Cibrar y of Che theological Seminary PRINCETON • NEW JERSEY V// VNV PRESENTED BY Presbyterian Church in the U.S.A. Department of History Fresh. fcS a wl Pub. Coll. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2016 https://archive.org/details/ramkrishnapuntboOOunse 7*4 : r : t ' ' Ram Krishna-punt, THE BOY OF BENGAL, PHILADELPHIA : PRESBYTERIAN PUBLICATION COMMITTEE, 1334 CHESTNUT STREET. NEW YORK : A. D. P. RANDOLPH, 770 BROADWAY. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by WM, L. IIILDEBURN, Treasurer, in trust for the PRESBYTERIAN PUBLICATION COMMITTEE, In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. Westcott & Thomson, Stereotypers, PHILADELPHIA. PREFACE. oXK° N the story of Ram Krishna-punt our young readers will have a glimpse of a life purely Hindoo. If it end more hap- pily than the life of the Hindoo ordinarily ends, it may lead to a desire on their part to confer like happiness on the coun- trymen of our Bengalee boy. The interest of the story is much enhanced by the truthful illustrations, designed by W. L. Sheppard, and engraved by Yan Ingen and Snyder. 5 RAM KRISHNA- PUNT, THE BOY OF BENGAL I HE famine was sore in tlie land. From north to south, from east to west, Bengal, in all its wide borders, was filled with sorrow and death. Hunger and starva- tion ruled in village and in city. Famine- stricken parents looked in anguish upon their children crying to them for bread. From the country they fled to the towns. Many perished by the roadside ; others reached the city, to swell its tide of want and woe. Fever and cholera followed in the wake of famine, and death reigned in town, in village and in 7 RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. liamlet. The vultures and the jackals alone rejoiced, for few of the dead received burial or were borne to the funeral pile. Whither shall the poor Bengalees turn for help? They cry to their gods. But their gods are stocks and stones. The true God, who sendeth rain from heaven and fruitful seasons, they do not know. Alas, for sorrowful and dark Bengal! Would that she knew the Lord of heaven and earth, the refuge of the sorrowing, the poor and the needy ! “What do we here?” cried the Brahmin, Mohun-Ban- erjee, to his weeping wife.' “Shall we sit still and die? i Does not the vulture fly afar for food for its young? Does not the jackal roam through a province for its prey? And shall we sit still and eat emptiness?” “But whither shall we go, my lord?” said the Brah- min’s wife. “The vulture flies afar, but he is borne on the wings of the wind; the jackal roams the jungle, but he fattens upon carrion. We are weak and faint, and 8 RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. shall die by the way. Can we eat dirt? Here let us die, and our kindred will cast our bodies into the holy Ganges, and it will be well with us. Shall we not enter the heaven of Indra and behold the gods? Hay, my lord, here let us die.” “Cowardly woman! will you not make an effort for life? If you care not for your own life, look upon your children. Shall we suffer them to starve before our eyes? Arise! give me your jewels; I will take them to the bazaar and exchange them for rice, and then we will journey to some better land. God’s curse is upon Bengal. Will the gods bless a people who suffer lieaven-born Brahmins to die of want? Let us be gone.” And they went, — Mohun-Banerjee, the Brahmin priest, and his wife, Lachmy, and their three little ones, Vithava, Amana and Ram Krishna-punt. Northwestward was their way. But their way was long — long and weary and sad. Hungry and foot-sore were the little ones, and they cried to their mother for food and rest. The mother said not a 9 RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. word ; lier heart was dead within her ; it was as a stone, and she wept not nor answered to their cries. Their food was gone and their strength was spent. Yet the father strode on. He had filled his craving stomach and checked his hunger with green leaves from the trees; but his hope had faded, and despair alone nerved him. Fiercer glowed the sun above them; the air blew as a blast from a furnace, so dry and so hot was it, and the clouds of dust that swept the arid plain suffocated them. Even the leaves of the margosa-tree, beneath which they cast them- selves in their weariness, wilted and hung limp upon the twigs. Higher and stronger the sun marched in fiery power through the heavens, but weaker and fainter grew the sad group that lay panting for breath beneath the green margosa — the Brahmin, and his wife and the three little ones. The sun reached his noonday height and slowly turned toward his setting. Kindly night cast a veil over the scene, and when the morning broke Mohun-Banerjee lay 10 RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. dead at the foot of the tree; for, swift and sure as the tiger’s leap, the cholera had made him its victim. The mother lay dead not far away. The drooping branches of the margosa hung in sorrow about her; every leaf would have wept had it been permitted them to shed tears, for two little babes were breathing out their lives at her feet. Of the Brahmin’s house but one was left alive. The young Bam Krishna-punt, his father’s pet boy, for