It will be found that the underlying current of religious thought in nearly all these orders is that of Sufism, and Sufism is the product of the aspiration of the Mussalman soul, wearied with the endless repet.i.tion of forms and ceremonies, after something more spiritual; and in its search after this spirituality it has drawn most on the pantheistic philosophies of Hinduism.

Pantheism is, of course, the ant.i.thesis of the Judaic theocracy of Islam, and we read of a faqir who went about calling out, "Ana hu, ana el haqq" ("I am He, I am the Truth"), being put to death for blasphemy; but all the same, these Muhammadans, who feel most the aspirations of the soul for Divine communion, find it in a greater or less a.s.similation of pantheistic doctrine.

Most of the faqirs one meets with in Afghanistan are lazy fellows, who abhor hard work, and find they can make an easy living by begging, and acquire at the same time, what is so dear to many natures, the homage and respect of the credulous and superst.i.tious. When one does meet with one who is willing and able to converse on spiritual topics, one usually finds that he is a disciple of Hafiz, the great Sufi poet of the Persians. Like the Hindu Sadhus, they are much addicted to the use of intoxicants (though rarely alcohol), and charras and bhang (Indian hemp) are constantly smoked with tobacco in their chilams. When thus intoxicated they are known as mast, and are believed by the populace to be possessed by divinity, and to have miraculous powers of gaining favours from heaven for those who propitiate them.

When such a faqir dies he is buried in some prominent place, often at the crossing of roads, and his tomb has even greater efficacy than he himself had when living; and those who wish to obtain his intercession with the Almighty for themselves bring little earthen cups full of oil, with little cotton wicks, which they burn at his grave, as a Roman Catholic burns candles at the shrine of a saint. The most propitious time for doing this is on Thursday night, and at such times one can see the tombs of most renowned sanct.i.ty a veritable illumination with the numbers of little lamps burning far into the night. At the same time offerings are given to the custodian of the shrine, who is himself a faqir, by preference a disciple of the one whose grave he tends.

In one such shrine that I visited there were the remains of what must once have been a fine sycamore-tree, but which was then, with the exception of one branch, a mere withered sh.e.l.l, which had to be propped up to prevent its falling to the ground. The one green branch was said to be miraculously kept alive by the shadow of the tomb falling on it; and if any childless pilgrim would take home a few leaves and give a decoction of them to his wife, he would a.s.suredly before long be the happy father of a son; while for the relief of the other ills to which flesh is heir there was a masonry tank outside, in which the sick, the halt, and the blind bathed, and were said to receive the healing they came for. Many of our hospital patients have already been to this and similar faith-healing establishments, so they are not always efficacious.

CHAPTER XIX

MY LIFE AS A MENDICANT

Dependent on the charitable--An incident on the bridge over the Jhelum River--A rebuff on the feast-day--An Indian railway-station--A churlish Muhammadan--Helped by a soldier--A partner in the concern--A friendly native Christian--The prophet of Qadian--A new Muhammadan development--Crossing the Beas River--Reception in a Sikh village--Recognized by His Highness Yakub Khan, late Amir--Allahabad--Encounter with a Brahman at Bombay--Landing at Karachi--Value of native dress--Relation to natives--Need of sympathy--The effect of clothes--Disabilities in railway travelling--English manners--Reception of visitors.

In this chapter I shall recount a few of the more interesting incidents that befell me and my disciple when on our pilgrimage as Sadhus. As we were travelling without money, we were dependent on the offerings of the charitable not only for our daily food, but for such little items as the toll required for crossing the bridges over the five great rivers of the Panjab. The first river we came to was the Indus, and there being no bridge over that part of the river, it is crossed in ferry-boats. We had no difficulty here, for we were known; and one of my pupils was on duty at the ferry and a.s.sisted us over. It was not so easy, however, at the Jhelum River. When we reached the western end of the bridge, the toll-keeper stopped us for payment. I told him that I was a Christian Sadhu journeying to Hindustan, and that we had no money of any kind with us. He may have believed us, he may not; but from the way he eyed the bicycles, probably he did not. Anyway, he told us plainly--no pice, no path; and no setting forth of the peculiar privileges of a Sadhu could make him budge from the practical financial view of the question, so we had nothing for it but to sit quietly down by the roadside and await events.

