<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2>
<h3>In the Compound and Near it</h3>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-22.jpg" width-obs="550" height-obs="390" alt="THE OLD NURSERY. THE "ROOM OF JOY."" title="" /> <span class="caption">THE OLD NURSERY. THE "ROOM OF JOY."</span> <br/><br/></div>
<div class='cap'>"NOW I know why God put you in Dohnavur when
He wanted this work done. He hid you from the
eyes of the world for the little children's sake. He
knew this work could never have been done by the road-side,
so He hid you."</div>
<p>The speaker was a Christian friend from Palamcottah, an
Indian lawyer who, for the first time, had come out to see us.
He had found our approaches appalling, and had wondered
at first why we lived in such an out-of-the-way place, three
or four miles from the nearest road, and twenty-four from
civilisation. When he saw the children he understood.
Later, he helped us in an attempt to save two little ones
in danger, and insisted not only upon paying his own and
our worker's expenses, but in sending us a gift for the
nurseries. With the gift came a letter full of loving,
Indian sympathy; and again he added as before: "The Lord
hid you in that quiet place for the little children's sake."
Sometimes when the inconveniences of jungle life press upon
us, we remember our friend's words: "This work could never
have been done by the road-side, so He hid you."</p>
<p>We have children with us who would not have been safe
for a day had we lived near a large town or near a railway.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</SPAN></span>
The stretch of open country between us and Palamcottah
(the Church Missionary Society centre of the Tinnevelly
district), to cover which, by bullock-cart, takes as long as to
travel from London to Brussels, is not considered very safe for
solitary Indian travellers, as the robber clan frequent it, and
this is an added protection for the children. Several times,
to our knowledge, unwelcome visitors have been deterred from
making a raid upon us, by the rumour of the robbers on
the road. We are also most mercifully quite out of the beat
of the ordinary exploiter of missions; few except the really
keen care for such a journey; so that we get on with our
work uninterrupted by anything but the occasional arrival
of welcome friends and comrades. These, when they visit us
for the first time, are usually much astonished to find something
almost civilised out in the wilds, and they walk round
with an air of surprise, and quite inspiring appreciation,
being kindly pleased with little, because they had looked
for less.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-23.jpg" width-obs="550" height-obs="390" alt="THE COURTYARD." title="" /> <span class="caption">THE COURTYARD.</span></div>
<p>The compound in which the nurseries are built is a field,
bounded on three sides by fields, and on the fourth by the
bungalow compound. The Western Ghauts with their foothills
make it a beautiful place.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Coming-days</div>
<p>The buildings are not beautiful. With us, as elsewhere,
doubtless, even the break of a gable in the straight, barn-like
roof makes a difference in the estimate, and we have
never had a margin for luxuries. But the walls are coloured
a soft terra-cotta, the roofs are a dull red; while the porches
(hidden by the palm trunks in the photograph) are a mass
of greenery and bloom; and the garden at the moment of
writing is rejoicing in over a hundred lilies, brilliant yellow
and flame colour, each head with its many flowers rising
separate and radiant in the sunshine. Then we have
oleanders, crimson and pink and white, and little young
hibiscus trees, crimson and rose and cream. The arches<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</SPAN></span>
in the new nursery garden are covered with the lilac of
morning-glory; and the Prayer-room in the middle of the
garden is a mass of violet passion-flower, the pretty pink
antigone, and starry jessamine. The very hedges at this
season are out in yellow flower, and a trellis round the
nursery kitchen is a delight of colour; so though our buildings
are simple, we think the lines have fallen unto us in pleasant
places.</p>
<p>The first picture shows the old nursery, used now for
the kindergarten. It opens off the courtyard shown in the
second photo. This courtyard serves as an open-air room,
a bright little place which is filled with merrier children
than the sober photograph shows. Tamils old and young
move when they laugh or even smile; in fact they wriggle.
