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- Herausgeber: iOnlineShopping.com
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
Multiple Story Book The following stories have been written by A. L. O. E. since her arrival in India, for the use of native readers. It is deemed most desirable by those who thoroughly know the people, that their minds should be trained in the first principles of morality, as well as of religion, by means of amusing fictions, as they are particularly fond of stories. A. L. O. E. desires, therefore, to devote her pen to the service of the land of her adoption, as there are, comparatively speaking, hardly any writers who enjoy the advantage of having the peculiar habits and failings of Hindus, Mohammedans, Sikhs, and native converts, perpetually brought before their notice, as is, or should be, the case with a member of a missionary band.
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A. L. O. E.
Table of contents
Preface.
Contents.
A WREATH OF INDIAN STORIES.
I. The Radiant Robe.
VI.
VII.
III. The Pugree[14] with a Border of Gold.
IV. The Pink Chaddar.[27]
V. The Story of Three Jewels.
VI. Jewels Found. A SEQUEL TO THE STORY OF THREE JEWELS.
VII. The Broken Fence.
VIII. Shining in the Dark.
IX. The Paper Parable.
X. The Oldest Language upon Earth.
X.—THE FALL, THE CHEETAH, AND THE CUP.
FOOTNOTES
A WREATH OF INDIAN STORIES.
A WREATH OFINDIAN STORIES.
By A. L. O. E., HONORARY MISSIONARY AT AMRITSAR, Author of “The Young Pilgrim,” “Rescued from Egypt,” &c., &c.
LONDON: T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW; EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.
Preface.
The following stories have been written by A. L. O. E. since her arrival in India, for the use of native readers. It is deemed most desirable by those who thoroughly know the people, that their minds should be trained in the first principles of morality, as well as of religion, by means of amusing fictions, as they are particularly fond of stories. A. L. O. E. desires, therefore, to devote her pen to the service of the land of her adoption, as there are, comparatively speaking, hardly any writers who enjoy the advantage of having the peculiar habits and failings of Hindus, Mohammedans, Sikhs, and native converts, perpetually brought before their notice, as is, or should be, the case with a member of a missionary band.
If her little “Indian Stories” be acceptable in her dear native land, she will be thankful; but the object which she chiefly aims at is to write in a way to amuse, and through amusement to instruct, the people of the country of her adoption.
As stories placed in the hands of Oriental readers would be comparatively useless unless written in an Oriental style, and describing scenes and customs familiar to natives, A. L. O. E. has tried to adopt such a style, and depict such scenes. When she reviewed her work, with the mental question, “What would be thought of this in England?” she felt how fanciful and affected her writings might appear to European readers, and almost gave up all idea of sending them home. And yet, as quaint and often grotesque ornaments brought from the East are not despised in Britain because they are unlike our own manufactures, but are sometimes even prized for their very quaintness, it is possible that a few of A. L. O. E.’s Oriental stories may not be unacceptable in her native land. They may even serve to awaken a little interest in a vast country like India, where a Native Church is struggling against surrounding evil influences,—a Church as yet small compared with the myriads of its opponents, yet gaining strength year by year. That infant Church needs tender care and indulgence from those who have been brought up in a land bathed in the light of Christianity,—a land where children are taught almost from the cradle the value of honesty and truth, and where little is known of the fearful difficulties and trials which beset converts to the pure faith of the gospel.
Contents.
A WREATH OF INDIAN STORIES.
I. The Radiant Robe.
I. The Radiant Robe.
Fagir, the government clerk, sat in his house, when the work of the day was over. He had partaken of his evening meal; he had smoked his hookah; [1] his bodily frame was at ease, but his mind was working with many thoughts. His wife was beside him—Kasiti, the gentle and obedient. Kasiti had long ago embraced the gospel and become a Christian in heart, but many months had passed before her husband had suffered her to be baptized. He had chidden her, and she had not answered again; he had been harsh, and she had been loving. Kasiti [2] had made her faith appear beautiful by her life, and her patience had at length won the victory. Fagir had not only consented to his wife’s baptism, but he had read her Bible; he had searched its pages diligently, comparing the Old Testament with the New. And now Fagir’s intellect was convinced of the truth of Christianity; light dawned upon his soul, but it was as light without warmth. Fagir believed in Christ as the Messiah, but refused still to receive Him as a Sacrifice for sin.
