Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
Courage and strength were taxed to the utmost.
The Mirror and the Bracelet
THE MIRROR
AND
THE BRACELET
Or, Little Bullets from Batala
BY
A. L. O. E.
(MISS C. M. TUCKER)
AUTHOR OF "THE WHITE BEAR'S DEN," "NED FRANKS,"
"THE HARTLEY BROTHERS,"
ETC.
———————
ILLUSTRATED.
———————
London:
GALL & INGLIS, 25 PATERNOSTER SQUARE
AND EDINBURGH.
PREFACE.
THE fanciful title of my little volume is given advisedly, as descriptive of what I desire its contents to be. In this heathen land of India, hundreds of thousands of natives have been receiving an education from Government, one from which religion is excluded, but which enables them to be reached by means of the Press. Those engaged, like myself, in Mission work, desire to give the Hindus books—cheap, in order that they may be bought; and amusing, in order that they may be read. If tales like the following appear to the English reader fanciful and childish, our object is the more likely to be gained. Natives delight in allegory, and stories are to them as the sweetmeats that form so large a part of their feasts. Valuable commentaries and controversial works are like heavy artillery brought up to assail the bulwarks of idolatry, but in our missionary warfare, small bullets also are needed. The story in this volume entitled "A Son of Healing," has been constructed so as to divide into twelve minute books, to be sold at less than a mite each! These are small shot indeed! Yet, if God vouchsafe His blessing, each may hit its own mark.
I have had the advantage of the criticism of a highly-educated native, himself a converted Hindu; one too sensible not to suggest, and too polite to praise. He can judge better than most Europeans can, what is likely to strike his countrymen. Though I have been more than three years in India, were I to treble the time, I should feel my own ignorance still.
Instead of encumbering my story with long footnotes, it seemed better to place under separate headings a little information regarding Goru Nanak, the founder of the Sikh religion, &c., which may be new to some English readers. I am indebted for this information to a small history of the Punjab, written by a native, in a simple, amusing style and for the translations from the Granth to Dr. Trumpp's large and valuable work.
In conclusion, I would earnestly ask the reader to join in a prayer that the time may speedily come when such childish tales as "THE MIRROR AND THE BRACELET" may be as little needed in India as in our own favoured land. It is possible that the earnestness of the prayer may be increased by the glimpse given in the following pages of the degrading thraldom in which millions of our fellow-creatures, our fellow-subjects, are held by Satan, the father of lies!
A. L. O. E.,
Hon. Missionary of Batála, Punjab.
CONTENTS.
[CHAPTER III. THE TYRANT AND SLAVE]
[CHAPTER X. THE SACRIFICE OF PRIDE]
[CHAPTER XI. THE PARABLE EXPLAINED]
[CHAPTER I. THE DOCTOR'S CHARMS]
[CHAPTER III. THE THREE CASKETS]
[CHAPTER IV. KILLING WITH KINDNESS]
[CHAPTER V. DYING FOR A FRIEND]
[CHAPTER IX. GANESH THE MILKMAN]
[CHAPTER X. AN ACCEPTABLE OFFERING]
[CHAPTER XI. THE WILD ELEPHANT]
[THE MIRROR AND THE BRACELET.]
[CHAPTER I.]
THE TIGER.
HEAR ye the story of the adventures and misfortunes of Bandhu. O Hindu reader! Perhaps you will find that he is one well-known unto you.
The mother of Bandhu went on a pilgrimage, and took her son with her. He was then seven years of age. The pilgrimage was a long one, the woman was poor; the flour which she carried with her was little for one, and quite insufficient for two.
Bandhu fell grievously sick; sores spread over his body; he had no strength to walk. His mother lifted him up, and carried him a short distance; but she was tired, hungry, and sad, and soon laid him down on the ground. Bandhu grew worse and worse; he moaned aloud in his pain; then his senses left him, and he lay on the earth as one dead.
The mother wailed aloud and cried, "What an unlucky day is this! What wretch's face did I happen to see early this morning? Hae! Hae! What shall I do? If I stay here, I shall perish with hunger, or some wild beast will devour me! The boy is dying; I cannot save him; why should I perish with him?"
So the mother of Bandhu did what many who go on long pilgrimages are constrained to do, she left the one who was dearest to her upon earth to die alone! Bandhu, happily for him, knew not that his mother was departing. He saw not her form disappearing behind the tall bamboos; he heard not the sound of her wailing. He lay quite alone, sick and senseless, a poor helpless object, from which a stranger might have turned in disgust.
But when the sun went down, there was a stirring in the bamboos. The bushes parted on either side. Had Bandhu awoke from his trance, he would have seen the huge head, the glaring eyes, the mouth with its terrible fangs, of a large yellow-striped tiger. The tread of the beast made no sound; he saw his prey lying before him. Crouching like a cat, the tiger drew nearer and nearer; it seemed certain that the deserted boy would be torn to pieces, and devoured by the forest monster.
But whilst the tiger crept forward from the left hand, some one was approaching from the right. This was a tall, noble-looking man, richly dressed, from whose mien the truth might be guessed that his rank was that of a king. Never had a grander trodden the earth. He had just conquered that land; all that he surveyed was his own, and won by his prowess. Enemies might hate the king, but they could not withstand his victorious sword; they laid down their arms, they brought tribute, and crouched submissive before his feet.
The king had ridden forth that day to hunt, with a numerous suite of attendants; but because he was better mounted than any of them, he had outstripped them all, and now he rode alone. There was not so much as a syce to hold his golden stirrup. The king's horse at last falling lame, his rider had dismounted, and after tying his bridle to a tree, had determined to rejoin his attendants on foot. It was then that the king came on the place where Bandhu lay stretched on the earth, within reach of the tiger's spring.
Perhaps out of a million men there would have been but one who would not have left the wretched, diseased child to his fate. Of all princes there would have been but one who would not have thought, "To save so worthless a life I never will risk my own. I am of lofty degree, he is some wretched beggar; better that a host of such should die than a hair of my head should suffer."
But the mighty king was that exceptional one. His heart was a treasury of compassion, and every one of his subjects, even those of this newly-conquered land, was dear in his sight. Silently the king drew his sword from its jewelled scabbard, and rushing across the space which divided him from the tiger, he wounded the creature deeply, as he was in the act to spring on the child.
Then followed such a conflict between the king and the wild beast as would have terrified any beholder. The king was of mighty strength and great courage, but courage and strength were taxed to the utmost. The tiger fixed claws and teeth in the flesh of the man, he tore, he struggled, he pulled down his brave assailant, he rolled him in the dust; the wild beast growled and roared till the jungle echoed with the sound. The king, though in peril and agony, never lost his presence of mind. He wounded the tiger again and again. The monarch's arm was strong and his sword was sharp, and after a terrible conflict, he succeeded in winning the victory. The savage tiger, like the king's other enemies, felt himself conquered. Howling, he limped off to the jungle, leaving a track of blood-drops behind him.
