Mimosa

THIS story is true. It tells the eternally newtale of the matchless charm of our Lord JesusChrist. One look at that loveliness, and, thoughthe one who looked did not even remember Hisname, she was His for ever.The story came to us at a time of disappoint-ment and temptation to downheartedness. Andmightily it cheered us. It spoke in a clear, gladvoice, and it said : " Fear not at all. Where yourhands cannot reach and your love cannot help,His hands can reach and His love can help. Sowhy are you afraid?"And it said that miles of space and solid wallsand locked doors are nothing to Love. Nothingat all.And it said-and we set it down with a greathope that it may cheer some other, for it said itvery earnestly : " The seed is not your poor littleword. The seed is the Word of God."

ONE day, about a year ago, two of us went toMimosa's village, and I stayed with her. I sawthen, for the first time, the room mentioned inChapter IX. It is narrow and low and airless,and when the small, heavy door is shut it is quitedark. It is the only place where Mimosa can bealone.Is her story true ? Although the foreword saidit was, some have wondered if it could be so.When first I went into that room I stood aston-ished. In the dark corners I could see the dimshapes of huddled-up sacks and a pot or two. Itwas unbelievably stuffy. I could hardly breathe.Almost my heart questioned then the things thatI had heard. Can it be here, 0 Lord of life andlight and liberty, that Thou didst meet her sooften? Can such dinginess be indeed the placeof Thy Presence ?She was out busy cooking in the verandah thatran round the little courtyard at the time. Shethought I would like the door shut. "And whenthou hast shut thy door " has always been one ofher words, so she softly shut the door. Then nota breath of air came in and not a ray of light. Inthat hot darkness I stood, and thought of theangels ascending and descending-not on someladder set up under the stars, but here, in thisstrip of room. ..." Take off thy shoes from offthy feet, for the place whereon thou standest isholy ground."And a new insight, like the sudden flash thatsometimes lights the evening sky in these tropicallands and shows kingdoms beyond the clouds,was granted in that moment. I knew, not by faithnow, but as it were by sight, that our Lord JesusChrist can do anything, keep anyone, shine any-where, succour in spite of all the forces of theenemy, comfort in any circumstances. Verily,circumstances are nothing to Him. He is Kingof them all. The material is powerless to crampor to subdue. It is naught. The Spiritual con-quers every time.Many ask about her husband and children.Her husband is still what he was, and she stillhopes; her boys are with us. A little daughterhas been given to her. Lately, because of her:ourageous witness, her house roof was burneddown. She wrote on a post-card, covered withcrowded Tamil, a vivid account of the fire, endingthus : " But through bitterness comes sweetness."A.C.DOHNAVUR1930

As this book, written over thirty years ago, goesout once more it seems necessary to add to theauthor's own forewords and bring the story upto date, incorporating in this note details ofwhat she herself wrote when the sixth reprintwas made.Mimosa had the joy of seeing her husbandturn to the Lord, and later receive baptism.She continued to live in her village with him butfrequently visited us in Dohnavur. On oneoccasion she arrived just at the time whenGolden, a leprosy patient, was longing to see her.A Tamil version of Mimosa's life had been readto Golden, and she was eager to see with her owneyes the one who had held fast to her faith inChrist for over twenty years, without humanhelp. Her face shone when Mimosa was broughtto her bedside, realizing that it was God Himselfwho had made this meeting possible.The translation of the book into variouslanguages, however, though it brought blessingto many, was followed by sharp spiritual attackupon Mimosa herself, attack which lasted forover a year before she came through to peaceand victory.In 1938 she became seriously ill, and wasbrought to our Hospital, where she rested inpeace until the trumpets sounded for her andshe went in to see the King.Four of her sons are with us now, trusted andloved fellow-workers. Her daughter, who ismarried, is living elsewhere and so is heryoungest son, born after the book was written.Her husband is spending his old age here inDohnavur. The eldest of their grandchildren(Kinglet's son) has begun to take his share in thework among the boys.Star was called Home in May, 1939, only sixmonths after her sister. The story of her earlyyears has been written in the book, PloughedUnder. God called her to serve Him in Dohna-vur, chiefly among the young boys, but her lovereached out to all, so that her life is a radiantmemory to those who knew her. Thoughsheltered from the physical hardship and carethat were Mimosa's lot, Star in her warfare forsouls knew the wounds and piercing sorrowsthat such work brings.For both sisters as they entered into Life thewords of Pilgrim's Progress were true: " Youmust there receive the comfort of all your toil,and have joy for all your sorrow; you must reapwhat you have sown, even the fruit of all yourprayers and tears and sufferings for the Kingby the way."B. C. 0.DOHNAVUR, 1958.