“Such a sacrifice is not needed; at least, for those who walk uprightly and in the fear of God,” said Fagir to Kasiti, who was seated at his feet, with a Bible on her knees. “It would be mockery for such as I am to repeat what the Christians are taught to say—‘God be merciful to me, a sinner.’ I, at least, am no sinner, but a just and upright man, even judged by the laws contained in that Bible. I can hold my head erect before God and man; for I serve God with fasting and prayer, and man have I never wronged, but have bestowed large alms on the poor.”
It was not for Kasiti to reply; she read to herself in silence; but the thought of her heart was, “Had not Christ died for sinners, there would have been no heaven for me.”
The evening was hot; the motion of the gently-moving punkah [3] disposed Fagir to sleep. His eyes gradually closed, and slumber stole over him where he sat, reclining on soft cushions. And as the weary man slept he dreamed, and his dream was as vivid as the realities of daily life could be.
Behold in his dream a beautiful angel appeared unto Fagir. A crown of light was on the head of the messenger of Heaven; glory was as a mantle around him, and when he shook his silvery wings a shower of stars seemed to fall upon earth. Fagir trembled at the sight of the pure and holy being who floated in the air before him without touching the ground with his shining feet.
“O Fagir, thou art bidden to the banquet of Paradise!” said the angel; and his voice was as music at night. “Receive this white robe, in which, if it retain its whiteness, thou mayst be meet to appear in the presence of the great King. But beware of sin; for every sin shall be as a stain on thy robe. Keep it white for but one day, and all the joys of Paradise shall be thine eternal reward.”
As the angel spake, he cast round the form of Fagir a radiant robe, white as the snow on the mountains. Then the angel touched the broad border of the robe, and on the border appeared in letters of gold, Fear God, and keep his commandments (Eccles. xii. 13). Fagir gazed in wonder on the inscription; but even as he gazed it faded away. He turned to look on the angel, but behold! the bright messenger had vanished. Nothing remained but the pure white robe, which Fagir still wore in his dream.
Then the soul of Fagir was filled with hope and triumph. “I have kept the commandments from my youth!” he exclaimed; “and shall I break them now, when my reward is so near at hand? Only one day of trial, and then I shall be walking in my radiant robe in the garden of celestial beauty, and have for companions such beings as the bright angel who left heaven to bear a message to me, the upright and the pious.”
Then there came a change in the dream of Fagir: he deemed that he had risen, as was his wont, at sunrise, to go forth to the business of the day. His thoughts were not now on Paradise, nor on the message borne by the holy one; but still he wore the mysterious robe which the angel had thrown around him.
And on what were the thoughts of Fagir intent as he took his early meal before starting for the cutcherry, in which, as a government official, he worked day after day? It might have been supposed that one so pious would have reflected on holy things, when the first rays of the morning sun bade him thank God for sleep and protection during the hours of darkness. But no; the thoughts of Fagir were all on his worldly gains. He had for years set his heart on buying a piece of land which belonged to a neighbour of the name of Pir Bakhsh, feeling certain that he could derive much profit from its possession; but Pir Bakhsh had always refused to sell the ground. But Fagir thought in his dream that Pir Bakhsh had suddenly died in the night; his heir was only a child, and Fagir rejoiced in the hope that the land would now be sold, as the estate was encumbered with debt.
“The piece of ground is worth four hundred rupees [4] at least,” Fagir said to himself, “and I shall manage now to buy it for two hundred rupees. I shall then contrive to make the Magistrate Sahib purchase it for a garden, as it lies so close to his bungalow; [5] and a goodly sum he shall pay! I am a less sharp fellow than I take myself to be, if, before the year is over, my two hundred rupees have not swelled into seven hundred rupees at the least.”
Fagir laughed to himself at the double profit which he would make, first as purchaser, then as seller. But his mirth suddenly ceased when his glance chanced to fall on his mysterious robe.
“I thought that this garment was whiter than milk!” he exclaimed; “whence comes, then, this dull gray tint upon it?” The answer to his question came in an inscription which for a moment, and only a moment, appeared on the border,— The love of money is the root of all evil (1 Tim. vi. 10).
Fagir felt pained and surprised; he had often heard the Christian padre [6] say that the religion of the Lord Jesus reached even to the thoughts and desires of the heart, but he had never till this time clearly perceived that covetousness is sin in itself, even if it lead to no open violation of the laws of God or of man. As if hoping by prayer to restore his robe to its former whiteness, Fagir now prostrated himself on his carpet, and repeated a long form of prayer. His lips moved, and a murmuring sound of prayer was heard; but even while he seemed to offer supplication and praise, the mind of Fagir was still fixed on the coveted field: he was thinking how he should persuade the orphan’s relatives that the ground was of little value, and how he should make the Sahib [7] regard it as worth at least seven hundred rupees. Every time that Fagir repeated the name of God—and very often did he utter the holy word in his prayer—there fell, as it were, an ink-drop upon the garment given by the angel. Suddenly Fagir perceived this, and started up from his knees.