Shortly afterwards a party of Hindus, on their way to their morning ablutions in the river, sauntered up, and stopped to gaze at the novel combination of bicycles and Sadhus. This soon led to conversation, in the course of which we told them the object of our journey and the cause of our detention. They then tried with no little earnestness to get us to relinquish the preaching of the Gospel for the promulgation of the Vedas, and even offered to pay the two annas required for our toll if we would accede to their plan. This gave me an opportunity for pointing out the attraction of Christ, which made it impossible for one who had once tasted the sweets of following in His footsteps to desert Him for another master.

They clothed their contempt for the message of the Cross in their compa.s.sion for our hopeless predicament, as they considered it; "for," they said, "there are no Christians here to help you over, and it is not likely that Hindus or Mussulmans would help you on such a mission." I replied that I was content to wait by the roadside till help came, and that I felt sure we should not have long to wait. "Go back into the town--there are Christian missionaries there who will help you; but no one will be coming this way if you wait all day." I replied that if it was the will of Allah that we should cross, He could send to us there the means requisite, as much as in the city. I had scarcely spoken when we saw an officer, attended by a sowar, riding up in the direction of the bridge. When he reached us we recognized an officer from the frontier, who had, as we learnt, just then been sent down to Jhelum on special duty. He recognized me, and appeared amused and surprised at meeting me under such peculiar circ.u.mstances. When he learnt what was the cause of our detention, naturally the toll-keeper had not long to wait for his two annas, and I was able to point out to my Hindu friends that it had not taken long for G.o.d to send us help from even so far as Peshawur, and we went on with light and thankful hearts. Truly, two annas is worth much more in some circ.u.mstances than one hundred rupees in others!

We then wheeled comfortably along the interesting Grand Trunk Road, now to the north and now to the south of the railway-line. The crisp morning air of a Panjab winter has an exhilarating effect on the appet.i.te, and we were only exceptional in that we had the appet.i.te but no wherewithal in our wallets to satisfy the same. To tantalize us the more, it was the feast-day succeeding the great Muhammadan fast, and in all the villages the men were feasting, and the children, gaily dressed in their gala clothes, were amusing themselves on numerous swings, hung up on the trees round the villages, or in playing about on the roads. My Afghan companion, who had been having the fast without the feast, finally went up to a party of merrymakers, and, after saluting them with the customary "Salaam alaik.u.m," said that he was very hungry, and would be glad of a share of the 'Id cakes. The man addressed surveyed us in a leisurely fashion from head to foot, and said: "You! you call yourselves faqirs, ride bicycles, and beg your bread! Phew!" and turned his back on us. My companion turned to me with a very un-Sadhu-like expression on his face, saying: "We Afghans used always to say that Panjabi Muhammadans are only half Mussulmans; but now I see we were wrong: they are not a quarter. In our country we call in every stranger and traveller to share our feast." The latter part of his statement was certainly true; as to the former, I must leave those who know them best to judge.

Shortly after midday we reached Lala Musa, and, visiting the station, found the train had just come in. We mingled with the bustling crowd, and watched the native sweetmeat and refreshment vendors going from carriage to carriage, calling out: "Garm chapati! garm chapati awe dal!" (Hot rolls! hot rolls and pulse!); "Ghi ki pakorian!" (Vegetable fritters fried in b.u.t.ter!); "Garm dudh!" (Hot milk!), and various other delicacies; and we watched the fortunate possessors of pice selecting some tempting sweetmeat or panake. Then we pa.s.sed on to the refreshment-rooms, where the European pa.s.sengers were taking a hurried meal, and I remembered many occasions when I had been into that same refreshment-room without being a t.i.the as hungry, and now, how could I venture inside? Should I not be greeted with: "Now then, out of this; no faqirs wanted here!" So I wandered back among the third-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers. A Sikh native officer spoke kindly to me and offered me some cardamoms, and then the whistle blew. The pa.s.sengers hurried to their seats, and we were left alone.

