9

Probably very few people are fully aware how observant and critical girls are. It was on a Saturday evening, when we were all gathered together just after seeing the prizes which were to be distributed before the school closed, that the following conversation took place.

‘Aha! How very clever somebody thinks he is,’ said the giggling girl. ‘His every word and action show this.’

‘How?’

‘His very walk is clever. Did you not see it? You had better observe it next time.’

‘And perhaps he looks at us,’ said another, ‘as if we were beneath his notice.’

‘Beneath, ah! Far beneath. He does not notice our existence as he goes up the stairs with that learned air of his, thinking the ladies alone are fit to hear his talk’.

‘But did not Mrs T say just now that he is a very exemplary student, one whom we ought all to be proud of?’ added a third.

‘Ha! ha! ha!’ from everybody.

‘Do you know’, said a tall muscular girl, ‘that I felt inclined to box his ears and give him a good shake? What did he mean by giving us such a sneering look, when he ran his eyes over our prize list, as if we girls were not capable of accomplishing anything, and as if the prize-giving itself was a farce?’

Such was the talk about one young man who frequented Mrs T’s drawing-room, and was a great favourite with the ladies. But there was another who was rather liked by the girls. This was the new-fledged barrister, a magic word, which of itself went a great way to make him a favourite, though even with regard to him there was division of opinion. A saucy girl said with a shake of her head that she could not bear him. ‘Too easy, too sweet-mouthed, too self-reliant. I would give anything to put him in suspense for half an hour, or let him feel the pangs of disappointment,’ but then, making a wry face, ‘my face is too plain to attract him. I wish one of you pretty girls would bring him down, though I doubt if even then he would be capable of feeling. He will shake himself, I tell you, after a refusal or a snub, settle down, and the next moment smile on another and ply his art there.’

‘Hush! you saucy, naughty thing. He is not so bad as all that. He is very agreeable at times, specially to somebody,’ and here a wink and a glance followed at a girl who laughed to hide her confusion.

‘And he can afford it. I detest those that can’t afford to affect the grand and yet put on the airs of a prince,’ said another.

‘Hear! hear! hear!’ said the giggling girl. ‘A merchant’s daughter speaks. I tell you bargaining is in the blood. Two rupees a yard, ma’am, and no mistake. It is worth it. See, bran new, quality good, not them cheap stuffs, that look new and no good; this very lasting, you buy, see’. So she went on, grimacing and imitating the usual talk of the cloth merchant, till there was a roar of laughter, and the girl alluded to sulked and frowned, while her neighbours tried to soothe her.

‘I tell you what, you girls, if you go on like this no one will marry you, and you will be old maids, shriveled up and whimsical and anxious for attentions which you will not be able to command,’ said a towering girl.

‘Not at all. It does not mean that if we criticize some, we don’t like others.’

‘I know,’ said the giggling girl, ‘somebody will marry money here,’ turning towards the merchant’s daughter ‘a brougham and a horse. I—I must have a handsome man, though he be a fool. I cannot abide an ugly face, but’, and, suddenly casting a glance at me, she said ‘other girls will at least marry pretty decent fellows. And Saguna,’^[1] (here a laugh followed, while I looked at her alarmed)—‘she will marry a bent-up old student that comes with loose clothes, and an absent gaze, with spectacles constantly dropping on his nose, so short-sighted that he comes almost close upon you before he can make out who you are. He will be a very clever man—a philosopher, but shrivelled up by hard study. Ha! ha! ha! Don’t you ever invite me to your wedding, I should never be able to keep solemn.’

There was yet another person—a doctor, who was not so much criticized, for the girls did not like to find any fault with him. He exerted a subtle influence, a charm over all. He had a very taking appearance, and he was tall and well-built. He paid compliments to all, and watched their effect with apparent indifference and half-closed eyes. Those half-closed eyes were a great mystery to me, but I found out after some time that they really meant great shrewdness and watchfulness.

It was in a social gathering that I was first made aware of the attention I was drawing from these three individuals. The gathering was a large one, consisting of natives and Europeans. I with three other girls was invited to the party. I was tired and with some difficulty went through half-an-hour’s talk with those near me. I was introduced to people as the girl who was about to go to England. I was congratulated, and several times my ear caught half-whispered words of praise. I also heard remarks which were not so complimentary, and I noticed a surprised stare in the faces of a few, indicating doubts as to whether a native girl was capable of doing anything in the way of study. All the time the eyes of the five ladies were continually on us girls. Meaning to enjoy everything in my own quiet way, I walked towards the window where there was a collection of ferns, and where I thought I would be nicely hidden, to enjoy the sight. It was delightful. It was like a fairy vision—the well-dressed forms flitting about, exchanging smiles and words and glances, the strains of music now and then coming in soft waves blending with the subdued talk. I was full of a delicious sense of repose and happiness when I was startled somewhat to hear the voice of the barrister.

‘How do you do? So glad to see you’, he began, with a little extra affectation of the English accent, as he came sauntering with his eyeglass up, his coat all loose, a rose in his buttonhole, and his fingers dangling a massive gold chain. ‘What? mooning in the gloaming, eh? Young ladies always do that at home. Missed you last time. Oh! it was awfully dull. There was no life in it. I could not stay half an hour here, and now I am bored to death.’ Hereupon he threw himself into a chair.

