Chapter III: Part 3

Then the manner of the lady quite altered; the cold, careless look changed to one of earnestness and love. She drew the frightened Buté close to her, held her little trembling hand in one of her own, and with the other pointed to the dead scorpion which lay on the floor.

“O my child!” she cried, “see in that poisonous reptile a type of your own sin of untruth. That scorpion could only hurt the body; but falsehood poisons the soul. Who but a fool would play with a scorpion and say, ‘It is but a little one,’ instead of crushing it at once! Who but a fool would amuse himself with fire-flies when poisonous reptiles were lurking near! Buté, my poor child, how many lies, more hateful than scorpions, have been suffered to nestle in your bosom and to come forth from your lips! And you think me hard and severe because I wish to crush them, because I warn you against the sin which God hates. You were grieved and disappointed at being shut out from a little feast which would soon have been over; but think what it would be to be shut out for ever from heaven, from its brightness and glory and joy! And it is written in God’s holy Word, _There shall in no wise enter into it anything that defileth or maketh a lie_.”

The Miss Sahiba added many more words, and this time they fell on an attentive ear. She taught Buté how to pray for forgiveness of past sin, and for the Holy Spirit of God, through whom alone she could conquer her sin in the future. Little Buté learned a prayer before she went to sleep that night, and she thought of it the very first thing when her eyes unclosed in the morning. While Buté prayed that God would make her truthful and holy, she also tried very hard herself to be truthful and holy. Soon all her companions saw a great change in little Buté. Her face grew brighter as her heart grew more pure; for we never are so happy as when we feel that the smile of the Lord is upon us. No girl in the school was more loved and trusted than she who had once been constantly uttering falsehoods; and when she spoke of anything that had happened, however strange the tale might be, it was instantly believed. It became a common saying amongst those who knew her, “I would rather doubt my own eyes than the word of Buté.”

V.

The Story of Three Jewels.

Hear the parable of three jewels—a Ruby, a Pearl, and a Diamond.

There lived in a country far beyond the dark waters a mighty Rajah, whose name was Kamíl Rahím (All-merciful). Though his home was so distant, he had sons who dwelt in the land of Hindostan; and the names of these sons were Mulá Mal, Biharí Lal, Tulsí Rám, and Nihál Chand.

One day the Rajah called one of his servants whose name was Narayan Das (Servant of God), and thus he gave him command:—

“Go thou to the land in which dwell my four sons, and speak to them thus: Thus saith the Father whom ye see not, but who cares for you and loves you, and desires to give treasure to you out of the abundance of his great riches. Leave the city in which you dwell, cross the river which lies to the east, and, by the path of which my servant will tell you, reach a certain mountain. There you will behold by the wayside a landmark in the shape of a Cross. Dig at the foot of it, and lo! you will find a treasure. There is a jewel which is a royal gift from myself, such as none but myself can bestow. In a setting of pure gold are three gems—a ruby, of which the name is Pardon; a pearl, of which the name is Purity; and a diamond, of which the name is Heaven. He who wears the ruby over his heart will be preserved in danger; he who wears the pearl over his heart will be kept in health; he who in the same manner wears the diamond will become the heir to a throne. All the treasures of earth are not to be weighed in the balance against these jewels, Pardon, Purity, and Heaven.”

The servant Narayan Das prostrated himself before his great Master, and said, “The will of my Lord shall be obeyed.” Narayan Das had a happy home, but he went forth from it; he had parents whom he loved, but he bade them farewell. The sea was wide and the waves were rough, but he feared not to cross them; lo! he had good tidings to bear to the sons of his Lord, and the joy of bearing them repaid him for all the toils and dangers of the journey before him.

After a long and stormy voyage, the messenger from the Father reached the land of Hindostan; and a few days afterwards he arrived at the city in which the four brothers dwelt, even Mulá Mal, Biharí Lal, Tulsí Rám, and Nihál Chand. Narayan Das was weary and faint, but he would not rest till he had inquired the way to the dwelling of Mulá Mal, who was the eldest of the four brothers, who lived in different quarters of the same city.

When the messenger entered the presence of Mulá Mal, he saw in him a man who had upon his brow the spot which marked a worshipper of the goddess Kalí.[31] It was the morning of a great festival, and Mulá Mal was about to set forth to bathe in the Ganges,[32] and to do puja (worship) to the idol whom he adored.

“O Mulá Mal!” cried Narayan Das, “I bring to you good tidings from your great and all-merciful Father. There is a treasure hidden for you at the foot of a Cross, and I can direct you how to find it. But you must set forth at once, or, behold! another may take the treasure, and you may lose for ever the opportunity of gaining these jewels, Pardon, Purity, and Heaven.”

But Mulá Mal thought scorn of the faithful messenger, because he was not in face or garb as one of the people of Hindostan.

“Who art thou, O man of the pale cheek and red beard?” he cried; “and what dost thou ask at my hand?”[33]

“I am a servant of Kamíl Rahím, and your friend; and I come, not to take from you, but to give to you,” replied Narayan Das; “yea, I have risked my life to bring to you good tidings from afar.”

“I care not for thy tidings, nor do I believe thy word,” cried Mulá Mal with contempt. “Why dost thou delay me, when I am about to do puja to my great goddess?”

