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vol. title: Vol Four of The Theosophical Society of The Arya Samaj of Arya-wart vol. period: Sept 1878 – Sept 1879 pages in vol.: 350 |
< A Mahomedan in Search of Religion (continued from page 8-153) >
moment before so humble, and shy, now trembled with rage. “Kaffir, son of a dog,” I shouted, is this the book I wanted? May thou never wake at the day of judgement!” I walked slowly out, cursing and swearing, and the man followed me out in the street with gentle words and expostulations. I now lost all command over myself. I took up a large stone from the street and literally hurled it at the rascal’s head. He stooped down; the stone flew by, and cruelly damaged a large pane of glass. EvenChristian patience could not stand this. The meek follower of the meeker Jesus began to curse like a very infidel—a crowd soon gathered about us—a policeman came up—and I was taken into custody. They took me to Mr. C—Y’s house, a police-superintendent. This man was neither a Christian nor a Mahomedan. I have heard him described as “Christless, Godless.’ Whatever he was, he did me good service. He patiently enquired into the merits of the case, and ended by severely reprimanding the European swindler of the Bible Society. I, too, was discharged with a caution.
The next day, as I was triumphantly passing by the same place, the same European called me once more into the shop. I went in, thoughtless as I was and fearless. He received me kindly. He asked me questions about myself, about my parents, about my education. His manner pleased me, in spite of the episode of the day before. But I was completely won over, when he made me a present of what I thought was the Koran—a splendid volume, with guilt edges and pictures. I went home, triumphantly displaying the treasure to my father. He touched it with cautious fingers. He handled it as he would do a snake. He turned the leaves over—and suddenly and to my extreme surprise came up to me and gave me a huge slap on my right cheek. “What” he thundered out, “do you intend to bring disgrace on our unsullied name? Do you mean to send your parent prematurely to the grave? Have you no recollection of your poor, dead mother?” I now saw that the book which I thought was the Koran had something more in it than the writings of Mahomed—the Old and the New Testament were there too! But, though I saw this, I became unreasonable. The cruel slap still burned on my cheek. I retorted, that I should read the bible if it were merely to spite him. He angrily threw the book into the fire. I left my house in high dudgeon, and procured another copy of the Bible in the Hindustani language. I read and re-read it, and my head was turned with the wonders I perused. I gloated over the miracles performed by Jesus. I, now, was a constant visitor at the Methodist churches. I sang hymns with them, turned up the whites of my eyes, prayed through my nose, and knelt in earnest humiliation and contrition.
The morning dawned,when I was to be gathered to the fold of Christ. All the town was in a ferment. The Methodists proudly talked of their conquest. I was already considering myself a saint, when I saw a large crowd of Mahomedans come up to me. They snatched me violently away from the priests, took me home—and treated me—kindly! Kazees or Moulas, as our religious teachers are styled, were sent for. I spoke to them of the miracles Christ had performed—and they proved to me that Mahomed had performed miracles, too! Henceforth, I was in no danger of becoming a Christian. Though, after this time, the Methodists attempted to reclaim me, I had nothing to say to them. But my father would not trust me. And once he brought me hand-cuffed from Surat, for the simple reason that I attended a trial there, which sprung from Christians having decoyed a Hindoo lad, young as he was and almost a child,from his family and shut him up in a Christian pastor’s house!
As I was hesitating between Mahomedanism and Christianity, a circumstance completely changed, as it were, my identity, changed my religious beliefs, changed me altogether. This was the public lectures of that profound Sanscrit Scholar, Pundit Dayanund Sharaswati Swami. He is a thorough iconoclast—this Pundit. He was described to me as a very eloquent speaker, and a man of vast erudition. But I never shall forget the sensations I felt, when I stood before him, and listened to him like hundreds about me with strange feelings of hope and joy. For he talked of God, the one indestructible principle, he spoke of humanity, and he spoke with a tremulous love,which at once penetrated my heart. I, now, woke from my long sleep of ignorance, Christianity and Mahomedanism dwindled away from my vision. Shall I confess it? I have no particular belief. I have no particular creed. I am still an enquirer after the more abstract truths of this world of ours.I have begun to understand that there is no salvation but through one’s self—that the miracles of Christ and Mahomed are myths—that God’s ways are not human ways, and that Christ and Mahomed were but men. Have I said too much? I am afraid, I have said only too little.