Life and religion of the Hindoos.

by Joguth Chunder Gangooly

My young friend, with an astonishing forethought, sketched out the dismal days which would inevitably be our portion if we visited Christian countries. He informed me of a fact which the Trinitarians had told him,—that the Unitarians in America are very few in number—a set of fanatic, daring men, who have no truth, no church, no fixed organization, etc. This did not frighten me, for I believed that it is not always the case that truth dwells with the majority. When God destroyed the world by a deluge, the faith of Noah and his small household was entirely different from that of the overwhelming majority, but this made no difference. God approved the truth of this little band, and rejected others. In regard to the outcast life and its attendant sorrows, insults, and helplessness, I looked on them with indifference, believing that there is a Being who knows what I need, and will provide for me accordingly. In days of sorrows I will lean towards Him, and be comforted. My good Father is the richest, highest, wisest, and most merciful Being, so if I trust in him, I shall have no occasion to regret it. I would not let my heart be troubled with these things,—with “what shall I eat? what shall I drink? and where withal shall I be clothed?” and with whom shall I live? “The laborer is worthy of his hire.” My own dear friends would not keep any social intercourse with me I know; but God will bring others to me, he will raise kind hearts to bless and sympathize with me. “When one door is closed against, hundreds are open to you,” is the Hindoo saying, so I would follow the call of duty, in hope, courage, and patience; believing that all things work for the good of him who loves God.

My friend fell back, and I stood alone. Mr. Dall seemed to give up all hope of sending young men to America, and asked me if I would act like others. “I have put my hands to the plough and I shall not take them back,” was my reply.

A rich native merchant of Calcutta had told Mr. Dall that he would give the passage-money of two young men if they came to America; but as my young friend fell back, he paid the passage money and other expenses of one.

The day before my departure I had to go to Calcutta to do some shopping with Mr. Dall. My dear mother inquired of me the reason of my going to Calcutta so early in the morning, as I had to go to the school by nine A. M. I simply said I should probably return in time! but I did not get home till nine in the evening. Mr. Dall rather injudiciously detained me in Calcutta, carrying me here and there to see that everything I needed had been bought. I begged him to dismiss me,—told him to attend to, and arrange all that was necessary, and it would be agreeable to me. But he would not. This detention had caused such an alarm in my house that were it not a true purpose in me to go, I could not have left home the next morning. I fully realized what the phrase, “wise like a serpent,” means. As I was passing by the house of a gentleman, my steps drew the attention of a boy, who cried, “Who are you?” “It is I, Prosono,” I answered. “Where have you been, uncle? Your mother has been crying the whole afternoon for you.” With slow steps and anxious heart, I entered into my mother’s house. “Is it Joguth?” “Yes, mother, it is I.” I walked into the dining-room to eat my supper, with a heart full of fear and anxiety. She did not speak a word, but sat by me and bathed the floor with her tears. I looked towards heaven, and my spirit whispered, “Father, this is the beginning of the tears that must flow from those loving eyes of my mother! Kind, loving, affectionate as she is, I must leave her and follow the call of Him who said, “Who is my mother?” I desire to be “about my Father’s business,” so strengthen me to bear this separation. In Thee I recognize a heart more tender than that of earthly mother. Most High, I would not look around me in this juncture, but above, for all the help I need.” After I had finished my supper, she spoke, “Child, I heard that you had gone to America.” This information was given to her by a friend whom I had told that I should go to America very soon.

I leave the reader to imagine what kind of a night I had. Early in the morning my dear mother, as usual, went to bathe in the Ganges. A young lady had given me her ornament to carry to a goldsmith to have it mended, as I was a friend to the low castes in general. I felt that I ought to bring the ornament from the goldsmith and return it to her, because if I did not, the lady would not know whom to ask for it, and neither would the artist know to whom to return it, as it was given to him in private. I went to that man, but he was not at home. In vain I searched for him in several places where he was supposed to be, and I could not wait any longer, because my mother would expect me to breakfast. I returned home by half past eight, I believe, took my bath as usual, and entered into the dining-room for breakfast. The day before was the fast day of the Brahmun widows. So when my dear mother sat down to help me she looked very tired, after twenty-four hours’ entire abstinence from food and drink. I put the things into my mouth but had no strength to chew them. A deep anxiety, love for my mother, the thought of separation, seemed to fill my heart, and I cast side glances at her face, for I knew that if I lived a hundred years as a Christian, after my return from America, I should not be allowed to sit at meal on this floor and near my dear mother. She noticed the uneasy feelings, and asked, “Joguth, what is that cloud on your face? You look very pale. Are you unwell, child? Tell me what ails you,—I am your mother. Can’t you confide in me?” etc. I knew not what to say at first, and answered, “Mother, a young man has a great many things to think about.” After breakfast I entered into my bedroom and she followed me there. Not knowing what to take and what to leave, I walked from one end of the room to the other, putting my hand upon my clothes, books, pictures, etc. I sat on my bed, and whispered, “No more will my tired, sleepy, or sick body lie on thy bosom; no more from thee my voice will rise, in midnight gloom, to the throne of grace; no more shall I bathe thee with tears, which are counted and known by Him only who knows no sleep.” My mother said it was almost time for me to go to school. So I got up and thought I would not loiter about the room as it would create suspicion in my mother, and perhaps all my cherished plans and precaution would be crushed and frustrated. I must go without scrip—without a second suit of clothes—just as I am. The celestial voice bids me to “let the dead bury their dead;” and so I must not look at these things, my books, clothing, etc., useful as they are. God will provide me with all I need; I would “come and see,” with a filial confidence, how good my Father is. Just as I was, with one shirt and one mantle on my body, I went out of the room. My mother came after me, and said, “Child, how long it will take you to learn to wear your own clothes properly,” and began to button my shirt or outer garment. I saddened at the thought that on my return from a Christian country, those fingers that fix my shirt now would not touch me. The last words I heard from her mouth were these, “Joguth, do not eat confectionaries on the way: you are sick, and can’t digest those rich things, child. Come right home after the school, and you will find your supper ready.” “Mother,” thought I, “the supper which you so kindly wish to prepare for me will be, I am afraid, a two-edged sword for you. I do not know where I shall take my supper to-night,” etc.

