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 IVIinncapoIis, IVIinni
 
 1693639
 
 FOREWORD. 
 
 The author of these sketches is not laboring under the il- 
 lusion that this book has been looked for and expected for a 
 long time, and that it now, at last, comes to fill a "long felt 
 want." The world has gotten along so far without any "Sketch- 
 es from Santalistan" and would likely manage to plod along to 
 the end of time without even missing them. He has written 
 them because he liked to write them. 
 
 These sketches have been written from time to time during 
 a period of eight years and some of them have been published 
 in various papers and rewritten for this volume. They are 
 written especially for the young people in our Scandinavian 
 Lutheran Churches, and not only for those young in years, but 
 for everybody with a young heart. 
 
 The aim has been to bring a missionary's daily life and 
 labors as well as the people among whom he works a little 
 closer to the friends in the home-lands and, if possible, also to 
 kindle a little more interest in the greatest of all causes, Mis- 
 sions. 
 
 M. A. P.
 
 THE GATE OF INDIA. 
 
 The Indian ocean was dull. Dark and oily lay the wa- 
 ters with only a slight swell. There was no wind nor waves 
 for it was October, and the monsoon was over. Slowly the 
 hot days and even hotter nights crept by. On leaving Aden 
 you begin to notice a change both in yourself and in others. 
 The manners and customs of the West are being left be- 
 hind and now, unconsiously perhaps, one begins to pick 
 up the ways of the East. 
 
 Sedate and elderly gentlemen, whom you learned to 
 know while in the Mediterranean as propriety incarnate, 
 can now be seen walking the decks in the early mornings, 
 barefoot and attired only in striped pajamas. 
 
 It is the spirit of the East. You fight against it to be- 
 gin with. You swelter in the privacy of your cabin and count 
 the bells till dawn, when you dress and get on deck. There 
 you find your fellow passengers on their mattresses fast 
 asleep, their bare feet sticking out from under their cover- 
 ings, catching the sea-breeze, which gives them an air of cool 
 comfort that you did not enjoy in your hot and stuffy cab- 
 in. Consequently, next evening you break with the tradi- 
 
 7
 
 8 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 tions of the progressive West and fall into the ways of the 
 strange and mysterious eastern world. You bring your 
 mattress on deck, robe yourself for the night and go to 
 sleep under the starlit eastern sky. Whether it is the 
 languor of the tropics or the influence of the mysterious 
 spirit of the East, you cannot tell, but you feel a sense of 
 security and cairn; a sort of homelike feeling takes poses- 
 sion of you as if you had at last come to your own. Fan- 
 ned by the soft sea-breeze you close your eyes and doze and 
 dream and rest. You are "east of Suez" and the East has 
 conquered you. That mysterious world of which it is said 
 that it is never quite awake by day and never quite asleep at 
 night, has made you one of her own. 
 
 You watch the flying fishes skip the surface of the 
 quiet water as the crimson curtains of the morning are 
 drawn aside and the sun appears out of the sea, a great ball 
 of yellow fire. It is your last day on shipboard. Before 
 noon the hazy outlines of the mountains, known as the 
 Ghats, can be traced through your fieldglass, and as the 
 day declines your good ship is at anchor in the harbor of 
 Bombay, the western gate of the Indian Empire. 
 
 On landing you fall headlong, as it were, into the lap of 
 her, who has adopted you, the eastern world. It is a world 
 entirely different from anything you have so far seen and 
 experienced. You have nothing to compare it with. It 
 feels like a dream, indescribable, wierd, and complex like 
 the spinning dance of a Dervish. 
 
 Everything about you is now different ; even the most 
 common things are changed -- different clothes, different 
 food, different mealtimes. You begin to realize that you 
 are called upon to begin a new life in this new world. 
 
 At first everything seems blurred and out of focus. 
 You try to notice everything and you see nothing. You ask
 
 THE GATE OF INDIA. 9 
 
 an assistant in the custom office to get a drayman to take 
 your baggage to your hotel. He beckons to a chocolate 
 colored, almost naked man squatting near by and gives him 
 a command in a strange tongue. In a few moments the 
 man returns, bringing up a ridiculous two-wheeled cart, 
 drawn by a pair of small gray oxen, each with a funny 
 looking hump on its shoulders, and short stubby horns 
 painted a bright red. 
 
 Your room is on the second floor of the hotel. There 
 are no windows in it, but many doors, the most of which 
 lead out to the open veranda. As you sit down to try to 
 gather your scattered wits and to get used to your sur- 
 roundings, a crow, the color of blue steel, settles on the 
 veranda railing, lays its head on one side, as if to inspect 
 you, and when, as it seems, it has found you an object 
 worthy of observation, it at once summons its compatriots 
 to share in the new discovery. In a moment there is a 
 dozen crows on the railing busy discussing you, your fami- 
 ly, your baggage, and everything about you with the great- 
 est impunity. You may try to drive them away, but they 
 only move a foot or two, and their vociferous remarks 
 grow more personal and impertinent. 
 
 As you watch them, you begin to remember what you 
 have read about the transmigration of souls. While at 
 home you put the idea aside as childish nonsense, but 
 when you look at the crows and their impudent bearing, 
 you must admit that you are filled with an uncanny feeling 
 of doubt. Perhaps after all there is such a thing as trans- 
 migration, and that these little bodies are inhabited by the 
 souls of Hindus, who in former existance earned the pun- 
 ishment of being reincarnated as crows. 
 
 You are taken to the bazaar. You pass down narrow 
 and crooked lanes thronged with people attired in all kinds
 
 10 SKETCHES FROM SANTAL1STAX. 
 
 of strange garbs. The stores or shops, as they are called 
 are only little stalls where the merchants sit tailor fashion 
 with their goods laid out on the floor about them. And the 
 dust, the smells, the clouds of flies and other insects, the 
 shouting and vociferous jabbering of the people, the gor- 
 geous mixture of colors, of silk and rags, all go to make 
 up a picture both strange and fascinating. 
 
 A drive to Malebar Hill in the cool of the evening you 
 will never forget. The Parsees, sometimes called the Jews 
 of the East, live there. The hill is one luxurious garden 
 with beautiful bungalows, half hidden by tropical flowers 
 and trees. 
 