A railway porter entered into conversation, and, finding who we were, directed us to go to the village, where there was a Christian preacher. We went to the caravanserai, where there were some Afghan traders sitting on a bed. They seemed surprised at getting a greeting in Pashtu, but returned it heartily. Then I saw a well-dressed man walking off towards the bazaar, and something in his face and a book in his hand seemed to indicate him as the Christian preacher, and, on introducing ourselves, we found we were not mistaken. He asked us into his house to rest, and informed us that he was an agent of the Scotch mission at Gujrat. After the rebuff of the morning we were loth to say that, though the sun was now declining towards the west, we were still awaiting our breakfast; so after a time I rose to go, when, to our no small satisfaction, the kind man asked us to stop till tea was ready.

It was my custom at most of the towns to preach in the bazaar, and usually, during or after the preaching, someone in the audience would offer us hospitality. When we reached Pind Dadan Khan, however, it was too late for this, darkness having set in; and after wandering about the bazaar for a time, and talking to a few people, none of whom offered us hospitality, we went to the public serai, or inn, known as "Victoria Ghar," where travellers can rest without payment, and spent the night there. Someone had given us two pice, and with this we bought a pice chapati and a pice of sugarcane, and dined off this. Being thirsty, I asked a respectable Muhammadan who was dining on a bed hard by for a gla.s.s of water. He gave it; but when I raised the gla.s.s to my lips, he said: "I would like to know first what your religion is." I replied: "I am a Christian." Hearing this, the gentleman took the gla.s.s from me, saying: "I do not wish to sully my gla.s.s with your touch." This was a bigotry which I am glad to say I rarely met with, and is certainly not justified by the teaching of the Quran, which permits commensality with Christians and Jews.

After this rebuff we did not care to ask any other inhabitant of the place for water. The next day we travelled on to Khewra, and, on pa.s.sing through the bazaar, saw the Government doctor, a Hindu a.s.sistant-surgeon, sitting outside the dispensary seeing patients. He knew us, and in place of water brought us milk, and then got us a breakfast. Welcome as this was, his kind greeting cheered us even more.

The next river we had to cross was the Chenab. On arriving at the bridge, I found a detachment of English soldiers on the march, and one of these gave the two annas required for our toll. About two years later, when visiting Lah.o.r.e, a missionary friend there said to me: "I met a friend of yours the other day."

"Indeed! Who was that?"

"I was travelling up to Peshawur by rail, when some English soldiers got into the carriage, and one of them, looking at me, asked me if I was a Padre. On my answering his question in the affirmative, he then said he was glad of that, because he took an interest in missions. I asked him why he did so. 'You see,' he said, 'some time ago we were on the march to Lah.o.r.e, and at the Chenab bridge there was a missionary chap who hadn't the money for crossing the bridge, and so I paid it for him. I became a kind of partner in the concern; that is why I take an interest in missions.' This was your friend, was it not?" I, of course, recalled the incident at the Chenab bridge, and hope my friend has continued his practical interest in mission work.

The last day of the year 1903 found us at Narowal, a village famed in the missionary annals of the Panjab. Leaving that, we soon reached the Ravi River, which lower down flows by the walls of the capital of the Panjab. Here it was running clear and cold below a sandy cliff on its western bank. It had evidently been encroaching on the lands of the farmers, and engulfing many a fertile acre, and the houses of the village, too, the ruins of the latter showing some way along the bank. The east bank was a low, wide expanse of sand, which had long been left dry by the receding stream. Seeing no other way of crossing, we were preparing to doff our clothes and ford, when a good soul of a zamindar came up.

"Peace be with you."

"And on you be peace."

"Whither are you going, O Sadhu-log, and what is your order and sect?"

"We are Christian Sadhus travelling from Afghanistan to India, and are seeking means to cross this river."

"Then you are my teacher," said the zamindar, brightening into a smile, "and I will get a boat and take you across."

Although the good fellow had been brought to the brink of ruin by the destruction of his lands and house by the rapacious river, he went and procured a boat and rowed us across, knowing that it was not in our power to give him any reward, except to pray for him that he might recover his lost land, and to give him some spiritual comfort.