SHE was standing out in the sunshine when Ifirst saw her, a radiant thing in a crimson andorange sari, and many bright bangles. Shelooked like a bird from the woods in her coloursand her jewels, but her eyes were large and softand gentle, more like a fawn's than a bird's.We welcomed her and her tall father, whostood beside her; but there was always an in-ward misgiving in our welcome to that father,for his little daughter, Star, was with us, andthough he had consented to her staying with us,he might at any time retrieve her.How present the past may be: it is as if hestood before me now, that upright, valiant Hindu,with his clear-cut face and piercing eyes, everyline of him expressing a fixed determination.I see the lyer (Walker of Tinnevelly) meetinghim with a friendly gesture of welcome (to shakehands would have been pollution). I see the twomen, so apart yet so alike in certain traits ofcharacter, walking through the living-room to theside room used as a study.Then after a little would come a call, and wewould go together to the other room, and withwhat eagerness search the two men's faces as weentered. And then would flame past a burninghalf-hour, and at last-time after time this hap-pened-the father would rise, and towering abovehis daughter stretch out his hand to take her,and down would fall his arm."What is it? What power is it? It is as ifa paralysis were upon me," he said once.And we told him : " The Lord God of heavenand earth has marked this child for His. It is Hiswill that she should learn of Him." And hebowed to the word and allowed her to stay a littlelonger.But nothing could prevail upon him to leavethe younger one. We were keeping caste asregarded Star, every scrupulous observance wasbeing kept; for we had not the right to allowher to break the law of her family. We wouldhave done the same for Mimosa. But no, shemight not stay.The child, who in that one afternoon hadheard what drew her very soul in passionatelonging to hear more, pleaded earnestly:" Oh, father, just for a little while that I mayunderstand a little, only a very little, and I willreturn.""Wouldst thou shame me, 0 foolish one?Is not one shame enough?"Again she pleaded, all her shyness of her sternfather and all fear of offence melted in the strongfires of desire."Oh, father, father!"But he turned on her indignant: "Look at thysister. Is not one shame enough, I say?" andhe withered her with his wrath.There was silence for a moment. ThenMimosa burst into tears.The farewells were soon said. As they weregoing away the child turned, and I saw the littlefigure in its bird-breast raiment against the darkgreen shadows of the mango-trees. Dashing thetears from her eyes, she tried to smile to us; andmy last memory of her, and it has lived all thesetwenty-two years, is of big, beautiful brown eyestrying to smile through tears.And we? We went back to the duty of theday and tried not to be downcast; but the childhad been more than usually intelligent; and shehad listened with such a sweet and charmedattention to the little we had time to tell her thatwe could all but hear the Lover of children say:"Suffer her to come unto Me." Would theysuffer her to come? If only we might havetaught her more of Him! How could she pos-sibly remember what we had told her? It wasimpossible to expect her to remember.Impossible? Is there such a word where thethings of the Lord are concerned?

This heartwarming testimony of Gods love and faithfulness, in the most unusual circumstances, is wonderfull. The simple sincere way that Amy Carmichael was able to tell the story is timeless. (Hope I spelled the name right)Greg :-)

:-)

"SOMETHING has happened to the child. Whatis the matter with her ?"The speaker, Mimosa's mother, was angry.And when that mother was angry the stickdanced." Look at her, not a vestige of the holy asheshas she smeared on her forehead.""What will the neighbours say?" It was anaunt who was speaking now."Come, thou little ingrate, come here thismoment !" The child came, but she stoodsilent.Then the mother, the aunt, the older sisters,and anyone who happened to be passing, talkedto her. They talked all at once, and they alltalked loudly. The house was full of theirclamour. They talked promiscuously to eachother and to her, and hurled proverbs like littlepellets at her head."The child is bewitched. Look at her! Shehas drunk of the magic medicine of the whitepeople."*'Yea, she is charmed. There is a charm in thewhite people's talk. Charmed? She is spoiled.' The spoiled child fears not the word,' as thesaying is. Let her taste the rod."" Like the help of the rod what help is there ?"Then all together: "Will the child that fearsnot the reproving eye fear the chastening hand ?Nevertheless feel it she must."" The twig unbent within five years, will it bebent at fifty ?""The unbeaten bull, will it be broken to itswork ?""The undisciplined and the untwirled mous-tache, will they attain prosperity ?"At last, exasperated by the child's silence, forMimosa did not know what to say, having alreadysaid all she knew, the mother carried her offand administered the correction so urgently re-quired. And the little girl cried softly to herselfand wondered at the strangeness of everything.She had tried to tell them, and they could notunderstand.What had she tried to tell them?It is difficult to say, just because there wasnot much to tell. But something had happenedon that afternoon when she heard for the firsttime about a living, loving God, whom we hadcalled Father, who had made everything in theworld, and the sun and moon and stars. She hadunderstood that He loved her. And a strangething had happened. Though there was no timeto tell her much of the Lord Jesus Christ, somesense as of seeing a Great Love, feeling it indeed,as one does feel love without being able to ex-plain it, had come upon her, so that she lovedthis loving One, knew He loved her, though ofwhat had been done to reveal that love to manshe knew just nothing; there had not been timeto tell her. Only she knew somehow that just asthe blue air was round about her that afternoon ;as she walked back with her father, so that whenshe looked up she could see blue beyond blue,so the love of this wonderful God was about herand above her, and everywhere was love. Tellit in terms of ordinary speech and you find your-self floating off into shoreless, soundless, timelessseas-what that child had seen that day was asmuch as a child could see of the Eternal Love.Charmed? Yes, they told the truth who said it.This book is the tale of a soul that was charmed.The question of rubbing Siva's ashes on herforehead, or refusing to rub them, had, of course,not been touched upon at all that afternoon. Butwhen she went home, and as usual the basketcontaining them was handed to her in the morn-ing as the family custom was, she shrank back,feeling instinctively that she could not rub thoseashes on now. They meant allegiance to Siva.Siva was not her God now. She had anotherGod, even the Loving One.It was this unaccountable refusal which hadfirst perplexed, then enraged her family. Thebasket, with the ashes which the father broughtonce a month from the temple, was hung froma beam in the living-room. Every morning thefather and his sons smeared the ashes on brow,arms, and breast. And the mother and daughterssmeared them on their foreheads. To go out ofdoors without that mark on was disgrace.The family bore it for a day or two, then, inthe more tolerant father's absence, the womendetermined to end it. Mimosa had struggledthrough a lame little explanation, but she couldnot show them what she had seen, and her falter-ing words had failed. She had stood amongthem"Dumb to their scorn, and turning on theirlaughterOnly the dominance of earnest eyes."But that dominance was too spiritual to appealjust then. The day came when it did. At thatmoment it was sheer naughtiness or bewitchment,or both mixed. Anyhow, there was only onething to do. "As the stick dances, the monkeymust dance. Let the stick dance." And itdanced.

