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.

THE MIRROR AND THE BRACELET

CHAPTER I. THE TIGER

CHAPTER II. THE ROYAL GIFTS

CHAPTER III. THE TYRANT AND SLAVE

CHAPTER IV. THE JANEO

CHAPTER V. THE MESSENGER

CHAPTER VI. WILD DREAMS

CHAPTER VII. ON PILGRIMAGE

CHAPTER VIII. THE WARNING

CHAPTER IX. HEALING

CHAPTER X. THE SACRIFICE OF PRIDE

CHAPTER XI. THE PARABLE EXPLAINED

GORU NANAK

KABIR

A SON OF HEALING

CHAPTER I. THE DOCTOR'S CHARMS

CHAPTER II. THE BALLOON

CHAPTER III. THE THREE CASKETS

CHAPTER IV. KILLING WITH KINDNESS

CHAPTER V. DYING FOR A FRIEND

CHAPTER VI. HELP IN NEED

CHAPTER VII. DOING HIS DUTY

CHAPTER VIII. A LITTLE LAMP

CHAPTER IX. GANESH THE MILKMAN

CHAPTER X. AN ACCEPTABLE OFFERING

CHAPTER XI. THE WILD ELEPHANT

CHAPTER XII. TWO MARRIAGES

NOTE ON HURDWAN FAIR

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:—