After the pleasure of meeting with this brother so opportunely, we went on encouraged, and soon reached Dera Baba Nanak, the residence of the descendants of the famous Guru and the seat of a darbar (Sikh temple), the gilded dome of which we saw glittering in the sun. Pa.s.sing over our stay here and at other intervening places, I might mention our visit to Gadian, rendered famous by being the headquarters of the Muhammadan reformer Mirza Ghulam Ahmad, who died in 1908. This man had collected round him a band of zealous followers, but, unfortunately, the good he might have done was nullified by his impious claim to be the returned Messiah, in accordance with which he professed miraculous powers, and demanded a correspondingly abject obedience.

Heavy rain-clouds were overcasting the sky when we set out, and we had scarcely covered the eleven miles of unmade road that connects Batala with Gadian when the downpour commenced, and continued throughout the day. Moulvi Muhammad Sadiq, the head-master of the Mirza's High School, received us with the greatest courtesy, and gave us one of the schoolrooms to rest in, and shortly afterwards, as the Mirza himself was indisposed and unable to see us, we were taken into the presence of his lieutenant, Moulvi Moha-ud-din. This Moulvi is very learned, probably the most learned in Gadian; he comes from the town of Bhera, in the Panjab, but has travelled a good deal. He was teaching theology to a large cla.s.s of youths and men in Eastern fashion, reclining on a simple mat and cushion himself, while his pupils sat on the ground round him. Tea was brought in for us and him while he went on teaching. The Hadis from which the pupils were reading was on the subject of prayer, and the Moulvi explained the pa.s.sages with great force and perspicuity as the pupils read them out turn by turn. After some dissertation on the correct intonation of prayers, he took up (probably for our benefit) a comparison of the texts of the Quran and the Bible, showing how the custom of committing the former to memory had resulted in its verbal correctness. Following the same line, Muhammad Sadiq compared with this the recent criticisms on the Bible by the Christian expositors; and the "Encyclopaedia Biblica," which he seemed to have studied minutely, afforded him an inexhaustible store of argument.

After this the midday meal was brought in, and then we were sent for by a relation of the Nawab of Maler-Kotla, who had become a disciple of the Mirza, and had devoted himself and his resources to his service, and was living in the village in a simple, almost Spartan, manner. After conversation with him and others, I was shown the high school, college cla.s.ses, and boarding-house. Though the buildings for the latter were second-rate, yet the management seemed good, and the inmates orderly and well trained. In particular I noticed that, though the next morning was chilly and drizzly, yet all were up at the first streak of dawn, and turned methodically out of their warm beds into the cold yard, and proceeded to the mosque, where all united in morning prayers, after which most of them devoted themselves to reading the Quran for half an hour to one hour. Many of the masters, too, seemed very earnest in their work, and had given up much higher emoluments to work for quite normal salaries in the cause to which they had devoted themselves.

We were fairly tired out with a long day of talking and interviewing, and slept soundly. We were disappointed, too, in receiving a message that the Mirza was still too unwell to see us, but would do so in the morning. However, when morning dawned we heard with much regret that he had pa.s.sed a bad night and was still unable to see anyone. As his attendants were unable to hold out any prospect of a speedy interview, and as, indeed, we felt doubtful whether the interview was desired, we prepared for an early start. We had been kindly and hospitably received, and there was something inspiriting in seeing a number of educated men thoroughly zealous and keen in the active pursuit of religion, though the strong spirit of antagonism to Christianity was saddening. Moreover, one could not but feel that, as in similar cases in England and America, here was a man of great ability who had effectually deceived himself, and had then been the means of deceiving a mult.i.tude of others into believing his false claims. As we read in Matthew xxiv. 11, "False prophets shall arise and shall deceive many."

