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PANDITA RAMABAI - The Story of Her Life

by

HELEN S. DYER

INTRODUCTION

TOWARDS the close of the eighteenth century, when books were few, a remarkable volume entitled"Monumental Pillars,"was published for English Christians. It was compiled from authentic records of the Lord's dealings in providence and grace with individual Christians; of summary justice meted out to those who had blasphemed His name; of wonderful dreams and their fulfilment; of preservation of life through following the inner guidance of the Spirit of God; and similar testimonies tending to show the direct individual methods of God with the children of men, and of the absolute certainty of a particular providential care over their lives.

The story told in the following pages will show how the Lord, having a purpose of grace towards the downtrodden widows of India, has raised up one of that despised class to erect a"Monumental Pillar"to His name. The whole may be designated as a Record of Answered Prayers and Fulfilled Promises. Ramabai could adopt the language of Eliezer of old, and say,"I being in the way, the Lord led me."The human part of the work has been persevering faith and obedience; and as God dehghts to honour faith, the blessing has come, and the work has grown.

When, in the providence of God, my husband was obliged to relinquish the work in India in which we had been engaged for more than ten years, it was impressed upon my mind that the Lord would have us do something in England for Ramabai. This book has been written in response to that impression.

We know also that Ramabai covets the prayers of God's people. It has therefore been on our hearts to do something to bring this work more definitely before the Lord's remembrancers. Ramabai is intensely desirous that all the glory should be given to God. In a recent letter she writes:

"I do not want to be in this place, or have anything to do in connection with it, unless the Lord wants me to be here. It is all His work, and He will take care of it. He is giving me joy, and grace, and strength, for the work day by day. I want you to pray very much for me, that I may be kept very humble and close to Christ."She says that she has had it on her mind to ask Christian people to form prayer circles specially to pray for the salvation of India's twenty-three millions of widows. She believes that if two or three believing ones would meet together and agree upon this subject, and pray specially for it, the Lord would answer their prayer, and qualify those whom she is training to go out in increasing numbers with the Gospel message. In a letter I received from her, in reference to this, she says: "I shall be glad indeed if a Prayer Circle be organized in England, and the Lord permitting, for you to take a leading part in organizing it. I tried to get some friends to do it when I was in England in 1898; but it was not the Lord's will then to let the plan be carried out. I am awaiting His time and orders, and leave everything to Him."After much prayerful consideration we have therefore launched the Sisters of India Prayer Union, to include first of all the work for India's daughters in the hands of Pandita Ramabai, and any other work of faith and labour of love carried on by the women of India for the salvation of their own people.

I shall be glad to send further particulars to any who may write to me.

Helen S. Dyer.

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CHAPTER I

THE CHILD OF THE FOREST; AN ORPHAN; A PILGRIM; A WIF; AND A WIDOW.

"God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are: that no flesh should glory in His presence."-I Cor. i.27-29.

AN eloquent commentary on these inspired words may be found in the life and work of Pandita Ramabai. For in her"God hath chosen"a weak Indian widow to do mighty works in His great name. An emancipated member of a class of women held in the bondage of idolatry and superstition for ages, Ramabai, having found light, liberty, and salvation for herself, seeks the same for her fellow-widows, her race, and her country. Measurably in sight of a comfortable Government appointment-the Eldorado of thousands in India-she gave it up, in the prospect of devoting herself to the uplifting and enlightening of Hindu widows.

It is characteristic of Ramabai that she works with all her heart and soul for the highest ideal she knows; and as soon as more light dawns upon her, she leaves the things that are behind, and reaches out to that which opens up in the vista of the future. This thought explains the developments of her work and plans during the past years, and prepares those who know her well for further surprising developments in the future.

If Ramabai's work has not patterned itself after the exact ideal set out in her mind when she returned to India in 1887-to begin a school that should open the paths of knowledge to young widows in such a way that they should not have to dread the loss of their ancestral religion-it has been prosecuted according to the pattern revealed to her"in the Mount."

While still holding open a door to a liberal education to the high caste Hindu widow, without causing her to break her caste, Ramabai has herself become the moving spirit in an aggressive. Evangelistic, and Industrial Mission.

To sketch the developments of this work as personally observed by the writer, is the object of these chapters; but an outline of the life-story of this remarkable woman is necessary for those unacquainted with her history.

There are factors in making Ramabai the woman she is which date back to forty years before her birth, when her father, Ananta Shastri, a student at Poona, was witness of the (to him) astonishing fact that a woman could be taught to read and recite Sanskrit.

His tutor was also tutor to one of the princesses in the household of the Royal Peishwa; and Ananta Shastri made up his mind that knowledge was an excellent thing for a woman as well as for a man, and that his wife should be taught to read also. In due time he returned to his ancestral home in the Mangalore district; but his bride and his mother both opposed his efforts to teach the former, and he was obliged to relinquish the plan.

Years passed; his family grew up, his wife died, and he set out on pilgrimage. From a fellow-pilgrim with daughters he obtained a fine little girl of nine years for his second wife, took her home and delivered her to his mother, as usual, for domestic training, but asserted his right to teach the child to read. Continual opposition caused him to realize that this experiment was likely to fail also; so he took his wife and started off into the forest, where a rude home was made. The child-wife was tenderly cared for, but sedulously taught; so that in the process of years, when womanhood and the cares of family life came on, it was her voice that taught the sacred learning of the Brahmins to the children of the family. The father was revered as a holy as well as a learned man, and pilgrims and students flocked into his forest home. Ramabai venerates the memory of her father, believing that, like Cornelius, the old Brahmin scholar was one of the class whom Peter confessed to be"accepted"with God.

It was in this forest home that Ramabai's childhood was spent; and among her earliest recollections are those of being awakened in the early mornings by a loving mother to hear and repeat her lessons. Her love of reading was from a child remarkable. Sanskrit, in which all the classics of Hinduism are written, was to her as her mother tongue. The ponderous volumes which form the scriptures of Hinduism were all accessible to her, and she became familiar with their contents and doctrines. At twelve years of age she had committed to memory eighteen thousand verses from the Puranas. This religious learning forms the highest education of the Brahmin or priestly caste, to which Ramabai's family belonged. She says that though she was not formally taught Marathi, yet hearing her parents speak it, and being in the habit of reading newspapers and books in that language, she acquired a correct knowledge of it. In the same manner when travelHng about she acquired also a knowledge of Kanarese, Hindustani, and Bengali. In fact, she may be said to have a knowledge of all those dialects of India which are based on the Sanskrit, the sacred language of the East. With her parents and brother all enthusiasts in Brahminic learning, and pioneers in the education of women, it was no wonder that Ramabai's remarkable talents were cultivated, till she became, under their instruction, a prodigy of erudition.

I have before me a photograph taken in Bombay between thirty and forty years ago. It is a copy of an old daguerreotype, a family group. The father, an aged man; the mother, a comely woman under thirty; a boy and a girl in their teens; and Ramabai, a little maiden of seven, nestling at her mother's side. Their Spartan adherence to all Hindu customs was well illustrated by this journey to Bombay. They came from the Malabar coast by sea in a country vessel, and not a morsel of food or a drop of water passed the lips of one of them while on the journey, which lasted three days-Ramabai remembers them keenly now, as days of misery.

The poverty that overtook the family in Ramabai's early teens was partly caused by the open house kept for so many years for pilgrims and students; and then came the beginnings of the terrible famine which culminated in South India in 1876-77, but which, Ramabai says, was keenly felt by many three years before. The share of the ancestral land, to which her brother was heir, was sold, with his consent, to pay the family debts, and the family went on pilgrimage. How they parted with all their money, jewels, and valuables in the vain hope of propitiating the gods and securing a return of fortune's favours, Ramabai has pathetically told in her"Famine Experiences,"as follows: --"My recollections carry me back to the hard times some twenty-two years ago. The last great famine of Madras presidency reached its climax in the years 1876-77, but it began at least three years before that time. I was in my teens then, and so thoroughly ignorant of the outside world that I cannot remember observing the condition of other people, yet saw enough of distress in our own and a few other families to realize the hard-heartedness of unchanged human nature.

"High caste and respectable poor families, who are not accustomed to hard labour and pauperism, suffered then, as they do now, more than the poorer classes.

My own people, among many others, fell victims to the terrible famine. We had known better days. My father was a land-holder and an honoured Pandit, and had acquired wealth by his learning. But by-and-by, when he became old and infirm and blind in the last days of his earthly life, he lost all the property in one way or another. My brother, sister, and myself, had no secular education to enable us to earn our livelihood by better work than manual labour. We had all the sacred learning necessary to lead an honest religious life, but the pride of caste and superior learning and vanity of life prevented our stooping down to acquire some industry whereby we might have saved the precious lives of our parents.

"In short, we had no common sense, and foolishly spent all the money we had in hand in giving alms to Brahmins to please the gods, who, we thought, would send a shower of gold mohurs upon us and make us rich and happy. We went to several sacred places and temples, to worship different gods and to bathe in sacred rivers and tanks to free ourselves from sin and curse, which brought poverty on us. We prostrated ourselves before the stone and metal images of the gods, and prayed to them day and night; the burden of our prayer being that the gods would be pleased to give us wealth, learning, and renown. My dear brother, a stalwart young fellow of twenty-one, spoilt his health and wasted his finely built body by fasting months and months. But nothing came of all this futile effort to please the gods-the stone images remained as hard as ever, and never answered our prayers. Oh that we had found out then that,"Every man is brutish in his knowledge, every founder is confounded by the graven image; for his molten image is falsehood"; The idols have spoken vanity, and the diviners have seen a lie, and have told false dreams; they comfort in vain."We knew the Vedanta, and knew also that we worshipped not the images, but some gods whom they represented- still all our learning and superior knowledge was of no avail. We bowed to the idols as thousands of learned Brahmins do. We expected them to speak to us in wonderful oracles. We went to the astrologers with money and other presents, to know from them the minds of the gods concerning us. In this way we spent our precious time, strength, and wealth, in vain.

When no money was left in hand we began to sell the valuable things belonging to us-jewelry, costly garments, silver-ware; and even the cooking vessels of brass and copper were sold to the last, and the money spent in giving alms to Brahmins till nothing but a few silver and copper coins were left in our possession.

We bought coarse rice with them and ate very sparingly; but it did not last long. At last the day came when we had finished eating the last grain of rice-and nothing but death by starvation remained for our portion.

Oh the sorrow, the helplessness, and the disgrace of the situation!

"We assembled together to consider what we should do next; and after a long discussion came to the conclusion that it was better to go into the forest and die there than bear the disgrace of poverty among our own people. And that very night we left the house in which we were staying at Tirpathy-a sacred town situated on the top of Venkatghiri-and entered into the great forest, determined to die there. Eleven days and nights - in which we subsisted on water and leaves and a handful of wild dates-were spent in great bodily and mental pain. At last our dear old father could hold out no longer-the tortures of hunger were too much for his poor, old, weak body. He determined to drown himself in a sacred tank near by, thus to end all his earthly suffering.

It was suggested that the rest of us should either drown ourselves, or break the family and go our several ways. But drowning ourselves seemed most practicable. To drown oneself in some sacred river or tank is not considered suicide by the Hindus; so we felt free to put an end to our lives in that way. Father wanted to drown himself first; so he took leave of all the members of the family one by one. I was his youngest child, and my turn came last. I shall never forget his last injunctions to me. His blind eyes could not see my face; but he held me tight in his arms, and stroking my head and cheeks, he told me, in a few words broken with emotion, to remember how he loved me, and how he taught me to do right, and never depart from the way of righteousness. His last loving command to me was to lead an honourable life if I lived at all, and to serve God all my life. He did not know the only true God, but served the-to him-unknown God with all his heart and strength; and he was very desirous that his children should serve Him to the last.