“O my lord,” cried Narayan Das earnestly, “there is no image made by the hands of man that can bestow on its worshipper Pardon, Purity, and Heaven. Wherefore will my lord not listen? Will he spurn from him the richest of treasures,—even treasures that will, if worn over the heart, preserve him in danger, keep him in health, and make him the heir to a throne? Read but this letter from your Father, and see in it the truth of all that I have spoken;” and Narayan Das drew from his bosom a book on which was inscribed these words: “The Holy Scriptures.”

“Away with thy book!” cried the worshipper of Kalí; “I desire not thy jewels, nor will I listen to thee.”

At that moment there was heard a loud noise of drumming and shouting; a great multitude was about to pour forth from the city to worship the idol. And with the multitude Mulá Mal went forth: he had despised the message of his Father; he had lost the treasure which had been freely offered to him,—even Pardon, Purity, and Heaven.

Narayan Das sighed deeply. “Alas!” he cried, “woe is me that the ear should be closed to the voice of friendship, and that the eye should be turned away from the gift of a Father’s love! But if my message be rejected by the first brother, it may find a place in the heart of the second.”

By mere inquiries Narayan Das found the house of the second son, Biharí Lal.

Biharí Lal was a more sensible man than Mulá Mal, and he did not think scorn of the messenger, nor of the message, as his brother had done.

“Surely,” he said to himself, “no light cause would have made this good man leave his country, travel so great a distance, and go through so many dangers to bring good tidings to me. Perhaps in the place of which he tells me this treasure may really be hidden. Would it not be wisdom in me at least to read the letter which he says that my Father has written, and to try whether the jewels Pardon, Purity, and Heaven may not be found at the foot of the Cross?”

Narayan Das saw with joy that Biharí Lal was not as the deaf adder that will not hear the voice of the charmer. He was not as the blind man who sits hungry beneath the date-tree, and who knows not that its clusters of fruit are within his reach.

“Oh haste, my lord!” cried the messenger; “for if you delay, who knows whether you may not lose for ever the ruby, the pearl, and the diamond which are freely offered to you by your Father!”

But Biharí Lal made reply: “I cannot and I will not set forth at once, nor have I time at present even to read the letter of my Father. Bales of merchandise have just arrived from Persia; I must examine their contents. I have many friends in the city, and I have invited them all to a banquet. Business takes up my time, and what is left from business is filled up by amusement. Go your way now, O messenger! perhaps when I have nothing else to do I may seek from you guidance to the place where I may find the ruby, the pearl, and the diamond, in their setting of gold.”

Thus absorbed in the business and cares of this world, the man went on his way. Alas! never, never was he to possess the treasure which he delayed to search for! On the very day on which he concluded a bargain which made him the richest merchant in the city, even on the night on which he had feasted at the house of a prince, he was smitten down by cholera. Biharí Lal died in much suffering; his body was burned, and his ashes were cast into the Ganges. Never did he find the treasures of Pardon, Purity, and Heaven! The acceptable time for Biharí Lal had passed for ever away!

Then Narayan Das found his way to the house of Tulsí Rám, who was the third of the brothers who dwelt in that city.

Tulsí Rám was a man of a pleasant countenance and of an open heart. When he heard of his Father’s love, his whole face brightened; and when he saw his Father’s letter, he pressed it first to his heart and then to his brow. Nay, Tulsí Rám read enough of the letter to feel sure that Narayan Das was a true messenger, and that at the foot of the Cross he was indeed sure to find the treasures of Pardon, Purity, and Heaven. Gladly did Tulsí Rám welcome the messenger who had come so far to bring good tidings, and eagerly he asked his way to the place where the jewels were buried.

“Will you accompany me thither?” asked Tulsí Rám of Narayan Das.

The messenger shook his head. “I will show you the road, but you must tread it alone,” replied Narayan Das. “Fear not if you find it rough and thorny at first. Courage and perseverance are required of him who would gain the treasures; has any one ever yet conquered a kingdom by idly sleeping on a bed of roses? Go forth boldly, O Tulsí Rám! And forget not to take with you the staff of Prayer; without its help you will never overcome all the difficulties of the way.”

The countenance of Tulsí Rám grew grave when he reflected on these difficulties, for he was not a man of a resolute will. It needed much perseverance on the part of Narayan Das to make Tulsí Rám so much as start on his journey, though he did not doubt the worth of the prize which he went forth to seek.

And when Tulsí Rám set forth at last, he was as one who seeth the eyes of a wild beast glaring behind every bush; he was full of cowardly fears. Tulsí Rám shrank back even from shadows; and when sharp stones wounded his feet, he first felt inclined to sit down and weep, and then to turn back and return to his home. Yet some words in his Father’s letter gave a little courage to Tulsí Rám:—_I will not fail thee nor forsake thee; be strong and of a good courage_ (Josh. i. 5, 6). _Know ye not that they which run in a race run all, but one receiveth the prize? So run, that ye may obtain_ (1 Cor. ix. 24).

