in the midst of all his cares and his pleasures, poor Biharí Lal was smitten by cholera, and he passed away from earth, even as the rain sinks in the sand and is seen no more.”

“When I stood by the funeral-pile of Biharí Lal,” said Tulsí Rám, “I resolved in my heart that I would not delay searching for the treasure as my poor brother had done. I girded myself and set out on my journey. Great was my desire to wear over my heart the jewels of Pardon, Purity, and Heaven.”

Juwalí did not venture to ask, “And did my lord find them?”—for she saw by the anguish written on his face that Tulsí Rám had never possessed the treasure.

“But I found the journey to be one of exceeding difficulty,” continued Tulsí Rám with a sigh. “To possess myself of the promised jewels, I had to cross a river called Baptism, to pass which was to break my caste; and I could not reach it without descending, with much danger and pain, a very steep bank. On this bank grows thickly that plant with exceeding sharp thorns whose name is Persecution, and briers whose names are Loss and Contempt. Juwalí, I went some steps forward; but then I stopped short, for I could not, I dared not go further! The thorns and briers had torn my garments and wounded my flesh. I groaned in the anguish of my spirit. Great as was my longing to possess Pardon, Purity, and Heaven, I could not endure the suffering through which I must pass to win them. I turned back, O wretched man that I am! I turned back;” and Tulsí Rám groaned aloud.

Tears dropped from the eyes of Juwalí. She had heard enough of the Father’s letter, from the lips of her husband, to feel sure that the treasure which he had lost was one of priceless value. Juwalí had even, with great pains, learned to read a little herself from the Book which her husband prized, and she had thought much, by night and by day, over what she had heard and read.

“What makes my shame and grief all the greater,” continued Tulsí Rám after a pause, “is to know that my brave and noble youngest brother, Nihál Chand, has done what I dared not do. He trampled down the thorns under his feet; he heeded not the briers of Loss and Contempt; he pressed on as a strong racer who seeth the goal near, and already heareth the shouts of those who will behold him lay his hand on the prize. He was as a hero who flincheth not in the day of battle. Nihál Chand burst through Persecution; he crossed the waters of Baptism; and now, without doubt, he is wearing the Father’s gift, all his sins pardoned, his virtues shining forth in his life, and his spirit rejoicing in hope of a crown to be worn for ever and ever. I, on the contrary, a wretched coward, shall bewail my weakness to the end of my days, and shall at last perish without pardon, and sink into outer darkness.”

Tulsí Rám smote his breast, for he felt as a criminal who heareth the sentence of death. Then Juwalí who sat at her husband’s feet, lifted up her mild eyes and spake thus:—

“O my lord! surely it is not too late to do now what Nihál Chand has done; it is not too late to arise and go forth to seek the treasure. My lord will take yon staff of Prayer in his hand, and with it beat down some of the briers and thorns. It is far better to have the flesh torn than the heart broken; it is better to suffer for a short space than to be wretched for ever.”

Tulsí Rám listened with some surprise to such brave words from the lips of a woman. Then said he, “Behold, I see _two_ staffs of Prayer. Wherefore should two be provided?”

Then Juwalí blushed and drooped her head, as in a low voice she replied, “I, even I, am ready to go with my lord.”

“Thou!” exclaimed the astonished husband. “Canst thou, feeble woman, endure the thorns of Persecution and the briers of Contempt? Hast thou no regard for thy caste? Thou art weak, and a stranger to the dangers of the world; thou hast ever been sheltered from all troubles, as the pearl shut closely up in its shell.”

Juwalí grasped the staff, and said, though with a trembling voice,—“I am weak, but I can lean hard upon Prayer. As for troubles, will it not be a joy to share them with my dear lord? Let all my neighbours despise me, so that I be but fair in his eyes. As regards caste, surely the highest caste of all is to belong to the family of the Great King. O my lord, let us set forth at once; let us cross the river of Baptism together! I am but a woman; but I have learned from that blessed Book that the great Father loves His daughters as well as His sons; and who knows whether even for me some gift may not be reserved? Unworthy as I am even to look upon them, may not I too, possibly, receive the jewels of Pardon, Purity, and Heaven?”

Then Tulsí Rám, as from a sudden impulse, sprang to his feet. “Shall a woman be ready to leave all, and dare all, and suffer all,” he exclaimed; “and shall a man shrink back like a coward! O Juwalí, light of my eyes! thy voice is like the voice of hope to thy husband. I will follow the example of my brave brother; come what may, we will cross the waters of Baptism.”