"Remember, my child,"he said, you are my youngest, my most beloved child. I have given you into the hand of our God; you are His, and to Him alone you must belong, and serve Him all your life."

"He could speak no more. My father's prayers for me were, no doubt, heard by the Almighty, the allmerciful Heavenly Father, whom the old Hindu did not know. The God of all flesh did not find it impossible to bring me, a great sinner and unworthy child of His, out of heathen darkness into the saving light of His love and salvation. I can now say to the departed spirit of the loving parent-"Yes, dear father, I will serve the only true God to the last."But I could not say so when my father spoke to me for the last time.

I listened to him, but was too ignorant, too bewildered to understand him, or make an intelligent answer. We were after this dismissed from father's presence; he wanted an hour for meditation and preparation before death.

"While we were placed in such a bewildering situation, the merciful God, who so often prevents His sinful children from rushing headlong into the deep pit of sin, came to our rescue. He kept us from the dreadful act of being witnesses to the suicide of our own loved father. God put a noble thought into the heart of my brother, who said he could not bear to see the sad sight. He would give up all caste pride and go to work to support our old parents; and as father was unable to walk, he said he would carry him down the mountain into the nearest village, and then go to work. He made his intentions known to father, and begged him not to drown himself in the sacred tank. So the question was settled for that time. Our hearts were gladdened, and we prepared to start from the forest. And yet we wished very much that a tiger, a great snake, or some other wild animal would put an end to our lives. We v/ere too weak to move, and too proud to beg or work to earn a livelihood. But the resolution was made, and we dragged ourselves to the jungle as best we could.

"It took us nearly two days to come out of the forest into the village at the foot of the mountain. Father suffered intensely throughout this time. Weakness caused by starvation and the hardships of the life in the wilderness hastened his death. We reached the village with great difficulty, and took shelter in a temple; but the Brahmin priests of the temple would not let us stay there. They had no pity for the weak and helpless.

So we were obliged again to move from the temple and go out of the village into the ruins of an old temple where no one but the wild animals dwelt in the night.

There we stayed for four days. A young Brahmin seeing the helplessness of our situation gave us some food.

"The same day on which we reached that village, my father was attacked by fever from which he did not recover. On the first day, at the beginning of his last illness, he asked for a little sugar and water. We gave him water, but could not give sugar. He could not eat the coarse food, and shortly after he became unconscious, and died on the morning of the third day.

"The same kind young Brahmin who had given us some food came to our help at that time. He could not do much. He was not sure whether we were Brahmins or not; and as none of his co-villagers would come to carry the dead, he could not, for fear of being put out of caste, come to help my brother to carry the remains of my father. But he had the kindness to let some men dig a grave at his own expense, and follow the funeral party as far as the river. Father had entered the Order of a Sannyasin before his death. So his body was to be buried in the ground according to the commands of the Shastras. As there was no one else to carry the dead, my brother tied the body in his dhoti like a bundle, and carried it alone over two miles to its last resting-place. We sadly followed to the river bank, and helped him a little. So we buried our father outside that village, away from all human habitation, and returned with heavy hearts to the ruins of the old temple where we had taken up our abode. That same evening our mother was attacked by fever, and said she would not live much longer. But we had to leave the place; there was no work to be found, and no food to be had. We walked with our sick mother for awhile, and then some kind-hearted people gave us a little food and money to pay our fare as far as Raichur. There we stayed for some weeks, being quite unable to move from that town, owing to the illness of our mother. Our life at Raichur was a continuous story of hopelessness and starvation. Brother was too weak to work, and we could not make up our minds to go to beg. Now and then kind people gave us some food. Mother suffered intensely from fever and hunger. We, too, suffered from hunger and weakness; but the sufferings of our mother were more than we could bear to see. Yet we had to keep still through sheer helplessness. Now and then, when delirious, mother would ask for different kinds of food. She could eat but little; yet we were unable to give her the little she wanted.

"Once she suffered so much from hunger that she could bear it no longer, and sent me into a neighbour's house to beg a little piece of coarse bajree cake. I went there very reluctantly. The lady spoke kindly to me; but I could on no account open mv mouth to beg that piece of bajree bread. With superhuman effort and a firm resolution to keep my feelings from that lady, I kept the tears back; but they poured out of my nose instead of my eyes, in spite of me, and the expression of my face told its own story. The kind Brahmin lady, guessing what was in my mind, asked me if I would like to have some food; so I said, Yes, I want only a piece of bajree bread."She gave me what I wanted, and I felt very grateful; but could not say a word to express my gratitude. I ran to my mother fn great haste, and gave it to her. But she could not eat; she was too weak. The fever was on her; she became unconscious, and died in a few days after that.

Her funeral was as sad as that of my father, with the exception that two Brahmins came to help my brother and me to carry her body to the burning ground, about three miles from the town.

"I need not lengthen this account with our subsequent experiences. My elder sister also died of starvation, after suffering from illness and hunger. During those few months before our sister died, we three travelled on foot from place to place in search of food and work; but we could not get much of either. My brother and myself continued our sad pilgrimage to the northern boundary of India, and back to the east as far as Calcutta. Brother got work here and there; but most of the time we lived wanderers"lives. Very often we had to go without food for days. Even when my brother had work to do, he got so Httle wages-only four rupees a month, and sometimes much less than that-that we were obliged to live on a handful of grain soaked in water, and a little salt. We had no blankets or thick garments to cover ourselves; and, when travelling, we had to walk barefoot, without umbrellas, and to rest in the night, either under the trees on the roadside or the arches of bridges, or lie down on the ground in the open air. Once on the banks of the Jhelum, a river in the Punjab, we were obliged to rest at night in the open air, and tried to keep off the intense cold by digging two grave-like pits, and putting ourselves into them and covering our bodies-except our heads-with dry sand of the river bank. Sometimes the demands of hunger were so great that we would satisfy our empty stomachs by eating a handful of wild berries, and swallowing the hard stones together with their coarse skins."

It was during these wanderings with her brother that Ramabai's faith in the Hindu religion was shaken, though until twenty years of age she worshipped the gods of brass and stone. The freedom of their lives had given to the brother and sister keen powers of observation, and they resolved to test the teachings of the sacred books whenever possible. The following is but one of many tests that exposed the hollowness of their religion, and the deception of the priests. They had been taught that in the Himalayas there was a beautiful lake, in which were seven floating mountains-the forms in which seven sages, or Mahatmas, appeared.

When sinless pilgrims came to the shore, the Mahatrnas floated toward them, and received their worship; but before the wicked they were immovable. During their journeyings, Ramabai and her brother, to their surprise and joy, found themselves near this lake, and beheld the mountains. They prostrated themselves, but received no sign. The priests warned them against going into the water, lest they be devoured by crocodiles; but the brother, early in the morning, when the priests were not on the watch, dared the crocodiles, and swam out to the mountains. He found them to be masses of stone and mud planted with trees, standing on rafts. The whole mystery was soon cleared. Behind the mountains a little boat was concealed. When a poor pilgrim, desirous of being considered sinless, crossed the palm of a priest's hand with sufficient coin, and called on the Mahatmas to float toward him, a priest in the boat gave the raft a push toward him, and he went away happy in his delusion.

While wandering from place to place, Ramabai had free access to the homes of the high-caste Hindus; saw the home-life in all its cruel details, and resolved to devote her life to the redemption of her unfortunate sisters, especially the child-widows.

Ramabai and her brother gradually developed into public lecturers in the cause of the education of women.

In Calcutta, Ramabai attracted much attention; and a solemn conclave of Pandits bestowed on her the title of Sarasvati, on account of her learning. She is the only woman who has been permitted to call herself Pandita.

The Pandits were astonished at her learning. Beside her thorough knowledge of their sacred books, she had acquired fluency in seven of the languages of India; and her ideas on reform were remarkable for so young a person.

Echoes of Ramabai's lectures reached England even at this early date (December, 1880). A gentleman in India, writing to a friend there, told of an accomplished Brahmin lady travelHng through Bengal with her brother, holding meetings on the education and emancipation of women."They were received everywhere,'said this Indian correspondent,"with great enthusiasm by the Hindus, who were delighted to hear their holy Sanskrit from a woman's lips. It seemed to them as if Sarasvati (the goddess of eloquence) had come down to visit them. Instead of a hot, confined room, we had a long and broad terrace open to the sky, and with the Ganges flowing at our feet. The meeting was at half-past four in the afternoon, by which time the terrace was shaded from the sun by trees and houses to the westward. At the eastern end of the terrace a small marble table, with a glass of flowers on it, and some chairs were set, and there Ramabai stood up facing the west and addressed her audience. On her right was the Ganges, covered with large, broad-sailed boats, of a type which perhaps has lasted for two thousand years. There was little or nothing around to remind her or her audience of European civilization. The clear, blue sky and the broad river coming sweeping down from the walls of Benares dominated everything else."This writer adds that"the young lady is twenty-two years of age, the daughter of a learned Pandit, slight and girlish looking, with a fair complexion and light grey eyes. She is now engaged to be married to a Bengali pleader, an M.A. of Calcutta University."

Ramabai's parents had, contrary to custom, refrained from marrying her at an early age. They had betrothed the elder daughter in infancy to a youth whose parents solemnly promised should be educated to equal his bride. But these people broke their promise, and great trouble resulted when the time for consummating the marriage arrived. Thus it came to pass that to prevent such a calamity occurring in the case of their second daughter, her marriage was put off; and then, at the age of sixteen, the parents passed away within six weeks of each other.

Before Ramabai and her brother had been long in Calcutta, the latter, weakened by years of privation, was taken ill and died. His chief concern during his brief illness was for his unprotected sister."God will take care of me,'said/she, to comfort him."Then,"he replied,"all will be well.".

Shortly after, Ramabai was married to the educated Bengali gentleman mentioned above, who took her to his home in Assam. The marriage was a civil rite, for they had rejected Hinduism, and knew nothing of Christ. The marriage was a happy one, but of painfully short duration. In nineteen months, cholera snatched away the husband, leaving Ramabai, with her little daughter, Manorama (heart's joy), to begin her career as an Indian widow.

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CHAPTER II.

THE HINDU WIDOW BEGINS HER LIFE-WORK: LESSONS LEARNED IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA.

"Thy words were found, and I did eat them; and Thy word was unto me the joy and rejoicing of mine heart: for I am called by Thy name, O Lord God of Hosts."- Jer. XV. 16.

RAMABAI'S position in her widowed state differed from that of the millions of her fellowcountrywomen when bereaved of their natural protectors, in that she was not ignorant of the world and its ways, and by the fact that she had an education fitting her to open out a path of usefulness for herself.

Accordingly, we find her, within a few months of the death of her husband, at Poona, the ancient capital of the Marathas, having resumed her former occupation as lecturer on the Education of Women.

The evil custom of confining high-caste women within the four walls of the Zenana, which prevails in the North-West Provinces and other parts of India, is unknown among the Brahmins of the Maratha country.

In Poona and Bombay all Maratha women are free to walk and ride abroad to see and to be seen. This, and the fact that Ramabai had relatives and family connections in Poona, drew her to recommence her career as a lecturer at this great centre of Brahminism.

