Gujarát and the Gujarátis/The Missionary in the Mofussil
THE MISSIONARY IN THE MOFUSSIL.
What he is Like, and How he comes into the World.
If the visitor is not altogether unlucky, he may, in course of his tour through these parts, meet with the Missionary. The Missionary is a great soul split up by many pettinesses. A man of infinite trust, but slow to trust the heathen; of sanguine hope, but always despairing of the world's future; of boundless charity, and yet very strict in judging of all outside the pale of his little communion. Learned as a book and simple as a child, too sensitive too grovel in poverty, and yet to proud to renounce it—the Christian Missionary presents a strange paradox in the economy of social life in India. There are many theories in circulation amongst the "vulgar" as to the object of England sending out so many Missionaries to India. The most original and plausible of these is that when an English pair have no children, they pray to their God, just as we pray to our gods here, to grant them at least a son, who, the parents vow, shall devote his life to "preaching Christ" to the perishing millions of heathendom; and God being, inpopular estimation, a sensible sort of a person, never tires of granting such requests.
Infancy and boyhood are a period of severe discipline to the missionary in embryo, and of acute anxiety to the parents who, whatever their means, will not rest till the hopeful is at least an M.A. or B.D. by the time he is twenty-one. Then he comes to India, generally in connection with a school. Immediately on landing he is taken in hand by the Munshi,[1] the Pandit[2], and the Khabardár or informant. He falls to the work of studying the vernaculars with avidity; and the stories of the Khabardár, too, he swallows with equal zest. In less than two years the padre is monarch of all he surveys. He bears a charmed life in the village. He is supposed to be in the Collector's confidence, a favourite with the Collector's worthy dame, or of the Engineer's elder sister, who sometimes keeps house for him. The Munshi and the Pandit have taught the padre just enough to give him the worst possible idea of Mahomedanism and Hinduism. "Duty" being a matter of choice with him, the Missionary never hesitates to hold forth whenever he can.
His Daily Duties.
Let us accompany our friend in his round of daily duties. He begins the day with a short prayer in the little church where all his "people" attend. After the prayer and a few kindly inquiries, the padre re-enters his little shell, from which he emerges after breakfast. A few visits to the poor, and then two or three hours of literary work. This done, he goes to school, from which he returns for afternoon tea. This is his leisure time, when many an honest inquirer reads the Book with him, and retails to him his latest spiritual experiences. About 5 o'clock, the padre leaves his neat little cottage on his preaching tour. He walks sometimes for miles together, and returns home exhausted. But he never complains—there is the same bright smile on his face as in the morning, and the early supper and cup of tea are gone through with much pleasant chit-chat.
Such is the Missionary in the mofussil. He is not so stiff as he used to be, and many of his foibles, too, he is getting under. But the good that is in him would compensate for weaknesses a hundredfold. He has a pronounced predilection for sermons; but then that is his craft, his calling, the very mission of the Missionary. It may be that he sometimes emphasizes "hell," "damnation," and such other words with a sort of frenzy, but he always means what he says.
The Missionary an Institution.
It is ridiculous to expect the Missionary to "retire" for good. He has taken deep root in the soil. He has a firmer hold on our hearts than any earlier growth. The Collector may go, the Engineer may be turned out, the Governor may be recalled, aye, the very Government of the country may change, but the Missionary will remain. He will endure to the end of time, a monument to the silent influence of his faith. As a friend of all people, adviser of the State, teacher and guide of youth, preacher of a grand idea, as general leavener of society, the Christian Missionary will always occupy a high and beneficent prominence in India.
One standing complaint against the Missionary is that he reaches the soul through the body. But is that his fault? The Aryan "Gentoo," of the lower order especially, has so much of body, and so little of soul, that it is impossible to reach the latter before oiling every nook and corner of the "tabernacle of flesh." The Gentoo is of the flesh, fleshy; and as curry chowal[3] has a very soothing effect on the flesh and, through it, on what little of soul he may have in him, the padre is justified in his tactics.
The Missionary's Wife.
To write of the Missionary and omit his good wife would be a sin. She is his right hand, his real helpmete. A simple, unselfish, devoted woman, of even gentler sympathies than his, she often tames him, when under sudden provocation he forgets the obligations of his sacred office. To the sick and the starving she is an angel of mercy. She ministers both to the body and the soul, and in bestowing her little gifts she seems as if actually receiving them. Truly womanlike, she is the best friend of girlhood, and parents cheerfully acknowledge this. In all the lighter duties she is indispensable—at marriage, birth, baptism; whilst it would take too long to tell what good she does in school work and teaching.