The king was sorely hurt, and felt faint after the struggle. From many wounds blood was flowing; never throughout his life would he lose the marks of the fangs of the terrible beast. Yet his first thought was for the poor boy whose preservation had cost him so dear. When the king's astonished attendants rode up to the spot, and one, kneeling, offered to the weary prince water from a cup of gold, the king, with his own bleeding hands, poured the refreshing draught into the fever-dried mouth of the boy.
O Reader! Was there ever such love? Was there anything in that wretched, loathsome object to draw it forth? No; it welled up freely from the heart of the king even as the pure fountain gusheth forth and reviveth even the parched weed, and giveth drink to the humbled reptile. Yet hath there been seen on earth love greater even than this.
[CHAPTER II.]
THE ROYAL GIFTS.
THE king ordered that every care should be taken of the wretched Bandhu, who was not even conscious of the danger from which he had been saved; whose eyes and senses were closed so that he saw not his preserver.
"I have purchased him with my blood," said the king. "From this day forth I adopt him as my own child."
Bandhu could not, however, remain in the king's immediate presence. The monarch was bound for distant provinces, and the child was in no state to travel. By the king's kindness, arrangements were made for his comfort. The monarch who ruled over a thousand provinces, and whose command mighty armies obeyed, could deign to give thought and care to a sick beggar-child found in a jungle.
The chief sirdar of the conquered land was ordered to take charge of the boy, as having the character of being a kind and respectable man.
"I will send monthly a sum sufficient to provide my adopted child with every comfort," said the king. "When he has recovered his health, look to his education, let him have the best masters. It may be long ere I call him to my court, but it is my will that he be prepared to dwell there. Now let his sores be looked to; feed him well, take off his rags, and let him be dressed as befits the adopted son of a king."
"To hear is to obey, O Protector of the Universe!" said he who had received the command.
The king was not content with doing thus much for his boy. He endowed him with two valuable gifts, such as none but himself could bestow. The one was a small mirror in a frame of the purest gold. This was such a marvellous mirror that, whatever might be the present need of its possessor, suitable words of counsel, comfort, or warning flashed forth from its frame, while the glass reflected every object with faultless accuracy and distinctness.
The other gift was a bracelet of very high value; but this value was less from the jewels with which it was studded, than from a marvellous property which it possessed. When any danger approached the wearer, it pressed his wrist with greater or less force, according to the degree of the danger.
Then having done so much for the boy who had never thanked nor even known him, the boy who had cost him so much danger and pain, the great king took his departure. How Bandhu fared after his benefactor had left him will be seen in the following chapter.
[CHAPTER III.]
THE TYRANT AND SLAVE.
THE sirdar in whose hands little Bandhu was left was a mild but indolent man. He soon made over his charge to Farebwala, a villain who, by wicked arts, had risen into power, and who was full of covetousness, cruelty, and deceit. But the prevailing motive that influenced Farebwala was deep hatred to the king, and a determination to thwart his wishes in all things. As he dared not do so openly, he resolved to succeed by guile.
"I care not to destroy this wretched boy," he said to himself; "it will suit me better month by month to enjoy nine-tenths of the money sent for his use by the king. What does this beggar want with education? If it be possible, I will keep him with me always, and when he grows up to be a man, I will make him my slave. I dare not altogether deprive him of his mirror and bracelet, but he shall never have any use of them, for if he be warned against falsehood and sin, he will soon escape from my power. I will fasten up the king's gifts in the black bag of Ignorance, and hang them as a charm round the neck of Bandhu. I will persuade the boy that ruin will overtake him if he ever open that bag."
When Farebwala received Bandhu, the child was partly cured of his sores, and likely to turn out an intelligent boy. Farebwala, feared that should Bandhu ever hear the story of his own deliverance from the tiger, and the wondrous kindness of the king, the boy would love his benefactor, and wish to join him. Farebwala, therefore, with great art, took every care that Bandhu should hear nothing of what had passed when he lay unconscious in the jungle.
Nor was this sufficient to satisfy the malice of this great evil-doer; he could not prevent the poor boy's knowing of the existence of a powerful king, but he did everything in his power to misrepresent and slander the virtuous monarch, so that the child might dread to go near him. Farebwala told Bandhu that all the nobles at the court were monsters of evil, each more vile than the other, and that the king let them riot in evil unchecked. The cruel Farebwala succeeded but too well in not only defrauding the poor boy of his rights, and making the gifts of his king useless, but also in poisoning his mind.
Years passed. Bandhu was increasing fast both in height and intelligence, and sometimes asked questions which showed that he was able to reflect. Farebwala became alarmed lest he should lose his slave and the income derived from robbing him. Several letters and messages, as well as the regular supply of rupees, had come from the absent king, but care was taken by Farebwala that they should never reach the poor boy. Farebwala still feared that by some chance a letter might come into the hands of Bandhu, or that he might possibly at last open his bag, and so be enlightened by the mirror or warned by the bracelet.
Farebwala had a noxious drug whose effect is gradually to weaken the mind without hindering the growth or lessening the strength of the body. This vile drug is called Superstition; it grows in unwholesome marshes, and its fruit only ripens in darkness. Farebwala secretly mingled this drug with the poor boy's food. The effect was but too soon apparent. Bandhu seemed almost to lose the power to distinguish between right and wrong. He believed every lie that was spoken by Farebwala; his heart was hardened, his mind was darkened. As for opening the bag in which the king's precious gifts lay useless, he would as soon have thought of eating it for food.
Oh, Reader! Was there ever cruelty like that of Farebwala? He was not content with robbing a poor boy of his rights; he must dull his mind and corrupt his heart. Reader, beware! One worse than Farebwala is still in the world. He, too, is seeking slaves, and making them wretched. Beware, lest as the venomous serpent stealthily approaches its victim, he be not at this moment drawing nigh unto you.
[CHAPTER IV.]
THE JANEO. *
AFTER Bandhu had eaten of the vile drug Superstition, he was more ready than before to fall into every species of evil. Also, like one whose natural thirst is increased by fever, Bandhu became more anxious than ever to obtain an honour for which he had longed for years. This honour was that of wearing a janeo. There had been nothing on the child, when found in the jungle, to denote to what caste he belonged; he had been almost destitute of clothing.
* The janeo is a cord which the two highest castes of Hindus, the Brahmins (priest) and Chhatri (warrior), are entitled to wear. It is generally, with some ceremonies, given to boys at the age of eight or nine. "This janeo has the two ends joined, goes over the right shoulder, and comes down to the waist on the left side. The time when the janeo is given is an important period in the life of a Brahmin; before this period he is considered a mere child, and as possessed of no religion, and he can eat without bathing, or performing puja or worship."—From Ishuree Dás's "Domestic Manners and Customs."