Being still, with them, meant being seriously subdued; and
so, where time-exposures were required, we had to choose
between solemn photos, or no photos at all.</p>
<p>Opening off the courtyard on the opposite side to the kindergarten
is a room used as a store-room and Bible-class room
combined. It was so very uncomfortable that last Christmas,
as a surprise for the children, we divided the room into two
halves with a curtain between. Their half is made pretty
with pictures and texts, painted in blue on pale brown
wood. The children call this part of the room the Tabernacle.
The part beyond the curtain is the court of the
Gentiles.</p>
<p>The Coming-Day Feasts are a feature of Dohnavur life.
Now that there are so many feasts to celebrate, we find it
more convenient to combine; and the photograph overleaf
shows as much as it can of one such happy feast. The children
who are being fêted are distinguished from the others by
having flowers in their hair. No Indian feast is complete
without flowers. Jessamine is the favourite, but the prettiest
wreaths are made of pink oleander; and sometimes a girl<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</SPAN></span>
will surprise us with a new and lovely combination, as of
brown flowering grasses and yellow Tecoma bells.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-24.jpg" width-obs="550" height-obs="386" alt="A COMING-DAY FEAST." title="" /> <span class="caption">A COMING-DAY FEAST.</span></div>
<p>Opposite the kindergarten room is the first of the two
new nurseries—the lively Parrot-house. This nursery, really
the Taraha (Star, called after its English giver, whose name
means "star") is the abode of the middle-aged babies, aged
between two years and four. Most of these attend the
kindergarten, and are very proud of the fact.</p>
<p>The Prémalia nursery (Abode of Love), given by two
friends in memory of a mother translated, lies beyond the
Taraha. Here the tiny infants live, and we call it the
Menagerie. This nursery, like the other, looks out on the
glorious mountains. If beautiful things can make babies
good, ours should be very good.</p>
<p>On the eastern side of the field we have lately built two
small sick-rooms, used oftener as overflow nurseries. These
little rooms have names meaning "peace" and "tranquillity";
and those of us who have lived in them with our babies,
sick or well, find the names appropriate. In the foreground
there is a garden, in the background the mountain; and
to give purpose to it all, the foreground is full of life. A
new nursery now being built is a welcome gift from Australia;
and a new field with a noble tree, in whose shade a hundred
children could play, is the gift of a friend who stayed with
us for one bright week last year.</p>
<p>All this is a later development, unthought of when our
artist friend was with us. We have often wished for him
since the nurseries filled. When he was with us our choice
of subject was very limited: now, wherever we look we see
pictures, which to be properly caught ask for colour photography.</p>
<p>The story of these buildings is the story of the Ravens,
so old and yet so new. When first the work began, we had
only one mud-floored room for nursery, kitchen, bedroom,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</SPAN></span>
and everything else that was needed. We hardly knew
ourselves whereunto things would grow, and feared to
run before the Lord by even a prayer for buildings. And yet
we could not go on as we were. The birds were soon
too many for the nest, and we needed more nests. No
one knew of our need; for visitors at that time were few
at Dohnavur, and we told no one. But money began to
come. We ventured on a single room without a verandah
or even foundations—built of sun-dried bricks as inexpensively
as possible. But it was a palace to us. While
we were building it, more little children came. We felt we
should need more room, but had not more money; so we
told the builders to wait for a day while we gave ourselves to
prayer about the matter. Was the work going to grow
much more? We were fearful of making mistakes. Were
we right to incur fresh responsibility?—for buildings need
to be kept in condition, and the cheaper they are the more
care they need. No one at home was responsible for us.
No one had authorised this new work. It would not be
fair to saddle those on whom the burden might eventually
fall with responsibilities for which they were not responsible.