whom he had reserved the last meal of food, still lived. The passers-by turned cold glances upon this pitiful scene. It was not a strange scene to them, for the famine had strewn the roads with the dying and the dead. Nor do heathen Hindoos know the Christian ten- derness that loves strangers for Christ’s sake. Hard is the heart of the heathen and cold his eye. Stones might cry out in grief, the hot heavens might weep at the piteous sight, but the Hindoo looked and passed on. Night is drawing on, and the pariah-dogs begin to 2 11 RAM KRISIINA-PUNT. cluster around the dead Mohun-Banerjee, Lachmy, his wife, and the babes, Vithava and Amana. Their short, sharp yelps affright the little boy, and he moves a short distance away from his dead. But he is not to perish with them. As the sun goes down there comes near one with some of the instincts of humanity. Like the now silent Mohun-Banerjee, the aged Gopee-nath was of the Brahmin caste, and the pitiful state of the little Bam Krishna-punt touched the old Brahmin’s heart. “Sad is thy lot, child of a holy stock!” he said. “And will these base-born Soodras, and these accursed Pariahs and Mahars suffer thee to starve beside thy dead parents? Will they leave thee to be devoured by filthy dogs? Out upon their cruelty!” Then he took the child by the hand and said: “Come, thou, with me; to me no son has been given by the gods; thou shalt be my son, and I will be to thee a father.” And Gopee-nath took him and shared with him his mat, his rice and his curry. 12 II. ENEATH the banyan-tree, with its wide- spreading branches, bows the little Earn Krishna-pont before his idol-god. Be- side him stands the old priest, Gopee- nath, his guardian and protector. The aged devotee, with shaven head and the mark of his god upon forehead, arms and breast, tinkles his little bell, and casts fruits and flowers at the feet of the stupid image that sits ever motionless and voice- less at the banyan’s roots. Little cares the elephant-headed Ganesha for the tink- ling bell of the old man, for his flowers or fruits. Little cares he for the prayers of the boy. He smells no fra- 15 RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. grance when the white jasmine flower lies at his feet; he hears no chanted song of praise. The green parrots that flit amid the boughs of the tree, and the monkeys that sport on its branches gaze and chatter; but Ganesha has ears and hears not; he has eyes and sees not. Yet to the little Earn Krishna-punt it seemed not so. To his childish eyes how wonderful a being was this ugly stone; with what strange stories did the old man fill his mind. Eagerly did he listen whilst the lying Gopee-nath told the country people, who came with offerings to the god, of its brave deeds, — how it eat the rice laid before it; how it drank in the fragrance of the flowers; how it spoke to him by night, when all were asleep but the jackal and the owls; how it threatened to send illness, poverty and famine to the wicked families that gave it no rice, no bananas, no spices, no sugar, no cloth. The little Earn Krishna-punt thought it strange that Ganesha never spoke or eat when he was by. But as the rice and salt, the sugar and fruits brought by the 16 RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. villagers fed him and his old protector, he did not contra- dict, even if he doubted these wonderful stories of the deeds of the idol. And why should he quarrel with the old man, his guardian and friend? Years passed by, and gave the boy strength and activ- ity. But still he and the old man lived in the grove, content to be fed and clad in their simple way by the gifts of the country folk around to the brave Ganesha, the wise, four-armed god with the elephant-head. Bam Krishna-punt waited upon the old Brahmin, brought him water from the river, gathered sticks % from the grove, made his fire, boiled his rice and cooked his curry. It was a quiet life, but the boy knew nothing beyond it. To him the world was a narrow space, for his early home and history had faded from his memory, and little did he know of what was beyond his grove. But whilst coming years gave strength to Ram Krishna- punt, they took it from the old devotee. Awaking, one morning, the boy found Gopee-nath stiff and cold on the RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. ground. The gray-haired Brahmin was still in death. Loud were the boy’s cries and shrieks; but the only answer came from the tree above his head, in the chatter of the monkeys and the screams of the parrots. The sun rose high and shined hot upon the dead priest and the lonely boy. At length, taking the old man’s brass pot, the boy fled from the grove, leaving the corpse to the jackals and vultures that already scented their prey. 18 III. NCE more an orphan, sacl, aimless and friendless, the hoy journeyed, he knew not whither. As it happened, he took the road to the river, and at sundown • drew near to its banks, the banks of the sacred Ganges. Slowly he walked beside its stream. In the cummerbund that encircled his waist he had placed a few dried cakes, but these did not satisfy his hunger. He wondered where he should find a home and food. The world was all strange to him. Not far from the river’s