I COULD BE CRUCIFIED ONCESo passed several uncomfortable years. Mimosaacquired a tiresome trick of shrugging hershoulders, and "answering back"; for she didnot by any means grow into a sweet little saintall at once, and the rather frequent and some-times severe chastisements left her sometimes ina very unsaintlike frame of mind. It was all sobewildering. If God, the God to whom sheclung the more fiercely for these sharp smitings,little limpet that she was, were indeed as she hadheard and believed, living and powerful andloving, why did He not keep her mother's handsoff the whisk which was her favourite instrumentof correction? It was a question that found noanswer. Was the child forgotten by the Lovethat had shone upon her?Love never forgets. Gradually through hertroubles a gentle sense of still being loved stolein upon her soul. She knew, though how shecould never have told, that the God she wouldnot forsake had not forsaken her. And all alone,without a single friend who understood, or asingle touch of human compassion, she was com-forted. And gradually she learned patience,learned to accept her discipline."Then came the time when I went intomaraivu." This was not tyranny, it was onlythe custom of the caste. The word means se-clusion, and the custom springs from fear. Forwhen the Mahommedan conquests changed theways of the old Hindus, they felt the secludedlife safer for their growing-up girls, and to thisday, just when the mind in her is all one eagerquestion, the child is shut up within narrowlimits, and there that child stays till her marriagereleases her," Didst thou ever break through and run out?""No, never; how could I? The Rule is tostay in.""But how didst thou endure it?"" There was no other way but to endure it.""Does no girl ever break the Rule?""Never, never." And Mimosa added, whattranslated into modern English would be : "It'snot done."And she was such a vivid girl. Into her at hercreation her Maker had inspired a soul thatmoveth to activity, and breathed a vital spirit.But this activity of vitality displeased her elders,who disapproved of "learned girls"; learningwas for boys. So Mimosa was cooped up in smallrooms and set to small tasks, and heard only thesmallest of small talk, and the inquiring mindcrowded with questions was treated as a freak." What is that to thee ? Art thou not a woman-child?" Thus passed the dull, drab years.She had much to endure. Sometimes it was asif the winds that blew about her had blown outthe one little candle that stood unsheltered inthe midst of them. Several times she yieldedand bowed before the idols. These were herdarkest periods; but she was not forsaken, theLove that followed found her. And then, all themore because she had weakened, the full blast oftrial fell on her again."I could be crucified once," said NeesamaSan of Japan, and he was a man at liberty,strong, and with full knowledge. "But this daily.crucifixion!" And now something hardly lesswas appointed for this Indian girl who had heardso little, and was to hear nothing for many years.Is not the courage of the love of God amazing?Could human love have asked it of a soul?Fortitude based on knowledge so slender, death-less, dauntless faith, who could have dared to askit but the Lord God Himself ? And what couldhave held her but Love Omnipotent? We haveyet to prove more bravely the forces of that love.

" NAY, to this assembly I go not."It was the father, head of the family and clan,who spoke, and he spoke with decision; butnever a thought that he was bidden to anotherassembly came to the daughters and relatives asthey donned their best and brightest attire andset forth with crowds of caste folk from theirown village and numbers of others to attend thegreat festival at the temple by the sea, one of thechief pilgrimages of the year.All his life he had thought of Siva as Lord ofthe soul, he had thought of his soul as an animalfettered in his flesh. His soul belonged to Sivaas an animal belongs to its master. But thefetter of the flesh had bound it. All he had donein the course of his religious life had, statedsimply, but one object. His business was toloosen the fetters of this bound soul that it mightbe restored to its owner.And now that which would for ever free it fromthis fetter of the flesh was upon him, and helooked death in the face.He had worshipped in scores of temples, givenalms, daily rubbed the sacred ashes, the Vibuthi,on brow, breast, arms; traced, in so far as mortalmight, the intricate labyrinth of the one thousandand eight names and attributes of his god, andworshipped Siva's wife and sons, whose imageswere everywhere to be seen in wayside shrine andSaivite temple. To make all safe, he had sacri-ficed to countless demons; there was nothing hecould think of that he had left undone, nor hadhe ever done those things which he ought not tohave done except in the matter of his daughterStar: he had yielded to her vain desire. And tosecure an education for his two sons he had letthem eat of Christian food.And now all that was left was to gather intoone last symbolic act his whole life's faith. AndMimosa, trembling, saw her mother bring the boxof sacred ashes to him. " Mark the Vibuthi"she said. With it thick and white upon him, thedread God of death would know him for Siva'sown.But he put the ashes from him. There wereno explanations. He was too ill for that. Heonly waved the box aside and, looking into theface of death, cried, " I go to the Supreme," andso passed.Then was done according to custom.The departed spirit is not regarded by theHindus as having passed beyond the reach ofour care, and so at once, especially in the caseof a parent, everything that love can suggest isdone to help it. This thought is behind all andgives a dignity to the ceremonies that followswift-footed upon death.Quickly, in a little shelter improvised in thecourtyard, Mimosa's father was laid on a mat,and shaved, and bathed with water hurriedlybrought from the nearest river, the sacred Copper-coloured river which the Greeks named long ago.A white muslin cloth was wrapped round himnow, and the consecrated ashes he had refusedwere rubbed on brow, breast, and arms. Then aball of rice was laid on his mouth, and on itfriends put silver coins. This was to help hisdisembodied spirit on the first part of itsjourney.And then the weeping, wailing women, led byMimosa's mother, walked round and round thebody, throwing their arms up, beating theirbreasts, tearing their loosened hair, which fell inblack masses about them. And they sat down onthe ground, and, rocking backwards and forwards,chanted the song that compares the dead man toall that is strong and glorious and dear. No onecan sit through such a scene unmoved. It is thestuff that grief is made of, the grief that has nohope.All this our little Mimosa heard and shared.But she was too dazed to chant, too stunned fortears. And when they carried her father forth toperform the remaining ceremonies at the crema-tion ground, while the conch shell was blown anda band of many instruments blared in deafeningchorus, she felt that the walls of her whole lifewere falling down about her.