‘But why? I am enjoying myself. When there are so many together there is a great deal to learn and enjoy. As for me I like to sit and watch.’

‘Oh! bother it all. You ought to see the parties at home. We manage differently there I assure you.’

The sentimental stuff about the gloaming and mooning did not annoy me so much as the expression ‘home’, which the girls had already informed me formed part and parcel of his talk. It jarred on me. It was such an affectation, and I though I would give him a bit of my mind.

‘What do you mean by “home”?’ I asked. He was a little taken aback by the abruptness of the question.

‘Don’t you know? Home, home—England my adopted home, of course,’ he said, trying to keep up an air of nonchalance.

‘Surely that is not your home. Your home is here. Your mother is here. Your father is here. What will the old people say to their only son claiming as his home the home of others?’

‘Ho! ho! You are funny, but you don’t understand. I cannot have anything in common now with those crusty old people. I cannot get any sympathy from them, and ho! their ways—they are unbearable. How can you expect a fellow like me to put up with all their crotchets and old-fashion notions? Everything is so awfully dull here.’

‘Poor old people! So you think that there is nothing good in the old notions that they possess. Everything must be brand new to suit our palate. Is it not so?’

‘You may pity them, but you don’t know how a fellow feels who has been home. Everything is so awfully dull here. Life is not worth living.’

‘But you can make it worth living if you like. Man is not born only for enjoyment and amusement. I thought there was a great deal of work to be done by enlightened men like you.’

‘Yes, work, but not here in this stupid place.’

‘But how is India to become enlightened if all the clever people like you run away; and, besides, you cannot claim another man’s country as your own. He may resent it. It is not legal. ^[2]You know all about law.’

But he merely laughed a derisive laugh, and said that he could not afford to be sentimental. ‘Young ladies are awfully sentimental you know. They can’t understand,’ and he moved away. I was myself surprised with the boldness of my talk, but I had often heard about England-returned young men of his stamp, and I felt indignant at their artificiality.

I had not been long left by myself when the doctor came up with an easy and familiar air, and took a seat near me. Hitherto he had approached me with an air of condescension and patronage. I always avoided him, and now his familiarity offended me. Besides, five pairs of eyes were upon me, and conspicuous among them were the large spectacled ones of Mrs T. ‘I came here only for a breath of fresh air. I think I shall go back,’ I said.

‘Not so fast. I have no objection to this place. So I see you are thinking of going to England,’ he said. With half-closed eyes, and as if he had the right to detain me.

‘Yes, to England to study medicine.’

‘How would you like to stay here? You need not go you know.’

‘I don’t know about that. I should not like to stay here at all and do nothing.’

‘Not when you can afford to do nothing?’

‘No, not even if I could afford it.’

‘You see you can’t understand. It is not necessary for all girls to earn their own living and devote their lives to study. It is only those who cannot get husbands that must do this.’

While he spoke he watched me closely with half-closed eyes. I was burning all over, and began to feel angry. ‘I don’t know what you mean by getting husbands,’ I said, I don’t want to get married.’

‘But you don’t know what I mean. I mean suitable husbands.’

I had a suspicion of what was coming, and felt very angry. ‘I know now what you mean,’ I said. ‘You mean by “suitable husband” somebody like yourself. But even if you were to ask me, I would not have you for all the world.’ He winced, but tried to treat the whole affair as a joke.

‘I was only generalizing and making fun, but seriously I have heard about you so much that I have been making up my mind.’

‘You need not waste any more words. I know what you mean, and have given you my answer’, and I got up.

But when I was coming away I felt guilty somehow. Was I cruel? I was tingling all over with shame and anger. Then suddenly the humorous aspect of the whole scene presented itself to me. Still I was angry. Girls were looking at me curiously, and the eyes of the ladies were fixed upon me, and I hurried away and mingled with the crowd.

‘How do you do?’ said the student, extending his hand to me. He was always scrupulously polite whenever he met us, but with all that we could see through his contempt for us girls, and his feigned interest was all the more jarring. Just at that time when I felt vexed and humiliated his presence was not in any way welcome. ‘I thought you had gone to England, so great was the hubbub made about your going. What a pity Miss—is gone. Now there is an end of your beloved studies.’ This he said with the corners of his lips slightly drawn down.

‘But there is no end. I am going to England to continue them.’

‘Ho! ho! going to England; you seem very sure about it. There is many a slip between the cup and the lip; your constitution may not stand it, and you will have to come back a perfect wreck; and there may be other obstacles too. It is foolish to think of such distant possibilities.’ And he added pompously, ‘a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. What do you say to staying here in India?’

‘I should be glad to do so if I could learn. I myself do not like distant possibilities.’

‘But even if you can’t learn as much as you would like or you are aspiring to, you can learn a little.’

‘A little, but where?’

‘In India if you like,’ but his words were a puzzle to me.

‘What is this other place and where is it? Because, you know, I could go there and learn a little instead of doing nothing till everything is settled for me to go to England?’ His smile became broader.

‘You can get married, you know.’