brink, and near a clump of bam- boos and reeds, a group of Brahmins, the priestly caste of Hindoostan, were engaged in preparing their evening meal of rice and curry. Some blew the fires, whilst others 19 RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. cleaned the rice and prepared the curry-stuffs. One of the company lay asleep upon the ground, a little apart from the group. As Ram Krishna-punt drew near, a venomous serpent, the cobra di capella, glided from the reeds. Rearing its head the cobra was about to dart at the sleeping Brahmin and to plant in his breast its fangs, whose wound were death. Quick as thought the boy 'snatched a club from the ground, sprang forward, and, before the snake could uncoil its folds, bravely struck it on the head, and with blow upon blow laid it dead beside the Brahmin. The priest, now wide awake, trembled with horror at so near and terrible a danger. “Praises to the great Vishnoo, lord of life and preserver of days!” he cried. “And to you, too, my little brother! It was a brave, straight blow you struck. May the gods forgive you for i slaying the holy serpent. But was it not fated that it should die? How came you here, little brother, in this happy hour?” 20 I RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. The boy told his story — that he was a Brahmin by birth, but orphaned, homeless and friendless, wandering, he knew not whither, now that Gopee-nath was dead in the grove. “ Come with me, boy, and you shall eat of my rice and help me in the care of the gods,” said the Brahmin. “Are we not brothers, both of us sprung from the mouth of Maha-Brahm, the lord of all?” Little urging did the boy need. Homeless and friend- less, he gladly became the follower of his new protector, and Ram Krishna-punt was now under the wing of the Brahmin, Narayana, priest of the temple of Vishnoo, near Calcutta. Narayana had been on a pilgrimage to the holy places upon the upper Ganges, even to its source, where it bursts from the rocks of the icy Himalaya, and was now upon his way homeward down the river. The boat of the pilgrims lay moored to the bank whilst they cooked and eat their evening meal. This done they embarked again 3 23 RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. and continued tlieir voyage, under the soft light of the moon, down the glancing, rippling river. Slowly they made their journey in the budgerow, (boat,) sometimes floating with the stream, sometimes using a sail, and at times thrusting with a pole their boat against a head wind. To Ram Krishna-punt this was a delightful change from his quiet life in the grove, where the same objects met his eyes from month to month and from year to year. The world grew larger to him as he sailed down the great river of Bengal. He never tired of standing in the bow of the boat and looking out upon the country; the hills filled him with wonder and the wide plains with joy. At times he landed and ran up to the towns and through their streets, whilst the budgerow lay moored to the river’s bank. He gazed with amazement at the great temples of the gods, at the houses of the rich baboos and the palaces of rajahs. But, above all, did he delight to accompany his new guardian when he visited the bazaars 24 RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. to purchase rice, and pepper, and turmeric and ghee for the voyagers. The long rows of little shops that lined the street, the crowd that filled it, the bustle and clatter and noise of buyers and sellers, the confusion when the armed servants of some great man made a way through the thronging crowd for their lord, all were so new to him that he was ready to think a bazaar the happiest spot in the world. One day when they had stopped at a great city to procure supplies, Ram Krishna-punt had the joy of meet- ing some of those white-faced sahibs, (lords,) of whom he had heard. He gazed with a feeling of awe upon these rulers of the land, the warlike conquerors not only of Bengal but of India — the proud Englishmen. Narayana laughed at his open eyes and mouth, his wonder at all he saw and heard, but the boy gazed and wondered still. 25 IV. PON the banks of the Ganges, above the great city of Calcutta, stood the temple of Vishnoo, at whose altar the priest Nar- ayana served; and here, in one of its stone galleries, was the new home of Earn Krishna-punt. If, under the care and teaching of his old protector in the grove, the lad had learned only deceit and fraud, still worse were the lessons taught him in this new abode of idolatry. The lies of his former master were trifles compared with the vileness that filled this temple of Vishnoo. All that was bad, Earn Krishna-punt soon learned. By day, when food was plenty, he sat with the priests, chewing pawn, smoking his hookah, eating sweet- 26 RAM KRISIINA-PUNT. meats and listening to tlieir vile talk. Or, if food were scarce, lie took his brazen pot, and, going through the town, sang the praises of Yishnoo and demanded contri- butions for the god. If gifts were refused, he and his companions would pour out curses and imprecations, call- ing down upon the refusers the wrath of the god, until the terrified villagers gladly paid them to go with their songs and curses to their neighbors. Thus