And yet surely the work of saving these little children had
been given to us to do? Someone was responsible. Surely,
unless we were utterly wrong and had mistaken the Shepherd's
Voice, surely He was responsible! He could not
mean us to search for the lambs for whom only the wolves
had been searching, and then leave them out in the open,
found but unfolded, or packed so close in the little fold
that they could not grow as little lambs should?</p>
<div class="sidenote">The Registered Letter</div>
<p>We rolled the burden off that day as to the ultimate
responsibility, and we asked definitely for all that was
needed to build another room.</p>
<p>Three days later a registered letter came from a bank in
Madras. It contained an anonymous gift of one hundred<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</SPAN></span>
rupees, and was marked, "For a new nursery." The date
showed that it had been posted in Madras on the day of
our waiting upon God for guidance as to His wishes. A
few days later, the same amount, with the same direction as
to its use, was sent to us from the same bank. The giver,
as we knew long afterwards, was a fellow-missionary in
Tinnevelly, whose order to send these sums to us was given
before even we ourselves had fully understood the meaning
of the leading. The second room was built on to the first,
and the children called it the Room of Joy.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-25.jpg" width-obs="550" height-obs="391" alt="THE RED LAKE. Water Palms, with Mountains in the background." title="" /> <span class="caption">THE RED LAKE.<br/>Water Palms, with Mountains in the background.</span></div>
<p>There are no secrets in India. The Hindu masons were
amazed at what they at once recognised as the hand of the
Lord upon the work, and they spread the story everywhere.
Later, when they built the nursery where poor little Mala
stood and mourned, they understood why they had to stop
before the verandah was built. Only enough was in hand
to build the bare room; but to their eyes, as to ours, a
verandah was much needed, and they were content to wait
till what was required for one came. In this land of
blazing sunshine and drenching monsoon a house without
a verandah is hardly habitable, and a small square room
without one has a Manx-cat appearance.</p>
<div class="sidenote">"These are Thy wonders, Lord"</div>
<p>The story of the rooms has been repeated in the story of
the work ever since. "Do not thank us. It is only a
belated tenth," wrote a fellow-missionary not long ago, as
she sent a gift for the nurseries. Belated tenths have
reached us sometimes when they have been like visible
ravens flying straight from the blue above. All the long
journeys in search of the children, all the expenses connected
with their salvation, all that has been required to
provide nurses and food (including the special nourishment
without which the more delicate could not live at all), all
that is now being needed for their education—all has come and
is coming as the ravens came to Elijah. The work has been<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</SPAN></span>
a revelation of how many hearts are sensitive and obedient
to the touch of the Spirit; for sometimes help has reached
us in such a way and in such form that we could not but
stand and worship, awestruck by the token of the nearness
of our God. There is many a spot marked in garden or in
field or in the busy nursery or our own quiet room, where,
with the open letter in our hand—the letter of relief from
a pressure unknown even to the nearest fellow-worker—we
have knelt in spirit with Jacob and said: "Surely the Lord
is in this place!" and almost added, so dense are we in
unilluminated moments, "and I knew it not."</p>
<p>Framed between red roofs and foliage, there are far blue
glimpses of mountains shown in this lakeside photograph.
We do not see the water from the compound. It lies on
the other side of the boundary fields and hedges; but we
see the mountains with perfect distinctness of outline,
scarped with bare crags, which in the early morning are
sometimes pink, and in the evening, purple. But the time
to see the mountains in their glory is when the south-west
monsoon is flinging its masses of cloud across to us. Then
the mountains, waking from the lazy sleep of the long, hot
months, catch the clouds on their pointed fangs, toss them
back and harry them, wrap themselves up in robes of them,
and go to sleep again.</p>
<p>The road that skirts the Red Lake leads through two
ancient Hindu towns, from both of which we have children
saved, in each case as by a miracle. In the first of these old
towns there is a Temple surrounded by a mighty wall.</p>
<p>There are two large gates and one small side door in
the wall; and, passing in through the small side door, one
sees another wall almost as strong as the first, and realises
something of the power that built it. The Temple is in the
centre of the large enclosure. It is a single tower opening
off the inner court. In the outer court a pillared hall is<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</SPAN></span>
used as stable for the Temple elephant, and two camels
lounge in the roughly kept garden in front. This Temple,
with its double walls, its massive, splendidly-carved doors
and expensive animal life, is somewhat of a surprise to the
visitor, who hardly expects to see so much in a little old
country town on the borders of the wilds. But Hinduism
has not lost hold of this old remote India yet. There are
some who think that the country town is the place to see
it in strength.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-26.jpg" width-obs="550" height-obs="408" alt="AT THE DOOR OF THE TEMPLE." title="" /> <span class="caption">AT THE DOOR OF THE TEMPLE.</span></div>
<p>It was early in August, three years ago, that we heard of
a baby girl in that town, devoted from birth to the god.