PARPOMTHE next event of supreme importance toMimosa was her wedding.On the day when she was telling me about itwe were together in my room, along whose wallstand several bookcases."I will show the colours of my saris" saidMimosa, rising and going to one of the bookcases."I had one like this"-she pointed to Tre-velyan's Garibaldi (bright red)-"and one likethis "-Tennyson and His Friends (bright green)-" and this"-it was The China Martyrs of1900, in orange-yellow. A prolonged search frombookcase to bookcase followed, and finally dis-covered Kim (crimson) and Lord Kelvin's Life(terracotta-brown), which fairly satisfied her.And she had plenty of jewels. Her brass wasthe best of its kind. For all these necessarythings her father had left provision. The long,warm day saw her early at the well, with her darkhair parted smoothly and her pretty garments andbright jewels making her more than ever a birdof radiant plumage. And as the sun rose on heras she stood there, a seventeen-year-old bride,he must have loved to light her like a picture,with the old grey well for foreground and thewide sky for frame.But soon to the startled girl the word beganto be whispered; all was not as it appeared. Shewas poor.It was true. Her husband, advised by his elderbrother, a clever, unprincipled scoundrel, haddeceived Mimosa's mother. He was not onlylandless; he was neck-deep in debt.In Mimosa's family the custom was for thebridegroom to endow the bride with a substantialgift of land before marriage. This the bride-groom had done. It was the only land he had,but, of course, Mimosa's mother had no idea ofthis.Mimosa went to him. He worshipped theground she walked on (her own idiom; so Eastand West touch sometimes). When he was withher she could do as she would with him. Thetrouble was that he was generally with his elderbrother, who then held the reins. Mimosa, how-ever, had character and would not be silenced." I cannot sleep while we owe one farthing," shesaid.But this was absurd. Why should she not beable to sleep? What folly possessed her? Itwas altogether shocking, and he did so dislikeshocks.Now the neighbours, though they had beenquiet for a while after the wedding, had not for-gotten that Mimosa was not a worshipper of theusual gods. And they were sure mischief wouldcome of it; the marriage would be unlucky."Parpom" they had said. " We shall see." Andthey had twisted their hands, palms uppermost,in a curious way impossible to show in words,and waved them to and fro as if trying to waveoff the impending ill-luck. " Parpom; yes,Parpom."Then the helpful elder brother came to therescue. If Mimosa felt so, there was only onething to be done. Let her sell her marriage por-tion, the land now written to her name. Mimosaeagerly consented, and it was done. The brotherkindly helped in the transaction, and did not loseby it.But, landless, how were they to live?Mimosa went again to her husband, and spokewords that sounded like thunderclaps in hispained, astonished ears." Let us work," she said.And he gazed at her, half grieved and halfadmiring, for she was a very lovely vision withher vivid face and her golden jewels, and herlittle delicate hands and feet. On her arms andankles were silver bangles hung with little bellsthat tinkled when she moved. Yes, she was verydesirable, that could not be denied.But flower of delight as his bride might be, shewas most perniciously peculiar. What was to bedone ? Never in his dreamiest dreams had heconceived so strange a thing. Work ! Did shesay, "Let us work" ? But he had never worked,had never thought of working.What was debt ? Would not the sons that wereto be pay it off ? The interest -- yes, that was aworrying item, but, even so, it could accumulate.Let it be. This, up till now, had been his attitude.Now he found himself more or less unwillinglydenuded of that rather admirable glory of debt.(If you have no debt, does it not follow that noone trusts you enough to lend you anything, andfrom that is it not obvious that you are a personof small consequence ?) This new proposal stag-gered him; it would have been so much easier toslide into debt again. But he agreed. Yes, theywould work.The brother-in-law suggested merchandise.That was pleasant. You had only to sit in yourlittle shop-front, one of a dozen such in thebazaar, and wait till people came in to buy. Saltwas to be his commodity -- easy to store, easy toladle out. So he agreed.But money was needed even to start a saltbazaar, and the ever-helpful brother had abrilliant idea. There were Mimosa's dowryjewels, gathered one by one through careful yearsby her father. There was especially her greatgolden garland, the most costly of all. Sell theseand start in salt. To earn an honest livelihoodMimosa gave them all.They were all lost, every jewel of that heapwas lost. The brother had wise ways of losingsuch treasure. Mimosa could do nothing torecover them.There was hardly anything left that she couldsell. The little she could lay her hands on shegathered and gave to her mother; neither husbandnor brother-in-law could be trusted to keep it forher. And her mother promised to dole out asmall sum every month. When the time came togive it, the mother refused."Thou to give thy dowry jewels to thy hus-band ! Even the golden garland ! No worthydaughter of mine art thou. No money shalt thouhave of me. Let thy God help thee !"The village heard it and smiled. "Did wenot say, `Parpom' ?"