‘Married?’ I said, catching his drift at last and astonished beyond words. ‘Married?’ I repeated, while he smiled in a more insinuating manner, as if he was about to say: ‘Yes, what can girls do? Marriage is the end of all their learning.’ All his hidden sneers and veiled sarcasms flashed on me. I felt how incapable he was of understanding us girls, and my tongue seemed to run away with me in the excitement of the moment, though I meant to be very cool.

‘Marriage is not the goal of every girl’s ambition,’ I said. ‘It is really disgusting to see how many of you imitate the English in manners, dress and other superficial things without imbibing their liberal spirit—that spirit which gives to a woman equal privileges with man, and credits her with noble and disinterested actions.’ Having said this I left him abruptly. His jeering laugh and ‘well done!’ followed my ear as I escaped downstairs without leave or ceremony. The other girls stayed longer, and when they came they blamed me for leaving so early. They informed me that Mrs T was very angry with me, and said that I was getting peculiar. They talked of gay doings, of puzzles, in which the doctor showed himself very clever; of part singing, in which the barrister took part; of games, and what not, but I took no interest in their talk. I felt annoyed, and my sleep that night was not altogether refreshing.

Holidays commenced. Mr A was asked to make arrangements for my going to England, for he was the missionary in charge. He, strangely enough, demurred. He wanted a doctor’s certificate, and when it was produced he was not quite satisfied, and wanted to speak to me in person. I was in a state of great excitement. I had not seen the missionary since Bhasker’s death. I was almost grown-up now. Would I be disappointed in him? He had been to me the ideal of goodness and nobility. But now he appeared calm, cold, and calculating: what a contrast it seemed. He accosted me with my full name, Bai and all, and when I timidly hinted that I was Bhasker’s sister, he smiled and said: ‘Yes, you are Bhasker’s sister. Bhasker’s sister,’ again reflecting, ‘and you wish to go to England.’

‘Yes, to pursue my studies.’

‘Pursue your studies? But do you know that there are objections?’ said he, with his peculiar smile and looking me calmly in the face.

‘No.’

‘Well! Sagunabai, the Mission implicitly trusts my discretion in this affair, and so I must be perfectly candid with you. Were you my own sister, I would not recommend you to go.’

‘Why?’ I said, my eyes filled with tears.

‘I am sorry to grieve you my dear girl, but I have seen one promising youth die. He was a wonderful boy, but he was killed by overstudy. There was no stopping him and now I cannot give leave to another to sacrifice herself; I would be acting falsely to your old mother. The fact is you would not stand the climate and the hard strain. You can stay in India and still learn.’

These words gave a death-blow to all my hopes. I felt crushed, and as a last resource I fell to entreaty. ‘Let me only go to England; you will see I am strong, my constitution will stand it.’ He kept on meditating and looking out for a while, and then without taking the least notice of my last words, he began in his measured way:

‘Then what is your wish, Sagunabai? Shall I make arrangements for your study in India or not?’

‘Yes, if there is no hope of my going to England.’

‘No hope. But have you reflected on the consequences of even continuing your studies here? Are you ready to brave opposition, loneliness and life in a strange place and among strangers?’

‘Yes, I am ready.’

‘The feeling even in England is very strong against a girl learning medicine, and here it is stronger still. You will have to bear a great deal.’

‘Oh, never mind about that. I will bear anything.’

‘All right. It is settled then,’ and he was gone.

In another month I was at the station with Mr A and my brothers. The train was expected shortly that was to take me away to a new place.^[3] I had been in a strange state of elation all these days, and had braved much, and my spirits rose as the day of my departure approached. Mr A had promised that he would make arrangements for my finishing my course in England. He had smiled more than once at my enthusiasm. The train arrived, and a purse was put in my hand containing some money and my ticket. I received my last words of advice and caution regarding them in a dreamy sort of way, for suddenly the thought struck me that I should soon be alone—alone in the wide, wide world, and that all would leave me and go away. Already the people were rushing and taking their seats. My hands were tightly grasped by my brothers.

‘I have arranged with the guard to telegraph at such and such a station. Good bye! God bless you, Saguna,’ and the train was off. In vain my eyes longed for another look. My heart gave way, and I hid my face, shuddering at my own loneliness.

The dying sunlight lingered in a golden haze on the landscape, as I looked out. I saw the darkening hills and the winding stream flashing through trees till it disappeared in the dark distance. The last glow in the sky died away, and with it my hope and my courage seemed to die away too. O God, what is before me? I counted and recounted again my determinations to study and work, and got poor comfort from them. I felt that the whole world despised me, and now I was alone—alone with the shifting scenes of life around me. Where was I going? What was I doing? What would be the consequence of this daring step of mine? It was a dark lonely time. I walked about and watched the hills that loomed dark and high on the horizon, and the bright stars that seemed each a radiating centre of light spreading its diamond flashes around. Blazing high in the sky above the peaks they looked like beacons pointing upwards. Suddenly a wild joy seemed to thrill my heart, as I sang with all my might. ‘Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee’. ^[4] All through that night the words kept ringing in my ears. They seemed to be filled with new and deep meaning, and my spirit experienced a deep ecstasy each time I uttered: ‘Nearer to Thee, nearer to Thee.’ I felt a presence beside me, in those dark lonely hours and it brought light and joy.