When Bandhu recovered from his illness, he remembered little of what had happened to him before it; of his native village he could only say that its name ended in pur; of his home, that there was a tall date-tree outside it, and some brazen vessels within. Bandhu recollected also that goats browsed near the place, and that sometimes a string of camels passed by. But one idea was rooted in the boy's mind; and that was, that his father had a janeo. This would, of course, give his son a right to wear the janeo also. But, for a long time, Farebwala kept the hopes of being invested with the coveted string before Bandhu as a prize is held before the scholar, or a reward before the soldier.
When Bandhu was almost fourteen, and therefore long past the age at which boys of the two highest castes usually receive the sacred cord, the lad could no longer endure to be fed only with hopes. Farebwala was about to go on a journey, and a fear arose in his mind that during his absence some message might reach his poor victim from the merciful king.
"Nothing will be more likely to keep Bandhu in my service," thought the tyrant, "than to invest him with the janeo. No one is suffered to wear such a thing at the court of the king; and if the weak-witted boy be suffered in this manner to have his own way, he will be more likely to be submissive to me in others."
So a Brahmin was consulted on the difficult question of Bandhu's caste. The Brahmin was the creature of Farebwala, and for a few rupees was ready to tell any amount of lies. After fasting and using arts of divination, the old man declared that the secret had been revealed to him. Bandhu was the son of a Chhatri, and as such might be invested with the holy string. The ceremony, accordingly, took place with all accustomed forms.
Farebwala took another precaution to prevent any chance of Bandhu's receiving a message from the king. He made the Brahmin recommend the young Chhatri to undertake a pilgrimage to some holy place about eighty miles distant. This would be at once a proof of his piety and of his manhood. Bandhu, whose head was almost turned by the dignity of wearing a string, and the effect of the tyrant's drug, would have agreed to the pilgrimage had he had to crawl on his chest all the way. It was therefore settled that on the day after that on which Farebwala should depart on his journey, the young pilgrim should start on his, going alone as far as a village some sixteen miles distant, where he would join a party, bound, like himself, for the holy place.
Soon after this arrangement was made, Farebwala set off to do mischief in some other place, for he never ceased from evil. As naturally as the king sought to make men happy, so naturally Farebwala tried to make them wretched. There are no means so certain to gain this end as that of leading men into sin.
[CHAPTER V.]
THE MESSENGER.
FAREBWALA had gone, though but for a time. It was morning; Bandhu had bathed, and holding water in his hands had offered it to the sun. He had then resumed his upper garments, which were of a very shabby description, for Farebwala spent very little of the boy's own money upon him. Bandhu stretched himself on the ground, listening to the songs of some wild young companions near, songs which I could not write down without blotting my pages. The janeo was to the weak-minded Bandhu what a new toy is to a child; he was perpetually feeling for the end of the string to be sure that he actually wore it.
Presently the songs ceased, and a voice from another quarter, exquisitely sweet, began to recite the following verses of the renowned Goru Nanak:—
"Kindness, the cotton; Contentment, the thread; Truth, the twist,—this be the sacred cord of the creature; thou O Pandit! put it on. This does not break, nor doth filth stick to it, nor is it burnt, nor does it go off. Blessed is that man, O Nanak, who departs, having put this on his neck."
Bandhu turned his head to see who was the reciter of the verses, and beheld a fair youth, simply dressed, but in pure white garments, and with a face most pleasant to look on, for kindness and love were written upon it.
"Who are you? Your countenance is new to me," said Bandhu to the stranger.
"My name is Prem Chand, and I am a messenger from the king," was the reply.
The words drew around the young stranger Bandhu's companions.
One of them exclaimed, "You a messenger from the king! Where are your credentials?"
"I have such credentials to show," replied Prem Chand, "as will infallibly prove me to be a messenger from the lord of a thousand realms." He took a roll from his bosom, but not one of his hearers could read.
"Wherefore come you?" asked Bandhu.
"I come on your account," was the reply; "if you be, as I suppose, Bandhu, he whom my sovereign saved from destruction, he for whose welfare the king has so tenderly cared."
"My name is Bandhu, and I know that there is a king," said he of the janeo, "but as for his saving or caring for me, of that I know nothing at all. I am an attendant of the great Farebwala, and what I require he provides."
An expression first of indignation, then of deep sadness, passed over the face of Prem Chand. He could not speak quite so freely as he would otherwise have done, because of Bandhu's companions, who continued to throng around, some from curiosity, some to find some theme for mocking.
"My lord the king hath sent me to call you to himself," said the messenger gently; "he offers to his adopted son a welcome and a home."
Farebwala had so poisoned the mind of the wretched Bandhu, that he regarded his royal benefactor with some fear, but nothing like love. The lad had not the slightest wish to appear before the king, and with some impatience, he exclaimed, "Even were your message true, which I do not believe, I could not possibly go to the court now, as I start on a pilgrimage to a holy place to-morrow."
"Yes," cried his companions together, "Bandhu is going on holy pilgrimage."
"About as holy as the songs which you were singing just now," observed Prem Chand.
"What! See you no merit in pilgrimage!" exclaimed Bandhu, with mingled surprise and displeasure. "You will next say that there is no merit in bathing in holy rivers, or in the austerities of the Jogi." *
Prem Chand replied in the words of the sage Kabir—
"If by wandering about naked union † be obtained,
Then every deer of the forest will become emancipated.
If by shaving the head perfection is obtained,
The sheep is emancipated, no one is lost.
Who perform ablution in the evening, and at dawn
They become like frogs in the water."
* Men who, to acquire fancied merit, put themselves to various tortures; some holding up an arm till it withers, or clenching a hand till its nails grow into the flesh.
† Union—that is absorption into the Divine nature, which leaves no individual sense of existence. "When by thousands of meritorious acts through a great many successive births, a man becomes perfectly holy, he becomes one with the Supreme Being, just as a drop becomes one with the ocean by falling into it."—Rev. Ishuree Dás's "Domestic Manners and Customs."
The young men around burst out laughing; Bandhu looking perplexed. His mind, drugged with superstition, was too dull to take in at once the wit of the ancient poet of Hindustan. But a Brahmin had approached the spot whilst Prem Chand was speaking, and had listened with a countenance darkened by anger. This was the same Brahmin as he who had pretended to find out by divination that Bandhu was a Chhatri; while the real truth was that the boy's father was a herdsman, and that the string which his fancy had turned into a janeo, was in fact only one used for tying up goats. The wise Brahmin knew nothing of this, and merely said, for the sake of a few rupees, what Farebwala told him to say. For the bribe of a hundred rupees, he would have declared the herdsman's child to be the son of a rajah.
"Who are you, O ass, and son of an ass, who would pour contempt on holy devotees!" cried the angry Brahmin.
The youths around, easily moved to mirth or to mockery—as the chaff is whirled round by a light puff of wind—joined in the insulting Cry, "O ass, and son of an ass!"