“Can I sin even in the act of prayer?” Fagir exclaimed in dismay.
Then for an instant appeared on the border of the robe the words uttered by the Almighty Himself, amidst thunder and lightning, on Sinai,— Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain (Ex. xx. 7).
“I will think no more on this robe,” said Fagir, with bitterness; “if my thoughts be tainted with imperfection, my acts at least are blameless. It is enough if a man live righteously; he is not master of his own heart.” Here was at least an admission, and that from one of the proudest of men, that the heart has a root of bitterness in it that even the most righteous of mortals have no power in themselves to root up.
And now in the dream of Fagir it came to pass that, as he was about to quit his dwelling, a messenger arrived with a chit from Delhi. Fagir opened and read it, and then, turning towards his wife, he thus spake:—
“Kasiti, this note brings good tidings. Hosein, the head of my family, is coming from Delhi, and will abide for ten days in this city. We must receive him with great honour, for Hosein is a wealthy and distinguished man, much esteemed in the place where he dwells. There must be plentiful feasting here during the days of his sojourn; I will throw my doors wide open, and invite hundreds of persons from far and near to meet my kinsman.”
Kasiti mildly made reply,—“Oh! my lord, your salary is but one hundred and fifty rupees; whence, then, will you spread the table for hundreds of guests?”
“I will borrow what I need,” said Fagir.
“Oh! my lord,” said the gentle Kasiti, “the padre hath said in my hearing, that debt is as a chain, with which no servant of God should ever be bound.”
“A woman’s best eloquence is silence!” exclaimed Fagir with impatience. “Bring me the pen and ink; I at once will write to the money-lender for two hundred and fifty rupees; he will send the sum without delay, for he knows that I am in government employ.”
As Fagir stretched forth his hand for the pen, his glance fell on the border of his stained garment, and he read the words on it,— Owe no man anything, but to love one another (Rom. xiii. 8).
It seemed as if Kasiti also had read the inscription, for she ventured again to speak. “Were it not well to welcome my lord’s kinsman with due honour,” she said, “but with less of expense and show? We have enough to enable us to show him hospitality, not for ten days only, but for thrice ten, if your guest be content to live as we live.”
“If Hosein should be content with so mean a reception, I should not be content!” exclaimed Fagir, his voice rising in wrath. “What! shall he who is the head of ten villages come for the first time under my roof, and find me living like a beggar? Wouldst thou have me to be dishonoured in his eyes, O thou ignorant and foolish woman? No! Hosein shall return to Delhi and report to all his neighbours that wealth and honour, much gold and many friends, are the portion of his relative Fagir!”
It was then as if a dust-storm had swept over the robe of Fagir: it darkened even as he spake; and black on the edge of the garment he beheld the inscription,— Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall (Prov. xvi. 18).
Vexed with himself, and all the more so because he saw tears in the eyes of Kasiti, Fagir quitted his dwelling to go, as usual, to his work at the cutcherry. The words of his wife, though slighted, rested on Fagir’s memory still: “Debt is a chain with which no servant of God should ever be bound.” It was a thing forbidden in the Bible! Fagir knew that there was no necessity for him to incur debt; it was pride alone, and thirst for the praise of men, which made him submit to be bound like a slave with the chain of debt.
“I shall soon cast it from me,” said Fagir to himself, as he went on his way. “If I manage skilfully, perhaps I may get that piece of land for even less than two hundred rupees, for the friends of that child know no more of business than I do of weaving shawls. But I must make my bargain quickly, or Mahmud, the man who ever crosses my path like a snake, will be purchasing the land himself; I know that he has for some time had his eye upon it. He is a grasping, unscrupulous fellow, and his presence to me is as the simoom to the traveller in the desert. But lo! do I not behold him coming towards me!”
Yes, it was Mahmud himself whom Fagir beheld approaching him in his dream.
“Salám!” [8] cried Mahmud; and Fagir respectfully returned the greeting, wishing the man whom he disliked health and all prosperity. The stain of deceit and hypocrisy was on the garment worn by Fagir.
“Have you heard of the sudden death of Pir Bakhsh?” asked Mahmud, detaining Fagir, who was about to pass on.