 As you drive along, enjoying the sights, so strange and 
 beautiful, your guide points out to you a low, round, roof- 
 less tower set in the middle of a large park gorgeous with 
 blossoming trees, shrubs and creepers. It is the "Tower of 
 Silence." To it the Parsees carry their dead and leave them 
 to be devoured by vultures. And as you look you will 
 notice that the tower, is literally fringed with those birds 
 of prey. They are perched there quietly waiting for their 
 next meal. 
 
 The Tower and the repulsive idea connected with it 
 sends a shudder through you. For the rest of the evening 
 you see and enjoy nothing. Slowly the sun dips into the 
 Indian ocean. All Bombay comes out for a promenade and 
 a breath of sea-breeze along the beach. The sunset sky, 
 the passing rows of beautiful vehicles and the people in 
 their bright colored clothes, all go to make up a picture 
 which would charm even the most weary globe-trotter, but 
 you hardly see it. In vain you try to rid yourself of that 
 repulsive picture of the gorged and sleepy vultures in that 
 beautiful garden. 
 
 In time you will learn that even this is the ''Spirit of
 
 THE GATE OF INDIA. 
 
 11 
 
 the East." In the midst of a beauty, almost supernatural, 
 there is a vulture crowded "Tower of Silence,'' or a horrid 
 something, standing out prominently, and unblushingly 
 casting its dark shadow of horrors across this fairest scene. 
 You can but turn to Him, who knows the inmost yearnings 
 of your soul, and pray that you may be permitted to con- 
 tribute your little mite towards the removal of all that, 
 which mars the fair picture of the fair East. 
 
 MISSION CHURCH AT BENAGARIA.
 
 SANTALISTAN. 
 
 Santalistan is not an official name. You will not find 
 it on the map. The name is applied colloquially to the 
 district in northern Bengal where the Santals live. 
 
 If you take a map of India and find Calcutta, the old 
 capital of the Empire, you will notice that the river Ganges 
 bends to the west about a hundred and fifty miles north of 
 that city. This bend is generally called the elbow of the 
 Ganges. 
 
 Santalistan is part of the country lying in the elbow of 
 that famous river. 
 
 The official name of the main part of Santalistan is 
 Santal Parganas. It has an area of about 4800 square miles 
 and is nearly as large as the state of Connecticut. 
 
 The Santals are not, however, confined to this district, 
 but are scattered about in northern Bengal and Assam. 
 Neither arc all the people in the Santal Paraganas Santals. 
 A great number of the inhabitants are Hindus of the vari- 
 ous castes and there are also a large number of Mohamme- 
 dans. 
 
 In a certain sense the Santal Parganas has been set 
 
 12
 
 SANTALISTAN. 13 
 
 aside for the Santals. Here they receive certain privileges 
 from the government and are protected by special laws. 
 
 Santalistan is comparatively high and hilly. One might 
 say, perhaps, that it consists of a number of rocky hills 
 with stretches of prairie in between them. These hills are 
 not very high. Lokhonpur hill, the Santals call it a 
 
 THE VILLAGE POND. 
 
 mountain - has an elevation of but 2311 feet above sea 
 level. 
 
 If you feel equal to the exertion and the day is not too 
 hot it will pay you to climb it. There are goat paths lead- 
 ing up between the boulders. In some places the climb is 
 very steep and you will wish you had as many legs as the 
 pathmakers. The barefoot Santal boys, however, do not
 
 14 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 mind it in the least. They skip along like monkeys and 
 pity your slow progress, evidently thinking, that you are 
 very clumsy on a mountain path. 
 
 At last you have reached the top. You wipe the perspi- 
 ration from your brow and look out upon the lovely pano- 
 rama spread out before you. Glittering in the sunlight are 
 brooks and rivers meandering through the valleys. It is 
 early October and you can still see the water glistening in 
 the dark green rice fields, and there are also patches of 
 other crops, such as millet and pulse in various shades of 
 color, making the plain appear like a great crazy-quilt spread 
 out in the sun. 
 
 Here and there you get glimpses of the straw-thatched 
 roofs or whitewashed walls of a village. It is a scene so 
 full of peace and beauty that it captivates you. It is like 
 a beautiful dream and you forget the fleeting hours. The 
 sun is sinking. From the hillside below you the evening 
 breeze wafts up to you the melancholy notes of a shepherd's 
 flute as he wends his way homeward with his flock. A last 
 lingering look and you come away enriched with memories 
 that will remain with you as long as life. You have had a 
 glimpse of a bit of Santalistan. 
 
 The hills are wooded to the very top. On the highest 
 slopes one will find the hill-bamboo, tall, straight and grace- 
 ful, its thin feathery leaves hanging fringe-like from its 
 branches and quivering in the smallest breeze. There is 
 the stately edcl, or Indian cotton tree, and further down 
 towards the foot you will find the tall and straight sarjon 
 or sal, the sacred tree of the Santals. While scattered about 
 on hillside and plain, among the rice fields and about the 
 village grows the sturdy matkon tree. The flower of this 
 tree is eaten by the people and is quite nourishing. 
 
 The Santals are clearers of land, diggers and grub-
 
 SAXTALISTAN. 15 
 
 bers. It seldom occurs to them to plant trees, but they cut 
 them and clear them away. For that reason there is very 
 little timber or jungle left in the Santal country. Only 
 where protected by the forest department of the Govern- 
 ment, patches of jungle remain. Of course, there are a 
 few shade trees about the villages; otherwise, compared to 
 other parts of India the country must be said to be rather 
 treeless. 
 
 The soil is sandy and rather poor compared w'ith the 
 rich alluvial of the Gangetic plain; but if it receives suffi- 
 cient rain will produce good crops. The lowlands or val- 
 leys are made into rice fields, while the higher land yields 
 corn, small grain and oilseeds. Some land in each village 
 is set aside for grazing purposes and there is very little 
 waste land. 
 
 Coal is found in several places, but in the Santal Parga- 
 nas it is of a rather inferior quality and very little use is 
 found for it. Iron ore is found quite abundantly, and there 
 are also traces of other metals, such as lead and mica. 
 