On the second day the dim light of the morning revealed a new scene. A language not my own fell on my ears; people rushed about and shouted vociferously in a strange tongue, and I felt a throb of fear in my heart. There was a great deal of shunting and whistling, indicating that the train had reached a large station. I looked at the crowded thoroughfares and large houses, and searched in vain for some familiar face. But everything was new and bewildering. At last the groaning and creaking came to an end, and the train stopped. I looked at the crowded platform, which was a scene of great bustle and excitement, and felt safer in the compartment; yet I thought within myself, what if I am forgotten and am carried away I know not where? I forgot even the name of the gentleman who was to meet me. Several faces peeped in, and at last I saw a face with an enquiring look. There was a smile on the face, which indicated great assurance and firmness. I instinctively felt that I could trust the person, and in a moment I asked: ‘Do you know the Mission House? Could you kindly direct me to it? I am a stranger and I expected—.’

‘Are you Miss so and so?’

My name with the ‘Miss’ added to it sounded strange in my ears, but I nodded my head and felt bewildered. He, however, went on: ‘You are to come with me.’ I felt relieved and glad at the sight of this strong and kindly person. He took me through the crowd as a father would a child. He seemed to recognize and feel my weakness, and I somehow felt that it was no ordinary hand that led and guided me through the crowd and that it was no ordinary person that seemed to inspire me with this peculiar joy and confidence. I tried to analyse in vain what made me trust him so implicitly. Was it his face that expressed the stamp of the soul’s sincerity, or his deliberate movements that expressed the stamp of the soul’s sincerity, or his deliberate movements, his choice, forcible and weighty language, or his taking for granted my weakness and helplessness? In what lay the power I knew not. I forgot to ask him who he was. ‘Everything is arranged for you, everything is ready. Don’t trouble yourself. Come and see. You need rest more than anything else,’ were his words.

As we drove on I noticed a puzzled expression on his face as he looked at me, and I asked him why he looked so. ‘I expected to see quite a different kind of person,’ he said, and added with an amused smile, ‘do you mean to say that you have travelled alone all this distance, and that you mean to study medicine? Do you know what you will have to brave?’ The look upon his face seemed to say: ‘You delicate, fragile creature, you who could not cross that crowded platform without my protection, what made you take such a bold step?’ I made haste to reply and opened my heart to him as if he had been my father. I felt that to enlist this man’s sympathy was to count him my friend forever. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘your object is good,’ and when I expressed my fears as to how to proceed to join a college, he said: ‘I will see to it all. I will take you. Leave it to me. Don’t fear. You are to stay with us as long as you like.’ When we reached his home, many curious faces met my gaze, and my ears were conscious of a confusion of tongues. One thing alone struck me, and that was the naturalness and the impulsiveness of the people around me. The gentleman’s wife—a soft, smiling impressionable lady—embraced me, as if I had been her own child, and I felt thankful for the warmth of the welcome which I received, and which was all the more pleasant because it was unexpected.

The college to which I was taken was a large building with echoing walls and stone pavements that resounded to the steps of a motley group of students. The bell was ringing as I climbed the flight of steps leading to the front great hall. My heart was filled with awe as I beheld the huge shelves covered with books and scientific objects; I covered my head and wrapped my shawl closer around me, for I could see that many eyes were upon me. As we were hurried from room to room, I heard the students whisper: I say, ‘a live Zenana’, ^[5] ‘Orthodox Brahminee’, ‘Gosha woman’. The Principal, a grey-headed man looked kindly at me, and asked my age. He doubted my ability to follow the lectures, and proposed to hold an examination before admitting me into college, but in order that I might not lose any time, he granted me permission to attend the lectures with the other lady students. I was taken straight into the lecture room, and several large books were placed in my hands. But I was not prepared for the sight that met my eyes—two hundred faces in rows one above the other. On seeing me they burst into a loud hurrah, and the lecturer stopped and beckoned to them to be silent. I took my seat with the few lady students behind him. It was a full quarter of an hour before order was restored, and the dear old man left me with the words: ‘Keep up. They will soon be accustomed to the sight. The carriage will be outside waiting for you.’