At last the traveller came to the stream which it was needful that he should cross; and the name of that stream was Baptism. The waters were bright and pure, but the banks were steep; and Tulsí Rám saw that a plant with exceedingly sharp thorns grew thickly upon those banks, and the name of the plant was Persecution.[34]

Tulsí Rám sat down on a stone on the top of the nearer bank, and wrung his hands and beat his breast, and groaned in the heaviness of his spirit.

“Oh, is there no other way than that of crossing this river of Baptism,” he cried, “by which I can reach the treasures offered to me by my Father,—even the rich jewels which, worn over the heart, will bring safety to the soul, health to the soul, and the crown of eternal life? I dare not—oh, I dare not go forward! I would rather lose that which I feel to be indeed above all price, than encounter those dreadful thorns. Alas, that the thorny plant of Persecution should shut me out from the waters of Baptism!”

Then Tulsí Rám thought that he heard a voice, sweeter than the voice of an angel; and it said,—_Fear not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed, for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness_ (Isa. xli. 10). _Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life_ (Rev. ii. 10).

With fresh energy and hope Tulsí Rám arose and attempted to descend the bank in order to cross over the river; but, alas, he dropped the staff of Prayer, and did not stoop to lift it again! Without that staff he had not the strength to force his way through the thorns of Persecution. Tulsí Rám tried to press on for a time, but the thorns tore his garments and wounded his flesh. His feet were bleeding and sore, and his courage at last utterly failed him. When Tulsí Rám had gone half-way down the bank he stopped, groaned, hesitated, and then turned back. Alas, for him who had dropped the staff of Prayer! alas, for him who had lost the jewels for which he longed, because he had not the courage and perseverance to win them!

As Tulsí Rám was sadly returning to the city, he met his youngest brother, Nihál Chand. He beheld Nihál Chand hurrying on with a firm step towards the river of Baptism; he looked not to the right hand nor to the left, for his was a resolute spirit.

“How is it that thou art turning back, O Tulsí?” he cried, when he saw his brother. “I knew that thou didst start before me, but I hoped by quick walking to overtake thee, so that we might together find the priceless treasures, the glad tidings of which have been brought to thee as well as to me.”

“Alas, my brother!” replied Tulsí Rám, with a deep sigh, “I turn back because of the difficulties o£ the road. If no thorns of Persecution grew by the river of Baptism, surely ere now I should have crossed it; but see how my flesh has been torn!”

“Pardon, Purity, and Heaven,—the ruby, the pearl, and the diamond,—are worth a little struggle and a little pain,” said the resolute Nihál Chand. “Though there were a lion in the way, he should not stay me. It is written in the Book of my Father,—_Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear_.”

“O Nihál!” cried the timid-spirited Tulsí Rám, “I am not as thou art; yet if it be my destiny to wear the jewels,[35] surely they will be mine, even though I remain on this side of the waters of Baptism. All is not in my own hands; who can oppose the decrees of Fate?”

“Deceive not thyself, nor excuse thy own sloth by talking about Fate!” exclaimed Nihál Chand. “If, when thou wert preparing thy meal, a tiger were to steal upon thee, wouldst thou quietly sit still and say,—‘If it be my destiny, I shall eat this dinner;’ or, ‘If it be my destiny, the tiger will eat me’? No,” continued Nihál Chand with much animation; “thou wouldst start up, snatch the nearest weapon, and struggle for life like a man. Even so, with courage and resolution, press on for the prize set before thee.”

But Tulsí Rám only mournfully shook his head, and with a slow step and a heavy heart returned to the city.

“He is a poor, weak creature,” muttered Nihál Chand, “and not worthy to wear the jewels which he has not the courage to seek. I will go forward without him.”

Nihál Chand was indeed a very different man from any of his three brothers. He had more wisdom than Mulá Mal, and his acute mind saw at once the folly of bowing down to idols of wood and stone. Nihál Chand was not, like Biharí Lal, inclined to waste precious time in delay, and to give up his whole soul to the cares of this perishing world. And Nihál Chand, unlike Tulsí Rám, had a firm and fearless spirit, and a will as strong as iron. No thorns of Persecution could stay the resolute man; he pressed through them as one who is shod with brass. And when Nihál Chand had passed the waters of Baptism, with what pleasure he looked back and smiled! Then, feeling that the worst of his trials was over, on Nihál hastened towards the hill, which was soon in sight. He could now see, at no great distance, the Cross at the foot of which the treasure lay buried which had been given to him by his Father.

On the way Nihál Chand was joined by a stranger, who appeared to be travelling in the same direction. The man was of very dark complexion, but gaily dressed, and his name was Temptation.

After the usual salutation, Temptation thus addressed Nihál Chand,—

“Brave and noble hero, the fame of your courage hath spread far and wide, and has reached the ears of your servant. I have beheld from afar with what resolution you passed through the thorns of Persecution as if they had been soft grass. Worthy are you of the priceless jewels which will so soon be in your grasp. How different are you from your superstitious and worldly brothers, and how superior to the weak and cowardly Tulsí Rám! Allow me to be your companion, that, though I never myself can possess them, I may at least have a sight of the ruby, the pearl, and the diamond, that are to the soul Pardon, Purity, and Heavenly Glory!”

Nihál Chand had at first suspected the stranger to be a thief in disguise, and had stood on his guard against him; but the honey of flattering words is sweet. The ears of Nihál Chand were so charmed by the praise that flowed from the lips of Temptation, that he now suffered him to walk by his side as if he had been a familiar friend.