The next river we came to was the Beas, and when approaching it from the direction of Gurdaspur, on a bright winter's morning, we were struck by the beauty of the landscape. On our left was a glorious panorama of the Himalaya Mountains, range surmounting range of glistening snow, a vision of dazzling white. All was set off by the varying greens and browns of the rich Panjab Plain to the east and south, the forests and fields of which lay mapped out before us, and the River Beas a gleaming streak of silver meandering through its fertile tracts. Reaching the river, we found that the toll-keeper was on the farther side and the river itself unfordable. Asking the boatmen whether we could cross without paying toll, as we had no means of doing so, they said the only way was for one of us to cross over and ask. We thought on our part that it would be better for both of us to cross over and ask, and as the boatmen saw no objection to this, we heaved our machines on board one of the boats and crossed over with a number of camels and bullocks. Safely arrived on the other side, we went to the toll-office and did what most Easterns do when they are in a quandary--sat down and waited to see what would turn up. The official in a leisurely way took the toll of all the pa.s.sengers, quadruped and biped alike, eyed us narrowly without speaking, and then, in still more leisurely fashion, began to smoke his hookah. As time pa.s.sed we both became contemplative, he on the wreathing columns of smoke from his pipe, I on the bucolic landscape around me. His patience was the first to waver, and he broke the silence with: "Now, Sadhu-ji, your pice."

"Indeed, I carry no such mundane articles."

"Then what right had you to cross the Sarkar's river in the Sarkar's boat?"

"Indeed, our purpose was to crave a favour of your worthy self."

"What do you desire of me, O Sadhu-ji?"

"Merely that, as we are on a pilgrimage to India and have no money, you would allow us to cross without paying toll; and as you were on this side and we were on that, and n.o.body would take our message, there was nothing for it but to come in person to ask the favour."

"Very well, Sadhu-ji, your request is granted, and may you remember me."

As an instance of the reception we got in a Hindu village, I may cite the case of one which we reached in the late afternoon in the Sirhind district. Most of the men must have been working out in the fields when we arrived, for we scarcely saw anyone as we wended our way to what seemed the princ.i.p.al house in the village, and, sitting down outside it, my companion began to sing a popular Indian hymn: "Zara tak soch ai ghafil kih kya dam ka thikana nai" (Think a little, O careless one, how little certainty there is of this life.) First some children and then some men collected, chief among the latter being a venerable and stately old Sikh, the owner of the house and the religious guru or sodhi of the place.

The song ended, he inquired who we were, and what were our object and destination; and when he had been satisfied on all these points, he informed us that, though he had never entertained Christian Sadhus before, yet if we were ready to be treated like other Sadhus, he would be very glad to offer us the hospitality of his house. We thankfully accepted his offer, and he prepared a room for us, and later on brought us a supper of rice and milk in his own vessels, which to us, after a long and tiring day, seemed quite a royal repast.

It was not often that I was recognized as a European, until I had declared myself, but the following occasion was a notable exception. I was sitting in the little jungle station of Raval, and a party of gentlemen in semi-Indian costume arrived from a hunting expedition. The chief was an elderly thick-set man with an iron-grey beard, dark piercing eyes and gold spectacles. He eyed me narrowly a short time, and then said to one of those with him in the Persian language: "That man is an Englishman." I replied, "I recognize you gentlemen as Afghans." He a.s.sented, and I entered into conversation with one of the Afghans with him, who told me that it was His Highness Yakub Khan, ex-Amir of Afghanistan, who had thus recognized me.

On the other hand, at Allahabad I was going on my bicycle along a road which was slippery from a recent shower of rain. In turning a corner the machine skidded and I fell, and as I was picking myself up, an English girl who was pa.s.sing, called out: "O Sadhu! you must have stolen that bicycle, and that is why you do not know how to ride."

Finally we made our way to Bombay, having been helped the last part of our journey by a friend who bought us our railway-tickets. Here we desired to return homewards by taking the steamer to Karachi. We then had no money, but I was asked to give a lecture on my travels, and after the lecture several of the audience gave me sums amounting altogether to eleven rupees. When, however, we went down to the docks to take pa.s.sage, we found that our steerage fare cost ten rupees, and five rupees was demanded for each of the bicycles too! We purchased our tickets and stood on the quay awaiting developments. Among the crowd was a Brahman holy man, who was sprinkling the pa.s.sengers with holy water and receiving a harvest of coppers in return. He came to sprinkle us, but we declined the honour. He then asked why we were waiting instead of going aboard with the other pa.s.sengers. I told him that we were waiting because we could not pay the fare of our bicycles. He retorted that unless we invoked his blessing (for a remuneration) we should a.s.suredly never start, but that, having done so, everything would turn out well. When we still declined, he went away prophesying that all sorts of misfortunes would befall us.