Very early in the following morning, before the sun had risen, Tulsí Rám and Juwalí, each with a staff of Prayer in hand, and the husband with the Book in his bosom, started from their home and commenced their journey. The earth was glowing in the bright light of the sun before they reached the top of the bank which overlooked the river of Baptism. By this time the slender frame of Juwalí was weary; but she leaned on her staff, and looked now tenderly at the husband whose steps she followed, now on the glorious sky above her. Juwalí thought of Pardon, Purity, and Heaven, and then she forgot her weariness. Till now Tulsí Rám had walked on in front; but he stopped on the top of the bank, and let his wife come up with him. He feared that she would never have strength to pass through the terrible thorns of Persecution. Tulsí’s own heart was again failing him; but when he looked sadly and anxiously at Juwalí, she met his look with a smile.

“Wilt thou not wait and rest a while?” asked the husband.

“Oh no; I am ready at once to go with my lord,” replied Juwalí, so cheerfully that the soul of Tulsí Rám was filled with wonder. Beholding the courage of a woman, his own greatly revived.

Together the two began to descend the bank. Tulsí Rám was so anxious about his wife that he scarcely felt how the thorns were tearing his own flesh. Never had Juwalí been so dear to the soul of her husband as now, when, in a woman with weak frame but brave spirit, he beheld his fellow-heir of eternal life; no mere plaything or slave, but the companion of his dangers, the sharer of all his trials. Juwalí suffered even more than did her husband. After the fashion of Indian women, Juwalí wore many rings in her ears;[37] and the briers and thorns caught in these rings, so that the wearer’s course was stayed, and she was as a prisoner fastened in bonds. Tears gushed from the woman’s eyes. Tulsí Rám tried to lend his aid to release his wife, but only himself became more painfully entangled in the sharp thorns.

“O Juwalí! what can we do?” exclaimed Tulsí Rám.

Juwalí’s answer was in her act. She lifted up her small bleeding hands, and broke off one by one the ear-rings which hindered her progress, and left them hanging upon the thorns.

“See, I am free!” she cried, smiling, as Tulsí Rám, by a desperate effort, also released himself from the briers.

“Thou art losing thy jewels, O beloved!” said the pitying husband.

“I seek better and brighter jewels,” replied Juwalí. “Shall I regret these baubles if I ever possess the ruby of Pardon, the pearl of Purity, and the diamond of Heaven?”

And so the two travellers reached at last the bottom of the bank, panting, weary, pierced with thorns, but still not seriously hurt. The waters of Baptism flowed before Tulsí Rám and Juwalí. Hand-in-hand the husband and wife passed through those clear waters, the coolness of which afforded to them wondrous refreshment. Tulsí Rám had grasped the hand of his wife to help her across, but Juwalí scarcely needed his help. When they reached the opposite bank, Tulsí Rám looked at Juwalí, and lo! never before had her face shone with such heavenly beauty! It was even as the brightness of the moon when the clouds have passed away, and her silver light falls softly on earth. And never to Tulsí Rám had Juwalí’s voice sounded so sweet as when she exclaimed, “O lord of my heart! the river is passed. Let us rejoice and give thanks.”

The opposite bank was less steep, though still made difficult of ascent by the thorns of Persecution. But the spirit of Tulsí Rám had now acquired fresh courage. Having once crossed the river which he had dreaded, and having found in it nothing to harm him, but only refreshment, Tulsí Rám felt all his strength return. Cheerfully he lent his aid to the weary but happy Juwalí, and the two soon stood at the top of the bank, from which their glad eyes could see the Cross on the hill.

“Our treasure is yonder, and it will soon be ours!” exclaimed Tulsí Rám.

Scarcely had he uttered the words when he and his wife were startled by the sound of a terrible groan,—such a groan as is uttered only by one in mortal anguish or pain.

“Look yonder, my lord,” cried Juwalí; “there is a man lying beneath yon palm-tree. Perhaps he is wounded or dying; hark to his terrible groans!”

At the sound of her voice the poor wretch half raised himself from the ground, so that Tulsí Rám could behold his face. Distorted by pain as was that face, with what surprise and distress did Tulsí Rám recognize in his features those of his brave brother, Nihál Chand.

“Can it be! Yes, surely it is my own brother,” exclaimed Tulsí Rám, hastening towards the spot.

It was indeed poor Nihál Chand who, in a state of weakness and suffering, was lying under the tree. He feebly held out his arms, and was soon in the embrace of Tulsí Rám.

“What ails my brother?—he who is twice my brother—for have we not both passed through the waters of Baptism; are we not both Christians?” cried Tulsí Rám,—“though you were a Christian before me.” Christian is the new name given to those who have passed through the river.