Thus journeying together, the two men reached the foot of the Cross. Nihál Chand had not forgotten to take with him a spade for digging, and now with energy he set to the task of removing the earth. Temptation stood by watching him, and praising his vigour now, as he before had praised his courage.

Before Nihál Chand had laboured long, his spade struck against something hard. He stooped and lifted up from the earth a little casket of purest gold. Opening this, he beheld within the priceless jewels,—the ruby, the pearl, and the diamond,—joined together in one setting of gold.

Nihál Chand closely examined the prize. Round the ruby, in characters of surpassing fineness, were engraved the words,—_Thy sins be forgiven thee_ (Matt. ix. 2). Round the pearl, Purity, appeared the inscription,—_Holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord_ (Heb. xii. 14). And in delicate letters appeared round the diamond,—_It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom_ (Luke xii. 32).

Temptation looked with envy and desire on the precious jewels in the hands of Nihál Chand, though not yet worn over his heart. Much did Temptation wish to rob of them the brave man who had come through such difficulties to obtain them; but Nihál Chand was courageous and strong, and Temptation knew that he had not a chance of getting the jewels by force. He therefore had recourse to cunning.

“The ornament is very beautiful,” said the treacherous stranger, bending forward as if to examine it. “Grand is the blood-red ruby, and happy is he to whom free pardon for sin is given.”

Nihál Chand smiled as he made reply,—“Of great value is the ruby; none but its possessor can know real peace. Blessed is he whose sins are forgiven—he who fears not the judgment of God.”

“And splendid is the diamond,” observed Temptation; “Heaven is indeed such a prize as the mightiest might glory in winning.”

“Yes,” replied the exulting Nihál Chand,—who, when he passed the waters of Baptism, had assumed the new name of Christian; “it is a glorious thing to be made an inheritor of the Kingdom of Heaven!”

“But, to my mind,” observed crafty Temptation, “this pale pearl set between the ruby and the diamond rather mars the beauty of the whole ornament. The gift would be better without it.”

“Yet it adds to its value,” observed Nihál Chand; “is not the health of the soul a thing to be prized?”

“Your health is most perfect,” said the crafty deceiver; “he who carouses at a banquet cares not to put medicine into his cup. Behold the strength of your arm and the firmness of your step! You need no health beyond what you already possess. Look again at the jewel, my lord, and say whether you would not prefer the glowing ruby Pardon, and the sparkling diamond Heaven, apart from Purity the white pearl?”

Nihál Chand looked again and again, and every time that he looked he cared less for the pearl, though this, as well as the other jewels, had been offered to him by his Father.

Temptation now drew from his bosom a paper; he opened it, and displayed to view a yellow stone, which to the eyes of Nihál Chand looked very beautiful, though, in truth, it was but a worthless bit of coloured glass.

“My heart is so drawn towards your honour,” said crafty Temptation, “that I am willing to do for you what I would do for no other man. I am willing to exchange this precious yellow stone, of which the name is Pleasure, for your dull, pale pearl, Purity. I am of great experience in the art of setting stones; give but your consent, O my lord, and the exchange at once shall be made.”

Nihál Chand doubted and hesitated. In his secret heart he preferred Pleasure to Purity; yet something within him whispered that it would be both foolish and wrong to part with any portion of the gift of his Father.

When Temptation saw that the Christian Nihál Chand hesitated, he knew that his own object was half gained already. Temptation turned the false stone, Pleasure, in every direction, so that the light should sparkle upon it. Again, in terms of contempt, he spoke of Purity, the pearl, as being only fit for women to wear.

At last Nihál Chand was persuaded to change the pearl for the bit of coloured glass. “Be careful,” said he, “in removing the pearl, not to injure my ruby or my diamond. I care not much for Purity of heart; but Pardon for the past and Heaven for the future are possessions with which I never will part.”

O foolish boast! O worse than foolish deed! Scarcely had Nihál Chand trusted his treasure into the hands of Temptation, ere the treachery of the thief was made clear. The deceiver suddenly darted down the hill, at such speed that the weary Nihál Chand, startled and surprised, had no power to follow. Very soon the deceiver, who had carried off the priceless treasure, was lost to view.

With bitter shame and grief Nihál Chand now returned on his steps, feeling like a lost and ruined man. Oh that he had had but the wisdom to know that purity of character, the health of the soul, is never to be divided from pardon of sin and the promise of heaven, so freely and lovingly offered by God, the all-merciful Father! Christ came to save us from the power as well as from the punishment of our sins.

* * * * *

O reader, have you understood the meaning of my parable, the lesson which is to the story even what the kernel is to the nutshell?

Ask your own heart whether you yourself resemble any one of the four men whose story you now have heard. Have you, like Mulá Mal, refused even to listen to the messenger who would bring you good tidings of pardon and peace through Christ, who came to seek and to save the lost? Will you not even read the Scriptures, to see for yourselves whether the message be true? Do you stop your ears and harden your heart when God’s servant comes to tell you of pardon, purity, and heaven, freely offered to man?