In prosecuting her object, Ramabai took her stand upon her knowledge of the Shastras, and maintained that their ancient teaching enjoined the instruction of women; and that the neglected and ignorant condition of women was a modern descent into degradation. She advocated that high-caste girls should be instructed before marriage in Sanskrit and the vernacular. She also strongly condemned the practice of child-marriage.

Ramabai's lectures made a wide impression upon the best families in Poona, and, through her instrumentality, a Society of high-caste women was formed, having for its object the education of girls and tl;,e postponement of marriage to maturity. Encouraged by the success of this project in Poona, Ramabai went from city to city throughout the Maratha country, forming branches of the Arya Mahila Somaj, as this woman's Society was called. Ramabai also busied herself with writing and translating, in the endeavour to create a literature helpful to her cause. In her leisure hours she gave lessons on morality and religion to the women of Poona.

It was on Ramabai's heart during this time to start an institution for the education and succour of helpless widows. In this class she saw, in faith, the future teachers of the high-caste girls. But she failed in getting the necessary financial support from the Hindu community to put this cherished plan into execution.

It was here and now, however, that she rescued her first widow. The girl was a waif of the Poona streets, a Brahmin child of twelve years, cast out by her husband's relatives after his death. For several years she had lived the life of a street arab. Her appeal to Ramabai was not on the ground of starvation and homelessness, but on the ever-increasing difficulty of keeping her budding womanly honour intact. To her homely face and strange defective eyes she probably owed her escape from the harpies of vice thus far.

Ramabai was poor herself, but she took the girl in, to share whatever food she had, and to protect her from wrong and outrage. She is now a useful Biblewoman, labouring in connection with Ramabai's settlement at Mukti.

In 1882 the British Government appointed a Commission to inquire into the question of Education in India. The terms of reference included the definite and separate question of female education; and when the Commission visited Poona, it was invited to a reception by over three hundred Brahmin women connected with Ramabai's Arya Mahila Somaj, who with their children assembled in the Town Hall at Poona. Ramabai was the speaker, and her subject the Education of Women.

Subsequently Ramabai was examined before the Commission, and the President was so struck with her evidence that he had it translated from the Marathi and printed in English. In her replies to the questions put by the Commission, Ramabai told of her father's strenuous efforts for the education of women, of her brother's views, and those of her late husband, who was a Vakil, and fellow of Calcutta University. She told the Commission that she felt herself bound to the end of her life to labour on behalf of her countrywomen.

She advocated that Girls"Schools should have specially trained women teachers; that women inspectors should also be employed; and concluded with a forcible appeal that Government should make provision for the study of medicine by women, doctors of their own sex being, in her opinion, one of the greatest needs of the women of India.

The publicity given to the proceedings of the Education Commission brought Ramabai into notice in circles other than the Marathi Brahmins. She now began to feel that she herself needed more training and experience in regard to the education of others. At this time she was unacquainted with the English language, although so well versed in those of India; and the idea A lawyer that she should go to England for study and training forced itself again and again upon her mind.

Ever since the death of her brother, and more particularly again after her husband died, Ramabai had felt in an undefined manner that God was guiding her.

Disillusioned by painful experiences during her girlhood from the superstitions of Hinduism, she was still working from the Hindu standpoint. She knew but little of Christianity, and had no thought of becoming a Christian, but believed in an all-powerful deity whom she felt to be guiding her. Her mind became possessed of a divine unrest; and given the opportunity, she one day found herself bound for England-going forth, as she says, like Abraham, not knowing whither she went.

Arriving in England with her baby daughter, Ramabai was kindly received by a Church of England Sisterhood at Wantage, a community having a mission at Poona.

Here she remained for a year, studying the English language, and adding to her stock of information in many ways.

Four years before, when in Calcutta, Ramabai had made her first acquaintance with the Christian Scriptures.

Keshub Chunder Sen, the founder of the Brahmo sect of Reformed Hindus, had given her a little book of precepts from all religions, most of which were from the New Testament. This greatly attracted her; and later she possessed herself of a complete Bible, and commenced to read it.

At Wantage, time and opportunity to study the subject were afforded; and here Ramabai confessed herself a Christian, and was baptized, with her little daughter, according to the custom of the Church of England, on September 29th, 1883.

The difference that Ramabai at that time discerned between the good precepts of the Hindu Scriptures and the Gospel of Jesus Christ she thus expressed: "While the old Hindu Scriptures have given us some beautiful precepts of loving, the New Dispensation of Christ has given us the grace to carry these principles mto practice; and that makes all the difference in the world.

The precepts are like a steam engine on the track, beautiful and with great possibilities; Christ and His Gospel are the steam, the motive power that can make the engine move."

After the year spent at Wantage, Ramabai received the appointment of Professor of Sanskrit in the Cheltenham Ladies"College, where she found opportunity to study mathematics, natural science, and English literature.

The immediate goal of her mental horizon was at this time bounded by a possible Government appointment in connection with the education of women in India.

A year and a half was spent at Cheltenham, when an invitation to visit America opened out a new vista before Ramabai's eyes, and led to important results. A high-caste Hindu lady from Poona, a friend and relative of Ramabai, had followed her in her determination to be of use to the millions of their fellow-countrywomen.

Anaridibai Joshi had reached America, and studied medicine in the Women's Medical College of Philadelphia. She was now about to graduate as M.D., and the invitation to Ramabai was to witness this ceremony.

Ramabai's mind was agitated, she did not desire any interruption to her studies; but finally came to the conclusion that it would be a help to her life-work to visit America. She went with the intention of staying a few weeks. She stayed almost three years.

The public school system of America-including girls as well as boys, and the Kindergarten, training hand as well as head-greatly attracted Ramabai. She felt she must remain and study these; and in the course of a few months she enrolled herself for a course of Kindergarten study in a Philadelphia training school.

In Rachel Bodley, A.M., M.D., the Dean of the Women's Medical College in Philadelphia, Ramabai found a true friend, and with her also a home. Dr. Bodley had sheltered Anandibai Joshi, and helped her in her studies; and the sad news of the untimely death of that devoted little Indian woman, a few months after her return to her husband and home in India, bound Dr. Bodley more closely to Ramabai, and evoked in her a keener interest in her plans for the future. For now all Ramabai's old desire to benefit her countrywomen by founding schools which combined the training of the hand with that of the head, revived; and forsaking plans which regarded only the higher education of the few women in Government High Schools or Colleges in India, she concentrated her thoughts upon native schools founded by and for native women.

While living with Dr. Bodley and studying Kindergarten methods, Ramabai wrote her famous book, entitled,"The High-Caste Hindu Woman."Here she portrayed the true history of countless thousands of lives doomed by a perverted and decaying religious system of lifelong ignorance; to child-marriage with all its evils; to the absorption of young wives into the joint family system; to the terrible abuse and degradation of widowhood; and to the re-action of this treatment of women upon social and family life in India.

Dr. Bodley prefaced the book with an admirable treatise, sketching the devoted life and early death of Anandibai Joshi, relating Ramabai's history, and supporting and enforcing her appeal for help to go back to India and found an educational home for young widows, who in their turn should go forth as teachers to enlighten the darkness of their countrywomen."

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CHAPTER III.

DREAMS BECOME REALITY; THE SCHOOL FOR HIGH - CASTE WIDOWS ESTABLISHED IN INDIA.

"He brought them forth also with silver and gold."-Ps. cv. 37.

The silence of a thousand years has been broken!"aptly declared Dr. Bodley in her preface to Ramabai's volume, entitled,"The High-Caste Hindu Woman."

Missionaries and travellers had had many a story to tell of the inaccessibility of Hindu women immured within the four walls of the Zenana. Those who had gained access behind the purdah, or mingled with the castes not entirely secluded, had felt the wall of separation raised by Oriental customs; so that, as yet, but a corner of the vail had been lifted. But now a voice had arisen from among themselves to tell with intimate knowledge how the ironbound customs of centuries had ground woman into a position of servitude and ignorance; making her at one and the same time the slave of man, and his greatest hindrance in rising to the higher plane of life held out by the religion of Jesus Christ.

The book opened the way for Ramabai to the hearts of a class of cultured, earnest American women, who became deeply interested in the story of the imprisoned, contracted lives of India's daughters. Many of these were the abolitionists of America's great anti-slavery struggle of the previous decade. In the ranks of the Woman's Christian Temperance Union Ramabai found much help and encouragement. The late Frances E. Willard became her warm friend, and through her influence much interest was evoked.

Ramabai's lifelong desire to educate Hindu widows - that through them a door might be opened into the dense darkness of Hinduism-now took tangible shape.

Ramabai travelled up and down the United States, speaking to large audiences here, and drawing-room meetings there, gaining interest and forming circles of help; at the same time exercising an alert eye with regard to every kind of educational enterprise with which she came in contact, noting many points for adaptation to the work in India later on.

At an overflowing meeting held in Boston in May, 1887, when the audience was moved to tears and laughter by her pathos and keen wit, a provisional committee of women was formed to consider Ramabai's plans-to act with her, and report later. On December 13th of the same year, at another public meeting, the Provisional Committee presented a report that was accepted, a list of officers who were elected, a constitution that was adopted; and the temporary Association became an organized body-it seemed to spring into existence - and Ramabai saw her long-cherished plans take definite form. That night her joy was too great for sleep; when found sobbing in her room, she exclaimed,"I am crying for joy that my dream of years has become a reahty."The President and Vice-President of the Association comprised members of five denominations; the Board of Trustees, composed of some of the best business and professional men of Boston, was equally unsectarian, as was the Executive Committee, formed entirely of women.

Among converts to Christianity in India, especially those of the older Missions, there is a frequent trend towards a European style of living, fostered in some cases, without any intention on the part of the missionary, by the life in Christian boarding-schools, conducted after European plans. This, by setting Western ideals of life before the Indian Christian, leads to discontent with the simple native customs of food and dress. Their incomes will not support them in Western luxuries; and, in consequence, the converts find themselves frequently in debt and difficulty.

This aspect of conversion to Christianity is looked upon with great disfavour by the Hindu community; and by its more ignorant members is regarded as part of the Christian religion. Ramabai keenly felt this anomaly; and realizing that Christianity was an Asiatic religion, and as such ought to be adaptable to India without Western additions, she wisely determined to maintain her Indian habits in all customs of food and dress. She would show her country people, on her return to India, that to become Christians, it was not necessary to denationalise themselves.

In fact, Ramabai's strict vegetarian diet must have caused some difficulty to her American hostesses, even as their grand dinners, of which she coul4 eat so little, were a source of embarrassment to her. Brought up as she had been, with an intense repugnance to any kind of flesh-eating, it was an ordeal to be seated at table in the place of honour next to the host, with a smoking roast of meat in front of him (the smell of which overpowered her) , and to have to decline everything except a little bread and plain vegetable. But Ramabai, persevered in her determination, and returned to India as much of a Brahmin in food and habits, save as to their religious aspects, as she left it.

Ramabai having become a Christian, placed her, however, in a more serious difficulty than that of food, viz., the place in regard to religion which her educational home for widows should occupy. She had left her country in full sympathy with the more advanced Hindu reformers; she was returning, having cut herself off from their sympathies by becoming a Christian. But she yearned more than ever to reach her own people; and the only method that approved itself to her judgment was to offer an education neutral as to religious teaching. Her plans in this respect were fully criticised as she went about expounding them to American audiences.