Prem Chand kept his temper, and waited till the noise had sunk into silence, before he made reply to the Brahmin.
"I came for a day's hospitality, I came with a message from the king," he began.
But the Brahmin cut him short with the words, "We want neither you nor your message! The jackal who sneaks into the camp, finds there nothing to eat, but blows. Go to him who sent you, and come near us no more!"
"Go back to him who sent you!" echoed the youths; and one of them, picking up a handful of dust, threw it over the messenger's pure white garments.
"Is this your treatment of strangers who seek your hospitality?" said Prem Chand. "Is it not written in the Rájneet, 'Even towards an enemy going to our house the offices of hospitality must be exercised, as the tree impedes not even the woodcutter who stands under its shade.'"
The mild manner in which insult had been borne, and the graceful proverb so aptly quoted, were not without some effect. Prem Chand was suffered to retire without further molestation. The hospitality denied to him by Bandhu and his companions, the king's messenger found in the tent of a poor shepherd.
Prem Chand, though baffled in his first attempt to deliver his message, had by no means lost hope.
"I must not go to Bandhu when he is surrounded by his gay associates," said Prem Chand to himself, "nor when that old Brahmin is near. I will return in a few hours, in the heat of the day, when he may be resting alone. I have that to tell Bandhu which must stir his heart, if any heart beat in his bosom. From his shabby appearance, I can see that he has been cruelly cheated, and from his conversation I learn that he has been grossly deceived. Bandhu has doubtless been kept ignorant in order that he may safely be robbed. Any labour I shall count light, any insult I shall readily bear, if I can but rescue this poor victim from Farebwala, and bring him in safety to his merciful king."
[CHAPTER VI.]
WILD DREAMS.
BANDHU had spent the morning in gambling with his idle companions; as the day grew hot, they separated to smoke the hookah, or doze away the languid hours in some shady place. In a garden-house lay Bandhu stretched on the ground alone, lazily watching the movements of a lizard on the wall. So still was the sultry air, that not even a leaf quivered on the branches of the peepul tree.
Presently some object came between Bandhu and the daylight. Turning his head a little, Bandhu saw Prem Chand, who courteously greeted the lad.
"Are you now at leisure, O brother!" the king's messenger said. "To hear the story of a sick boy rescued from the fangs of a tiger? The story cannot fail to interest you, as it concerns yourself."
"I have no dislike to hearing stories," replied Bandhu, carelessly; "if it be a good one, it will amuse me, if dull, it will lull me to sleep."
Prem Chand sat down on the ground beside Bandhu, and in simple touching words gave the story of the poor boy deserted in the jungle, telling of his preservation by the king, and the monarch's generous adoption of the child whom he had saved.
It may have been from coldness of heart, or from the effect of the drug given by Farebwala, but whatever the cause may be, Bandhu listened to the tale with little concern. He seemed to be more interested in watching whether the lizard would catch a fly, or in noticing any trifling peculiarity in the dress of the stranger, than in hearing of the deadly struggle on the result of which his own life had hung.
Prem Chand again and again felt inclined to stop in his story, for it pained him to have such a careless listener. Was ever hearer so dull? Yes, reader, I have witnessed such dulness when the story told was of far deeper interest than the tale of the rescued child!
When the tale was concluded, seeing that Bandhu had latterly been listening with a little more attention, Prem Chand thus spake:
"Did not the rescued boy owe a deep debt of love and gratitude to the king?"
A nod was the only reply.
"And now, O Bandhu, have you paid it? Do you not know that you yourself are the helpless sick child, saved from the jaws of the tiger?"
"I don't believe your story, not a word of it!" cried Bandhu. "I never lay in a jungle covered with sores. I am a Chhatri, a twice-born; I was never in danger from any wild beast."
"Farebwala, for his own purposes, has concealed the truth from you," answered Prem Chand; "but you have a simple way of finding out whether he or I have spoken falsehood. Where is the truth-telling mirror, where the precious bracelet given to you by the king?"
Bandhu answered by a stupid stare. He did not at first even understand what was meant by the stranger.
"I mean the mirror which reflects with perfect accuracy, and on whose golden frame words appear which, in every varying case, every difficulty, every danger, show us what we should do."
"I never saw such a mirror," said Bandhu.
"And have you never worn the bracelet that, by pressure on the wrist, gives warning when anything approaches to harm?"
"I never wore it," replied the lad.
"I see a black bag hung round your neck, what may it contain?" asked Prem Chand.
"It is a charm; I know not what is in the bag," was Bandhu's reply.
"Search and see!" cried Prem Chand, whose quick eye, through the covering of ignorance, detected the shape of the mirror, and even, though dimly, its brightness.
"I will never open the bag," said Bandhu, with petulance; "why should you come and trouble me thus, why meddle with things which do not concern you?"
"Because I am bound to obey the command of the king," replied the faithful messenger; "besides, I am moved with pity for a youth whom I see to be wronged and deceived. Had the king's plans been carried out, and the money sent by him been applied to its proper use, you would never have been dressed in such coarse, soiled garments as those which you wear. You would have received the education fit for the adopted son of a king, instead of wasting your time in idleness or something worse. You must feel, O Bandhu, that you are not prepared to stand in the presence of our great king."
"I am in no haste to go to him," said Bandhu.
"What! Not to make one of the honoured band who, in goodly raiment, surround his throne, and find their delight in his service! If you but knew the glories of his court—"
Bandhu would not let Prem Chand finish his sentence.
"I know all, I have heard everything a thousand times from Farebwala!" cried Bandhu. "I can tell you many a story of the princes and princesses who dwell at the court."
"I have told you my story," said Prem Chand, "and now am ready to hear yours."
He half repented of his words, however, when he heard the stream of disgusting nonsense which flowed from the mouth of the half-besotted Bandhu. I will give but a small portion of what he, with evident relish, repeated to his shocked listener.
"There is one prince, worthy of all reverence, who is perpetually drunk. He has been known to wander about in cemeteries and places for burning the dead, smearing his body with ashes, and wearing a necklace of skulls. He has five faces and three eyes; him ever contemplate with veneration."
"Alas!" sighed Prem Chand to himself. "This unhappy youth must be mad!"
"Then there is a princess, Kali is her name, worthy of all reverence. With a sword in her hand she killed many giants, and danced in ecstacy over dead bodies, till she found that she was dancing on the breast of her husband. Then seeing her mistake, she put out her tongue, and—"
"Stop! Stop!" cried Prem Chand, in amazement and disgust. "Monsters such as these never existed in the court of our king!"