Days passed rapidly. The regard and esteem that I felt for my host ripened into friendship, and friendship begot love and confidence. I breathed my story into the dear old man’s ears. It was at the seaside with the waves rolling and dashing on the shore that I heard his story, and trembled while I heard; for it made a great impression on me. I saw as in a dream his own home under the huge temple’s awnings, and his father, a stern, powerful man, and very bigoted. I saw the little boy full of a spirit of his own and full of a mysterious awe for the great goddess that ruled the hearts of the people. He burned with zeal for his religion and was full of fire. I heard him say as he counted the thousand pillars over and over again and was lost in the dim beauty of the silent colonnades, long vistas and lofty cloisters: ‘I will be thy slave, O mighty goddess, for ever, only show me thy face even if thy beauty slay me.’ I saw him foremost in the crowd before her car, amid the yelling, howling wilderness of the people chanting the praises of the mighty goddess. I saw him again an eager listener in a crowded room, chained by the accents of a blind man. The same fire was in his eye, the same pride and eagerness in his looks, but there was a bewildered expression on his face. His books were lying, some by him on the floor, some in his hand, and his face was that of a young man’s, keen in the pursuit of knowledge. It was a school, and the aged blind teacher was discoursing on Christ’s love. He held the young keen spirits by a power not his own. They were chained as it were, and every soul felt his power. I saw the young man again, when the voice of God fell on his ears in the silent night: ‘Flee, flee from the city of destruction. Flee from the wrath to come. Cast off all chains. They are deceptive. They will bind you down to hell. Now is the time, now is the appointed hour.’ It was the day of his marriage. Three times the voice fell on his ears, and he rose, broke the chains, and fled. The effort cost him much, his dear old mother that doted on him broke her heart over it, and the father was as one mad. His afterlife was revealed in one sweeping glance—a life of devotion, consecration, and unabated energy and zeal for the Master for whom he had sacrificed home, friends, comforts. His tale was mingled with the ceaseless song of the waves, and I looked at him and wondered. His face was eloquent; there was the same fire in his eye as I heard his closing words: ‘This is the Lord’s doing I will serve Him, my Master till the end.’ Once the wish rose to his lips as he saw my eager face, ‘I wish you would work with me. There is a great deal to be done. Will you leave your studies?’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I will work with you; I won’t mind staying with you in a strange country, only trust me, only love me. You will be my father, and I shall be your daughter.’

His face broke into a beaming smile: ‘I knew it the first day I saw you.’

How strong are these ties of friendship! Are all earthly things illusions as some would have it? Is there no good in this world, no love? Are not hearts made to feel and sympathise? Is friendship only a name to be scoffed at by those who feel not its power, by those who have not felt its elevating influence?

A year had fled, I knew not how. The holidays were approaching; my days latterly were passed in a great whirl of excitement. Hospital visitings, lectures, and examinations pressed close upon each other, so much so that I felt that there was no breathing space left. The ordeal of answering questions before a large number of students was not the least trying. But now all was over, and the results of the year were proclaimed. I was indeed surprised to find that I stood highest in my class. But I had not counted the cost of all this. I had worked with all my might, and added extra optional subjects to those that were already prescribed in the college curriculum, and now when all was over, a feeling of complete prostration came over me. What was it? I was frightened, and I feared a breakdown. I began to dread the thought of not being able to continue my beloved studies. And then what of the future and those golden dreams of work and independence I had dreamt? I was horrified. My head swam. I could think no more, and I made haste to go home. I felt that if once there, away from strange curious eyes, I could get over this weakness, and again be strong.

It was the beginning of the monsoon. The waves dashed high and the sky was overcast with clouds as I went on board the coasting steamer, which was to carry me to my sister’s home. I took her by surprise. I felt her arms round me, pressing me in her own mute and silent way. It was the expression of deep, silent love, almost motherly in its caress, and I laid my head on her shoulders and felt rewarded for all that I had undergone. She seemed deeply moved, for the tears stood in her eyes, and as she held me she murmured in a hoarse whisper: ‘Dear, dear one, welcome home.’ I had never seen her so moved before. I sate by her, while her arm still lay round my head. She was silent for a while as if deep in thought. Then she said: ‘We have heard all; we are proud of you.’ Few words these, but they seemed to express great things to me. I felt that I did not deserve them, and I laid my head on her lap, and hid my face as if I had been a child once more. Ah! how I enjoyed that hour. I was back again to my dream, and my sister’s hand was stroking my head. The tension of thought and feeling relaxed, and a calm stole over me. Suddenly, as if from dreamland a voice fell on my ears. Its silver tones thrilled me. I was afraid to open my eyes, for I was in the midst of a strange dream with which the voice seemed to mingle in a weird and wonderful way. I was in a boat with a stranger all lost in thought and his face hid in his hands. The boat was very near the sky, and the waves were breaking and tossing round it with great fury; and suddenly as I realised my position the bright evening cloud opened as it were, and Bhasker stepped in and pointing to the stranger who had his head bowed said: ‘Saguna, you and he are going on a long voyage together.’ But before I could ask anything, the voices of people talking fell on my ears. I was shaken from my dream, and I saw with a start a young man standing by my sister’s chair. I would have screamed at this strange blending of the real and the unreal, but my sister’s hand was on me, and she said: ‘What, asleep or dreaming?’ I felt ashamed at being caught in a childish attitude, and the gaze of the young man, looking smilingly into my wondering eyes, pierced me. I was never so confused in my life and was angry with myself. ‘Well, if you are really awake from your sleep, I shall introduce you to Mr–, newly come from England.’ The name of the person gave me another start. It was so like the name of my dear old host—the friend that I had left behind in that strange land. It recalled certain particulars of an absent son which he had poured into my ears, but which at that tie had made little impression on me. The old man had been longing to see his son and was fretting his heart at his continued absence. Was it possible that this was the same young man returning at last, I said to myself, and I peered into his face, but saw no likeness to the rugged stern countenance that I had left behind. Here was a cheerful, refined face, with a tinge of melancholy in it, quite unlike that of the older man. All these thoughts passed rapidly through my mind, and I suddenly recollected that I had not on introduction shaken hands with him, and I hastily rose, but he laughed and said: ‘Never mind, I know you already.’ My sister looked at us and laughed, and asked me: ‘Where have your brains gone, sister mine?’ and then added, addressing the stranger: ‘You must excuse her, she has been working hard and has come back quite an invalid, forgetting also all her manners.’ What had come of my tongue? I listened to my sister and felt very much ashamed. Ah! how trying it was to be wrapped up and made to recline on a low chair, but there was no help for it though I chafed under the restraint and tried to keep up my spirits. What were those flashing glances from the young stranger? Did he see my restless untamed spirit, and was it sympathy that made him look at me thus? The peculiar introduction had made friends of us before we were aware, and when my sister’s husband came with his genial smiling look and his bright welcome, the stranger seemed on exceptionally familiar terms with them all. My brother was jovial and happy and in his best mood, and the conversation was carried on with unusual liveliness. The stranger had warmed up, and was pouring forth new thoughts and new ideas. I tried to shake off my weakness, and was sitting up eagerly listening and drinking in all that was new to me. The young man’s conversation was brilliant. The charm of eager listeners was on him, and he was recounting his college experiences, giving us a glimpse of the new modes of thought prevalent in England, introducing us to the latest books and telling us of the great and good men under whose influence he had come. My brother was reclining, but there was a keen look in his eyes and a satisfied smile on his lips. He was enjoying everything, and the rare smile betokened a pride in the stranger, as if he was a younger brother. All the incidents of the young man’s life seemed to pass before me. I travelled with him, as it were, wherever he went, for his descriptions were very graphic. All those grand thoughts and noble aspirations of which I got a glimpse now and then—what sympathetic echoes they awoke in me! I saw my own feelings reflected in him, but whilst mine were crude, his seemed to be clear and well defined. The evening visit was prolonged to a very late hour, and when he bade goodbye, I murmured ‘Thanks’ to him, and the next moment I stood aghast at my boldness.