Or are you, like Biharí Lal, almost persuaded that the good tidings are indeed true; and yet, are you inclined to leave the matters that concern the soul to a more convenient season? Are you setting your heart on your merchandise or any worldly gains, when Death, the black camel that kneels at every man’s door, may even now, with noiseless tread, be approaching yours? Alas! remember the Saviour’s solemn warning,—_What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?_

Or are you, like Tulsí Rám, a sincere believer in the gift of God, and one who heartily desires to obtain pardon for sin, purity of heart, and heavenly bliss when this short life shall be over? And yet, do you lack courage to take the decisive step which may cause your soul to be wounded by persecution, the step which will perhaps divide you for ever from all that on earth you hold most dear? Do you think that you can keep back from Christian baptism, and yet secure the Christian’s blessing? O weak and trembling believer, forget not the words of Christ the Lord,—_Whosoever shall confess Me before men, him shall the Son of man also confess before the angels of God. Blessed are they that are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven._

But you may be, O reader, one who has bravely passed through the waters of Baptism—you may be one who is now called by the name of Christian. At the foot of the Cross you may have found the treasure which is more precious than all besides. You may have the knowledge of the way to eternal life, you may believe in the Son of God, and you may be resting your hopes of heaven upon His finished work. But even now, oh, stand on your guard, for Temptation is near! An enemy, even Satan, is beside you, who would persuade you that every one who has been baptized is safe, even if his faith (_not living faith_) work no change in his life. The man who is willing to divide purity from pardon and heaven, will, like Nihál Chand, _lose all of the three_! He who wilfully throws away the white pearl, has lost the ruby and the diamond! For thus saith the Holy Saviour, He who is Truth, Righteousness, and Love,—_Not every one that saith unto Me, Lord, Lord, shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven_.

O reader, may God give to you grace to take the Holy Scriptures in your right hand, and the staff of Prayer in your left. May He so guide you by His Holy Spirit, which is promised in answer to prayer, that you may fearlessly and faithfully go on your way, treading under foot the thorns that lie in your path! And may He enable you not only to find, but to hold fast to the end, and wear in your heart, the priceless treasures—even free pardon for every past sin, the promise of a heavenly crown, and that purity of life by which every true Christian must seek to glorify God!

VI.

Jewels Found.

A SEQUEL TO THE STORY OF THREE JEWELS.

With a very heavy heart and sorrowful countenance a man of the name of Tulsí Rám sat in his dwelling. He found no rest by night and no pleasure by day. His hookah[36] brought him no sense of repose. He cared not to go forth to visit his friends. Tulsí Rám scarcely touched the food placed before him by Juwalí his wife.

The heart of the gentle Juwalí was very closely knit to that of her husband. She was as the creeping plant which throws its tendrils round the tall tree; and as the leaves of the two are mingled together, so until now had the thoughts and hopes of Juwalí been mingled with those of Tulsí Rám. Happy the man who has such a wife as Juwalí!

The gentle woman had long watched in silence the sorrow of her husband; she had sighed when she heard him sigh, and grieved because she beheld him grieve. At last Juwalí could keep silence no longer.

“Why is my lord so sorrowful?” she said; “why has sleep fled from his eyes? and wherefore doth he put away food from him? To share the troubles of my lord, would be to me a dearer privilege than to enjoy all kinds of pleasures in an ivory palace.”

Then Tulsí Rám opened his heart to his wife, for he had none other in whom he could safely confide. “Know, O Juwalí!” said he, “that some time since, from beyond the dark water, there came a messenger from my great Father, Kamíl Rahím,—that Father whom I never have seen, but who loves me with exceeding great love. This messenger, whose name is Narayan Das, brought to me and to my three brothers, Mulá Mal, Biharí Lal, and Nihál Chand, the following message:—

“I bring to you, O brothers! good tidings from your great and merciful Father, who ever careth for His children. There is a treasure hidden for you at the foot of a Cross, even jewels of priceless value,—a ruby called Pardon, a pearl called Purity, and a diamond called Heaven. The three jewels are joined together in one setting of gold, and never must be divided one from another. He who wears these jewels over his heart will have safety in danger, perfect health, and become the heir to a glorious throne. The treasure is a free gift from your Father, and each one of you who shall seek for it in the right way shall possess it for his own.”

“These are wonderful tidings indeed!” exclaimed Juwalí; “but did my lord and his brothers believe them?”

“Mulá Mal would not believe,” replied Tulsí Rám; “he would not so much as listen to Narayan Das, or read the letter which the messenger had brought to him from our Father;” and Tulsí Rám, as he spoke, laid his hand on a book called the Bible, which Juwalí had often heard him reading aloud to himself. “Biharí Lal, on the contrary, believed the brave and earnest man who had left his native land, and come through trials and dangers, to bring good tidings to us. But my second brother’s heart was set on his merchandise and his business, and he put off seeking for the treasure till a more convenient season.”

“Alas!” cried Juwalí, “in the midst of all his cares and his pleasures, poor Biharí Lal was smitten by cholera, and he passed away from earth, even as the rain sinks in the sand and is seen no more.”

“When I stood by the funeral-pile of Biharí Lal,” said Tulsí Rám, “I resolved in my heart that I would not delay searching for the treasure as my poor brother had done. I girded myself and set out on my journey. Great was my desire to wear over my heart the jewels of Pardon, Purity, and Heaven.”