 About the climate of Santalistan you will be able to 
 form an idea when you learn that it lies about as far north 
 of the equator as the island of Cuba, 
 
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 LEARNING THE LANGUAGE. 
 
 You will soon discover that it is more work than play 
 to learn a new language, when you are getting on in years, 
 especially a language so intricate as Santali. 
 
 Very often you get discouraged. With twenty-seven 
 tenses of the verb and many other intricacies entirely for- 
 eign to all your ideas of what language ought to be, you 
 sometimes feel, that it is no use trying; you might as well 
 give up first as last. But when you hear a little Santal boy, 
 as yet not old enough for a loincloth, chattering away in 
 Santali, as if it were the only language in the world, you 
 take courage and push on anew. When that little boy 
 could learn to speak Santali, why cannot you? 
 
 Santali is printed in Roman characters, which is a de- 
 cided advantage for you. Most of the Indian languages are 
 printed in characters of their own. And yet you will find 
 that though you know the letters by sight you do not know 
 them by sound. The first letter in the alphabet, for instance, 
 has four distinct sounds, each indicated by diacritical marks. 
 A few letters represent sounds peculiar to the Santal lang- 
 uage, and these, a European can pronounce only after long 
 and diligent practice. 
 
 16
 
 LEARNING THE LANGUAGE. 17 
 
 First you get the rudiments of the grammar and some 
 drilling in pronounciation ; then you learn to say "Chet 
 kana?" (what is that?) Armed with this magic phrase 
 you go out into the villages among the people. You point 
 at a tree and say: "Chet kana?" 
 
 Dignity must be thrown aside, you must take lessons 
 from everybody. You have to play the natural role of an 
 ignoramus running about asking for the names of the most 
 common objects; and when you hear them and try to twist 
 your tongue around those almost inhuman sounds you of- 
 ten fail most pathetically. But your efforts amuse the 
 people. Many a hearty laugh they get at your expense. 
 And they do not wait until you are out of the way, but 
 laugh straight in your face. But you soon learn to laugh 
 with them. So much, at least, you know, that laughing 
 and crying is expressed in the same way the \vorld over. 
 
 And all the blunders you will make ! I am sure you 
 would laugh yourself blue in the face if I told you some of 
 mine, but I will not ; I know how to keep secrets. 
 
 You struggle on with the few words and phrases you 
 have learned and eke them out with profuse gestures un- 
 til you manage to make yourself understood ; and when the 
 people find that you are in earnest about learning their 
 language, they vie with one another in their efforts to help 
 you on. 
 
 It is often dificult to get a good native teacher. The 
 common fault of native teachers is that they try to explain 
 things to you loquaciously and usually manage to get you 
 so tangled up in their explanations that you get entirely 
 bewildered. "Women and children are the best teachers. 
 They speak more slowly and as a rule, more distinctly than 
 men, and, besides, they do not try to explain so much. 
 
 How glad you are, when you at last have got so far,
 
 18 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 that you can carry on a simple conversation ! Your cour- 
 age grows by leaps and bounds. At last you feel that you 
 can begin to speak a word for Him, whose name you have 
 come to proclaim. 
 
 Then your first sermon ! How well you prepare it, 
 weigh every statement, and think that this sermon they 
 will never forget. Great will be your surprise, when some 
 one is honest enough to tell you, that he did not understand 
 very much of what you said. Your choice of words and 
 your pronounciation may, in the main, have been correct, 
 but your way of thinking and presenting the truth is that 
 of the West, and therefore foreign to your audience. Again 
 off to school you must go. You have to put yourself at 
 the feet of, perhaps, an old illiterate Santal and from him 
 learn how to preach so, that the people may be able to un- 
 derstand you. This is a new field to be mastered and 
 your college and seminary diploma will not help you much. 
 
 The Santal presents a new type of character, entirely 
 different from what you are used to. His ways of looking 
 at things are not your ways and his ideas are not your 
 ideas. If you are to meet in sympathy you must lay aside 
 your dignity of learning, if you have any, and get down to 
 where he is and fall into his way of thinking and feeling. 
 And that can be done only when you possess some of that 
 love she had, who said to her mother-in-law : "Thy people 
 shall be my people." 
 
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 VILLAGE PREACHING. 
 
 Some good people in the homelands seem to think that 
 the heathen are just dying for an opportunity to hear the 
 gospel, and that they have been anxiously looking for 
 an invitation to become Christians. But that is far from 
 true. It is not true even of the ungodly masses at home. 
 They are anxious neither to hear the Gospel nor to come to 
 God. It is rather the other way. They try apparently to 
 get as far away from God and the irtfulence of his word 
 as posible. For this reason Christian workers at home have 
 to go out into the streets and the highways, into the fields 
 and shops, and preach to them in order that they may know 
 the way of salvation. 
 
 If a missionary comes to the heathen with the idea that 
 they are anxiously waiting for him to proclaim the good 
 news to them, he will soon know his mistake. This is a 
 land where the people for ages and ages have been bound 
 by the superstitions of lidolatry, and have been taught to 
 look with suspicion on everything foreign. Indeed they 
 think they can get along very well without both the mis- 
 sionary and his preaching. 
 
 The heathen do not come to the missionary, he must 
 
 19
 
 20 SKETCHES FROM SAXTAL1STAX. 
 
 go to them. In our Santal field it is not very common that 
 a non-christian comes to church. If he is to hear the gospel 
 at all, it must be preached to him in his own village or 
 home. There is where the work of the missionary begins. 
 
 Early in the morning, together with one or more catech- 
 ists, the missionary will go ant to the villages. The pariah 
 dogs will announce his arrival, and the children playing in 
 the streets will shout "Saheb, Saheb!" This helps to ad- 
 vertise his meeting and bring out the people. Usually a 
 bedstead is brought out into the street and he is asked to 
 take a seat. He looks at the bed and if his suspicions are 
 aroused be will take up as small a portion of it as possible. 
 The village oilpress, or a flat stone under some spreading 
 tree, also offers a convenient seat and a good gathering- 
 place 
 
 Sometimes however, the missionary is not offered a 
 seat at all, but asked to go and preach in the next village. 
 Such cases, fortunately, are exceptions - - in our district. 
 As a rule, the people are polite and greet the Padre Saheb 
 or missionary with cordial "johars" and invite him to be 
 seated. Even though they do not care so much for what 
 he has to say, they enjoy looking at him. Being white, he 
 is a curiosity. 
 