I AM NOT OFFENDED WITH YOUTHEN Mimosa went out into the fields. In herarms lay her first-born son, for the blow had fallenupon her in a weak hour. She had never heardof Hagar; but in her grief she walked in Hagar'ssteps. She hung her baby in a strip of cottonstuff and tied it to the branch of an acacia-tree.For a minute or two she swung the hammockgently till he slept, and then she went away aloneand sat her down over against him a good wayoff, and she cried unto the Lord.She had never learned to pray, never heardprayer except when we committed her to the loveof the Lord, before we said good-bye. In Tamilwe have four forms of the pronoun in the secondperson. There is thou, used by older to youngerand superior to inferior; there is a second singularform, a trifle more deferential. The third is usedgenerally from, say, child to father, and properlytranslated you; and there is one higher still,translated by such words as "your honour,"" your excellency." In Tamil classic poetry, witha wonderful instinct for eternal values, the lowestof all, thou, is used in addressing the Deity, whois recognized to transcend earth's poor titles ofrespect. The Christian usage is to employ theslightly higher singular form.Mimosa knew nothing of the classics, nor didshe know Christian usage, so to her the mostnatural word was that which she would haveused in speaking to her father; she said you."0 God," she said aloud, and the wordsseemed to rise through the thin blue air aboveher " 0 God, my husband has deceived me, hisbrother has deceived me, even my mother hasdeceived me, but You will not deceive me."Then she waited a little, looking up, andstretching out her arms : " Yes, they have all de-ceived me, but I am not offended with You.Whatever You do is good. What should I dowithout You? You are the Giver of health andstrength and will to work. Are not these thingsbetter than riches or people's help?" And againshe waited a while.Then, kneeling there in the open field, shedrew the loose end of her sari round, and spreadit, holding it open before the Lord. In somesuch way Ruth must have held her mantle whenBoaz poured into it six measures of barley. Tothe Eastern women it means all that ever can beexpressed of humble loving expectation: " ForHe said, ' Go not empty.'" Thus Mimosaknelt: "You will not deceive me."The sun beat down on her; the little youngcotton plants about her drooped their soft greenleaves, but she knelt on, heeding nothing, hersari still spread out before her God: "I am anemptiness for You to fill."Not one Scripture did she know, there wasnothing from the Book of books for the Spirit totake and show to her at that moment. But Hisresources are limitless, and back to her troubledmind came the memory of a wise word of herfather's: "He who planted the tree will waterit." Yes, God was her heavenly Gardener. HadHe not planted His little tree, would He notwater it? She dropped her sari and rose.Then what happened ? Was it, as in that olderstory, that God opened her eyes, and she saw awell of water and she went and drank of it?Suddenly all her weariness passed. She knewherself refreshed, invigorated. He had heard,her God had heard. She was not battling alongas best she could, lonely, desolate. She hadher God. " Oh, what should I do without You?"The words rose like a triumph song. With thelittle gesture of the folded hands which is theuniversal Indian Amen, she bowed her head, andstood a moment drinking from the waters ofcomfort. And then she went to the tree whereher baby swung in the light wind, and, takinghim from it, threw the wisp of cloth across hershoulders, and walked back to her home filledwith a peace that passed her understanding.

THE TULASI PLANTAND now a gallant purpose formed in her; to thewest of the village lay the cotton fields that hadbelonged to her family. Some still belonged toher relatives. She would work there like anycoolie woman, and earn money to keep herhusband and boy. And she did this, in sun andwind, and, what was far harder, she worked inthe stuffy little courtyards where the piles ofcotton were flung in heaps to be carded, breathingthe fluff-laden, stifling air for days on end. Tenminutes in one of those courtyards sends one outhalf choked. Mimosa spent an age of minutesthere.What inspired her, who can tell? She hadnever heard the command to owe no man any-thing. The traditions of her country lay towardsdebt, not from it. Her husband, the responsibleone, saw nothing uncomfortable in sitting downin it. Perhaps it was the delicate purity of hermind, perhaps the effect of the light from thelighted candle the winds had not blown out;whatever it was, it carried her through years ofhard living, and never once through all thoseyears did her hands drop to her sides in despair.But the years were piled with pain. Everyindignity which ingenuity could devise washeaped upon her. For India, kind land as sheis in many of her aspects, can be very cruel toone who crosses her law of caste and custom, anda worshipper of a strange God is not beloved in aconservative community.The Tulasi plant is sacred through all India.It is a small inconspicuous basil and it growswild everywhere. Some hold that it is pervadedwith the essence of Vishnu and his wife Lakshmi,and it is considered to be a deity in itself.Others say it is Sita, Rama's wife, one of thebeautiful Indian women of story. Others say itembodies all the deities in its fragile, fragrantstems and leaves and tiny, unpretentious flowersand fruit. Monier Williams believes it certainthat it is the object of more adoration than anyother plant in India, and so in all the world.And he quotes the prayer to it: "I adore thattulasi in whose roots are all the sacred places ofpilgrimage, in whose centre are all the deities,and in whose upper branches are the Vedas."Every day millions of Indian women, to whom itspecially seems to belong, walk round it, in itslittle pot set in the midst of their courtyard or inthe temple. And they offer rice and flowers toit, and the childless wife drinks a concoctionmade of its leaves chopped fine and mixed withwater, and the snake-bitten finds healing in itsjuice.In Mimosa's village it is more feared thanworshipped; for all the people there are Saivitesand, though worshippers of Siva consider itsacred, it is not to them what it is to worshippersof Vishnu, or Rama (one of Vishnu's incarna-tions), and so it comes to pass that the plant inthat part of the country is left to grow and multi-ply as it likes in the fields, no one touches it forfear of enraging the gods, and it is not enoughused in worship to put any check on its growth.Mimosa saw it growing in masses of aromaticclusters. She badly needed firewood. Its slenderstems do not suggest fuel, but dried they wouldserve her need. If the one true God had made it,her living God, was it His desire that it shouldwaste itself in the fields? But to use it forkindling? Who would dare?She dared. One day she carried home a hugearmful of it, and spread it to dry in her court-yard. The horrified women gathered round."The vengeance of the gods!"" Oh, bitterly they will avenge themselves onthee!"" Stay, stay, thou fool woman ! Touch it not.Burn the tulasi of the angry gods ! Disaster willfollow; the curse will fall!"The clamour grew about her. She stood quietin the midst: "But these gods are not as myGod. There is one great God, one only. How,then, can the lesser gods avenge themselves uponme? He whom I worship is Creator of thetulasi."It was a wonderful chance to witness to thetruth she held. But the women were furious andterrified too, not hurt in heart, else she couldnot have touched the plant. It was not affectionthat sharpened their abuse, it was fear; fear ofthe vengeance of the offended powers.Mimosa used her fuel and, to the surprise ofthe village, nothing immediately happened. Butthey still said, Parpom.And she was a derision daily.