Juwalí did not venture to ask, “And did my lord find them?”—for she saw by the anguish written on his face that Tulsí Rám had never possessed the treasure.

“But I found the journey to be one of exceeding difficulty,” continued Tulsí Rám with a sigh. “To possess myself of the promised jewels, I had to cross a river called Baptism, to pass which was to break my caste; and I could not reach it without descending, with much danger and pain, a very steep bank. On this bank grows thickly that plant with exceeding sharp thorns whose name is Persecution, and briers whose names are Loss and Contempt. Juwalí, I went some steps forward; but then I stopped short, for I could not, I dared not go further! The thorns and briers had torn my garments and wounded my flesh. I groaned in the anguish of my spirit. Great as was my longing to possess Pardon, Purity, and Heaven, I could not endure the suffering through which I must pass to win them. I turned back, O wretched man that I am! I turned back;” and Tulsí Rám groaned aloud.

Tears dropped from the eyes of Juwalí. She had heard enough of the Father’s letter, from the lips of her husband, to feel sure that the treasure which he had lost was one of priceless value. Juwalí had even, with great pains, learned to read a little herself from the Book which her husband prized, and she had thought much, by night and by day, over what she had heard and read.

“What makes my shame and grief all the greater,” continued Tulsí Rám after a pause, “is to know that my brave and noble youngest brother, Nihál Chand, has done what I dared not do. He trampled down the thorns under his feet; he heeded not the briers of Loss and Contempt; he pressed on as a strong racer who seeth the goal near, and already heareth the shouts of those who will behold him lay his hand on the prize. He was as a hero who flincheth not in the day of battle. Nihál Chand burst through Persecution; he crossed the waters of Baptism; and now, without doubt, he is wearing the Father’s gift, all his sins pardoned, his virtues shining forth in his life, and his spirit rejoicing in hope of a crown to be worn for ever and ever. I, on the contrary, a wretched coward, shall bewail my weakness to the end of my days, and shall at last perish without pardon, and sink into outer darkness.”

Tulsí Rám smote his breast, for he felt as a criminal who heareth the sentence of death. Then Juwalí who sat at her husband’s feet, lifted up her mild eyes and spake thus:—

“O my lord! surely it is not too late to do now what Nihál Chand has done; it is not too late to arise and go forth to seek the treasure. My lord will take yon staff of Prayer in his hand, and with it beat down some of the briers and thorns. It is far better to have the flesh torn than the heart broken; it is better to suffer for a short space than to be wretched for ever.”

Tulsí Rám listened with some surprise to such brave words from the lips of a woman. Then said he, “Behold, I see _two_ staffs of Prayer. Wherefore should two be provided?”

Then Juwalí blushed and drooped her head, as in a low voice she replied, “I, even I, am ready to go with my lord.”

“Thou!” exclaimed the astonished husband. “Canst thou, feeble woman, endure the thorns of Persecution and the briers of Contempt? Hast thou no regard for thy caste? Thou art weak, and a stranger to the dangers of the world; thou hast ever been sheltered from all troubles, as the pearl shut closely up in its shell.”

Juwalí grasped the staff, and said, though with a trembling voice,—“I am weak, but I can lean hard upon Prayer. As for troubles, will it not be a joy to share them with my dear lord? Let all my neighbours despise me, so that I be but fair in his eyes. As regards caste, surely the highest caste of all is to belong to the family of the Great King. O my lord, let us set forth at once; let us cross the river of Baptism together! I am but a woman; but I have learned from that blessed Book that the great Father loves His daughters as well as His sons; and who knows whether even for me some gift may not be reserved? Unworthy as I am even to look upon them, may not I too, possibly, receive the jewels of Pardon, Purity, and Heaven?”

Then Tulsí Rám, as from a sudden impulse, sprang to his feet. “Shall a woman be ready to leave all, and dare all, and suffer all,” he exclaimed; “and shall a man shrink back like a coward! O Juwalí, light of my eyes! thy voice is like the voice of hope to thy husband. I will follow the example of my brave brother; come what may, we will cross the waters of Baptism.”

Very early in the following morning, before the sun had risen, Tulsí Rám and Juwalí, each with a staff of Prayer in hand, and the husband with the Book in his bosom, started from their home and commenced their journey. The earth was glowing in the bright light of the sun before they reached the top of the bank which overlooked the river of Baptism. By this time the slender frame of Juwalí was weary; but she leaned on her staff, and looked now tenderly at the husband whose steps she followed, now on the glorious sky above her. Juwalí thought of Pardon, Purity, and Heaven, and then she forgot her weariness. Till now Tulsí Rám had walked on in front; but he stopped on the top of the bank, and let his wife come up with him. He feared that she would never have strength to pass through the terrible thorns of Persecution. Tulsí’s own heart was again failing him; but when he looked sadly and anxiously at Juwalí, she met his look with a smile.

“Wilt thou not wait and rest a while?” asked the husband.

“Oh no; I am ready at once to go with my lord,” replied Juwalí, so cheerfully that the soul of Tulsí Rám was filled with wonder. Beholding the courage of a woman, his own greatly revived.