 In a little while quite a crowd will gather. The mis- 
 sionary will ask all to sit down, and they squat on the 
 ground -- that is, the men and boys do. The women will 
 remain standing at a distance. 
 
 The native Christian worker will then sing a song, 
 usually gospel words fitted to some of the old Santal tunes. 
 Then either the missionary or the cathechist will explain the 
 song and invite the people to come to the Savior. After 
 reading a fevy words of Scripture the missionary will be- 
 gin to talk. It will not be preaching in the sense in which
 
 VILLAGE PREACHING. 21 
 
 that word is used in the West. Preaching here is more in 
 the form of a conversation. Everybody is at liberty to make 
 remarks, and the more remarks made, the better. 
 
 Religious truth must be presented to them in such a 
 form that they can grasp it. The missionary must have 
 recourse to parables, pictures and illustrations taken from 
 the lives of the people. 
 
 All sorts of objections against Christianity are raised 
 and must be patiently met. And the speaker must not let 
 himself be distracted if he should hear someone in the 
 outskirts of the crowd making sundry remarks on his per- 
 sonal appearance, remarks very much like those a visitor at 
 the zoo will make about the animal he is looking at. 
 
 One will very seldom now-a-days find a Santal, who 
 will try to defend his "Bongas" or gods and his heathen 
 worship. On the other hand it is often quite amusing to 
 hear these people run down and ridicule their "Bongas." 
 ''They are a worthless lot," they will say, "that only do us 
 harm, and as to helping us, they only help us to spend every- 
 thing we have, so that our children often have to go naked 
 and hungry." 
 
 "Well, why don't you leave them then?" 
 
 "That is not so easy" they will reply, "because our fa- 
 thers have shown us this way and left us in the power of 
 the "Bongas." 
 
 "Now see here, my friend; if your father had given you 
 in service to a certain master, who treated you very cruelly, 
 never gave you any pay and never offered you anything to 
 eat or to wear, but on the contrary in every possible way 
 caused you pain and suffering, would you keep on year 
 after year serving such a master? Would you not run 
 away from him? I think you would, if you looked to your 
 own interests. And here is your real master, your Savior,
 
 22 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 calling yon to come to him and rest. If you suffer, yon 
 have no one but yourself to blame; for Christ has been call- 
 ing you, and is calling you again today." 
 
 Sometimes one will meet people who want to have an 
 argument with the missionary. Little, however, is gained 
 by arguing. The man, when beaten in argument, will get 
 angry and leave in a huff and will most likely become an 
 enemy, or else he will laugh and say, "I am no match for 
 you in a discussion." 
 
 There are many things to which they can agree. Sin, 
 sickness, death and sorrow they all know. They will al- 
 ways listen to the simple story how God has met our needs 
 and opened a way back to himself for sinful man through 
 Jesus Christ. 
 
 At these street meetings the seed is sown broadcast, as 
 it were. In some heart, somewhere, some truth will lodge, 
 which under God's care some day will bear fruit. 
 
 But in the missionfield, as everywhere else, for that 
 matter, it is personal work that counts. Brother dealing 
 with brother heart to heart. Sitting on the embankment 
 between the ricefields with his single listener the preacher 
 will tell the old, old story. At last the listener will say, 
 "O yes, I am tired of the "Bongas.' Since my child died 
 I have offered no sacrifices to them. And both my wife 
 and I often talk about it, that we should like to become 
 Christians. But you know it will be hard for us, as all our 
 relatives and friends are heathen." This objection is over- 
 come and the family is ready to recieve instruction. Then 
 when the main truths of the Christian religion are mastered 
 they are baptized.
 
 VILLAGE SCHOOLS. 
 
 Schools are not the rule among the Santals, but rather 
 the exception. Outside of the districts, in which there are 
 Christians, who have taken the lead, there are very few di- 
 stinctly Santal schools. The common Santal does not think 
 it necessary to educate his children. His views on educa- 
 tion are expressed in about the following terms: ''Our 
 fathers and grandfathers did not know how to read and 
 write, we have not learned it, then why should our sons go 
 to school and grow up to be idlers. Let them go into the 
 fields and work, let them take care of the cattle and goats, 
 then they can get something for their stomachs. You can 
 not eat paper." 
 
 A few of the non-Christian Santals have however seen 
 the advantage of an education and are sending their sons 
 to some village school where they learn to read and write 
 the Bengali language. An old village headman said; "It 
 is a good thing to have one or two in the village able to read 
 and write. When we get a summons from the court as 
 witnesses or a letter is sent us, then our own boys can tell 
 us what the paper says." 
 
 23
 
 24 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 Apart from natural sluggishness the Hindu caste system 
 is responsible for this state of affairs. For ages and ages 
 the Brahmin has carried the burden of education for all 
 classes. It was a deadly sin to educate a boy of a low birth ; 
 and as for educating women, that was entirely out of the 
 question. But western influence and western law has 
 
 A VILLAGE SCHOOL. 
 
 changed all this. Schools are now scattered throughout the 
 country, and an opportunity of acquiring an education is 
 within the reach of every one, even the poorest Santal. 
 
 Let us take a peep at the typical Santal school. 
 
 You need not look for the school house, for there is 
 none. The scholars squat in the village street or in the 
 shade of a tree and the schoolmaster, stick in hand, is usu-
 
 VILLAGE SCHOOLS. 25 
 
 ally seated on a stool in their midst. If it is cold, he allows 
 his school to find a sunny wall, where they are sheltered 
 from the wind. The so-called Manjhithan also offers shade 
 and shelter when that is needed. 
 