they went from house to house, and always came to the temple well laden with raw rice, curry-stuffs and copper-pice, and sometimes with silver rupees or a golden pagoda. At certain seasons the poor idolaters flocked in great 4 numbers to the temple. This was a harvest season to Narayana and his brother priests. The pilgrims could not get a sight at the god without making offerings at the temple-gate. Here sat the young Ram Krishna-punt, now grown to manhood, with flowers, fruits, cocoanuts, camphor and other things demanded by the god, for sale. Thronging, crowding and pressing, the worshipers came, 27 RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. and were forced into the narrow entrance-way, where Ram Krishna-punt sat with his store, supported by musi- cians with tom-toms, horns and cymbals. Having made their purchases, and at no cheap rate, you may be sure, the crowd behind forcing them on before they could get their change, the worshipers reached the gate of entrance to the temple. Passing through, they handed their gifts to the attending Brahmins, and strove to catch a glimpse of the wretched stone which they worshiped as a God. But little satisfaction did they have. In the close, hot, reeking space, jammed with idolatrous devotees, the air was dim with the fumes of incense, and the god scarce visible, as he sat wrapped in silks and cloth of gold. The offerings were sent back to Ram Krishna-punt’ s bazaar and sold over and over again, as long as they and the festival lasted. The piety of the priests was not for naught. One year there came a rich begum, a Hindoo princess, to fulfill a solemn vow. She had promised to give the 28 RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. god two diamond eyes, of untold value, diamonds from the mines of Golconda, if lie would restore her only son to health. Her son regained his health, and the begum brought the diamonds and had them set for eyes into the lord Vishnoo’s head. Now Ram Krishna-punt had been no dull scholar in this school of covetousness, lying and theft. His mind dwelt upon these diamond eyes; he coveted them; he determined to have them and to go into a far country and live at ease. Night and day the diamonds glistened and sparkled before his mind. Waking and sleeping, they were the object of his desire. The command, “Thou shalt not covet,” he had never heard, and the law that was written on his heart he disregarded. He knew that the diamonds were not his, yet to have them he resolved. But how shall he get them? Hard by the idol a lamp burns day and night; near it, on his mat, sleeps Nara- yana, the priest. At midnight, with stealthy tread, a form creeps toward the sacred shrine of Vishnoo. The 29 RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. lamp is burning dim and all is still. The dull light is reflected from the idol’s eyes, and its rays fall upon the sleeping priest. Nearer and nearer creeps the youth. Narayana sleeps soundly. No! he stirs; and, as Earn Krishna-punt steps past him, suddenly wakes and starts up to seize the unknown intruder. The young man grap- ples with the priest. They wrestle and fall. The priest’s head strikes heavily upon the stone floor. He groans once, and then all is still again within the abode of idol- atry. The youth quickly disengages himself from the relaxing arms of the stunned and senseless Narayana, and hurrying to the idol plucks its coveted eyes from their sockets. Swiftly he passes out of the shrine, out of the temple-gate, away from the town, and speeds east- ward toward the sea. His diamonds are hidden in the cummerbund wrapped about his waist. - y ■ " • • ' ' 4 •' ' ' ■ - ■ .. • . ,'> ...X , ' • - ’ V ' ' *■' ' ' ' • •' ' Y. KRISHNA-PUNT believes that lie lias gained the object of liis desires; but he is not now a happy man. The terrors that haunt the wicked goad him and hurry him onward. ISTow he has reached the Sonderbunds, the doleful region of jungly swamps, streams and islands, where the Ganges enters the bay of Bengal. He is safe here from man, but other perils meet him. The Sonderbunds swarm with fierce beasts and venomous reptiles. As Ram Krishna-punt treads warily beside a stream the cold eye of the scaly crocodile is upon him. To escape this danger he turns into the reeds. Here the 4 33 RAM KRIS II NA-PU NT. excited chattering of the birds in the air above him causes him to turn. Then, glaring upon him through the bamboos, crouched and ready to spring, is a Bengal tiger, fiercest and most blood-thirsty of the denizens of the jungle. With hair standing on end the affrighted youth flies, and, escaping the savage beast, seeks again the habitations of men. Emerging from the jungles of the Sonderbunds, Earn Krishna-punt sits down at the foot of a margosa-tree to console himself for his troubles by feasting his eyes upon his diamonds of price unknown. Slowly does he unwrap his cummerbund, where he had hidden his jewels. He brings them forth with eager look, but — oh! horror of horrors! he has no diamonds there! His treasures are but two pieces of cut glass! In a moment he understands it all; sees that he has sinned for naught. Filled with anguish he dashes the worthless glass beads from him; he tears his hair and ' beats his breast; he