Together the two began to descend the bank. Tulsí Rám was so anxious about his wife that he scarcely felt how the thorns were tearing his own flesh. Never had Juwalí been so dear to the soul of her husband as now, when, in a woman with weak frame but brave spirit, he beheld his fellow-heir of eternal life; no mere plaything or slave, but the companion of his dangers, the sharer of all his trials. Juwalí suffered even more than did her husband. After the fashion of Indian women, Juwalí wore many rings in her ears;[37] and the briers and thorns caught in these rings, so that the wearer’s course was stayed, and she was as a prisoner fastened in bonds. Tears gushed from the woman’s eyes. Tulsí Rám tried to lend his aid to release his wife, but only himself became more painfully entangled in the sharp thorns.

“O Juwalí! what can we do?” exclaimed Tulsí Rám.

Juwalí’s answer was in her act. She lifted up her small bleeding hands, and broke off one by one the ear-rings which hindered her progress, and left them hanging upon the thorns.

“See, I am free!” she cried, smiling, as Tulsí Rám, by a desperate effort, also released himself from the briers.

“Thou art losing thy jewels, O beloved!” said the pitying husband.

“I seek better and brighter jewels,” replied Juwalí. “Shall I regret these baubles if I ever possess the ruby of Pardon, the pearl of Purity, and the diamond of Heaven?”

And so the two travellers reached at last the bottom of the bank, panting, weary, pierced with thorns, but still not seriously hurt. The waters of Baptism flowed before Tulsí Rám and Juwalí. Hand-in-hand the husband and wife passed through those clear waters, the coolness of which afforded to them wondrous refreshment. Tulsí Rám had grasped the hand of his wife to help her across, but Juwalí scarcely needed his help. When they reached the opposite bank, Tulsí Rám looked at Juwalí, and lo! never before had her face shone with such heavenly beauty! It was even as the brightness of the moon when the clouds have passed away, and her silver light falls softly on earth. And never to Tulsí Rám had Juwalí’s voice sounded so sweet as when she exclaimed, “O lord of my heart! the river is passed. Let us rejoice and give thanks.”

The opposite bank was less steep, though still made difficult of ascent by the thorns of Persecution. But the spirit of Tulsí Rám had now acquired fresh courage. Having once crossed the river which he had dreaded, and having found in it nothing to harm him, but only refreshment, Tulsí Rám felt all his strength return. Cheerfully he lent his aid to the weary but happy Juwalí, and the two soon stood at the top of the bank, from which their glad eyes could see the Cross on the hill.

“Our treasure is yonder, and it will soon be ours!” exclaimed Tulsí Rám.

Scarcely had he uttered the words when he and his wife were startled by the sound of a terrible groan,—such a groan as is uttered only by one in mortal anguish or pain.

“Look yonder, my lord,” cried Juwalí; “there is a man lying beneath yon palm-tree. Perhaps he is wounded or dying; hark to his terrible groans!”

At the sound of her voice the poor wretch half raised himself from the ground, so that Tulsí Rám could behold his face. Distorted by pain as was that face, with what surprise and distress did Tulsí Rám recognize in his features those of his brave brother, Nihál Chand.

“Can it be! Yes, surely it is my own brother,” exclaimed Tulsí Rám, hastening towards the spot.

It was indeed poor Nihál Chand who, in a state of weakness and suffering, was lying under the tree. He feebly held out his arms, and was soon in the embrace of Tulsí Rám.

“What ails my brother?—he who is twice my brother—for have we not both passed through the waters of Baptism; are we not both Christians?” cried Tulsí Rám,—“though you were a Christian before me.” Christian is the new name given to those who have passed through the river.

“Oh, call me not Christian!” exclaimed the miserable Nihál Chand; “I am not worthy of the name.”

“What has happened; what have you done?” exclaimed Tulsí Rám with anxiety, for he saw that the anguish of his brother was great.

It was some little time before Nihál Chand was able to tell his sad story. His head drooped on his breast with shame. His brother wondered that one who had so bravely crossed the river of Baptism should now appear so weak and wretched. At last Tulsí Rám inquired, “Could my brother not find the jewels, the gift of our Father,—even the ruby, the pearl, and the diamond?”

“I found them; yes, I found them,” groaned Nihál Chand, “but I never wore them over my heart, and now I have lost them for ever—for ever!” Then the stream of his grief found vent in words, and to the listening Tulsí Rám and Juwalí Nihál Chand thus poured forth the tale of his sorrow and sin:—

“I had not long passed the river of Baptism when I was joined by a stranger, dark in face, but wearing gaudy attire, and of a smooth and flattering tongue.”

“Methinks I know him,” said Tulsí Rám; “surely his name is Temptation.”

“He walked by my side,” continued Nihál Chand, “praising my courage and zeal, till my heart was lifted up with pride, and I thought that nothing but success and glory could be before me. I reached the foot of the Cross; there I found, according to the words of my Father’s messenger, a precious golden casket. On opening it, I found within a beauteous ornament,—even the magnificent jewels joined together in one setting of gold. Over the ruby, Pardon, were inscribed the words, _Thy sins be forgiven thee_. Round the pearl, Purity, appeared engraved, _Holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord_. And I beheld written round the glittering diamond, _It is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom_. Never was there an ornament so precious or so beautiful as this free gift from our Father.”