“Oh, call me not Christian!” exclaimed the miserable Nihál Chand; “I am not worthy of the name.”

“What has happened; what have you done?” exclaimed Tulsí Rám with anxiety, for he saw that the anguish of his brother was great.

It was some little time before Nihál Chand was able to tell his sad story. His head drooped on his breast with shame. His brother wondered that one who had so bravely crossed the river of Baptism should now appear so weak and wretched. At last Tulsí Rám inquired, “Could my brother not find the jewels, the gift of our Father,—even the ruby, the pearl, and the diamond?”

“I found them; yes, I found them,” groaned Nihál Chand, “but I never wore them over my heart, and now I have lost them for ever—for ever!” Then the stream of his grief found vent in words, and to the listening Tulsí Rám and Juwalí Nihál Chand thus poured forth the tale of his sorrow and sin:—

“I had not long passed the river of Baptism when I was joined by a stranger, dark in face, but wearing gaudy attire, and of a smooth and flattering tongue.”

“Methinks I know him,” said Tulsí Rám; “surely his name is Temptation.”

“He walked by my side,” continued Nihál Chand, “praising my courage and zeal, till my heart was lifted up with pride, and I thought that nothing but success and glory could be before me. I reached the foot of the Cross; there I found, according to the words of my Father’s messenger, a precious golden casket. On opening it, I found within a beauteous ornament,—even the magnificent jewels joined together in one setting of gold. Over the ruby, Pardon, were inscribed the words, _Thy sins be forgiven thee_. Round the pearl, Purity, appeared engraved, _Holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord_. And I beheld written round the glittering diamond, _It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom_. Never was there an ornament so precious or so beautiful as this free gift from our Father.”

The eyes of Juwalí sparkled at the description given by Nihál Chand. Tulsí Rám inquired,—“Why did you not at once, O my brother, place the treasure upon your heart?”

“Because of the words of Temptation, treacherous Temptation!” exclaimed the miserable Nihál Chand. “He persuaded me that though Pardon is a precious gift, and Heaven a prize that the mightiest rajah might covet, yet that the pale pearl, Purity, was what few would desire to wear. Temptation offered me in its stead a yellow stone, which he said was of greater value, and to which he gave the name of Pleasure. Woe is me! woe is me! that ever I listened to the voice of Temptation, that I ever was persuaded to part with my pearl for that which afterwards broke in my hands, as a piece of worthless glass! I thought that I could give away Purity and yet keep Pardon and Heaven. I let Temptation take my treasure into his hand, that he might separate the pearl from the ruby and diamond. But the three may never be divided. Temptation, taking advantage of my worse than folly, rushed suddenly away whither I had no power to follow him, bearing with him all that I had dared so much to win.”

“Leaving nothing with you!” cried Tulsí Rám.

“Leaving remorse and shame, and a wretched imitation of a jewel, called Pleasure, which I found to be utterly worthless. Nor have you heard the end of my story. I wandered about for a while, unwilling to remain by the Cross, yet more unwilling to return to the city which I had left with such bright hopes and brave resolutions. At last I laid me down to sleep, but from that sleep I was startled by a sharp pain. The venomous reptile whose name is _Uljhánewale gunah_[38] had noiselessly crept towards me and inflicted this wound in my breast;” and raising his mantle, Nihál Chand showed a dark spot, which marked where the reptile’s fang had left its deadly poison.

Tulsí Rám and Juwalí beheld the wound with grief and alarm.

“O Nihál!” exclaimed the brother, “I know too well what are the effects of the bite of the _Uljhánewale gunah_. No serpent is more to be dreaded. The remedy is at once to cut out the wounded part. This must be done, and at once.” And Tulsí Rám drew forth a sharp knife which he carried in his girdle. On the handle of that knife was engraved its name—_Help from above_.

Nihál Chand was a brave man, and yet, strange to say, he shrank like a child from the pain which his brother thought it needful to inflict. “No, no!” he cried, with an impatient movement of the hand; “such sharp remedies are not required. Do not the healing leaves of Good Intentions grow abundantly in yon thicket? It will suffice to lay them upon the wound; they will soon draw all its poison away.”

Tulsí Rám, distressed and anxious, took out hastily from his bosom his Father’s letter, and quickly turned over the pages, to find if it gave any directions for the treatment of a case like that of his brother. Very grave was his face, and earnest his tones, as he read aloud the words of Him who is truth itself: _If thy hand offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that shall never be quenched: where their worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched._

“What is the meaning of those terrible words?” inquired Nihál Chand, who trembled to hear them.