We set wheels in motion, and waited. A month passed and
nothing was done. We could not go ourselves and attempt
to persuade the mother to change the vow she had made,
as any movement on our part would only have riveted
the links that fettered the child to the god. We had to be
quiet and wait. At last, one evening in September, a Hindu
arrived in the town with whom our friends who were on
the watch had intimate connection. He, too, knew about the
child; and he knew a way unknown to our friends by which
the mother might be influenced, and he consented to try.
His arrival just at that juncture appeared to us, who were
waiting in daily expectation of an answer of deliverance, as
the evident beginning of that answer; thus our faith was
quickened and we waited in keen hope. Two days later,
after dark, there was a rush from the nursery to the
bungalow. "The baby has come!" Another moment, and
we were in the nursery. A woman—one of our friends—was
standing with what looked like a parcel wrapped in a
cloth hidden under her arm. Even then, though all was
safe, she was trembling; and outside, two men, her relations,
stood on guard. She opened the white cloth, and inside
was the baby.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Her Choice</div>
<p>The men assured us that all was right. The mother had<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</SPAN></span>
been convinced of the wrongness of dedicating the little babe,
and would give us no trouble. But a day or two later, she
came and demanded it back. She could not stand the derision
of her friends, who told her she had sinned far more in giving
her child to those who would break its caste than she ever
could have done had she given it to the Temple. We pacified
her with difficulty, and were thankful when the little thing
was safe in the Neyoor nursery. For in those days, before
we learned how best to protect our children, we were
often glad to have some place even more out of reach than
Dohnavur.</p>
<p>The second of these old towns is famous for its rock, and
its Temple built into the rock. Looking down from above
one can see inside the courtyard as into an open well. Connected
with this Temple, some years ago, there was a beautiful
young Temple woman, who had been given as a child—as
all Temple women must be—to the service of the gods.
She had no choice as regarded herself—probably the idea
of choice never entered her mind—but for her babe she
determined to choose; and yet she knew of no way of
deliverance.</p>
<p>But there was a way of deliverance, and if it had only
been for this one child's sake, and for the sake of the relief
it must have been to that fear-haunted mother, we are glad
with a gladness too deep for words that the nursery was here.
For the mother heard of it. There were lions in the path.
She quietly avoided them, and through others who were
willing to help she sent her child to us. She herself would
not come. She waited a mile or so from the bungalow till
the matter was concluded, then returned to her home alone.</p>
<p>A week later she appeared suddenly at the bungalow. It
was only to make sure the little one was safe and well, and
in order to sign a paper saying she was wholly given to us.
This done she disappeared again, refusing speech with anyone,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</SPAN></span>
and for months we heard nothing of her. Then cholera
swept our countryside, and we heard she had taken it and
died. We leave her to God her Creator, who alone knows
all the story of her life: we only know enough to make us
very silent. And through the quiet we hear as it were a
voice that chants a fragment from an old hymn: "We
believe that <b>THOU</b> shalt come to be our Judge."</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</SPAN></span></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />
1 of 2
2 of 2
Previous
Next
Update Required
To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.