The eyes of Juwalí sparkled at the description given by Nihál Chand. Tulsí Rám inquired,—“Why did you not at once, O my brother, place the treasure upon your heart?”

“Because of the words of Temptation, treacherous Temptation!” exclaimed the miserable Nihál Chand. “He persuaded me that though Pardon is a precious gift, and Heaven a prize that the mightiest rajah might covet, yet that the pale pearl, Purity, was what few would desire to wear. Temptation offered me in its stead a yellow stone, which he said was of greater value, and to which he gave the name of Pleasure. Woe is me! woe is me! that ever I listened to the voice of Temptation, that I ever was persuaded to part with my pearl for that which afterwards broke in my hands, as a piece of worthless glass! I thought that I could give away Purity and yet keep Pardon and Heaven. I let Temptation take my treasure into his hand, that he might separate the pearl from the ruby and diamond. But the three may never be divided. Temptation, taking advantage of my worse than folly, rushed suddenly away whither I had no power to follow him, bearing with him all that I had dared so much to win.”

“Leaving nothing with you!” cried Tulsí Rám.

“Leaving remorse and shame, and a wretched imitation of a jewel, called Pleasure, which I found to be utterly worthless. Nor have you heard the end of my story. I wandered about for a while, unwilling to remain by the Cross, yet more unwilling to return to the city which I had left with such bright hopes and brave resolutions. At last I laid me down to sleep, but from that sleep I was startled by a sharp pain. The venomous reptile whose name is _Uljhánewale gunah_[38] had noiselessly crept towards me and inflicted this wound in my breast;” and raising his mantle, Nihál Chand showed a dark spot, which marked where the reptile’s fang had left its deadly poison.

Tulsí Rám and Juwalí beheld the wound with grief and alarm.

“O Nihál!” exclaimed the brother, “I know too well what are the effects of the bite of the _Uljhánewale gunah_. No serpent is more to be dreaded. The remedy is at once to cut out the wounded part. This must be done, and at once.” And Tulsí Rám drew forth a sharp knife which he carried in his girdle. On the handle of that knife was engraved its name—_Help from above_.

Nihál Chand was a brave man, and yet, strange to say, he shrank like a child from the pain which his brother thought it needful to inflict. “No, no!” he cried, with an impatient movement of the hand; “such sharp remedies are not required. Do not the healing leaves of Good Intentions grow abundantly in yon thicket? It will suffice to lay them upon the wound; they will soon draw all its poison away.”

Tulsí Rám, distressed and anxious, took out hastily from his bosom his Father’s letter, and quickly turned over the pages, to find if it gave any directions for the treatment of a case like that of his brother. Very grave was his face, and earnest his tones, as he read aloud the words of Him who is truth itself: _If thy hand offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that shall never be quenched: where their worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched._

“What is the meaning of those terrible words?” inquired Nihál Chand, who trembled to hear them.

“O brother! the meaning is clear,” cried Tulsí Rám. “Whatever be the anguish which it may cost, by the means of _Help from above_ we must part from and cast from us whatever is tainted by the poison of sin. You can never have health, never have peace, nay, your very life is in imminent peril, unless whatever has been poisoned by the _Uljhánewale gunah_ be instantly and thoroughly cut away.”

Poor unhappy Nihál Chand looked like one in despair. Even the lightest touch on the poisoned place gave him pain; how could he then endure suffering which the knife would inflict?

Juwalí had taken the Book from the hand of her husband, and now, with a trembling voice, read this sentence aloud: _Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord and He will have mercy upon him, and unto our God, for He will abundantly pardon._

The words were words of hope, and from hope some courage came back to the heart of Nihál Chand. “I will submit,” he said; “and if I suffer, I suffer but according to my deserts.”

Silently but sadly Nihál Chand endured the needful anguish; the part poisoned by the serpent was cut away, while Juwalí, on her knees, wept and prayed for her erring brother.

“Now, O Nihál! you have parted with that which kept you from peace,” said the faithful Tulsí Rám, whose heart had bled for the sinner even while, with _Help from above_, he had inflicted the pain; “now once more you may hope to possess our Father’s gift of Pardon, Purity, and Heaven.”

“Never!” groaned Nihál Chand. “When I yielded to Temptation, when I gave up my threefold treasure, it was lost to me past recovery. Go on, ye happy ones! for the treasure may still be yours; but as for me, I shall carry a scar on my breast, and a deep wound in my heart, to my grave.”

Nihál Chand closed his eyes, for he was too faint and too much exhausted to speak more, far less to proceed on his way. The souls of Tulsí Rám and Juwalí were full of compassion for him who so bitterly repented having given way to Temptation, and who so mourned over the disgrace which he had brought on the name of Christian. Tulsí Rám resolved to remain for a while by his brother, till Nihál Chand should be refreshed by a little rest. Juwalí, at her husband’s desire, retired to the distance of a few paces, leaving the brothers together. There Juwalí knelt down and prayed for her husband, and for herself, and for the penitent Nihál Chand. Then, being very weary, Juwalí dropped asleep at the foot of a banyan-tree.