Many spiritually-minded people committed to missionary enterprise could not see why Ramabai should not cast in her lot with some Mission, and open an avowed Mission School. But Ramabai was strongly of opinion that no Mission School would reach the class for which her heart was aching. The people were too prejudiced against Christianity. Their widows were taught that it was better to commit suicide and be sure of heaven, rather than enter any institution established for the purpose of turning them from their ancestral faith.

In the midst of this controversy, Ramabai cast no slur on Missions or Mission work; but she rallied many to her standard outside of the ordinary supporters of Missions. In an interview with the representative of a Chicago daily paper, in December, 1887, on being asked to give her opinion on the good done by missionaries in India, Ramabai said: "Missionaries are showing by their precepts and example that Christianity does not mean going into other countries and taking possession of them, putting taxes upon the people, introducing the liquor traffic, and gaining a great deal of revenue from the infamous traffics in rum and opium. As their numbers multiply they are gaining a foothold in the country, and also commanding the love and respect of the people by their earnestness in missionary work.

. . . And finally, the blessed Gospel will be everywhere preached by the missionaries; and I hope some day we shall owe to their labours and their prayers a great army of Christian apostles among our people who will eventually regenerate the whole Hindu nation through their lives and their teachings."

In the same interview, with a variety of illustrations, Ramabai enforced her belief that the work she desired to do would prepare the way of missionaries by enabling widows to rise to an independent position in which they would be free to accept Christianity as she herself had done."Christ,"argued Ramabai,"came to give different gifts to different people-some He made prophets; some He made preachers; some He made teachers.

Since I have become a Christian I have thought He has given me the gift of being a sweeper. I want to sweep away some of the old difficulties that lie before the missionaries in their efforts to reach our Hindu widows."Ramabai further declared her belief that having the widows brought under the influence of her school, with the Bible placed in the hands of every pupil, Christian women as teachers, and Christian literattire in its Hbrary, many would be won to see the beauty of Christianity, and embrace it for themselves.

Thus it came to pass that the platform of her work was declared to be neutral as to its religious teaching. Her Hindu pupils were to have full liberty to retain thelt caste, and perform their religious observances. In due time the"Ramabai Association"was complete.

Its headquarters were in Boston; its base,"Ramabai Circles,"in towns and cities all over the country. Members of circles pledged themselves to give or collect a certain sum annually for ten years, to equip and sustain a home and school in India for the education and support of high-caste Hindu widows.

In May, 1888, Ramabai bade good-bye to her Boston friends and went on to Canada, and thence to the Pacific Coast, gaining friends and forming circles all the way.

In November of the same year she left America for India via San Francisco and Hong Kong, and thus got a glimpse of China on the way. She arrived in Bombay on February ist, 1889, and chose that city in which to commence her work. Six weeks later the Widow's Home was quietly inaugurated in a house just back of the Chowpatty Sea-face. The modest announcement of"Sharada Sadan"(Abode of Wisdom) was placed on a board on its frontage. School commenced with two pupils, and the alphabet in three languages, Marathi, English, and Sanskrit. One of the pupils had thrice attempted suicide, restrained only by the fear of being again born a woman. She is now the educated wife of a professor in Poona College, and a happy mother.

The Hindu reform circles in Bombay and Poona gave Ramabai a welcome; her assurances of neutrality as to. religion were generally, though cautiously, accepted; and, in a short time, more pupils of the desired class were obtained. Ramabai went in and out among the Hindus, and had frequent opportunities of lecturing as of yore, when she always commanded a large audience.

Miss Soonderbai H. Powar, at that time engaged in work among women in connection with one of the Bombay Missions, first brought me news of Ramabai and her work. She had visited Ramabai and been introduced to the pupils in residence. Her calling as a teacher of the Bible had been explained to them, and an opportunity to give a talk on the Bible and Christianity was afforded her. Ramabai's little daughter, Manorama, then about nine years old, had won Soonderbai's heart, by insisting that she was a Christian, and that the Bible was her Shastra.

In the course of a year or so, Ramabai moved the Sharada Sadan to Poona, as being a more healthy place, cheaper, and more suitable in every way for the work than Bombay. In 1892, through the continued gener46 PANDITA RAMABAI osity of her American friends, she was enabled to purchase a commodious bungalow in a fine position in Poona, standing in about two acres of ground, which made an admirable home for the Sharada Sadan.

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CHAPTER IV.

A VISIT TO THE SHARADA SADAN, AND A GLIMPSE AT SOME OF ITS PUPILS.

"Wisdom hath builded her house, she hath hewn out her seven pillars."- Prov. ix. i.

THE house that Ramabai secured for the permanent location of the Sharada Sadan in Poona stands well back from the road; but to make the position still more secluded, Ramabai lined the walls that divided it from the road with a screen of trelliswork.

This, covered with creeping vines and backed by flowering shrubs, added to the bowery appearance of the garden. The garden, occupying nearly half the compound, was dotted here and there with fine shade trees, the gold mohur, the plumeria, and others, which are covered with gorgeous flowers in their season.

Roses and lilies, jasmine and elemanta, variegated crotons, caladiums, bouganvillia, and the hundred and one tropical shrubs that are cherished greenhouse plants in our colder atmosphere, luxuriate in the beautiful climate of the deccan of India. Nowhere are they seen to more perfection than at Poona; and Ramabai's garden has always abounded with them. A shaded fernery, planted around a fountain close to the house, affords a cool retreat for the heat of the day. Ramabai, as a child of the forest, was ever an enthusiastic lover of flowers, and longed for her pupils to take delight in them also.

The house had its outer and inner apartments, like all houses built for Hindu family use. To these Ramabai added two long dormitories, built one above the other. The upper was reached by a stone staircase outside, a further flight of stairs leading to an enclosure on the roof, from which to study the stars.

"This is not an institution in which all the best rooms are reserved for the teaching staff,"remarked Ramabai, to a party of visitors she was showing over the building on the occasion of its opening ceremonies in July, 1892."My pupils,'she continued,"are as free to come and go in the drawing-room as in any other part of the house. The Sadan with all its privileges has been instituted for their benefit. They come from homes where they have been treated as outcasts, where no love has been bestowed upon them, and no comforts provided for them. I wish them to see the contrast in all things where love rules. I wish them to become acquainted with as many good people as possible; to learn what the outside world is like from pictures and books; and to enjoy the wonderful works of God, as VISIT TO THE"SHARADA SADAN"they ramble in the garden, study with the microscope, or view the heavens from the little verandah on the roof."

The Pandita's aims, as thus set forth by herself, represented truly the atmosphere of the Sharada Sadan as I found it on my first visit at that time. The pupils came and went everywhere, learned their lessons in groups in the drawing-room, or walked in the garden by twos and threes, gathered roses and lilies for each other and the visitors, made wreaths of jasmine and decked each other's hair.

"Bai", the usual Hindu title for the mistress of the house, was Ramabai's home appellation; while that of Miss Soonderbai Powar was"Ukka"(elder sister). A few months previously Miss Powar had taken up her abode with Ramabai as companion and friend; and as loving elder sister to the pupils her influence has been blessed in a marked degree. Out of school hours the girls followed Ramabai about and clustered around her like bees; while Soonderbai's little room was usually crowded with pupils coming and going, sure of a hearing and help in any difficult phase of work or lessons.

The good-night's cene, repeated with variations on all my visits to the Sadan during the subsequent seven years, was one to be enjoyed and remembered. When the retiring bell rang, wherever"Bai"and"Ukka"were to be found, there the girls and women flocked in. Every one must have a good-night kiss - from the Brahmin woman of forty, who did the cooking, to the youngest child-widow. Some of them were not satisfied with one embrace, but would slyly come up a second time out of their turn, till the fun would get a little too riotous, and a summary dismissal was necessary.

There were then about forty widows in residence, ranging in age from little girls of seven to the aforesaid Brahmin cook of forty. But the majority were from fifteen to twenty-five. Most of the older women had their heads shaved, and wore their sarees drawn close around their faces to hide this disfigurement imposed upon them by cruel custom.

At this time of the opening ceremony in 1892, the schoolrooms were in the inner apartments, the verandahs being used as class-rooms. This was but a temporary arrangement, for the foundations were already in for a fine school-room in the compound opposite the entrance to the original building. This was completed and used a twelvemonth later. The other rooms were then utilized as dormitories for an increased number of pupils.

The opening ceremonies were in two sections. In the morning a company of missionaries and Christian friends of various denominations assembled in the drawing- room for a dedication service. Ramabai said she VISIT TO THE"SHARADA SADAN"desired a public thanksgiving to God for all the way He had led her, and for the provision of this beautiful building which had been given them by Christians in America. The speaking and prayers, in which many present took vocal part, were in line with this thought.

One of the speakers closed his remarks with a Scriptural quotation which may now be looked back upon in the light of a prophecy. Turning to Ramabai he said: "My sister, The Lord shall increase you more and more, you and your children."

In the evening the schoolroom was gaily decorated and filled with a sympathising company of Ramabais Hindu friends, relatives of the pupils, and a few Europeans. Addresses in Marathi were given by Ramabai and others. The pupils sang a number of Marathi songs, one of which, describing the woes of the widow, was very touching. An American White Ribbon song was nicely rendered by a few of the girls; and four of them gave, with marvellous correctness, an English dialogue, representing a scene in the life of Peter the Great.

Thus it will be seen that their education had made considerable advance since the alphabet commencement before- mentioned. It was my privilege at this time to spend several days at the Sadan. The loving spirit that prevailed, and the all-prevading energy of the bright little woman at the head of the house, were two features of the work that remained with me. There was never any trace of Oriental languor about Ramabai; whatever she did she did with her might. Whether hearing the pupils recite their Marathi lessons, directing the malts in the garden, overseeing the workmen on the new building, or explaining the operations of the institution to a party of visitors-she was all life and energy, the centre and circumference of all that was going on.

I was particularly attracted by a happy group of child-widows, some half-dozen or more, about ten or twelve years of age. Such bright little girls! It was difficult to believe that they rested under the cruel ban of widowhood! But even their games echoed the circumstances of their lives. One of these, in which there was an amount of screaming and running away, was explained to me. It was the new child-wife being tutored by her mother-in-law in domestic affairs, and, persistently misunderstanding her commands and bringing her the wrong articles, was being, in consequence, chased and punished! Somewhere about this time one who heard it took down a conversation between some of these little girls, in which occurred the following passages, illustrating the condition of girl-children who, not knowing what marriage means, are yet widows:

ViTTo:"I was a mere baby when I was married. We do not look like wives, do we? Yet people call me a widow/"unlucky,"and say I have killed my husband."Chanda: "I also am a widow, because my parents say so; but what is the meaning of it I do not understand. They say I shall have to suffer much as I grow, older. No one will love me because I killed and swallowed my husband; but I never saw him. I do not know who he was. Since I am come to this school all the teachers love me; they try to make me happy, and they never say unkind words to me or think I am unlucky."SuNDRi: "Prya, let us hear your history, and I will tell mine."

Prya: "My father knew I would be a widow, but he purposely gave me in marriage."

All the Girls: "Prya, Prya, do not say so! How could he know what would be in the future?"

ViTTO: "Well, sometimes parents do it for money. Do you know of one girl who was here in the school, and was obliged by her ignorant people to leave? The poor thing was married when she was five years old. She was given to a man of fifty for a hundred rupees. Within a year the miserable man died, leaving behind him a widow six years old! Don"t you think her parents must have had sense enough to know that such a small child given to an old man would become a widow? But they want money, or do it when they are tired of their daughter."