"My favourite princess," continued Bandhu, "she in whose service I should always desire to be, is she who delights in the offering of a human head, and sacrifice of little children. There is another—"
"I can hear no more!" exclaimed Prem Chand, rising. "With what wild dreams, like those caused by opium, has your brain been filled! Most earnestly do I assure you that in all these horrible fables there is not one atom of truth. If such fearful criminals as you have described have been ever found in the court of a virtuous king, they would assuredly have been handed over to the executioner. Crimes not to be tolerated in mean men, would not go without punishment in those of loftier ranks. Count you such beings worthy of reverence? Did such exist, they would be only worthy of detestation! O Bandhu! You must have eaten of the drug Superstition, and it is gradually destroying your mind, for it is as mould on the garment, or rust on the steel. Once more I earnestly entreat you to open the bag in which your treasures are doubtless concealed. Find from your bracelet whether to indulge such wild fancies be not sin, and from your mirror into what endless misery and ruin such sin must lead! Have mercy on yourself, O Bandhu! And let not the warning of a true friend be heard in vain!"
"Leave me! I am weary of your unasked-for counsels!" exclaimed the weak-witted Bandhu. "If I choose to believe in a prince with an elephant's head or a hundred arms, what is it to you? If I choose to do puja to a monkey or snake, why should it trouble your peace? I believe but what millions believe; I do but what multitudes do."
"And if multitudes, on a dark night, not seeing a precipice before them, fall over into the depths and miserably perish, shall I, who have light, calmly look on and not utter a word of warning?" cried Prem Chand.
But he spake as to the deaf adder. Bandhu, even when the king's messenger was uttering his earnest appeal, closed his eyes in weariness, and in a few momenta dropped asleep.
Prem Chand, breathing a deep sigh, a second time turned from the place.
[CHAPTER VII.]
ON PILGRIMAGE.
THE next day Bandhu started alone for the place at which he was to join the band of pilgrims. He took nothing with him but a small brass vessel for drinking, his hookah, some ready-cooked food, and his black bag of Ignorance tied round his neck. Since his last conversation with Prem Chand a little curiosity as to the contents of the bag, the mirror, and the bracelet, which by feeling he ascertained to be there, had arisen in the mind of Bandhu; but his brain was so much weakened by Superstition that he had not the courage to take his own property out of the covering of Ignorance in which Farebwala had wrapped it.
"Who knows what might happen if I did but glance into the mirror?" thought Bandhu. "And I should be afraid to put on the bracelet lest its pinching should destroy all my ease. It is pleasanter sometimes not to know when danger is near."
There are in the world many Superstition-drugged men and women, who are as cowardly and foolish as Bandhu. They are afraid of self-knowledge; they dread that opening of their blind eyes which will bring humility and wisdom.
Bandhu, when the time for mid-day rest had come, had reached a small mango-tope (grove) under the shade of which he found two men. From their appearance, he guessed them to be Chhatris, though they were no more Chhatris than he was.
The elder was still a vigorous man, though his hair was turning grey with age. An expression of great cunning marked his features. The other man was his son, and yet in the prime of life, but his face was bloated and his eyes were sunken with self-indulgence, so that he looked almost as old as his father. The name of the elder was Idolatry, that of his son was Vice.
These two sat smoking their hookahs, and Bandhu, who was tired of being alone, very willingly joined them.
The men received him with great politeness, and the three were presently chatting together as if they had been old friends. Bandhu, in reply to a question, informed the strangers whither he was going.
"We are bound thither also," said the elderly man, "to do puja at the holy place, bathe, and make our offerings. Let us all travel together."
"I desire nothing better," replied Bandhu, "it suits not my taste to travel alone."
"Besides there might be danger," suggested the younger man. "In these lonely parts there is no saying whom one might meet."
"Perhaps Dacoits or Thugs," * said the timorous Bandhu, and intuitively, he laid his hand on his bag.
* Dacoits are a kind of highwaymen who rob in gangs. Thugs were a set of professional murderers, who strangled unsuspecting travellers, under the supposed sanction of one of their demon-like goddesses. The following description of these murderers is extracted from the work of Ishuree Dás, before quoted:—
"Thousands of these Thugs have been exterminated by the British Government, but there are some still found here and there. These Thugs will follow a traveller for days until they get an opportunity to kill him. Once a traveller, who was known to have some money with him, was followed by Thugs for more than two hundred and sixty miles; the farmer was wide-awake, and was always on his guard, never smoking their tobacco, nor being familiar with them. At last he got near home, though the Thugs did not know that; and while all were sitting in a bunniah's shop in the forenoon to get some refreshment, the man pretended to go out for a few minutes, of course with his things; but he crossed a few fields, and safely arrived at home.
"Once a woman with her little boy and some money and jewels was pursued for some time by two women who were Thuggins. They pretended to be travellers, and always remained in company with this woman, who used to give them now and then part of her food, as dál and cakes and rice. It was observed by the boy that they ate the cake or rice that was given them, but dál (which has salt put in it at the time of being cooked) was always thrown away. He suspected they were Thuggins, and said so to his mother.
"The dál they threw away, because they believed it would be a great sin to kill a person whose salt they had eaten. In the saráes or inns the woman used to take a separate room from the Thuggins. Once the latter thought that they had an opportunity to despatch the woman, and in the darkness of the night, one of them took a dagger and softly stole towards her; but the woman got hold of it and the Thuggin, and cried out. People instantly came to her help and secured the Thuggin."
"What is in that bag?" asked the old man with curiosity.
"A wondrous mirror, as I have heard, and a jewelled bracelet," replied the incautious lad.
The two men exchanged glances with each other, but the dull-witted Bandhu never noticed the look.
For some hours these three rested in the mango-tope. The two men slept, or appeared to sleep, but the eyes of Bandhu did not close. He could not help thinking over the words which he had heard from Prem Chand.
After a while his companions raised their heads, and seating themselves on the grass, again resumed their hookahs.
"The heat is not now so great; shall we proceed on our journey?" said Bandhu, who from some undefined misgiving wished to join the larger band of pilgrims without much delay.
Idolatry, however, objected to starting at once, on the score of some evil omens that had shown him that the day was unlucky. "We shall proceed to-morrow, before daylight," he said.
Bandhu, having been drugged by Superstition, very much feared unlucky days, and was easily persuaded to stop with his new companions.
Many a tale was told to beguile the time, the supposed Chhatris were adepts in telling stories. Idolatry recounted much of the history of his own family, which to any one who had not drunk of the poison of Superstition would have appeared very horrible indeed. Many a widow in that family had been burnt alive on the funeral pile. Idolatry delighted in giving the details, and telling of the courage and devotion of the women, but he told not how many had been stupefied by bang, or how many had been really, but secretly, kept from springing from their bed of flames, by long bamboos held down by the Brahmins. Stories of shrieking babes flung by their own mothers into rivers, of poor wretches crushed beneath the ponderous wheels of an idol-car, in the vain hope of saving their souls by destroying their bodies, in tales such as these Idolatry delighted.