The last of the pa.s.sengers had gone aboard, the appointed time for starting had arrived, but no friend had appeared to help us out of the difficulty. The Brahman came back and taunted us with our position, and what it might have been had we but accepted his offer. All I could say was, "Wait and see." Just as the steamer was about to start a ship's officer called to us and said that the captain was willing to take our bicycles free of charge. With a friendly nod to the Brahman, we crossed the drawbridge and in a minute more were under way.

We had now one rupee left for food, but still we were not left in want, for when that was finished the Goanese cooks came and inquired about us and gave us a share of their own dinner. At Karachi the steamers anchor out in the harbour a considerable distance from the landing wharves, and pa.s.sengers are taken ash.o.r.e in native boats, a number of which crowd alongside the moment the ship is moored. But these boatmen naturally require remuneration, and we had none to give, so that it now seemed as though we should have greater difficulty in getting off the steamer than we had in getting on. Just then a launch came alongside for the mails, and a ship's officer came up and asked if we would like to go ash.o.r.e on it. Of course we accepted the offer with alacrity, had our machines on board in a trice, and were safely on terra firma again before the native boats had got away from the steamer.

This pilgrimage gave me many opportunities for philosophizing on the role that a man's clothes play in gaining him a reception or a rejection. My missionary brethren took various views on the subject. Most exhibited incredulity as to the expediency of donning native garb, while showing some sympathetic interest; few were antagonistic on principle, though one missionary brother, indeed, weighed the matter a long time before admitting us into his house. He thought that the gulf between East and West was a priori unbridgeable; therefore no attempt should be made to bridge it, and that the relation between a missionary and his native a.s.sociates should be sympathetic (patronizing?), but not familiar. To go about with an Indian brother, sharing the same plate and same lodging, seemed to him the height of unwisdom, even to shake hands being to go beyond the bounds of propriety; while as for an Englishman donning native clothes, he was dimming the glamour of the British name in India, which in his eyes was next door to undermining the British rule itself. My mind had been made up on this subject before I had been very long in India, and on no occasion did circ.u.mstances tend to weaken my own opinion that the gulf is by no means unbridgeable, and that the sooner and the more heartily we set about bridging it, the better it will be for the promotion of the kingdom of Christ in this land.

Sympathy cannot be wholly made to order: it is largely dependent on extraneous and advent.i.tious circ.u.mstances, and I believe that the adoption of native dress increases that sympathy on both sides--on the side of the missionary, because it enables him to realize more vividly what treatment is often meted out to our native brethren and how they feel under it, and on the part of the Indians because the restraint which they usually feel--at least, in country districts--in approaching a Sahib is removed.

No doubt one reason why Indian Christians are so largely adopting Western dress is that they receive much more courtesy, conspicuously so when travelling on the railway. I had occasion to make some inquiries in Batala Station office. I might have drummed my heels on the threshold till I was tired had I not been fortunate in meeting an Indian brother wearing English dress, who walked in without diffidence, though when I attempted to follow him, I was met with a push and a "Nikal jao!" (Get out!). On another occasion, travelling by the night mail from Lah.o.r.e, I was anxious to get some sleep, and I saw that the native compartment was crowded, while in the European compartment there was only a single English soldier. He barred my entrance with a "Can't you see this is only for Europeans?" I humbly suggested that I belonged to that category, but his prompt "Don't tell me any blooming lies!" made me think it better to seek my night's rest in another compartment. While at Lucknow I essayed to visit the European cemetery at the old Residency, but the custodian would not hear of admitting me, utterly discrediting my statement that I was a European. Surely this unnecessary and most offensive restriction might be removed. I can readily judge from my own feelings at the time how naturally and greatly self-respecting Indians would resent this piece of racial antipathy, which permits a common gate-keeper to subject any Indian to indignity.