We were once more in our mountain home. A great change had come over me. I was not the Saguna who had returned to her family after a year’s study, to enjoy rest and change. My health had become enfeebled, and I had gone back instead of advancing. The visit of the stranger had made an epoch in my life. It had given me a glimpse into a true and noble heart, shown me my own imperfections and want of strength. Life was unsatisfactory as I had conceived it. I had been absorbed in my studies and in myself with the hope of achieving great things with the help of my own powers, and my feeble health made me feel my helplessness keenly. The young stranger had gone away, leaving with me such thoughts and impulses as made me long for a fuller and nobler life. I devoured several books which had been lent to me, and tried to catch the spirit of the writers, but I always lost myself in a labyrinth of morbid and unproductive thought. Five months passed, and the stranger came back again, and my sister and brother brought him to our little home to see something of the grand ghaut scenery. He was on hi sway to his work, and had a little time at his disposal. I felt delighted at his return, and I imagined that those large, melancholy eyes softened as they looked into mine. The very thought sent a peculiar thrill through me. But I felt angry with myself at this feeling, and tried to explain it away on the ground of his sympathy for me. I spent many moments that night in tears of silent mortification. What right had I to feel this joy? He was only a stranger. How I wished to be stronger and able to throw off this weakness and begin my work again with my mind and body nerved for work! Yes, work! Work was my goal, and it must be a grand work like my father’s, like the work that Bhasker aspired to, like my sister’s before her marriage. What was this weakness to which I was giving way? These thoughts, however, troubled me only the first day, for soon after I felt myself as if I were in a golden haze. I was getting my difficulties cleared, having the hard passages explained to me, learning more of authors and books, and finding myself more and more drawn to the stranger, but all with a trembling sense of unreality. My brother and sister enjoyed the readings, and the long evenings were spent often in rambles, often in lively conversation, but oftener in a quiet passive enjoyment of the grand scenery around. Scene after scene of those quite happy days, so full of subtle pleasure, comes vividly before my mind even now. I can remember those evenings when the books were closed after a few delicious hours spent in reading and talk, when the sun lay hanging over the rocks, lighting up their wealth of luxuriant creepers, and when the cool evening breeze brought all the dewy freshness of a hidden spring. The days would pass I know no how. The sun would light up the red-leaved tree perched on the hill in solitary grandeur and show a glorious sky beyond, while all the smaller mounds lay in the shade, covered with Towerna bushes, which rustled merrily to the breeze in grateful acknowledgement of its refreshing contact. My brother would be lazily stretched in his chair, while I received many an admonition from my sister for reading forbidden books and doing just as the men did. Sometimes the stranger would take the lead, and in a light banter would call me a muddle-headed girl whose thoughts always went wool-gathering. His audacity in thus rebuking me was not unpleasing, and I wondered whether it was the brotherly feeling towards me that prompted him to speak so, or the guileless freedom which he had imbibed in English society.