 But I must tell you what a Manjhithan is. It is an earth 
 platform raised a foot or two above the ground. There are 
 five posts, one at each corner and one in the center, support- 
 ing a thatched roof. Around the post in the center you 
 will notice a few pebbles the size of an egg sticking out of 
 the earth. In these pebbles the spirits of the departed vil- 
 lage headmen dwell, one spirit in each pebble. Under this 
 roof the villagers hold their councils and the spirits of the 
 departed are supposed to aid them in their deliberations 
 and lead them in the paths of wisdom. 
 
 When a boy is brought to school the first thing he has 
 to learn, according to the opinion of the teacher, is to sit 
 still. This is indeed a hard lesson for an active Santal boy, 
 but through generous assistance of the master's stick the 
 lesson is in time learned and he is ready for advancement. 
 He is then given over to one of the bigger boys who traces 
 a letter in the dust with his finger. This letter the begin- 
 ner must retrace times without number, each time shouting 
 out the name of that letter at the top of his voice. It is 
 quite an entertainment to listen to dozen boys all at once 
 "barking" away at the alphabet in this manner. It reminds 
 one of a dog show. 
 
 The teacher will explain to us that this method has a 
 great advantage besides that of being old, it teaches reading 
 and writing at the same time. He might also add that it 
 developes their lungs. 
 
 At last the boy gets a book. And a proud little fellow 
 he is as he comes down the village street with his first book 
 under his arm securely tied up in an old rag. He is on the
 
 26 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 highroad to learning. Now his work begins in earnest. I le 
 has to learn the letters by rote. A few days more of shout- 
 ing and he will be able to read them off from beginning to 
 end like a table. But if you take a leaf from the jackfruit 
 
 READY FOR SCHOOL. 
 
 tree close by, make a small hole in the center of it, put it 
 on the page of his reader, and move it about so that he can 
 see but one letter at the time, you will be surprised to find 
 how many he misses. But give him plenty of time and
 
 VILLAGE SCHOOLS. 
 
 27 
 
 time is cheap in India -- and he will eventually learn to 
 read, write, and do sums on his slate, or on the ground and 
 in his head. 
 
 It is hut fair to state, however, that in the schools under 
 the supervision of the government or the mission, the above 
 described method is getting more and more obsolete. West- 
 ern methods and text-books are bringing about a change for 
 the better in the old Bengali school system. One thing 
 you will not fail to notice in all the village schools, even 
 the best and most up to date ones, and that is that all the 
 studying is done by reading aloud, and the louder the better. 
 A village school can be heard long before it is seen.
 
 MODES OF TRAVEL. 
 
 There are two kinds of people in Santalistan, those who 
 travel and those who do not. The travelers are again divi- 
 ded into two classes, those who travel afoot and those who 
 do not. 
 
 Traveling afoot is pretty much the same all the world 
 over. It seems to be man's natural way of locomotion, and 
 is very likely, as old as the human race. In the West it is 
 not popular any longer. No end of machinery and devices 
 have been invented by ingenious men to do away with the 
 old style of locomotion, but in the conservative East, where 
 modes change but slowly it is a very common, if not alto- 
 gether a popular, way of getting from one place to another. 
 
 On market days one can see long lines of foot passen- 
 gers pass by in single file, some carrying their products 
 away to be sold or exchanged, others carrying nothing but 
 their sticks. Or if you are near some of the great high- 
 ways you can often see pilgrims by the half hundred trudg- 
 ing wearily along on their way to some shrine. But we are 
 not concerned with them. It is those who do not travel 
 afoot we are interested in just now. 
 
 28
 
 MODES OF TRAVEL. 29 
 
 Bicycles are not very common. Some few years ago 
 they were a great curiosity in the eyes of the natives. I 
 well remember that once a fellow-worker and I were out 
 on a tour. He had a bicycle and I rode a horse, \\liile 
 passing from one mission center to another we took what 
 we thought would be a short cut through the jungle. A< 
 we passed through a Santal village some children at play 
 
 CROSSING A STREAM. 
 
 in the street saw us and set up an alarm. At once the whole 
 male population of the village turned out and pursued the 
 cyclist. Had I not known that they were moved by curiou- 
 sity. I should have been alarmed at seeing some twenty 
 Santals racing along at top speed chasing after a mission- 
 ary.
 
 30 SKETCHES FROM SAXTALISTAX. 
 
 Some Santals were one clay standing about a bicycle 
 and discussing the question bow is was possible for a per- 
 son to stay on it without the whole thing upsetting. This 
 phenomenon one man undertook to explain in the follow- 
 ing way : "You see, it's like this, it's the wind that does 
 everything. A bicycle is like a railway engine, except that 
 a bicycle is run by wind and an engine by steam. I have 
 seen the Saheb every dag, before he starts out, pumping 
 wind into the wheels to make them go. If there is no wind 
 in the wheels they will not go." 
 
 Horseback riding is quite common, and has the great 
 advantage that one can with a good horse get over nearly 
 all kinds of roads and even across country where there arc 
 no roads at all. The best horses are imported from Au- 
 stralia. They are called Walers. But they are costly. As 
 a rule a missionary is not overburdened with a great deal 
 of this world's goods and therefore cannot buy costly hors- 
 es. He must generally be contented with a so-called 
 "country tat," that is, a country-bred pony. I possessed 
 one of these animals once. It cost me twenty dollars and 
 the saddle cost twenty-two. Only by courtesy could it be 
 called a horse. It answered literally to a soldier's defini- 
 tion of a government mule : "An animal which bites at 
 one end and kicks at the other and is extremely uncomfort- 
 able in the middle." On various commonplace and practi- 
 cal subjects my ''tat" held extremely advanced opinions 
 which no amount of persuasion or argument could shake. 
 At last however, we got to understand one another, and, 
 by avoiding subjects about which we knew we could not 
 agree, we managed to get along quite well. 
 
 Some people have what they call a "tomtom," a two- 
 wheeled cart or gig for one horse. But the trouble is that 
 in order to get about with those, one must have roads. And
 
 MODES OP TRAVEL. 
 
 31 
 
 so long as roadmaking and roadrepairing is as unpopular 
 among the Santal villagers as it is at the present time, a 
 vehicle of that sort will not be of much use. Where one 
 has access to the roads built and repaired by the govern- 
 ment, the case is different. 
 