And his besotted hearer actually expressed approval, actually wished that he had been present when such monstrous crimes were committed! Oxen and buffaloes would have taken no delight in beholding such murders, but Superstition had sunk Bandhu to slower level than that of the brutes!
Then Vice, child of Idolatry, told his stories; but at their nature I will not even hint. Had not Bandhu been utterly debased by the drug given by Farebwala, he would have closed his ears with his hands, or quitted the place in disgust. Reader! Have your ears ever drunk in such stories, and have you ever dared to connect them in any way with the sacred name of religion?
At sunset the three pilgrims performed their devotions, and Bandhu particularly noticed how careful were his companions to perform theirs in the most orthodox way, with ablutions and many repetitions of the name of Rám.
"How pious are these Chhatris!" thought he.
The two men made a little fireplace for themselves, and cooked their victuals.
Bandhu had brought his food ready prepared, and as his companions showed that they preferred eating alone, he took his meal a little apart.
Darkness was gathering round, which made the small fire by which the strangers prepared their meal more distinctly visible. The moon had not yet risen. Bandhu, who had been unable to sleep at noon, was just dropping asleep, when he was startled by a light touch on his arm. He was about to call out in his fear, when a low voice beside him whispered, "Silence! If you love your life, be still!"
Bandhu, looking up, in the faint light could just distinguish the form of Prem Chand bending over him.
"Fly, while there yet is time!" continued Prem Chand, in the same low but earnest tone. "Yonder men, whose names are Idolatry and Vice, are well-known Thugs."
Bandhu started, and a cold perspiration broke over him at the dreaded word.
But Bandhu's terror was not sufficient to give him wisdom. He was determined to put faith in no warning uttered by the messenger of the king. As he had said in the garden-house before, so he said now, "I do not believe one word of what you tell me!"
"Oh, most unhappy, deluded boy! How can I save you in spite of yourself!" exclaimed Prem Chand. In his exceeding anxiety to preserve the life of the youth, he made an attempt by seizing his arm, to force Bandhu to rise from the ground.
This roused the lad's anger; wrenching himself from Prem Chand's hold, Bandhu struck him twice in the face, then catching up a stone, he exclaimed as he threatened to fling it, "Oh dog! Will nothing short of stoning drive you away?"
"Vainly warned and doomed one!" cried Prem Chand. "For the third time I leave you! Your blood is not on my soul!" And again with a heavy heart and deep sigh the messenger left the wretched victim whom he had vainly endeavoured to save.
Reader! Has ever such sorrow been felt, such sighs been breathed for you? Have you been warned against Idolatry and Vice, and given no heed to warning?
[CHAPTER VIII.]
THE WARNING.
"THE world is a room of lamp-black; the blind fall into it," says the proverb.
Assuredly Bandhu was one of the blind when he made friends with Idolatry and Vice. Yet the blind who see not danger may be saved by the friendly grasp of one who has eyes.
When a seed has been dropped into earth, he from whose hand it fell may little know that it is swelling and growing under the earth. Prem Chand thought that his advice and warnings were utterly lost upon Bandhu, that he himself had been insulted, threatened, and struck, and all to no purpose. But in this the king's messenger was mistaken.
Bandhu might wrench away his arm from the hold of his true friend, but he could not get his words out of his mind.
Scarcely had Prem Chand's form disappeared in the darkness before Bandhu began to think over what he had heard.
Bandhu looked at the face of Idolatry, dimly seen by the red firelight, and thought that, notwithstanding all his ablutions and prayers, he looked wondrously like a demon. As for Vice, no one could behold him at that moment without seeing evil stamped on his face.
"Shall I fly?" thought Bandhu. He hesitated, he doubted, he was equally afraid of going or staying. His mind was in a miserable state of indecision. Sometimes he succeeded in persuading himself that Prem Chand must be in the wrong, sometimes his own trembling heart assured him that Prem Chand must be in the right.
The fire completely died out; but behold! A soft silver light was seen behind the trees, for the moon was rising. Bandhu glanced uneasily towards the fireplace, but saw nothing of the supposed Chhatris.
"If I but knew the real truth, if I could set my mind at rest, what a relief it would be!" muttered the poor frightened boy.
Again he thought of the treasures hidden in the bag of Ignorance, they at least could give him knowledge of the truth, if there were any foundation for what Prem Chand had told him about these gifts from the king. Bandhu had always foolishly dreaded opening the bag, but a yet greater dread was upon him now, that of being murdered by Thugs.
With a trembling hand Bandhu unloosened the string which fastened the bag round his neck, and first took out the bracelet, which he slipped on his arm. There was no difficulty in doing this; but the next moment Bandhu could hardly suppress a cry of pain, for the bracelet grasped his wrist tightly, as if it would cut into the flesh, even to the bone! Here indeed was a warning against Idolatry and Vice, surely danger—great danger must be near!
In terror Bandhu pulled forth his mirror, dropping as he did so the black bag of Ignorance in which it so long had lain hidden. He gazed by the moonlight upon the mirror; from the frame flashed forth in red light the word "Beware!" And behold! In the glass Bandhu saw reflected not only his own frightened face, but almost close behind him the horrible countenances of the two Thugs, stealing up with the deadly noose in their grasp! Had he not seen them in the mirror, in another minute or two the poor boy would have been a corpse under their murderous hands!
Bandhu rushed off in terror, as the fawn flies from the cheetah, trampling Ignorance under his flying feet. But the two Thugs were determined not to lose their victim. They knew that if he escaped, he would give information against them. As the cheetah by successive springs gains on the fawn, so the Thugs gained upon Bandhu. The poor boy stumbled over the roots of a tree in his haste, and they were upon him at once.
Happily for Bandhu help was near. Prem Chand had lingered still near the lad who had insulted and struck him, and seeing the chase, now rushed with a shout to the rescue. A sudden blow from a large stick held by Prem Chand laid Idolatry bleeding and stunned on the ground. Vice, hearing the shout, and seeing his father fall, fled like a coward as he is.
Poor rescued Bandhu, thus a second time saved from a terrible fate, sobbed like a frightened child in the arms of his brave preserver.
[CHAPTER IX.]
HEALING.
THE first care of Prem Chand was to bind Idolatry hand and foot, so that should the Thug revive, he might not be able to rise. His own noose, and the pugri which he wore, served to supply his bonds.
Bandhu was in a most distressing state. His fright seemed to have taken from him all the little sense that Superstition had left. His bracelet squeezed him like a vice, till he was half maddened by the pain. The poor boy wept; he rolled himself in the dust, and moaned out, "I am lost! I am lost!"
Prem Chand was perplexed as to what course to pursue, till he bethought himself of the mirror which Bandhu had dropped in his flight. It lay gleaming like a silver jewel in the clear light of the moon. Prem Chand raised it, and from the frame the words "Leaves of healing" shone forth. The thought struck Prem Chand that the mirror might thus be guiding him to a cure for his poor sick companion.