The other girls chimed in with reminiscences of the cruel treatment meted out to this hapless widow of six years by her husband's relatives.

Then Prya said: "You will get thousands of cases like that. My mother died when I was nine months old. When I was two years and six months my father wanted me to be married. He gave me in marriage to a little boy, who died six months afterwards, when I was three. My mother's friend took care of me till I was six; then my father brought me to Bombay. I lived with him four years, cooked for myself, and was very unhappy. My father was a strict Hindu, and did not love me because I was a widow. My mother's uncle put me in this school. My father did not like it, and came to Poona to fetch me out, but was taken ill. I went to see him. He said he wanted to see my head shaved and disfigured. But he died soon, and I was free."

The poor little mites concluded their conversation by unanimously refusing to consider themselves widows; and rejoicing in the freedom and happiness found at the Sharada Sadan, they ran away to play.

Soon after Ramabai settled her Sharada Sadan at Poona, she paid a visit to the ancestral home of her family in the Mangalore district, where she was well received by her relatives. On her return to Poona several young widows from the extensive Brahmin community of the former place accompanied her, and became her pupils. The case of one poor ill-used girlwidow at this place had especially attracted Ramabai's attention, and she much desired to rescue her. This girl was used most cruelly by her relatives. She was beaten for the slightest fault. She was also punished by being suspended from the rafters of the roof by her wrists, while a heap of prickly pear-bush was placed underneath to receive her if she should succeed in freeing herself. Another punishment was to shut her in a cook-house with burning chillies (red peppers) on the fire; this produces a most irritating smoke, and, often repeated, injures the eyesight.

This poor girl was a most unhappy creature, feafful and suspicious of everybody. Ramabai tried in vain to gain her confidence, and her relatives treated with contempt the idea of giving her an education. Ramabai's diplomacy then led her to try another plan. She invited the mother-in-law and .one other female member of the family to pay her a visit with this girl. They came, and were courteously established on the compound, and a cookhouse appropriated to their use, their caste principles making separate cooking needful. Ramabai entertains like a princess, and the visitors felt themselves highly honoured. Some weeks passed away, during which time Ramabai did all she could to gain the confidence of the unhappy girl, who, however, did not appear to be much more cheerful in spite of her change of surroundings, and the apparent change in the way she was treated. When she did at last open her heart to Ramabai, it was found that the course of ill-treatment had really never ceased; that these women had contrived to beat the girl daily since their arrival at the Sharada Sadan, and to frequently lock her in the cookhouse and leave her there for hours. As soon as Ramabai felt convinced that the victim trusted her, and would stand by her intention to remain, she told the other women that they might leave-a perfectly polite intimation according to Hindu custom. There was some trouble when they found the young widow determined to remain; but as she was over the age at which they could legally have forced her to return, they had to submit with the best grace they could, especially when they found Ramabai took her part. This young woman has long been a professing Christian, and a useful helper in the Sharada Sadan; but I always think her face bears traces of those years of systematic ill-usage.

Probably the reader will be able to identify the heroine of this story in the picture of"Six Pupils of the Sharada Sadan who have become christians."

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CHAPTER V.

SOME OF RAMABAl'S PUPILS BECOME CHRISTIANS; OPPOSITION AND PERSECUTION.

"Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled."Matt. v.6.

It is altogether too bad that I should have all the blame on earth, and Ramabai all the reward in heaven,"piquantly remarked Soonderbai Powar, when relating some stirring events that occurred at the Sharada Sadan in the early months of 1893.

"The people are saying it is all because I am living with Ramabai that the girls are becoming Christians, and that I am the cause of all the trouble; but I have been away in England for several months, and on my return find all the girls attending Ramabai's prayermeetings.

"How could it be my fault?"

Nevertheless, it was apparent that Soonderbai was rejoiced at these developments, and not so very much inwardly disturbed at the blame meted out to her by the offended Brahmin community.

Since leaving America to begin her life-work in India, spiritual enlargement had come to Ramabai. From time to time, in the early part of the past decade, India was visited by earnest Christian evangelists from Britain and America. Such men as Dr. Pentecost, Henry Varley, John McNeill, and a host of others not so well known, have gone on what are called"cold-weather tours,"visiting the large cities, and addressing European audiences, and also natives through an interpreter.

Each of these seemed to have some special message, and most were greatly helpful in re-emphasizing the foundation truths of the Christian faith, leading many out into a truer and deeper Christian experience.

Ramabai always eagerly embraced these opportunities, and, as she learned new lessons, incorporated them into her life and practice. In all these various ministries that helped her, it is but fair to say that Ramabai studied her Bible and made sure there was a"Thus saith the Lord"for all that she accepted. It was her practice then, and still is, to devote the early morning hour, from five to six a. m., to the study of God's Word and prayer. In those days she was usually joined by Soonderbai, her own little daughter, Manorama, and that section of her pupils whom she called her own family.

In the prosecution of her work, Ramabai was continually meeting with high-caste girls who were not widows, but who were in circumstances of destitution and moral danger. Ramabai's American supporters gave her a generous personal allowance, very little of which sufficed for her own simple needs. She employed the surplus in caring for a number of these poor girls, who, not being widows, but either deserted wives or destitute orphans, were not eligible for support from the funds of the Sadan. Some of these were maintained in Mission Schools at Ramabai's expense, and she received some as members of her own family. A few she adopted entirely, they having no natural guardians to whom they owed any sort of allegiance.

Ramabai felt it was her duty to instruct these girls in the principles of the Christian religion. They were therefore aroused an hour before the other inmates of the Shadan to join in the early morning Scripture study and prayer. Neither was the door closed against any others who might be drawn to come and listen from motives of curiosity, or from a genuine desire to learn what it was in Ramabai's religion which made her so different from any one they had ever known before.

And they did so, till, at the time of Soonderbai's return to India in the spring of 1893, fully half of the widows were attending these early morning meetings, and the Spirit of God was evidently applying the teaching powerfully to many hearts.

At this time there were two other resident teachers in the school, who, though professing Christians, neither showed any sympathy with the movement nor attended the prayer-meetings.

As in a thrifty English household fruits are preserved and pickles made for winter use so a good Brahmin housewife has her season for drying and preparing a store of various fruits and herbs for use during the rainy season. Their season comes in the month of May, while ours is an autumn function. At this time, the middle of the hot weather, school holidays were given in Poona; Ramabai's store room was likewise replenished- and a vacation from school work meant the employment of the girls in all the mysteries of preserving, pickling, and preparing tamarinds, limes, mangoes, chillies, and the various spices used in the complicated culinary art as understood in well-managed Brahmin households. But it was not all work; now and then some delightful excursion was arranged, looked forward to, and much enjoyed.

It was the time of an Indian festival in the middle of these holidays, and on the eve of the principal day of the feast Ramabai told her pupils that she had ordered conveyances for the morrow to take them to a beautiful spot, a few miles away, for a picnic. They would go in charge of the aforementioned teachers, and she trusted they would have a very happy time. To the eager inquiries as to why Bai and Ukka were not going, she replied that they had need of a day alone with God; adding that if any of the girls wished to stay and join them, thev were at liberty to do so. Out of a total of sixty or sixty-five, about thirty elected to forego the picnic and remain for a day of prayer. The whole day was spent in devotion, the study of the Scriptures, prayer, and exhortation. Before it was ended, more than twenty declared themselves to be inquirers after the truth, and some seemed to have really received it into their hearts with joy and gladness.

Ramabai and Soonderbai were filled with joy. A small Christian Endeavour Society was formed, officers appointed, and a little upstairs room set apart for a prayer room. But"a city set on a hill cannot be hid,"and it was soon noised abroad that Ramabai was making all the girls Christians. Then arose a storm.

From time to time Ramabai had encountered difficulties from her Brahmin friends. In Bombay a"Managing Committee"had been appointed, who aimed to make the Sadan a strictly Hindu home, and imposed full observance of caste restrictions, the effect of which was to shut Ramabai and other Christian teachers out from certain parts of the dwelling. No pupil was free to attend any sort of Christian service, but any might worship at Hindu temples. This being decidedly against the strict neutrality enjoined by the American Committee, an appeal was made, and Ramabai was instructed to resume the management herself.

In an interview published in a Madras paper concerning the conversions just named, Ramabai said:"When we came to Poona, an Advisory Board was appointed to advise me with regard to outside matterspurchase of land, building, etc. They had nothing practically to do with the internal management of the Sadan. This Board consisted of three well-known Hindu gentlemen. We went on satisfactorily for some time, but when the number of girls attending my private prayers rose to about twenty, the matter was reported to them. We did nothing in secret. My room was always open. They asked me whether some of the girls attended my private prayers. I replied that they did.

Then they asked me to prevent them from doing so. I told them I could not conscientiously do that-I could not restrict my intercourse with the pupils. As a Christian was at the head of the institution, the girls must be more or less under Christian influences. The members of the Advisory Board therefore tendered their resignation, and issued a circular-letter to the parents and guardians of the scholars, asking them not to send their girls to the Sadan."About twenty-five of the girls were thus withdrawn.

Many affecting scenes occurred. Some parents yielded to the entreaties of their daughters, and allowed them to remain, with the strict promise not to attend the prayer meetings in future. Some poor girls were carried off to certain persecution and ill-usage. In one or two cases where Ramabai knew they would be taken av/ay to inevitable moral ruin, she resorted to various justifiable expedients to save them.

The escape of one girl, in which my household had some share, was in some of its features as sensational as that of many an old-time negro slave. The escape was from as real a slavery. Only part can be told here.

This lassie was one whom Ramabai had adopted as her own. Her mother, a Gujerathi widow, was living the life of a temple woman in Bombay (a"holy"Hindu harlot). A prominent Hindu reformer in Bombay, editor of a newspaper, sent the girl to Ramabai to save her from her mother's fate. But when he heard that the girls were becoming Christians, he joined in the popular outcry, and incited the mother, vile as she was, to claim her daughter. He was only one of many who plainly showed that they would rather see Hindu girls become harlots than Christians.

A chronic complaint, at that time troublesome, was a reason for sending the girl to a hospital in Bombay, This would gain time. A message was sent also to me asking me to visit her, and if possible devise some way of saving her from her threatened fate. Owing to the riots then raging in Bombay between Hindus and Mohammedans, it was some days before I could get to see her. Mrs. Man Sukh Lai, then living in our house, accompanied me, and visited her frequently afterwards.

To her the girl opened her heart. She wanted to be sent away where her mother could not get at her to ruin her. She dreaded the day of her discharge. Frequently the mother and some priests wei"e found there at the visiting hour. They brought her the Hindu Shastras and wanted to take her Bible away from her.

Day by day the hospital was watched at the hour of discharging patients. But, by the kindness of the matron, we were permitted to remove her at a different hour, and at once sent her out of the city to the care of a missionary friend; Ramabai being purposely kept in ignorance of her whereabouts. But the mother continued to trouble Ramabai, claiming now that her daughter was two years younger than she herself had stated when first given to Ramabai, while the latter believed her to be of legal age to decide for herself.