HER second baby was such a lovely little fellowthat she called him Mayil, little peacock; for thethought of that gorgeous bird to this colour-loving people is not spoiled by foolish humantalk of pride being somewhere in the heart of it.Little peacock meant just beauty, and the joy ofit. Her golden boy, she called him, too, andthe word was hardly too adoring, for the smoothvelvet of such a baby's skin is not just brown,indeed, hardly brown at all. It is full of warmlight, like sunlight seen through water on brownstones, and the eyes with their long curled lashes,and the little red mouth, are so many severaldelights.What of the scorn of the village now? It wasnothing, just nothing. For six blessed monthsshe nursed her little treasure, taking him outwith her to the fields, hanging his hammock toa branch of a tree, going to him now and then asher work allowed; and he throve in the pure airand grew in loveliness every day.Then the rainy season came, and she couldnot take him out with her. Kinglet, her first-born, was now two and a half, and, after doingthe work of the house, she used to hang Mayil inhis hammock, tie a rope to it, set a pillow onthe floor, put a bowl of food beside it, and sayto Kinglet: " Stay, little one, and sit there, hereis rice, eat it when hunger comes to thee. If thylittle brother cries, see, here is a rope, pull hiscradle back and forth till he be quiet. Be goodtill I return."And then with a heavy heart (but what elsecould she do?) she would go out to the fields;and from nine in the morning till six in the even-ing those two babies were left alone, two and ahalf to tend six months.Wet to the skin and weary she would return atsunset and go straight to her poor baby. Butthose eight hours without food or drink left himgreatly exhausted, and her tears would fall onhis face as she nestled him in her arms and triedto make up to him for all he had been missing.Till the wet season was over, this was the dailyroutine. Not a neighbour, not a relative, offeredto see to her poor little boys while she was out.But this did not seem strange to her. " Whatwould you ? I was not a woman of the Way, norwas I a Hindu woman." And that seemed reasonenough to give. Why should anyone have helpedher? She was not as they. And the patiencein her face was like the look one sees on themountains, when the clouds that hang about themin the evening deepen the quiet beauty of valleyand ravine.But her poor little Mayil never quite recoveredfrom his unmothered days. He was as frail asa flower of the heat, that grows up somehowthrough the red clod, but is never like the sturdyflower of the rain. He was tall and slim, and hisbeautiful eyes were like stars. He would neverleave his mother, once he had her, without bittercrying and clinging, and she dreaded having topart with him for an hour. When he was older,and could sit by her while she did her cooking,he would play contentedly, if only he might havethe end of her sari in his hand.But he was as happy as a bird, and like a birdhe sang his own little songs that he made forhimself."What rice to-day, mother?" he would ask.And she would tell him. And then he wouldbegin to croon a line or two, to a tune of his own."What singest thou, little peacock?" shewould ask him." I sing a song of the rice," he would answer.And then he would take three pebbles like herthree cooking stones and lay a shard of potteryupon them. " See, I, too, am cooking rice, I blowthe fire, I fill the pot, I cook the rice : see, I cookit, and I sing to it!" and he would play andsing, happy to be near her. " Without me," saidhis mother, "he could not bear to be."He did not learn to walk soon. Someonesuggested planting his little feet in the earth,like two little trees. " Plant them deep. Makethe holes deep, up to his knees, and press theearth down. Then will he be compelled to stand,and finally will walk."But Mimosa thought it a cruel way, and in-stead contrived a small push-cart out of some oddpieces of wood, and he learned to walk at last.

BUT before he could walk, another little onecame who was to grow up to be very heart's joy.Music, as we see him now, is a child so sensitive,so pure of spirit, that the verse about the child-ren's angels comes constantly to mind. But hislife, like his little brother's, had its early troubles.His mother was very ill, and lay in weakness andin loneliness so profound that Kinglet, thenbarely five years old, and her husband, who,though so futile, was not an unkind man, andwho just then was at home with her, were her onlynurses, her only help.When her baby was ten days old she called herhusband. He had not noticed how day by daythe little store of grain grew less. He walked ina sleepy dream. But for Mimosa no such dreamsmight be, she knew to an ounce how much ricethere was. She had counted on being able towork by now. But the will that had carried herthrough so much was helpless before this on-slaught of great weakness." I cannot go to the fields," she said, " but willyou not go to the town by the sea"-and shenamed it-"and tell my youngest brother howthings are? Tell him I am weak, but will returnanything he may send. Ask him for the loan oftwo rupees; two only will suffice." And she senthim off.This younger brother had been well educated,as the elder brother, of whom we shall hear later,had been. And once, during the long holidayswhen he was ill here, we had nursed him day andnight. He, like his elder brother, had been bap-tized ; but, like him, though continuing a Christianin name, he had long ago turned back to thehusks.Mimosa knew this. "He has never spoken tome of that which he once believed, but surely hecannot have forgotten all? Surely he will bekind ?" she thought. He had got well-paid workas a result of the education given by Christians'money. Would he grudge two rupees of it tohelp her? She would return it; he knew shewould return it.But after her husband had gone she lay andthought of it. She had never before asked any-one for anything. She felt doubtful. Had shemade a mistake?There was a side room at one end of the house.It had no windows, only a door opening off theinner verandah. She kept her stores of grainthere, when there were stores to keep. She usedthe room for prayer, for it was quiet, remote fromthe noise of the streetWhen I heard this story, the passing of theyears had softened its outlines; but when I askedMimosa what else was in the room, her eyes filledwith the sweetest smile."Why, nothing," she said, "nothing but quiteempty earthen vessels. Nothing else at all wasin that room that day."She rose slowly from her mat and, leaning onthe wall for support, went to the room, taking herbaby with her and calling to the other two littleboys to come. They left their play and followedher in. Then she partly shut the door-not quite,lest the darkness should trouble the children-and with her arms round them she told her Fatherjust what she had done, how she had never doneso before, how she would understand if it couldnot be as she had asked, how she would knowthen that He had some other way to come to herrelief. "And it will be well, Father; howeverYou do, it will be well."Her husband returned. A walk to and fro ofthirty miles had been for nothing, for he had notbrought back any money. " No," the youngerbrother had said, forgetting the kind ways of hisland, " she is weak. How can I know she willever be strong enough to work and return it?"Then Mimosa took her little three into thatdim room again. The larger empty pots stoodon the floor, the smaller ones were heaped in acorner. " Father, it is well," she said. " All thatYou do is well."But the children's food? She paused for aminute, then in their hearing said : " O Father,it cannot be that Your little ones are to be hungry,and yet it appears to be so. I do not understandit, but it is well." And she led them out of theempty room and shut the door.Now, among her relatives was one, only a dis-tant relative, but so connected that for her to workin his fields was as if Ruth worked in the corn-fields of Boaz; and he was a kind and a just man.He had observed Mimosa; he knew that, wherevershe was, the work was done faithfully, and therewas no need to overlook it. He came now toinquire when he might hope to have her backagain.She told him that she could not say when shecould return, for she could not regain herstrength."Then send thy husband," was his not un-natural rejoinder; and he would have gone, but,noticing her thin, tired face, he drew the truthfrom her."This cannot be! I will not let it be!" heexclaimed. And he sent at once a supply for sixdays, enough to stir up the poor, slack husbandto turn his hand to some honest work, so that theloan was soon returned, enough to cheer the soulof the wife, who saw in it the loving hand of herGod. Once more she and her children went intothe dark little room, now furnished with grain,and to her grateful faith it was an illuminatedplace.