Thus equipped with moral courage, taking no money, nor clothing, but a trusting heart, I left home and its inmates never to enter therein again, as my own. I commended my kind mother and other dear friends to the care of Him, the good Father of all.

In order to make another effort in relation to that young lady’s ornament, I called at the goldsmith’s house, but with no better success. A dear young Brahmun friend, who is a hearer of Mr. Dall, and to whom I had confided my secrets, informed me that if I would go with him to a public woman’s house, I might possibly find the artist there. As there was no time to lose, and the ornament must be obtained and returned to the owner, I agreed to his suggestion. There, on the Ganges, stood the cottage of sin, and as we knocked at its outer door, a female voice inquired, “Who are you?” “Please let us go in,” said my friend. “No,” she said, “first tell me what you want, and then I’ll see whether I can let you in or not.” “I want to see Ombika for a minute, and that is all.” “Ombika is not here,” she said, and we heard her voice no more. “What is to be done?” I said. “You come with me,” my gallant friend replied; “there is a large opening on the wall which would be a capital approach for us to get into the house.” I hesitated a little, but he said I must do it, under the necessity,—that these cunning girls must be intruded upon that way. Slowly we walked to the opening, which was large enough to admit us both into the house. We found the artist there, and I asked him to return the ornament to me. He began to make excuses, said it was not quite ready, but would take a couple of days to finish it. “Friend,” said I, “I cannot wait a couple of hours for it. I am going to a distant place, so please return it to me just as it is.” He talked and argued about the matter, and wanted to know how long I would be gone. Of course, I could not tell him directly about my plans. He returned the ornament partly done. It would not have been safe at all for me to have returned it to the owner for two reasons: first, that she lives so near my mother that if I went to her my mother would the first person to see me, and her fears and surmises would be doubly confirmed by my untimely return from the school; secondly, the young lady would feel surprised to find her jewelry half finished, and suspect my proceedings, and inform my mother accordingly. “Be wise as serpents and harmless as doves,” is a saying full of wisdom. I called a boy, whom I knew to be very good and reliable, and said, “Will you take this package, to P——, to-morrow, and tell him that I desire him to give it to T——?” I charged him to see P—— the next day, because if the young lady received her ornament the same day the matter would be worse,—my mother would know it, and my friends would at once start in pursuit of me. The good boy performed his mission satisfactorily I heard. I begged my friend, who helped me to find the goldsmith, to go to my mother two days after I had left, and tell her about the letters I had written and hidden in my desk. While passing by an apothecary’s I remembered that I owed him a little money, and paid him with the small silver pieces I had in my pocket.

Much as I wished to reach Calcutta before the high tide, I could not. I asked the boatmen to land me at Bag-bazzar, at the lower part of the city, whence I proceeded to Mr. Dall in a covered Palkee, or Palanquin, as foreigners call it.

Desiring to get a musical instrument (a flute), that I might practise with it on board the ship, and thereby cheer up the lonely hours, I tried hard, but could not succeed. Mr. Dall said he would bring me one, but, whether for want of money or of time, I do not know, he failed to do it. As I must embark right off before my friends could arrest me, Mr. Dall took me to his room and asked me to wear pants, cap, etc. O, I hated to do it, fearing the people, even the low-caste boatmen would laugh at me. I told him that there was no necessity for my wearing this strange costume here in Calcutta, that if I had got to do it, I would do it at sea. He would not hear my reasons. I told him again that the English dress would not help me to become a good Christian,—it would only make me look like the strangest and ugliest creature in the world. Fortunately my logic prevailed, and we got in a carriage with our respective dresses.

The ship Sabine, that brought me to this country, belongs to Mr. Tredick, of Portsmouth, N. H. Not knowing where she was lying at anchor, we came down the river as far as Bishops’ College and had to go back again. She was near Baboo ghaut. Leaving me on board the ship, Mr. Dall returned to the city with a view to bring the necessary things for the voyage. After dark, our party of four sat at the table, and another, the cabin boy, waited upon us. They all drank wine and ate smoked fish. The smell of these two things was so disagreeable that I thought that they were fit only for savages. One of the party, a young man with a large round face (the second mate), began to sing comic songs and make music with his feet, striking them on the cabin floor. The words of one of his songs were like these—