Renewed torrents of abuse were poured out upon Ramabai by the entire native press. She was then consecrated up to the point of not caring for her own reputation-but her school must not be ruined. She came to me and said the school would be ruined if the girl were not given up. I declined to have any hand in producing the girl, but at Ramabai's entreaty gave her the name of the missionary friends who had taken charge of her. They finally arranged to bring her to the head police office in Bombay and let the matter be decided there. The girl was brought, but the mother did not keep the appointment. The Christian PoHce Superintendent declined to give her to the Hindus who came to represent the mother, and she was again removed by my friends. A subsequent attempt to gain possession of her was at once abandoned when it became known that the missionary in whose house she had been staying had baptised her! The deed was done, she was now a Christian, and was at once reHnquished to her fate by her mother and the priests. Ramabai's perfidy was again pubHshed to the world, although the baptism, administered at the girl's own ardent desire, took place entirely without Ramabai's knowledge or consent.

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CHAPTER VI.

THE MARBLE HALLS OF HINDUISM.

"Her princes within her are roaring lions; her judges are evening wolves." Zeph. iii. 3

THE storm raised over the baptism of the young woman mentioned in the last chapter was fiercer even than that of the previous three months. It threatened to annihilate the institution; more pupils were removed, and the leading Hindus of the Bombay presidency seemed to be determined that they would never rest until they saw the Sharada Sadan die an ignoble death. But God gave Ramabai three promises at that time of great trouble. They were as follows:

"No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn."

"These things have I spoken unto you, that in Me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world."2 Isaiah liv. 17. John xvi. 33.

Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse . . . and prove Me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it."

These promises were a great source of comfort and strength to Ramabai, and have been marvellously fulfilled, as will be seen later on. In a report made subsequently to her American friends, Ramabai thus succinctly explained her policy.

Reminding them that she had all along insisted that the institution should be unsectarian, she said: "We give them (the pupils) all liberty to keep their caste and customs, and we have made all arrangements for it. They are not prevented from praying to their own gods, nor from wearing those gods around their necks, if they want to; and some girls in my school do so, as I used to do years ago. Do you think I have gone against the religion of the girls? No, not in any way. I have not taught the girls any religious system. If they wanted any religious training, they might go out of the school to the missionary, or to the Hindu teacher. But I am glad to say that some light came to them-not from ourselves, but from God.

"I was a Christian woman, and I had a home of my own, and a daughter for whom I thought I must make a home. I had made the resolution of Joshua, As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord/ That shall be my resolution to the end. I let my girls do what they like; but I have the freedom with which Christ has made me free: and why should I keep my light under a bushel? I do not mean to do it. When I had my family worship in my own room, not in the school-hall, some of the girls began to come in; and we gave them freedom to come, if they wanted to.

"My Hindu brethren thought it was going too far, and that I was Christianizing those girls. They wanted me to shut my room when I was reading the Bible and praying. I said,"No; I have the same freedom to practice Christianity which these girls have to practice their religion. Why should I shut the door of my room, which I do not shut at any other time during the twenty-four hours of the day?"The Hindu friends were much offended at it, and wanted to pull our school down, and raise another school on its ruins; but I am glad to say that the foundations of this school have not been set on the sand, but on the eternal Rock, and it stands there to this day, and it will stand for ever and ever."

In the cold season following the events narrated, Mrs. Judith Andrews, President of the Executive Committee of the American Ramabai Association, visited India.

She spent several weeks at the Sharada Sadan, and familiarized herself with the work and workers. The pupils, taught by Ramabai to be courteously attentive to all guests, were charmed with the gentle white-haired old lady, and bestowed upon her the endearing appellation of Ahjibai (grandmother).

During the visit of Mrs. Andrews, the school-house alluded to in Chapter IV. was publicly dedicated, though it had been in use for some time. The meetings on that festive day, March 12th, 1894, partook of the same character as those of the dedication of the previous buildings. Much sympathy was expressed by the speakers for Ramabai in the severe trials through which she had passed, and the hope was voiced that she would not be again burdened with another"Advisory Committee."And she never has. Some Hindu gentlemen present also expressed their repentant sympathy, and an account of the meeting, written at the time, says,"God has greatly helped Ramabai and sustained her work. Her prospects are brighter now than they have ever been before."

No trip to India is considered complete without a sight of some of her ancient palaces, temples, and tombs. As the most noted of these are in North India, Mrs. Andrews desired to take the usual trip to Agra, Delhi, etc., and prevailed upon Ramabai to accompany her. She could not have had a better guide. Ramabai had been there before; and under her auspices Mrs. Andrews saw sights that other travellers miss-sights calculated to give a more just idea of the lives really led by those who once peopled these ruined marble halls.

In the grounds of what is now called the Agra Fort are some ruined palaces of the Moghul emperors.

Ramabai must tell the story herself and draw the moral as she alone knows how: "The guide showed us the Rani's private rooms, the gardens and grand marble buildings, once occupied by the kings and queens. He also showed us the beautiful pleasure tower called Saman Burj. Visitors are shown all that is beautiful here, and they go away carrying very pleasant impressions of Agra with them.

"I was not satisfied with seeing the outside beauty of those"poems in marble,"but wished to see the dungeons, and the place where the unfortunate women used to be confined and hanged at the pleasure of the king. The guide at first denied the existence of such places in the palace; but, finally-on obtaining a promise to get a little more money for his trouble-he consented to show the dungeons. He opened a trap-door on one side of the palace, let us in, and guided us about, showing us the many small and large underground rooms where the queens who had incurred the king's displeasure used to be shut up, tortured, and starved, until it pleased the monarch to set them free. The guide then lighted a big torch, and took us to the furthest end of the prison, into a room underneath the Saman Burj, or Jasmine Tower. The room was very dark and octagonal, with a deep, dark pit in the centre, and a big beam placed on the walls right over that pit.

This beam, beautifully carved, served for hanging the unfortunate women who once occupied the throne of the king as his queens, but had by some unknown cause fallen under his displeasure, and had to suffer such a cruel and ignoble death. Their lifeless bodies were let down into that dark pit, whence a stream carried them to the waters of the Jumna, to be eaten by crocodiles.

Thus the poor, miserable wives of the Moghul emperors suffered toture and death in that dark hell-pit under the pleasure-gallery, while their cruel masters and rivals sang songs, enjoyed life, and made merry over their grave in the beautifully decorated, grand, Saman Burj.

I think but little of those lovely places, but always remember seeing that dark room, and compare it with similar places of torture which exist in many sacred towers of India. If the walls of that horrible room had the power of speech, oh, what stories of human cruelty and misery would they tell to-day!

"I beg of my Western sisters not to be satisfied with looking on the outside beauty of the grand philosophies, and not to be charmed with hearing the long and interesting discourses of our educated men; but to open the trap-doors of the great monuments of ancient Hindu intellect, and enter into the dark cellars, where they will see the real workings of the philosophies which they admire so much. Let our Western friends come to India, and live right among us. Let them frequently go to the hundreds of sacred places where countless pilgrims throng yearly. Let them go round Jagannath Puri, Benares, Gaya, Allahabad, Muttra, Brindraban, Dwarka, Pandharpur, Udipi, Tirpatty, and such other sacred cities, the strongholds of Hinduism and seats of sacred learning, where the Mahatmas and Sadhus dwell, and where the'sublime"philosophies are daily taught and devoutly followed. There are thousands of priests and men learned in sacred lore, who are the spiritual rulers and guides of our people. They neglect and oppress the widows, and devour widows"houses.

I have gone to many of the so-called sacred places, lived among the people, and seen enough of those learned philosophers and possessors of superior Hindu spirituality who oppress the widows, and trample the poor, ignorant, low-caste people under their heels. They have deprived the widows of their birthright to enjoy pure life and lawful happiness. They send out hundreds of emissaries to look for young widows, and bring them by hundreds and thousands to the sacred cities to rob them of their money and their virtue. They entice the poor, ignorant women to leave their own homes to live in the Kshetras, i e., holy places, and then, after robbing them of their belongings, tempt them to yield to their unholy desires. They shut the young helpless widows into their large Mathas (monasteries), sell and hire them out to wicked men so long as they can get money; and, when the poor, miserable slaves are no longer pleasing to their cruel masters, they turn them out in the street to beg their livelihood, to suffer the horrible consequences of sin, to carry the burden of shame, and finally to die the death worse than that of a starved street dog! The so-called sacred places-those veritable hellg on earth-have become the graveyards of countless widows and orphans.

"Thousands upon thousands of young widows and innocent children are suffering untold misery and dying helpless every year throughout this land; but not a philosopher or Mahatma has come out boldly to champion their cause and to help them. The teachers of false philosophies and lifeless spiritualities will do no good to our people. Nothing has been done by them to protect the fatherless and judge the widow. If anything has been done by anybody at all, it has been by those people who have come under the direct influence of Christianity. Education and philosophies are powerless before the caste rules, ancient customs, and priestcraft. That is why our educated men and our learned Sadhus are so indifferent toward their own brothers and sisters. The educated men and learned priests do not like to move about. They don"t want to take the trouble to go about to see how dreadfully the widows have to suffer, and how many thousands of lives are destroyed by their priestly brethren. They mourn over a few women who have the boldness to declare themselves as free women, and to follow their conscience; but they say nothing of the thousands who die every year or lead shameful lives. I earnestly beg the women of America and England to come to India and live in our sacred cities, not living in European and American fashion, but living like the poor beggarwomen, going in and out of their dirty huts, hearing the stories of their miserable lives, and seeing the fruits of the sublime philosophies. Let not my Western sisters be charmed by the books and poems they read.

There are many hard and bitter facts which we have to accept and feel. All is not poetry with us. The prose we have to read in our own lives is very hard. It cannot be understood by our learned brothers and comfortable sisters of the West."

The iniquitous traffic in widows alluded to here by Ramabai opens the door to a subject in connection with Hinduism, the knowledge of which has been a sore burden on Ramabai's heart, and has forced from her many tears and groans on behalf of its victims. Some twelve months or more after this visit with Mrs. Andrews, Ramabai set off on a visit to Brindaban, a sacred city about forty miles from Agra, to see what she could do to rescue some of the miserable victims of priestcraft.

She disguised herself as a poor pilgrim and took a mean lodging in the city, going in and out among the women, heard their stories of cruel wrong, and tried to plan some way of escape for them. She found an organized method of entrapping them. The agents of the rich priests who own this city of sacred temples, go about the country and by inquiry find where the rich young widows live. They enter into conversation with them, and persuade them of the merits of pilgrimage to expiate the sins which have caused their widowhood.

They tell them they will go direct to heaven if they will live at these sacred places and serve the priests and Sadhus and worship Krishna. They are courteously received on arrival, then subtle temptations are laid to deprive them of their money and jewels, and when these are gone their virtue follows. Brindaban is largely devoted to the deity Krishna, whose vile and immoral character is rejoiced in by his followers. If these poor women are unwilling to live immoral lives, they are told that it is no sin to do so in these sacred precincts, which are specially favoured by Krishna. Ramabai found hundreds of widows here, mostly from Bengal. She planned for the escape of six or seven of these women; but her plans were frustrated, and she returned sick with the mental depression, the moral debasement, and the actually foetid conditions of life which she underwent in her efforts to save some of these perishing ones.

The dark features of Hinduism thus portrayed, not only infest the'sacred"cities, but spread like a miasma into every region of Hindu life. Ramabai computes that ten per cent, of the women and girls who have come into her hands during the twelve years of her experience have been sinned against by heartless men.