 The tika ghari" is a four wheeled carnage, in appear- 
 
 THE TIKA GHARI. 
 
 ance not unlike a Chicago milk delivery wagon, only much 
 heavier and clumsier. Perhaps you would get a better idea 
 if you imagine a cross between a milk wagon and an ice 
 wagon. It is drawn by two native ponies. Each pair of 
 ponies runs five or six miles, then it is changed. The po- 
 nies usually go at a gallop, and if the load is not too heavy
 
 32 KETCHES FROM SANTALISTAX. 
 
 and the road smooth they get over the ground pretty quick- 
 ly. But country ponies have minds of their own. Some- 
 times they refuse to stir, at least forward. Backwards they 
 will go any distance just for the pleasure of spilling both 
 the "tika" and its occupant in the ditch. 
 
 "When the ponies have once made up their minds, all 
 the shouting and whipping and Hindustani abuse fail to 
 move them an inch. The driver and conductor, or carriage- 
 man, will both have to get down ; calling all the people in 
 the neighborhood to help them, they will have to push both 
 the ponies and the carriage for some distance until the pon- 
 ies get tired of the game and make a new start. Of course 
 all this takes time, but in a country where the natives have 
 a dozen million re-carnations to look forward to, time is 
 of small object. 
 
 For all-around usefulness and, perhaps, also for speed, 
 one will find that the bullock-cart is as good as anything 
 invented. It is a two-wheeled cart with a cover to it ; in 
 appearance it is not unlike a small prairie schooner. The 
 cover is made from bamboo matting and is open at both 
 ends.- Inside there is just room enough for a man to stretch 
 out. 
 
 The cart is drawn by two patient hump-shouldered bul- 
 locks. On the pole in front of the cart and within easy 
 reach of the bullocks' tails the driver is perched. The aver- 
 age speed is two miles an hour, but if the driver has a pair 
 of good lungs and can shout continually and is persevering 
 in twisting the animals' tails the speed may be accelerated 
 by an additional half mile per hour. 
 
 If your cart is supplied with springs and the road is 
 somewhat smooth, this way of traveling need not be entire- 
 ly uncomfortable. At any rate you feel that you get a fair 
 training in the virtue of patience. But when the cart is
 
 MODEG CF TRAVEL. 
 
 33 
 
 devoid of springs and the road is rough, you have rather 
 a hard time of it. being slung from side to side and some- 
 times almost standing on your head. In vain you repeat the 
 old couplet you learned at school: 
 
 "Xow patience is the pill 
 That eases every ill." 
 
 BULLOCK CART. 
 
 You begin to imagine that some of your ribs are broken 
 and that your hip-joints are dislocated, so you get out and 
 walk on ahead for some distance and sit down by the road- 
 side to wait for your "pullman car" to overtake you. Usu- 
 ally one travels by night in bullock-carts, because when one
 
 34 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 gets used to the shouting and bumping one can sleep and 
 forget. 
 
 There is yet another quite common way of getting about 
 the country, that is to be carried by coolies. Two long bam- 
 boo poles are tied one on each side of an ordinary dining- 
 room chair. Seated in this chair four men will carry their 
 passenger high in the air, placing the poles on their should- 
 ers. There are also chairs called "dandies" made especially 
 for the purpose of carrying people. Some of them can be 
 quite comfortable. Then there is the "palke," or palanquin, 
 a box-like affair with a pole sticking out at each end. This 
 also is carried by four men. 
 
 At first it rather goes against the grain to be carried by 
 your fellowmen. You do not like the idea at all. The only 
 cure for that feeling is walking. You follow the men car- 
 rying the empty chair for a mile or two, perhaps under the 
 hot Indian sun. Little by little you find your scruples van- 
 ishing. When the question is reduced to the alternative of 
 dying from heat apoplexy far away from home and native 
 land, or being carried by some coolies, who are used to 
 that kind of work and even make a living by it, then it is 
 wonderful how fast one's ideas change and adjust them- 
 selves to circumstances. 
 
 Once I had to go to the railway station twenty miles 
 away. It was in the rainy season. My pony was dead. I 
 had no alternative. It was either walk, or get people to 
 carry me. 
 
 There was an old "dandy" in the veranda of our bunga- 
 low, an heirloom of some kind which a predecessor had 
 left. We repaired it a little and thought it would be all 
 right to use. I engaged eight carriers so that they might 
 change off, and started before daylight. This was my first 
 experience of being carried by men.
 
 MODES OF TRAVEL. 
 
 35 
 
 About seven miles from home, as we were going along 
 at a good rate and I was enjoying the beautiful morning, 
 crash went the dandy. I found myself on my seat of honor 
 in the middle of the road with the bearers standing about 
 gazing at me in open mouthed astonishment. 
 
 Over the remains of the "dandy" we held a short in- 
 quest, the verdict of which was that if we were to get to 
 
 CARRIED IN A DANDY. 
 
 the railway station at all it would not be in this conveyance. 
 It was a total wreck. Like the famous "One Horse Shay," 
 it went all to pieces and beyond repairs. 
 
 There was a Hindu village near by. \Ye brought the 
 wrecked dandy along as evidence and proceeded to the 
 house of the village constable. He and his family came out
 
 36 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 and salaamed. \Ye addressed him. He saw our plight. 
 Would he lend us a little bedstead or a stool, or some con- 
 trivance, so that we might proceed on our journey? 
 
 O dear no ! he was a poor man and had no beds. Both 
 he and his children had to sleep on the floor. \Ye should 
 have to excuse him. \Ye might ask the village headman. 
 
 THE PALKE. 
 
 perhaps he was able to help us, but as to him, he was so 
 very poor ! 
 
 The bearers, however, would not take no for an answer. 
 They entered his yard and returned with a small bedstead 
 just suitable for our purpose, and a pair of long poles. 
 These things they held up before him while they gave ex- 
 pression of their opinions, both of the constable and his
 
 MODES OF TRAVEL. 37 
 
 forefathers, for not being willing to help a Saheb when he 
 was in need. This lecture and a little coin put into his 
 palm limbered him up to such a degree that I am sure we 
 could have taken all his beds and all his poles. Nothing he 
 had was to good for us now. 
 