I remember well a certain day on which the clouds lowered and hung in masses over the very crags and the steep hill that I had ascended once with Bhasker, and the storm that overtook us in our walk. I had learnt a great lesson that day. My thoughts were too deep for words and we walked, the young stranger and I, silently. We had glided into such intimacy that we gave free rein to our thoughts. I had felt a brother’s guiding hand, and I did not care to hide anything from him, but was satisfied in a dreamy sort of way to accept his leadings. The talk of a minute ago buried me in deep thought. I took no notice of my steps. The larger soul, the nobler faculties and wide sympathy of this new friend gave me an exquisite sense of rest and peace. I saw the trees, bowing with their rich load of fresh dewy leaves, and enjoyed their cool shade as I walked on by the mountain path. The moist clouds rising from the low valleys enveloped me, now blowing in my face, now dispersed by a cool breeze, while black rocks bathed in the recent rain rose high, and mountains streams unseen on account of the wealth of ferns and the tangled load of creepers gently murmured on every side. The birds flapped their wings and gave now and then a solitary cry of delight that found its echo in the hills around. I was marking all this in a dreamy sort of way, for the force of association brought to my mind my long-departed brother. I had also learnt a new lesson which had changed my horizon and given me a new glimpse of life. The lesson had been conveyed partly in the shape of books and partly in conversation with the stranger. I had lately been devouring, with intense delight, George Eliot’s works—once forbidden books. The lesson was on selfishness. Was I not selfish even in my dreams of work? Was not the future I had made for myself too pleasant and easy-going? Where was the self-sacrifice when I longed always to live in the midst of beautiful and grand scenes and breathe an ethereal atmosphere that should give me an exquisite sense of exultation? Was it not selfishness to hate cities, and dream of doing great things and leave the harder part of life’s work to others? I had longed for independence and a life of intellectual ease. What does a selfish being, a savage, do less than this? He toils because he loves his dinner and his ease afterwards. I had chafed at my illness which made m incapable of pursuing my studies further, and thought there was nothing good left in this world; and now a load seemed to have gone off my mind, but it seemed to leave a wish. Oh! that I had somebody to guide me. What other mistake was I going to make? But this dreamy unnatural state did not last long. One day I felt rudely shaken and roused from it all. It was at a time when I was deeply interested in the conversations that were being carried on. I was listening with intense eagerness to the stranger’s talk, for he was discoursing eloquently of his happy college days and the influences at work in his university. His talk had led him to describe a great and good man for whom he had the highest admiration, and just when I felt thrilled with a spirit of hero worship, I received a crushing shock. The shock was conveyed in a few words, but it sent me reeling. The great man of whom the stranger was discoursing so eloquently had been without Christ. What? Not acknowledge the divinity of Christ and yet be great? This point the stranger appeared to treat lightly, as if he either did not think much of it, or fully sympathised with this view, and my torment began. These were the new modes of thought that were prevalent in civilised England; these were the young stranger’s views. The professors openly scoffing at religion came back to me. I recalled many an allusion in lectures in which it was hinted that Christianity was a myth. I had laughed them away then, regarding them as the foolishness of wise men. But now, oh, now, why should the subject trouble me so much? What were the sentiments of this stranger to me? Why did I pray in the silence of my room—pray as I had never done before—to God to grant him guidance and light? The stars were shining in the sky as I clasped my head in my hands—the same stars, it seemed, that had spoken their message to me in the train—and my whole life passed before me in a moment. I thought of the year’s study, and the loving hand that strengthened and upheld me; my father’s life of work and faith; Bhasker’s short and impressive existence: the dear old man’s zeal and enthusiasm and his tenacious clinging to his Master’s work. Was it merely a blind sentiment that had been guiding and inspiring me and those who had an influence over me? Was Christ human, one full of soul strivings and dismal failures like me? How had he helped and sustained those great souls who had lived and died trusting in Him? What was the secret of their strength, of their indomitable courage, of their divine enthusiasm? Was it not Christ’s work? Was it not Christ’s strength? The Man-God full of love and full of sympathy. Ah! what was my false, weak heart bringing me to? Was I to lose my hold on Christ? I felt a sudden faintness, a giving way of life within me. O God! Was the stranger dearer to me than my own soul? Where had my heart wandered? If not, why then did I feel that his reasoning must be somehow right, that his was a true and noble soul, one that appreciated the Divine in all, and that I ought at least to reason and see if I could take a broad view of things? But where would my reasoning lead me? Would it shake my faith in the Divine Master? If He was not Divine, what was He? How would He help me? Reason was craving to be satisfied, and in my excited state I found it very difficult to get rid of these thoughts, though my heart-strings were breaking and my soul was filled with anguish. What if the views that the others held were right and my faith was only a blind belief? And I sat down and said: ‘I will reason. Yes! I will reason as far as I am capable of reasoning, though it costs me all that I hold dear.’ Notwithstanding these thoughts, I could not help crying out: ‘O my Christ, how can I do without Thee?’ and I prayed for help. I sat near the window thinking to myself. The stars alone were shining. I knew not how I was to proceed. At last a light seemed to break in on my soul. It was, I thought, an answer to my prayer. My excitement left me. I felt calm and cool, and the way seemed to be open.