Some low plants grew in the shadow of the mango-tope, and Prem recognised one which he knew to be often used as medicine. He let the reflection of its leaves fall on the mirror, and immediately from the frame glimmered forth the word "Peace."
Very joyful at having thus discovered a cure for poor Bandhu, Prem Chand quickly gathered the leaves, and with them in one hand, and the mirror in the other, he hastened back to the groaning lad. It needed some persuasion to induce the sufferer to eat the healing plant; but almost the only sign of sense remaining in him was trust in his faithful friend, the messenger of the king. Bandhu could not long refuse anything offered to him by Prem Chand.
The effect of the medicine was wondrous. At once the iron-like clasp of the bracelet relaxed; the precious gift appeared as a jewel, not as a fetter. The wild beating of Bandhu's heart was stilled, and his moaning ceased. Nor was this all; the poison of Superstition, given long before by Farebwala, began gradually to give way to the strong antidote which Bandhu had taken. The lad became as one who had long sat in darkness, but upon whom daylight begins to glimmer; first, a faint streak in the east, then gradually upward rays appear, till the sun himself rises above the horizon. But an entire change was the work of time.
After giving the medicine to his companion, Prem Chand's next thought was, "What shall I do regarding this Thug, who seems to be reviving from the effects of the blow which I gave? Behold! He is struggling now to release himself from his bonds. Confederates may be near, and if they come to his help, Bandhu and I have not many minutes to live."
What a relief it was to both the friends when the trampling of hoofs was heard, and a party of mounted police appeared at daybreak. An officer on a white horse rode at their head.
When they came near to the spot, Prem Chand, advancing, made his salam to the officer, and pointing to the Thug Idolatry, he briefly related the murderous attack made by him and his son upon Bandhu. The facts were corroborated by Bandhu himself.
The officer attentively listened, then instantly rode to the place where Idolatry lay on the ground, trying to wrench his limbs from their bonds. The police had gathered around him, and recognised him.
"This is the very Thug of whom we have long been in search," said one to his officer. "Your honour knows that he has more murders on his head than there are leaves on yon tree."
"Ah! Father of evil," cried another to the Thug, "thou hast grown gray in crime, but thou wilt meet with thy punishment at last. In seeking to destroy yet another victim thou hast encountered thine own fate, as saith the proverb, 'The imprudent man has with his own hand struck the axe into his foot.'"
"Bear him away," said the officer, and the command was at once obeyed.
[CHAPTER X.]
THE SACRIFICE OF PRIDE.
WHEN the Thug had been carried off by the officers of justice, Prem Chand turned to Bandhu, who was sitting on the ground, supporting himself against the trunk of a tree.
"What will you do now, O brother?" said Prem Chand. "Is it still your wish to continue your pilgrimage?"
"I am as one newly awakened from a dream!" replied Bandhu. "I see that pilgrimages are vain, that ablutions cannot wash away sin, that purity is not to be won by any act of religious austerity."
Prem Chand replied in the words of Kabir—
"Say, O pundit! who is pure?
Attend, O my friend! to such knowledge.
In the eyes is impurity, in the speech is impurity,
In rising and sitting impurity clings,
Impurity falls into the food."
"I have been looking into my mirror," said Bandhu with a sigh, "and when I look on my own reflection I see that 'sinner' is written below the frame."
"Again I ask, what will you do now? Will you return to the dwelling of Farebwala?"
"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Bandhu fervently. "Has he not been ruining me, body and soul?"
"Whither, then, will you go?"
Tears gushed into the eyes of Bandhu. Dropping his head from shame, in a low voice, he inquired, "Do you think that the king would still receive me?"
Then a great joy sprang up in the heart of Prem Chand. "The king loves and will welcome you!" he cried. "Yea, he is yearning to see you." But the messenger added gently, "Only of one thing I warn you: all marks of pride must be laid aside; you cannot go into the royal presence wearing a janeo."
The countenance of Bandhu fell. His soul still clung to the privileges of caste. He could give up ease, pleasure, wealth, any other thing, sooner than his cherished janeo. Was it not the sign of his superiority over many of his fellow-creatures; did it not entitle him to their respect? Must he with his own hands cast down the wall of division between them which so flattered his pride? With a heavy sigh, Bandhu replied, "With my janeo I never can part!"
Prem Chand felt that not at once can all prejudices be conquered. The tree shakes not in a day all the dry leaves from its branches. Without making any reply, Prem Chand retired to a little distance, yet within hearing of Bandhu, and softly sang, as if to himself, the words of the poet Kabir—
"Pride should not be entertained; the bones are
wrapt in a skin,
They who are on horseback, under an umbrella, are
buried again in the earth.
Pride should not be entertained; if one sees that
one's dwelling is high,
To-day or to-morrow we must lie on the ground, and
grass will spring up.
Pride should not be entertained; a poor one should
not be laughed at,
That boat is still on the ocean, what do ye know
what will take place?
Pride should not be entertained; having seen that
one's body is beautiful,
To-day or to-morrow thou wilt leave it as a snake
his skin."
There was a strong but gentle pressure of the bracelet upon the wrist of Bandhu. He raised his mirror, so that he could see in it the reflection of his janeo, the emblem of caste. "Vanity of vanities" gleamed forth from the frame, and Bandhu saw his cherished janeo to be but a rotten thread, which life soils, and death snaps asunder!
Slowly and reluctantly Bandhu unfastened the cord which had been his pride, then bore it in his hand to his friend Prem Chand.
"I have no offering to bring to my king," said he, "for all that I possess, save this, I owe to his bounty. But as a token of my repentance, and a pledge of my loyal love, may I be permitted to lay down the badge of my caste at the feet of my king?"
The youth's desire was ere long to be fulfilled. As soon as Bandhu had recovered sufficient strength, he and Prem Chand started on their journey towards the royal city. Pleasant converse shortened the way. Bandhu's health improved day by day, and his mind became clearer. He constantly looked at his mirror, and never neglected the slightest warning given by the bracelet.
Great was the rejoicing in the palace when the travellers reached it in safety, and most gracious was the reception given by the king to both. Goodly apartments were assigned to each, and they ate daily at the royal table. Bandhu, instead of being the slave of a tyrant, or a victim of a Thug, found himself the possessor of every good gift, the companion of the pious, the friend of the pure, the adopted son of a king.
[CHAPTER XI.]
THE PARABLE EXPLAINED.
HAVE you not seen, O reader! Goodly trees and lofty palaces faintly reflected on some small stream, whose waters are too muddy to give back their images clearly? Yet can we say, as we gaze downwards, "There is a palace, though I see not its grandeur,—there is a tree, though its beauty I cannot behold."
My tale is even as the little troubled muddy brook in which is dimly reflected what is beauteous and grand. Listen awhile as I try to show you what are the great realities faintly imaged forth in my fable.