In her efforts to help widows, Ramabai has been frequently asked to shelter deserted wives. Childless women are constantly being driven from their husbands"homes by a more favoured rival. Many of these have come into Ramabai's hands, and in some cases she has been successful in obtaining for them a divorce. Persecuted wives, too, have fled to her for help and shelter.

Some of these have needed protection from husbands who were"going about to kill them"; and I have known Ramabai have two or three such in hiding at one time from the rage of those who should be their natural protectors.

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CHAPTER VII

PLANS FOR THE FUTURE; RAMABAfs SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCES.

She considereth a field and buyeth it: with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard."Proverbs xxxi. i6.

WHEN Pandita Ramabai arranged with her friends in America to support the Sharada Sadan for ten years, she confidently expected that at the end of that time the Hindus virould have become so convinced of the benefits of education for women that they would willingly pay for it. But, as the years went on, it was evident that this prospect became no nearer realization. Ramabai's mind became exercised about the future support of the school-how, could it be brought about? After considerable thought and prayer, she conceived the plan of purchasing a piece of land in the country, and planting it with fruit trees, the produce of which should yield a fair income in the course of a few years.

Acting upon the principle that"If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of My Father which is in heaven,"Ramabai and Soonderbai joined in prayer that if the thought was of the Lord, He would send the money to purchase such a fruit-farm. They then began to look out for answers. Ramabai mentioned the plan to several of her friends both in India and in America. Money given to be used at her discretion was placed to this fund; it gradually grew. In 1894, two years after they had began to pray, the money was in hand, and the purchase of the farm an accomplished fact.

A suitable piece of ground was found to be for sale at Khedgaon, close to a railway-station on the recentlyopened Southern Marathi Railway, about forty miles south of Poona. Ramabai planted a portion of the land with hundreds of young orange, lime, and mango trees. A fine well was dug, and a vegetable garden made, which in a few months supplied most of the vegetables used by the school. The remainder of the hundred acres were, by degrees, cleared of the junglewood, by which they were covered, and planted with various useful crops; leaving only one very rocky portion, of which the Government took a part in making a new road.

There was a charm about life at the Sharada Sadan that always captivated me. I learned more about the ways and thoughts of genuine Indian life by a few days with Ramabai than in months and years of ordinary European experience in Bombay.

When therefore Ramabai asked me to spend the New Year holidays of 1895 with her, I was very glad to be free to accept the invitation. The Sharada Sadan was"Liberty Hall"for guests. They could either have their meals sent to their rooms, or join the family. I usually prefered the latter. When breakfast or dinner was ready, Ramabai herself would come to escort me to the refectory. This was a long, shed-like building, with a verandah in front, on which we left our shoes.

There was no furniture, save a row of stools along each wall. I call them stools for want of a better name; they were simply boards about one foot by two feet, raised about two inches from the ground. These were the seats. I was placed next to the hostess, who commenced by pouring water over her hands and mine.

She then inspected the brass vessels which were placed in front of us, and usually rinsed out the shining brass plates.

Then the girls who had been cooking came in and deposited quickly a small mound of rice on each plate; another followed with a pot of ghee (clarified butter) and poured a little on the rice; another served us with two kinds of curry, made of lentils or peas, in small brass basins. Others followed with hot chappatties (unleavened bread), then vegetables of several kinds, all cut small and fried with herbs and pepper. In addition to this, the ordinary fare, Ramabai always served her guests with fruit, cake, and milk. I enjoyed the food, and succeeded fairly well in my endeavour to eat it in the same fashion as my Indian sisters, without the aid of fork, knife, or spoon.

On the visit of which I am writing, I spent several pleasant days, the last being New Year's Day. All the Christian girls who understood English attended the Watch-night Service with Soonderbai and Manorama, while Ramabai conducted a service of her own at home in Marathi for the other Christian girls. All were up bright and early on New Year's morning in anticipation of a happy day. Ramabai informed me that we were invited to breakfast with one of the Christian teachers of the Sadan who lived with her family in the city, but that she was going on a round of New Year visits first and I could accompany her.

The dumnie, a heavy covered wagon, drawn by two fine white bulls, came round about 8 a. m., and we started off. Manorama and some others of the children were included in the party of s;x. In the front of the wagon and beneath the seats were piled huge baskets of sweetmeats, from which I partly guessed the nature of the visits we were about to pay. We first alighted at the Anglo-Indian Children's Home, a work of faith, founded by the late Miss Dawlly, which cares for destitute children of European and Eurasian parentage. As we waited the appearance of Mrs. Hutchings, the devoted successor of Miss Dawlly, I related to Ramabai the peculiar history of one of the children in that institution.

"I wish to support a child here,'said Ramabai;"I will support that very girl."And from that day that dear child has found a kind friend in Ramabai.

Her holidays are spent with Ramabai; and when I last met her she was looking forward to taking up some post of usefulness in connection with the work in years to come.

One basket of sweetmeats was left here, and I fancied also a more substantial gift, by the happy and gratefullooking faces we left behind us. The Government poorhouse was our next destination. This covered a considerable extent of ground, and here we saw maimed, halt, blind, and lepers. Ramabai went through all the compounds, and herself gave a large ball of sweetmeat to each inmate, while the respectful salutation of"Salaan Bai,'sounded gratefully on all hands. Indian sweetmeats are a food as well as a luxury-this was a peculiarly nourishing kind, made of lentils, butter, and sugar.

"Poor things, they have no pleasures,'said Ramabai.

Our next visit was to the lunatic asylum. The distribution here was assisted by two of the keepers. We saw, sad sights here indeed, and some that were comical. One man, a Mahommedan, looked very fiercely at me, and ordered me (in Hindustani) to go back to my country, saying that I had only come there because I could not get enough to eat in my own land.

Gratitude there was none. The poor creatures snatched the sweetmeat and cried out for more. Ramabai persevered in overseeing the distribution. She dared not leave it to the officers of the place, lest any should lose their share. On leaving, she remarked to me that it was evident that a large proportion were there through opium and ganga (hemp-drug)-their appearance showed this.

The breakfast prepared for us at the teacher's house was very elaborate. Plaintain leaves were spread for plates. A merry party of about twenty sat down to cat the repast, which was strictly vegetarian. One very delicious dish so closely resembled custard that one could scarcely believe it was made without eggs; but I was assured it was a combination of rice and cocoanut.

The great event of the day was to be a Brahmin dinner given by an aunt of Ramabai's, a Hindu, who was visiting her. The old lady took great pleasure and pride in cooking this dinner and serving it up, though she would by no means have defiled her caste by sitting down with us-Christian outcasts-to eat it. Two missionary families and several Indian Christians joined the dinner party. The festivities ended with a surprise party of Soonderbai's planning, held in the large schoolroom. A monster bran tub furnished presents for pupils, teachers, and visitors. The little ones had toys and picture books; the pupils had each the material for a choli (a short bodice that they all wear) with knitting-needles, crochet-hooks, wool, etc., etc. The party dispersed after a happy day, and Ramabai and myself took the night train to Bombay.

The battle had been decided as to whether Hinduism or Christianity should have the ascendancy in the Sharada Sadan. As Ramabai's Christian life strengthened and deepened, she became more independent of even the opinions of her quondam Brahmin friends. At the same time, she kept strictly to her covenant of giving an entirely unsectarian education, with freedom to her pupils to observe all their Hindu customs. The Brahmin community gradually came to the conclusion to let Ramabai alone. They accepted the fact among themselves that she had gone irrevocably from them; and that all the benefits of her work which they had looked upon to shed lustre on their ancient religion were quite lost to them. A rival institution, or what was intended to be a rival institution, to the Sharada Sadan, was started as a boarding establishment in connection with the Poona Girl's High School; but though it existed for a few years, it never flourished greatly. Some of the girls who had been rernoved from the Sadan were placed in this institution, but more than one finally returned to Ramabai.

As time went on, the light of Christianity shone more and more brightly in the Sharada Sadan. The Christian Endeavour Meetings prospered. Morning and evening prayers were held in a larger room, and attended by the majority of the pupils. Ramabai's little daughter, Manorama, whose heart had been early opened to divine influences, took a leading share in carrying on the work among the girls. Those who were interested in Christianity, and not forbidden by their guardians, attended Church and Sunday-school outside,, as well as the ministrations of a Poona missionary, who held meetings in the prayer-room once a week.

The natural outcome of all this teaching was the creation among those girls who had received Christ of a desire for baptism. They wanted to become Christians in fact and deed, as well as in heart. Ramabai, however, was in favour of their remaining unbaptized -at least, while pupils in the Sharada Sadan. The school, she affirmed, was not for Christian girls, but for Hindus; and, consequently, she could not encourage the proposed baptisms. Several of the girls, however, made their own arrangements with the missionary whose classes they attended, and were baptized in the Methodist Church at Poona. Ramabai let things take their course; but, after the baptisms, she told these girls that she could no longer accept them as pupils of the Sharada Sadan. As they all declared their readiness to work for their living, work was found for them.

One or two became teachers in other schools; some were employed as teachers in the primary department of the Sadan; and others, unfit for teaching, accepted posts as servants of the establishment, cheerfully undertaking menial work as unto the Lord. Thus the difficulty was bridged over, and time was allowed for continuing their studies in part to those who wished it.

Among the pupils thus baptized was one particularly nice and good girl, whose early history illustrates the condition and hardship of the little widow more than many.

This poor little child, married at the age of five to a man forty years her senior, became a widow at six. She was left in charge of her husband's brother, a Brahmin innkeeper in a country district, a day's journey by rail from Poona. As the child grew up, she became a regular little slave, beaten and half-starved. She was employed constantly in going backwards and forwards to a well a quarter of a mile away to fetch water, which she carried on her hips and her head in great copper vessels. She was very miserable and her treatment was no secret to the people around.

One day Ramabai received a letter informing her of this poor child's forlorn condition, and of the location of the well where she might so often be found. One of Ramabai's helpers visited the place in disguise, gained the confidence of the child, and arranged to take her away by the night train. The girl was then about eleven years old, and with her shaven head was easily disguised as a Mahomedan boy. Before the train started she was missed, and her people were in pursuit of her. They were at the station, but failed to recognise her; and she escaped. She bloomed out into a most lovable and estimable girl, and was married in 1897 to a fine Christian young man.

In a little tract published in Bombay, in 1895, Ramabai told the story of her own spiritual experiences.

She said: "When I turned my attention to searching for the truth in the Hindu and Christian religions, and comparing them with each other, I found Christianity to be the better of the two, and accepted it. I was duly baptized in the Church of England. I believed the Apostles"Creed, and all the essential doctrines of Christianity.

My mind was at rest; and I trusted in God, believed on Christ, and prayed in His name. I did not adhere to any special sect, nor do I now. It was enough for me to be called a Christian, on the ground of my belief in Christ as the Saviour of mankind. I used to pray in a general way, and had never known that my special need was- Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved/ Salvation, I thought, was something to be good in the future. That is how the future tense in the above text is abused by the converts, especially the intellectual converts of the present day in this country. I had many doubts and many difficulties in the matter of belief. So many sects, so many opinions, so much want of spirituality and much shallow talk in the name of religion. All these troubled me very much, and I began to see much the same in the picture of Christianity as I have been accustomed to see in that of the Hindu religion. But all this time I was conscious that God was leading me; and I determined not to take the opinion of men as my ground of belief, and went on reading the Bible only and trusted in God's mercy.