Let me see, I said to myself. I will start with Christ, and then without Him, and search my life and see whether it makes any difference or not. I will sift the question for myself and take what remains. A life with Christ or a life without Him. Christ—not divine? Then what was He? He was nothing to me personally. He was a good man, who prescribed a high code of morality and lived a life like me. He strove to live it well. He approached the Divine but was not Divine. Ah! what could he be to me, to sinful man who feels all his natural tendencies dragging him down to sin and degradation? Where is the hand that could lead him upward to God, that could give him a Divine standing, as it were? If not Christ, then who? Mere example will not do it. It must be a being not of this world and yet of this world, one who can understand man’s spiritual needs and yet be capable of satisfying them. Ah! whatever it may be in Christian lands, in lands that have been basking for centuries under the sunshine of Christian influence, here, in my country, the contrast between right and wrong, between holiness and sin, is so marked that the transition could only have resulted from the operation of the Divine will. But still I was not going to give in to what others might call my prejudices. I was bent upon questioning my heart and seeing for myself. I was longing to live the highest life on earth. Was this possible with Christ’s help, with my sins forgiven, with my self raised to His own level, a child of God, an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven, His ransomed one? There on that height with Christ’s face shining on me, His presence upholding me, what was not possible for me to do? I would try to live his life, walk in His footsteps, and if I should stumble or fall, I would feel his hand raising and upholding me, His Divine strength removing my weakness and perfecting my strength. Christ only a man? Then what is the difference? A human sin-stained being like myself, what could he do for me? O God, what a stifling thought! Was there no pure air to breathe? No Divine presence to sustain me? No way to satisfy my spiritual longings? Only a God, a great and holy God, before whom I dare not stand, breathe, or live? Christ, a being like me? Oh, what a crushing of all my energies! How the very thought dragged me down to the lowest depths of despair and gloom! I felt I could never rise above my sinful self, never do any good. What was the use of striving and trying? It was no use. I had better stay where I was, live and enjoy life as best as I could. Good? There was no good in this world, and if life was unbearable, death would bring relief. Hope? Ah! there was no hope. I was lost for ever. Could there be a heaven for me without Christ? Was a life of Christ possible for a being like me? No! cried my whole mind and soul in unison. His claim to be Divine must be admitted if one is to be guided by His code of morality. Accept not Christ, and you have nothing to guide you in the everyday relations of life; and if you accept His guidance in morality, you are bound to acknowledge Him to be what he himself laid claim to be—the Divine Teacher and Saviour of the world.

I opened my eyes and beheld a glow on the mountaintops. My heart was filled with joy. I had found the pearl of great price. Christ was mine, once more mine. I had searched for Him and I had found Him, and He was to be mine for evermore, and the stranger, he should have Him too. He must see. How could he be so blind? My heart was beating wildly, my steps quickened. It was like a new discovery to me. I was emboldened. I would argue the question with him, I said to myself. All my reserve melted away. I felt a divine right to know his mind. He was the only man that I ever loved and would love, and if he could not see I would sweep this love off, though my heart should break; for no earthly love should come between me and Christ. I sat far into the morning. My heart cried: ‘He will see, he will see, he cannot be so blind.’ My temples were throbbing, and my whole being seemed compressed and nerved for one object, and that was to make the stranger see that Christ was all in all. After this, come what might, I cared nothing. What was the talk that followed? What was the explanation? What strange glimpses I had into a nature higher and wider than my own! What a flood of light dawned upon me! ‘Christ’s influence and teaching,’ said he, quite calmly, ‘can it no affect even those that doubt His Divinity, and set at nought His teachings? Yes, His life-giving power is felt by every soul that makes an effort to rise out of self and grasps the Higher Hand. Yes! Those lives are none the less noble,’ said he with quivering lips as if the words came from his heart. A flood of joy came over me as I said: ‘And you, you feel Christ’s power in your soul, you are none of the unbelieving none of the vain strivers who would not have anything to do with Christ, and yet take the best of His teachings and try to walk according to it in their own strength and in their own power.’ It was the last day of his stay. We were standing on the edge of a precipice looking down into the valley below. Before us were the great mountains, and a glow of light hovered on the edge of the clouds high above them. As I looked at the glow I felt a strange elation of spirits. ‘Oh, how are we to attain this height, this glorified completion of our lives?’ I said, pointing to the light. Below all was dark with masses of rolling mists rising from dark valleys. There was a vast cavern at our feet from whence the dark hills with their dimly lighted points rose only to make the depth and breadth of this gloomy cavern more impressive. ‘There on those heights I should like to be, there above those clouds in the midst of the light or nowhere at all,’ I said, as I cast a shuddering glance on all around me. I felt an arm encircle me, and ‘there we shall be, God helping, all our lives,’ said a hoarse voice in my ears. A great giddiness came over me. My life seemed to pass before me. Scene after scene, place after place seemed to float past me, only the ground on which we stood was firm and the arm that steadied me real. I had passed through a great whirl of thought, and now at last my feet seemed firmly planted—planted on the Rock of Ages. There was no fear no, no losing one’s way. Let darkness come, let the whole world be blotted out from view, darkness and night would have no terror for us. Christ was ours. God was ours. Heaven was ours, and our lives were to be one full and joyous song. The moon rose from the dark waving pall of hovering clouds, and we traced our way down to our cottage-home. Near the door he grasped my hand a pressed a kiss. It was a holy kiss that sealed for ever the course of our lives. ‘Now and for ever thine,’ I said, and I laid my hand in his.