 \Ye were soon under way again in our new conveyance. 
 But I must tell you what a bedstead is. It is a wooden frame 
 with a post or leg in each corner. Over this framework 
 twine is stretched or woven in a clever way and the bed is 
 ready. A mat or a blanket is all that is necessary to spread 
 over the closely-woven bottom to make it quite comfort- 
 able. 
 
 A bed is called a "charpoi" in Hindustani. "Char" 
 means four and *'poi" means feet. A story is told of a Ben- 
 gali babu who was in some sort of government service. 
 On being transferred to another location he brought all his 
 goods and chattels to the railway station to have them sent 
 by train. Besides knowing a little English he had learned 
 enough Latin to translate ''charpoi" literally. So he put 
 on the list of things to be sent, a "Quadruped." He was 
 greatly astonished when the European station-master in- 
 formed him that animals could not be sent by that train. 
 
 Of course, if one is rich he can keep an elephant. From 
 ancient times elephants have been the steeds of royalty in 
 India. If you are on friendly terms with a rajah in your 
 neighborhood he will lend you an ekphant now and then. 
 Elephant-riding is all right if you do not take too much of 
 it at a time. 
 
 Once while out in camp we went to visit a few Chri- 
 stian families living back among the hills, where there were 
 no roads. \Ye arranged to have an elephant take us back 
 in the evening to our camp. It was a big, lumbering, good- 
 natured animal. His master, the so-called "mahut," could
 
 38 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 make him perform several tricks. On a command from 
 the "mahut the elephant would curl his trunk upward, 
 touch his forehead and bow to you. That was his greeting 
 or salaam. Fie would also throw his trunk back and open 
 his mouth and let you examine his teeth. And a good solid 
 set he had ! Then he would let the mahut do some aero- 
 
 CLIMBING UP ON THE ELEPHANT. 
 
 batic performances on his long white tusks. Of course he 
 was entitled to a few lumps of sugar after these perform- 
 ances. 
 
 When we were to mount, the mahut ordered the ele- 
 phant to lie down. This he did by putting his forefeet for- 
 ward and his hindlegs backwards, and sinking slowly to the
 
 MODES OP TRAVEL. 
 
 39 
 
 ground. Then a great mattress, or pad, was placed on his 
 back and tied with stout ropes. When everything was ready 
 the mahut asked us to mount. This was more easily said 
 than done. But the mahut rose to the occasion. Standing 
 on one of the hind legs, which protruded like a log from 
 under the great body, he caught the elephant's tail and held 
 it so that it formed a loop. Then he told us to step on to 
 
 the other hindleg and from there by putting a foot into 
 the loop and catching hold of the ropes, to climb up. By 
 following these instructions and recieving a little assistance, 
 my wife managed to get settled on the broad back of the 
 elephant. After her, our daughter and I scrambled up in 
 turn.
 
 40 SKETCHES PROM SAXTALISTAX. 
 
 With the mahut in front and our whole family on 
 his back, the elephant must have felt quite crowded. 
 With a groan he began to move. First one end was raised, 
 then the other. We clung to the ropes for dear life. Tha 
 is the older members of the family did ; the younger one 
 clung to her father and shouted : "Let me down or I shall 
 faint." But it was to late, the great body had begun to 
 move. Confidence was soon restored and we had an en- 
 joyable time. 
 
 Passing through the jungle the elephant would avoid 
 all low branches - - which, if he had passed under them, 
 would have swept us off his back or, worse yet, left us 
 suspended, like Absalom! but when he passed under a ban- 
 yan tree he invariably broke off a branch or two to chew 
 as he walked along. 
 
 Presently we came to a stream. Very carefully he 
 climbed down the steep bank. In the middle of the stream 
 he stopped to have a drink. He put his trunk into the 
 water, sucked in a few gallons, opened his mouth and squirt- 
 ed the water down into his cavernous stom?ch. When he 
 had satisfied the cravings of his inside he thought of his out- 
 side. A bath suggested itself to his mind and he at once 
 started to take one. It was a shower bath. Had not the 
 mahut protested in time we should all have been included 
 in it, but, as it was, we got only a few stray drops. At 
 sunset w r e arrived at the rest-house. There our animal 
 laid down again and we slid to the ground.
 
 rw 'f?T7 W* >' * >' >" > >' - >' v > v >' v >' v 'f ^^^p^T^pT'W^ 
 
 tviyT>TxTYiv^t>^i>-rKT>'H^T>rtxi^T7.'Ta^i^^ 
 
 QSBljLK44>(ii'4' tSi-.ll : t'4*4> 4- ! -jh-*- 
 
 SERVANTS. 
 
 One of the necessary evils a European in India has to 
 put up with is servants. He needs them to look after his 
 comforts. The great trouble is that he has to have such a 
 number of them. At home one single girl will do nearly all 
 the work of an entire household, while out here about a 
 dozen men are required. 
 
 First you must have a cook. All over the world the 
 cook is an important person, but in this land his importance 
 is almost majestic. It would not do to address him as His 
 Exellency; His Majesty would be more proper. And if he 
 gives you good things to eat you will have no objection to 
 addressing him in any term that will suit him, or his posi- 
 tion. 
 
 The jungle missionary lives in a straw-thatched bunga- 
 low, behind which are a few small houses. One of these 
 is the kitchen. There the cook reigns supreme. You will 
 look in vain for a cook stove or range. All you will find 
 is an open fireplace and a few pots and pans. However, 
 that does not hinder him in the exploitation of his art. He 
 will send up to your table a dish that tastes and looks like 
 
 41
 
 42 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAX. 
 
 beef steak, and yet you know all the time that you are 
 eating chicken. Beef is to be had only in the large cities. 
 Yes, and what is more, he can with a little anchovy sauce 
 and some tricks of his trade cause the white meat of a 
 chicken to appear like fish. 
 
 SERVANTS. 
 
 There is almost no end to his inventions. Especially in 
 connection with chicken, he is a perfect juggler. Small 
 wonder that he is so important ! The welfare of the whole 
 family is in his hands.
 
 SERVANTS. 
 