DID SHE NOT BURN THE TULASI ?

LITTLE MAYIL was three, and his small brother,
a chubby, glowing baby, had just begun to find
his way all over the house on eager, uncertain
little feet when one evening at dusk, while she
prepared the evening meal, Mimosa was startled
by a cry from her husband and ran to him on the
outer verandah. “See, see! A thorn has run
into my right foot’s ankle!”

But there was no thorn; it must have been a
snake. No snake could be found. It had stung
the foot and then glided off into the twilight.

“A snake! A snake!” No call in all India
can more quickly gather a crowd. In the twink-
ling of an eye, as it seemed, the house was full of
people, commiserating, inquiring, advising, de-
claiming, prophesying death and destruction. It
was only the usual crowd that attends upon all
excitements and completes all confusions; but in
and out of it and through it ran real emotion,
real distress. Relatives wailed aloud, women tore
their hair, and beat themselves, and violently
knocked their heads against whatever hard thing
lay near. To everyone poor Mimosa’s husband
was as good as dead.

Meanwhile, thus encouraged, the poison “as-
cended to the skull” until the bitten man was in
desperate pain, “as if the bones were being cleft
in two,” and the sympathetic clamour waxed
louder and more excited, and the street filled as
half the village turned out to mourn and lament
his rapidly approaching death.

And in the midst was Mimosa, doing what she
could to relieve him, paying no heed to the sibi-
lant whisper that presently began to fill the room
like the hissing of a snake. ” It is she! It is
she! It is she that has swallowed her husband’s
life. It is she! It is she! Did she not burn
the tulasi ?”

The excitement subsided, for her husband did
not die, but lay very ill and tormented with pain,
and she knelt by the stricken man, and she
prayed, crying upon her God, the God of gods,
and she went into the little dark room and held
out her sari in supplication to Him. And she
nursed him with all the skill she knew, putting
on poultices of fine-chopped rice straw, and feed-
ing him with tempting food. And her faithful,
tender heart rejoiced exceedingly when at last he
was out of danger of death; but he was blind and
he was mad. Blind and mad on her brave hands !

Brother, it has been a long time. Hope it is well with you.

Hello Mike,

boy howdy, time flies when the Lord is turning your world upside down :)

I am doing well..thanks

Karsten

[b]Seed Corn[/b]

IT was just then, then in her desperate hour, that
succour came.

There were a few Christian families in the
village, but none of them took any notice of
Mimosa; for, with the exception of one family,
they were of another caste, and they were all of
the kind known as Name-Christians. It is easy
to blame them and wonder at their lovelessness
but if they had interfered in her affairs it is not
likely they could have continued to live peace-
fully in the village. Her caste would have made
life most unpleasant for them. Only a very
ardent love will face things being made uncom-
fortable, and is ardent love found everywhere?
The one Christian family belonging to Mimosa’s
caste was confessedly nominal-Christian only
because the grandfather and grandmother had
joined the Way years ago, and, being conserva-
tive in feeling, the family stayed on in the re-
ligion. But between its kind of Christianity and
Hinduism pure and simple there had never been
much of a hedge, and the hedge, such as it was,
had many gaps now, through which one might
comfortably creep. To such, a converted, en-
lightened Mimosa would have been very un-
welcome.

But the old grannie who was not ” nominal”
still lived. Her picture, drawn once for all will
be found in Faber’s “Old Labourer.”

” What doth God get from him ?
His very mind is dim,
Too weak to love, and too obtuse to fear.
Is there glory in his strife?
Is there meaning in his life?
Can God hold such a thing-like person
dear?”

Thing-like person ? So she may have seemed;
but she was a King’s messenger. She had been
away from her village for some time, and now
returned, very old, very stupid, very ignorant.
She had never learned to read, and she had long
ago forgotten or ceased to be able to tell any
Bible story she had ever known. The very name
of Jesus our Lord seems to have slipped from
her; she only spoke of God, using a word she
might have used if she had been a Hindu; but
she remembered it meant Father, and this was
the word she gave Mimosa, to whom every
lightest syllable was a crumb from the loaf of
life.

“He will never forsake you; He has never
forsaken me. Meditate on Him and He will not
forsake you. In Heaven (she used the word that
means Release) there is no pain. To that good
place He will take you. He will wonderfully
lead you. In every least thing He will wonder-
fully lead you.”

And she repeated this over, as the aged will,
and said: ” He who is God is your Father. He
will wonderfully lead you, in every least thing
He will wonderfully lead you.”

Soon afterwards she lost the little memory she
had, and no one knew what her thoughts were.
But “she heard the angels sing when she was
dying.”