casts himself upon the earth. The 34 RAM KRIS II NA- PUNT. crafty Brahmin had been beforehand with our boy; he had taken the diamonds, sold them, and jmt glass eyes in their place. Now was poor Ram Krishna-punt humbled indeed. After all his sins he was a ruined, homeless, friendless outcast. Nay, he had lost his gods; for what faith could he have in the senseless idols that could not so much as save their own eyes from the hands of man? He thought over his life and was full of wretchedness. Dark as was his soul he could not but be conscious of his wickedness. His lies, ingratitude, uncleanness, thefts arose before him. The past was a sad picture to look upon ; the future had no light in it for him. Poor Ram Krishna-punt! thine is a dark path ! Whence can light appear for thee ? But hunger compelled him to rise and search for some dwelling-place of man where he might obtain relief. For days he had eaten little save wild guavas and bananas, and now even these he could not procure. He wandered 35 RAM KRIS II N A-PU NT. on until he reached a village. Here he stopped before a neat thatched cottage. The man of the house sat upon a mat on its little verandah. With low salaams Earn Krishna-punt besought him to give food to a starving wanderer. Want made him reckless of caste rules. Life was more than caste now. With a look and tone of kindness that filled the poor youth with wonder, the villager asked him whence he came. It was not difficult for one trained in deceit to frame a fair story to account for his wretched condition. Moved with pity, the villager did not press with questions the hungry, foot-sore suppliant. Calling his little son, he bade him bring water and pour upon the hands and feet of his guest; and summoning his wife directed her to prepare food for the hungry pilgrim. Then he bade the stranger sit upon the mat beside him and rest his weary limbs. In every word that fell from the lips of the villager, the accountant Marnicam, for such he was, there breathed a 36 RAM KRISIINA-PUNT. spirit of love that was new and strange to Ram Krisbna- punt. His eyes followed the good man with wonder and with awe, for lie felt that here was such an one as he had not known before. And well might the poor heathen youth, bred in idolatry, gaze and listen. Now, for the first time, his eyes beheld one filled with the spirit of Christ, and his ears heard a voice attuned by Christian love. This was a Christian village, and Marnicam was a Christian man. Years before, missionaries from a far distant land had passed through the villages preaching to the people that they should turn from their vain idols to the worship of the living God. Curiosity to hear a pale-faced foreigner speak their own language first led them to listen to the words of the missionary. But as these words were spoken to them from time to time, the folly of idolatry became . plain to them. Together the villagers discussed the ques- tion, and at last they resolved to turn out the ugly gods they had worshiped, to hand over to the padre the temple, 37 RAM KRIS 1 1 A A-PU NT. and to ask liim to become tlieir gooroo , (their religious guide.) Led by Marnicam, the head men of the village went to the missionary and made known their errand. Gladly were they received. Marnicam was installed as teacher of the school, and each Sabbath the missionary came to preach and to catechise the little ones. The Spirit of God entered their hearts, and idolatry gave place to the religion of Jesus Christ. It was to this village that Earn Krislma-punt had found his way, and it was the love of Christ in the heart that distilled in tones of love from the lips of the Christian Hindoo, Marnicam. 33 VI. EN years have rolled by. Where now is Ram Krislina-pnnt? Behold his home! Upon the skirts of a little grove of cocoannt-trees, with their glittering, rustling leaves, stands his cottage. Its walls are neatly finished with chunam, the brilliant plaster of India, and its roof is covered with tiles of well-burnt red clay. In the door- way stands Nittiana, the daughter of Marnicam, mistress of the little house, with her pet boy, Isha-das, in her arms. On the mat is seated the young Visuvasen, spell- ing out a lesson in his gospel story, whilst his father, the Christian catechist, Ram Krishna-punt, looks on with happy contentment. 39 RAM KRISHNA-PUNT. Yes, his wanderings are ended. The poor pilgrim, long tossed on the waves of a sinful life, has found a resting- place in the love and service of the true God. To him old things are passed away; all things have become new. Is it strange that, knowing as he did the vileness, the lies, the deceit, the cruelty of idolatry, Earn Krishna-punt was ready to listen with open ears to the teachings of the good Marnicam? Is it strange that he cast away those false gods and bowed to the Creator of all things? And is it strange that when he himself had become a teacher of the truth, the good Marnicam gave him the sprightly Mttiana in marriage, and that now we find a happy Christian home in the midst of a dark, sad, sinful land? God grant that soon, very soon, there may be many such homes in India. Yes, and may God give us grace, who have the light, to send it and bear it to those who sit in darkness. 40 . . . '