Mankind are as the poor helpless child left in the jungle, sick of the foul disease of sin. Even the pure-lived Nanak * was compelled by conscience to cry,—
"Keep me, O my Father, my Lord!
I am without virtues; all virtues are Thine!"
* For accounts of Goru (teacher) Nanak, and the poet Kabir, see further on.
And one more enlightened than the great Goru hath written, "All our righteousnesses are as filthy rags."
Thus lying, exposed and helpless, death—even the destruction of the soul, everlasting ruin—steals upon us, as the fearful beast drew nigh to the child. How could man, guilty and hell-deserving, be saved?
Here is the grand mystery of love which the Scriptures declare, even the avatar (incarnation) of the Divine Jesus, the Son of God. He left heaven and assumed a mortal body, that in that body He might suffer and die. He came between man and eternal destruction. The love of the king who encountered a fierce tiger to save a poor child is as nothing compared to the love of the Heavenly King, who won salvation for man by the awful struggle in which He overcame death by dying.
And who is the Farebwala (father of deceit) who seeks to keep us from the knowledge of this love, in order to rob us and make us his slaves?
Behold the spirit of evil, Satan, who would hold all mankind in bondage, and tries to hide from us the knowledge of a Saviour King who is willing to adopt us as His children. To millions of Hindus, he represents heaven as peopled with monsters of iniquity, gods and goddesses so wicked that were they human beings they would be sentenced to death for their crimes!
And what are the mirror and the bracelet hidden by Farebwala under the black cover of Ignorance?
The name of the bracelet is Conscience. It is the precious gift of God; it warns us when danger to the soul, when temptation is near. But is it not too true that the conscience of those who know not the true God has been darkened? When falsehood is spoken, when covetousness is felt, when other sins are indulged in, does the unenlightened conscience give its warning pressure? Reader! Have you not learned to do evil frequently without even knowing that it is evil?
The mirror is the Word of God, the treasure of truth, now to be procured in many of the languages of the East. * Reader! Have you looked into its pages? Let me tell you something of what you would gain by studying the Holy Scriptures with prayer.
* But alas! The people are so poor, that few comparatively ever purchase a complete Bible. In this story, as written for Hindus, I have inserted the Ten Commandments, knowing that perhaps not one in a thousand of those who read my small cheap book will be in possession of the Old Testament.
You would gain KNOWLEDGE OF GOD, what His nature is, and His will. "God is a Spirit, and they that worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth" (John iv. 24); "God is light" (1 John i. 5); and "God is love" (1 John iv. 8).
And you would gain KNOWLEDGE OF WHAT GOD REQUIRES OF MAN. Study the commandments, thus summed up in the Gospel, "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself" (Matt. xxii. 37-39).
Compare the righteousness of these commandments with the impure stories which the Hindus call by the name of religion. Is it not like comparing a shining river, carrying fertility through the land, to the slimy track left by a serpent? If you see not that the space between the two religions is wider than that which divides heaven from earth, it is because the enemy of your soul has drugged you with Superstition, so that you are unable to say, "Is there not a lie in my right hand?"
It is the Bible, the Mirror of Truth, that shows us that Idolatry is the parent of Vice, and that both are murderers of the soul. It may be, O Hindu! that you are at this moment travelling in the company of these dread Thugs, that this morning you did puja to some idol of brass or stone. This tale is, then, as the warning voice of a friend, of a messenger from the Great King. Have mercy on your own soul! The fatal noose is prepared, thousands have perished by it already; be warned in time. O brother! Flee and live.
But if you be one who already wears the Bracelet of Conscience, if you be one who has gazed into the Mirror of Truth, if your heart be inclined towards your Heavenly King, there is still a word for you. Are you not halting between two opinions, believing but not confessing Christ? Is there not some pride of caste which you are as loth to part with as was Bandhu to give up his janeo? Ties of family are hard to break; do you so shrink from rending them asunder that you would rather hazard your soul than leave all and go to your King?
Ah! Listen to the words of the Lord—"He that loveth father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me; and he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after Me, is not worthy of Me. Whoever shall confess Me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven" (Matt. x. 32, 37, 38).
One other point in the parable may require explanation. What are the leaves of healing that restored peace to the troubled mind, and health to the sick soul? It is the sweet assurance of forgiveness of sins through the death of Christ. He that has found a Saviour has found peace! In the precious words of Holy Writ—"Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ—and rejoice in hope of the glory of God" (Rom. v. 1, 2).
[GORU NANAK.]
A FEW particulars of the life of Goru Nanak, the founder of the Sikh religion, may not be without interest and novelty to the British reader. As mentioned in the preface, they are chiefly drawn from a short history of the Punjab, and I have thought it better to give the story of a remarkable life in the rough simplicity of the original, so as not to spoil what I may call its Oriental flavour by many words of my own.
Goru Nanak, son of Kálu, a Chhatri, was born in a village of the Punjab, since called after him Nanakana, in the year 1469, when Edward IV. sat on the English throne. At his birth wonderful things were predicted of Nanak, to his father's great delight; but when the child had grown into the lad, Kálu was by no means pleased at the ascetic turn of his son's mind. It must be owned that Nanak gave his parents just cause for vexation. Kálu wished the youth to be a good man of business. Nanak was inclined to take up the life of a wandering fakir. An instance of this disposition is given in the curious little history of the Punjab.
When Nanak was fifteen years old, his father entrusted him with twenty rupees (about £2), and said to him, "O son! Go and buy some good merchandise."
Nanak, accompanied by a servant, set forth on his quest. When he had proceeded some way, he fell in with a company of fakirs (religious beggars), destitute of food and clothing. Pitying their condition, the lad bestowed upon them the twenty rupees, in spite of the expostulations of the servant.
Nanak said in reply to these expostulations, "Oh! What better merchandise can there be than giving food to saints in the name of the Lord?"
Had the money been his own, the remark would have been beautiful, but the youth had no right to be generous with money held only in trust. Nanak returned to his home, and, as might have been expected, received a good flogging from his father.
Though Nanak in due course of time married, and became the father of two sons, family ties did not prevent his adopting the life of a wandering preacher. Nanak, like Socrates and other remarkable heathen, had glimpses of truth, though obscured by a good deal of error. His character appears to have been eminently devout, gentle, and lowly.
In the Granth we find what he thought of himself, and see how in the twilight the Goru was feeling and thirsting after God.
"In what manner shall I meet with the Lord of my
life, O Mother?
I am without beauty, without intelligence or strength,
I, the stranger, have come from afar;
I have no wealth, no brilliancy of youth,
Effect thou the union of the friendless one.
O Lord! I am wandering about, thirsting after Thy
sight;
By the Lord, who is compassionate and merciful to
the poor,
My burning heat was quenched,
Keep me, O my Father, my Lord!
I am without virtues, all virtues are Thine."