One other help was given.

In Mimosa’s village there was a room where
the Christians worshipped, and in the same room
the children of their families were taught by a
loud-voiced teacher, who chanted his lessons in
a sing-song tone, caught up and echoed down the
street by the children.

One day when Mimosa was passing she heard
the verse being chanted.

“Do not rub on ashes,
Do not offer matted hair to idols.
The boast of the boaster is like the bite of the
snake;
When the Coming King arrives to judge,
excuses will not pass with Him.”

It was rather a medley of words, tossed together
more because of their Tamil sound than for
mental affinity. The gist of it, however, caught
her fancy, so the jostle of ideas did not matter.
Siva’s ashes, the matted, undressed hair of the
devotee offered to the gods, the prideful boast
that falls before the Coming King-a new name
this-led straight to a new idea. Her Lord must
be coming back to the world. That was the one
arresting thought.

We can gather up the less than an infant’s
fistful of seed corn given to Mimosa. We can
count the seeds, they were so few: there were
nine. That God is, that He loves, guides, and,
being the God of gods, is all-powerful, that He
listens when we pray, that as a Father we may
think of Him and that ” He who plants the tree
will water it.” That the Place of Release is much
better than this world, for there is no pain there,
and that the Lord who lived here before will come
back. She had also heard that “some time, at
the last,” there would be a judgment and excuses
would not stand. But this event felt too remote
to find much place in her theology.

Of her Saviour as Christ crucified she knew
nothing yet. In the few minutes she was with us
we could only begin to tell His story, and chiefly
we spoke of Him as the Lord who loved her. But
she had seen Him without knowing Him. ” Who
is the Lord, that I might believe on Him ?” And
before the Saviour of the world had time to
answer, “It is He that talketh with thee,” she
was caught away. But what can hinder the
following power of the love of Christ? And who
can measure the force of the life of a seed?
Open one of earth’s little seeds and find the
plant that is to be, carved in polished ivory. See
the packing of the nourishment required. See,
and worship and adore.

Of all the stories we have touched since we
came to India, hardly one has humbled us so
much, as we thought of our faithless fears for the
little Mimosa. But hardly one has lifted us so
high in adoration, and in wonder, and in awe.

[b]Backgrounds[/b]

ONE evening, while these things were happening
to Mimosa, we at Dohnavur spent an hour with
the polariscope just acquired for our microscope.
Joyfully we tried the different combinations
offered by polarizer, selenite, and mirror.
Feathery crystal of barium platino-cyanide, like
sprays of peacocks’ feathers, fairy cornucopia
from a fern, the little thorny marvel of a sole’s
scale-these and a score of others held us en-
chanted. Then as the blues and lilacs and violets
and purples paled into something like the steel-
blue of sheet lightning, we wanted the indigo of
the thunder-cloud for background, and for those
opalescent seashell colours, that are like nothing
earthly, but must be sought for in air and water,
we wanted the beryl of the sea; and so it went
on till we knew the perfect background for each
delight; the difficulty was to get it.

We had just touched perfection with an ex-
quisite blue against brown like the bark of a tree
-only that polariscope colours are never flat but
always, as it were, an atmosphere-the little
spikes on the sole’s scale were gleaming poniards,
and iridescent lights played on the plated armour;
not a pearly tint was lost, when one of the
children, eagerly sharing this pleasure with us,
moved the adjustments and lost the perfect foil.

We tried to recover it, but in vain. We did
not know the laws of light well enough to find it.
Or it may have been that the setting sun had
dropped his cooler tones and was only all red
flame. Whatever the cause, till days afterwards,
when we found it again, we thought of it as a kind
of little, visible, lost chord, beautiful, elusive,
within the fraction of a turn of a wheel, but out
of reach of our commanding. If only we had
better known the laws of light, if only we could
have stayed the going down of the sun, should
we not have found it with a touch ?

We all have our small and private windows
which look out upon great matters. This little
clear window did for us that day look out upon
far fields. What if we could look through some
heavenly polariscope and read, as, perhaps, the
angels read, the meaning of the background for
the colours of our lives? But then we should
miss the blessing of those who do not see and
yet believe.

It is difficult to imagine oneself stripped of all
helps to faith, whether from the text of the Book
itself or these its illuminated illustrations; but if
this story is to be understood, and not merely
taken at a run and forgotten, there must be some
mental effort here. Mimosa stood alone among
her people, a woman charmed by a beauty she
could not show to them. Round her were the
blazing streets, the little, hot houses, the curious,
unsympathetic faces, the crowding work of life.
But always it was as if One only just out of sight
were moving through those streets with her.
What He did with her was good. Was He not
all-powerful, so that He could direct everything?
Had He not shown her by a thousand secret signs
that she was loved ? Would she, who was only a
human mother, deny one good thing to her little
son if she had the power to grant it? No more
would He.

In this way, by the low-set stepping-stones
that lead across the stream that divides the
material from the spiritual, she found herself in
a place where nothing could shake her. The
strange colours of her background could not
perplex her. And this was what she really meant
when she said, not asking for blue days, but
looking up steadfastly into grey skies, beaten by
rain and wind, ” I am not offended with You,”
no, not even while her poor husband lay mad
and blind, and the people pointed at her and
said : ” Did we not say Parpom ?”

I have long loved the story of Mimosa. It is beautifully told as you say and is, to me, a thrilling testimony to the fact that God does not leave himself without a witness. Mimosa pursued those tiny sparkles of insight that God gave her through a pagan darkness as thick as Egypts, but pursue she did, and having diligently sought, she found.

She reminds me of Rahab who, while the 2 spies returned to the comfort and fellowship of the camp, maintained her lonely vigil of faith in Jericho. Little wonder that James puts her alongside Abraham as a supreme example of faith. When 'the roll is called up yonder' I think we shall find many Mimosas and the Mimosas may wear heavier crowns than many a preacher.