"Some years ago I was brought to the conviction that mine was only an intellectual belief-a belief in which there was no life. It looked for salvation in the future after death; and consequently my soul had not"passed from death unto life". God showed me how very dangerous my position was, and what a wretched and lost sinner I was; and how necessary it was for me to obtain salvation in the present, and not in some future time. I repented long; I became very restless and almost ill, and passed many sleepless nights. The Holy Spirit so got hold of me that I could not rest until I found salvation then and there. So I prayed earnestly to God to pardon my sins for the sake of Jesus Christ, and let me realize that I had really got salvation through Him. I believed God's promise, and took Him at His word; and when I had done this, my burden rolled away, and I realized that I was forgiven and was freed from the power of sin. The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit that we are the children of God." I became very happy after that. There was not a shadow of doubt as to my having obtained salvation through Jesus Christ. But as many as received Him [a person, not a thing; not a religion, but a living person], to them gave He power to become the sons of God." And this is life eternal, that they might know Thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom Thou hast sent." In the Old Testament God is not revealed as Father, but as the Creator, the Mighty God, the Judge, the Jehovah. It was left to Jesus in the New Testament to reveal the Father. Men talk about God, but they cannot know Him except the Son reveal Him.

These things are hid from the wise and prudent, but God has revealed them unto babes."That is why He says, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven."He that believeth on the Son hath everkisting life."

I knew I had everlasting life, i. e., knew God; and the Spirit was sent into my heart, crying"Abba, Father."

"Last year I happened to read the Life of Amanda Smith. She had been a slave in America, and had been freed. When she was converted, she shouted and said she had been deHvered out of bondage twice-once out of slavery, and once from the slavery of sin. And I have a right to praise God too; for I have been first delivered from the slavery of man's opinions, from the fear of man which holds so many of my dear people, and a second time from the bondage of sin. As I read further in this book, where she gives an account of her spiritual experience, I felt my need of the abiding presence of the Holy Spirit in me.

"I prayed earnestly to God to show me the way, and to remove all the hindrances that came in the way of my receiving this great blessing. I read in the papers that Mr. Gelson Gregson was to hold some special mission services in Bombay. I longed to go, but could not easily leave my school and be away from Poona.

I did not know anything about Mr. Gregson, but the desire to hear him preach became very strong. I left the matter in God's hands, and rested quietly. One morning I received an urgent letter from a girl whose mother was supposed to be in a dying condition, and who wanted very much to see me. The girl urged upon me very much to start at once and come to Bombay.

I did so, recognising in this call the special providence of God which was taking me to Bombay in answer to my prayer.

"I heard Mr. Gregson preach his first sermon from the text, I am crucified with Christ"; which impressed me very much. I stayed three days, and attended the services. The subject was exactly what I wanted and needed to know. In April at the Lanouli camp meeting I heard Mr. Gregson preach again. He preached as one who had received and was filled with the Holy Spirit and knew the deep things of God. I then opened my heart to a friend, and told her of my intense desire for the gift of the Holy Spirit; and we together sought a conversation with Mr. Gregson. I asked him many questions, which he satisfactorily answered in the words of Scripture. We prayed then that I might receive the Holy Spirit; but it was not until the evening of that day that I felt conscious of His presence in me. Since then I have received much blessing, and am ever grateful to God for showing me the way of this blessed life."

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CHAPTER VIII.

ASKING GREAT THINGS OF GOD.

"Open thy mouth wide and I will fill it."-Psalm Ixxxi. lo.

THE camp-meeting is a feature of American Christian life, which transplants to India remarkably well. Near the summit of the Western Ghauts, eighty miles from Bombay, nestling in the bosom of the mountains, are the Lanouli woods, an ideal spot for such a gathering. The situation, amid the grandest natural scenery, irresistibly recalls the thought that,"as the mountains are round about Jerusalem [Lanouli], so the Lord is round about His people."The grove of closely planted trees, which forms a perfect shelter from the noonday sun, is situated on the breezy hill-side, sufficiently near to the village and station of Lanouli to be convenient, yet far enough away to be secluded; and forms an equally welcome change in the hot season from the moist and enervating heat of Bombay, or the sultry, hot winds of the Deccan.

To organize here a camp-meeting as an annual Easter gathering, was the inception of an earnest Methodist preacher, known as"Camp-meeting Osborn"in his own land. This servant of God, Rev. W. B. Osborn, was located for a time in charge of English work in Bombay, some fifteen to twenty years ago. Its organization was an inspiration, and it has formed a brightly anticipated rallying point for earnest warmhearted Christians of many denominations. Rev. W.

B. Osborn returned to America soon after; but the meeting continued, conducted by various qualified brethren, none of whom have been more appreciated as a leader than the present presiding Elder of the Poona Methodist Church, Rev. Dennis Osborne, akin in name and spirit, though not otherwise related to its founder.

To attend this camp-meeting, whole families migrated from Poona and Bombay, and in fewer numbers from other parts of Western India, till the grove was peopled with fifty to sixty tents. Missionaries and people in business or Government employ, pastors, teachers, and Bible-women, Brahmin and Parsee converts to Christianity, and those of other castes-till it seemed like a foretaste of the time when all kindreds, and peoples, and tongues, shall join in the glad heavenly chorus of praise to the Great Redeemer. Many Christian schools sent contingents of boys and girls old enough to enjoy and profit by such an occasion; and frequently, not the least blessed and enduring work was done among the young people.

Few who have spent an Easter Sunday with this assembly would be likely to forget it. Awakened at dawn by the sweet voices of a band of young Christians, singing Easter hymns and anthems, seven o"clock found an assembly gathered in the large tent for a short and bright Sunday-school session in which young and old joined. At nine a prayer meeting; at ten breakfast, served with simplicity in another large tent. At eleven a love feast (including a communion service), when hearty, bright, and cheering testimonies were given in English, Marathi, Gujarathi, Hindustani, and occasionally others of India's many tongues; and so on throughout the day. In the large tent something was always going on. When the English attenders were resting, the Indian Christians were having a turn in their own tongues. The large tent was wonderfully expansive, and after sundown became a roof only; for no walls would have held the Sunday evening congregation, augmented as it was by large contingents of hearers from the railway settlement, which forms the European quarter of the Lanouli village.

The camp-meeting of 1896 was the last. By Easter of 1897 India was in the grip of the terrible plague and famine; and it was not felt wise or right to hold it.

Three years have passed, and the hand of God is still heavy in judgment: when it shall be lifted we may confidently expect that the voice of the assembled multitude will again make the woods of Lanouli vocal with songs of praise to their risen and reigning Lord.

In 1896 one of the chief speakers was a native evangelist, who was so full of zeal and holy joy that it was difficult for him to leave off preaching and expounding long enough to eat! If he was not in the rostrum addressing a congregation, he would be surrounded by a private group of Indian Christians, and either in English or through an interpreter was continually making known the way to be a joyful Christian to an eager group of listeners.

Ramabai was present at this camp-meeting, with a fine group of Christian girls and young women. Several with note-book and pencil showed that they understood and appreciated the opportunity here afforded them. An experience befel Ramabai here, indicating in a remarkable degree how the Lord was preparing her for a greater work: this must be told, however, in her own words. She says:

"This camp-meeting proved to be an occasion of special joy to me, as I was accompanied by fifteen of my own girls who were believers in the Lord Jesus, and had confessed Him before the public as their Saviour.

Amid the troubles and trials that faced me at that time, I rejoiced much to think that the Lord had given me fifteen immortal souls whom I could call my spiritual children. One day, early in the morning, I went out to a quiet place in the woods, where I saw the sun rising in all its glory. Then I thought of the Sun of Righteousness, and wished much that my people who were sitting in darkness should be willing to open their eyes and hearts and see Him rise in all His heavenly glory.

At that time my heart was full of joy and peace, and I offered thanks to the Heavenly Father for having given me fifteen children; and I was by the Spirit led to pray that the Lord would be so gracious as to square the number of my spiritual children, increasing the number to two hundred and twenty-five, before the next campmeeting takes place. Every circumstance was against the very thought. For, in the first place, no more than sixty or sixty-five girls at the most could be admitted in my school. Then the number of my school-girls was but forty-nine, and some of them were to leave during the summer holidays. Things were going very much against my school, and I did not know where to get even fifty girls for my institution. My mind began to be doubtful, and I asked the Lord if it were advisable for me to venture to pray such a prayer, and if it were even possible for me to have so many girls in my school. I then prayed to God to give me a clear word about it, and He graciously gave me the following words: Behold, I am the Lord, the God of all flesh; is there anything too hard for me?"This proved to be a rebuke to my unbeHeving soul, as well as an assurance of the great things which God meant to do for me. I noted those words in my note-book; put down the date on which I claimed two hundred and twentyfive souls from God on the strength of this assurance; and waited for Him to fulfil His promise in His own good time."

It will thus be seen that Ramabai's spiritual experience was continually deepening and widening. She had asked great things of God; and having received great answers, was hungering and thirsting for more.

Her increase of faith and enjoyment of the Holy Spirit's leadings, following on a path of obedience, enabled her to testify from a full cup to others. She longed that her own people who had professed the name of Christ, the members of the Indian Christian Churches, should be led out into a fuller life of service for their Lord.

To a few who were privileged with her confidence, and especially to one sweet missionary woman"who had been used of God in leading her into some of these deeper experiences, Ramabai poured forth her longings.

This friend expressed her belief that God would have Ramabai give her school over into the hands of others, and herself do the work of an evangelist, proclaiming to Indian Christians all over the land from the fulness of her own experience what God was willing to do for those who would trust Him fully; and pressing upon them their responsibility in carrying the Gospel to the millions of heathen all around. This friend seemed to apprehend that God had some purpose for Ramabai beyond the training of the fifty girls at the Sharada Sadan.

He had; but it was not to be in the relinquishment of her former work, but in its fuller and more complete development.

Ramabai became quite willing to follow in any path of service of this kind, if the Lord should lead. She began to prepare herself for a life of itinerant hardship.

She felt she should relinquish her salary, and trust God for her own needs. Towards the autumn of that year, 1896, she says, alluding to her camp-meeting experience:"Six months passed away from that time, and our work went on as usual. There was no increase in the number of my pupils; on the contrary, the number went down to forty-one, and those Christian girls whom I had told in April that God was going to square their number before the next camp-meeting, were perhaps beginning to doubt in their mind as to whether I had not been carried away by my imaginations, and not inspired by the Spirit, to have prayed such a prayer whose fulfilment seemed to be next to impossible. I knew nothing of the famine in Central India, nor that I could get any girls fom that part of the country. In October I heard of the terrible famine in the Central Provinces, and received my call from God to go there and rescue some of the young widows who were starving to death.

It was not until the last week of December that I had the courage to obey the call. There were many obstacles. I was doubtful whether I could get any of the kind of girl-widows whom I could admit into my school.

The next chief difficulty was the want of place to shelter the girls, and of money to maintain them, even if they were to be had. So I did not venture at first to step out of Poona; but my conscience began to trouble me for not having obeyed the call at once, and I was obliged to leave my comfortable nest and go."Human reason might well have thought there was cause for this delay and hesitation on Ramabai's part.

Many would have said,"I will go if God sends me the money."But God's way with Ramabai was to make the obedience the test of blessing. There had been at that time some difficulty with regard to the remittances from America which supported the school, some miscarriage of money, delay or decrease in amount, which had necessitated diminished expenditure; and when the Lord thus called Ramabai to go to the Central Provinces and rescue three hundred girls, she tells that she had but a few rupees in hand. She asked where she