 43 
 
 The cook has to have an assistant. He is called "pani- 
 walla," or water carrier. With a bamboo pole, from which 
 are suspended a pair of earthenware vessels or a pair of 
 empty kerosene tins, across his shoulders, he goes to the 
 spring or well or pond as the case may be for the daily 
 supply of water. Then he has to make the fire, chop wood, 
 
 THE PANIWALLA, 
 
 scour pots and pans, in short, do most of the work of the 
 cook at whose beck and call he must always be. There is 
 more work than dignity connected with his position. 
 
 Next, there is the bearer, or house servant. This man 
 has to keep the house in order and wait on the table. Usu- 
 ally his work does not keep him long. He finds lots of time
 
 44 SKETCHES FROM SAXTALISTAX. 
 
 to hang about the kitchen or to try to work the tickle out 
 of his tongue with his particular crony in the shade of 
 some mango tree in the compound. Yet if you call him 
 he is at your elbow almost in an instant, ready to do your 
 bidding. 
 
 Next to claim your attention is the Dhoby. You must 
 have heard of the Dhoby. He is the famous washerman of 
 India. On Monday morning he calls for the wash and Sa- 
 turday evening he brings it back clean, crisp, starched and 
 ironed. He brings it in a big bundle on his back, except 
 when it is very heavy ; then his wife brings the bundle on 
 her head. It isn't the style here for men to carry anything 
 on their heads. 
 
 The washerman takes your clothes to the pond, and by 
 a dexterous set of manipulations perfected by generation 
 after generation of Dhobies, dips the dirty garment into 
 the dirty water and beats it against a dirty stone with the 
 result that he can deliver it to you clean. It is quite a 
 sight to see a number of Dhobies at w-ork about a pond 
 beating clothes against stones. When Mark Twain first 
 saw them he thought they were trying to crack the stones 
 with wet clothes. 
 
 The Dhoby neither gives nor implies any guarantee not 
 to tear your garments or to pound any buttons to pieces. 
 The owner has to take all those risks. 
 
 If you have a horse it is also necessary for you to keep 
 a servant called a "syce." The name is Hindustani and 
 several ''sizes" too small for the position. His work is to 
 look after the horse, clean it, feed it, and saddle it when the 
 master calls for it. 
 
 If he is a member of the Hindu caste whose caste- work 
 it is to take care of horses, the "syce" will want a helper 
 to do the work for him. It would be below r him to go out
 
 SERVANTS. 
 
 45 
 
 and cut an armful of grass for the horse. He must have 
 a man of a lower caste to do the work. In the meantime 
 the "syce" w r ill sit on his heels and smoke his "huka" and 
 draw his pay. 
 
 Often it is not possible for a missionary to get a pro- 
 per supply of milk from the village, he must keep his own 
 
 VILLAGE WASHER-MAN OR DHOBY. 
 
 cows. If he has cows he must also have a cowman to take 
 care of them. The cowman's duties are to feed the cosvs, 
 herd them, bring them to the back door of the bungalow 
 morning and evening and milk them. 
 
 In America, milking a cow is not regarded as a very 
 difficult operation. Nearly everybody in the country di-
 
 46 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAX. 
 
 stricts knows how to milk. Out here in Santalistan it is 
 quite different. You need only to watch the cowman once 
 to find that out. First the milch-cow is brought and tied 
 to a post, and a pail of feed is put before her. Then to 
 prevent her kicking, the cowman ties both her hind legs 
 together that is if she is a kicker. These preliminaries 
 ready, the calf is brought. No cow will give her milk 
 without having her calf with her. When the calf has 
 sucked a while the cowman's assistant drags it away, and 
 the cowman proceeds to extract the balance of the milk, 
 often under the most violent protest from the cow. To 
 make up a single quart of milk several cows are often cal- 
 led upon to contribute. The small Santal cow is a better 
 fighter than milker. 
 
 If the calf dies the cow will not let herself be milked. 
 The cowman will then try a ruse. He will stuff the skin 
 of the dead calf, mount it on legs and bring it out at milk- 
 ingtime for the poor mother to look and smell at. The ruse 
 is often successful and the sight of the stuffed calf will 
 make the cow give her milk. 
 
 We have named only the most important servants as we 
 find them in the humble bungalow of the jungle missionary. 
 In large and wealthy households there is simply no limit to 
 the number of servants employed. 
 
 But why keep so many? 
 
 Again we run up against the influence of the caste sys- 
 tem. A man born a sweeper must remain a sweeper. A 
 man born a cook must remain a cook. It is the work of 
 his caste. No one else will do his work, neither will he do 
 the work of others. In short, this is a land of specialists. 
 
 Apart from this reason more people are really required 
 to attend to the work of a household in this country be- 
 cause everything is so unhandy. Water often has to be
 
 SERVANTS. 
 
 4.7 
 
 brought from a long ways off. Grass for the horses and 
 cows the same. Owing to the hot climate many of the sup- 
 plies can only be kept in small quantities. For the same 
 reason food cannot very well be kept over from one day to 
 the next, something which involves both extra work and 
 waste. 
 
 MILKING A COW. 
 
 To take care of a house properly also means a great 
 deal more work than at home. The white ants are very de- 
 structive. They work while you sleep. Every corner of 
 the house must be watched daily for signs of their activity. 
 Every hole and crevice becomes the hidingplace of reptiles 
 and insects. Hosts of creeping, flying, jumping things 
 will take up their abode with you if you are not on the 
 alert. 
 
 In a well ordained household the servants are required
 
 48 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 to wear a sort of livery or uniform. If this rule were not 
 enforced, they would perhaps in the hot weather appear 
 with nothing on but a strip of loincloth. The house servants 
 usually wear a long white coat, or rather a combination be- 
 tween a coat and a nightshirt. On their heads they wear 
 a turban called a puggree. To wind a turban properly is 
 quite an art. They take a piece of thin muslin cloth some 
 fifteen yards long and wind it about their heads in any 
 shape they might fancy. There are as many shapes and 
 fashions of servant's turbans out here as there are shapes 
 and fashions of women's headgear at home. 
 
 The outdoor servants wear jackets, the style, shape ancl 
 color of which is usually left to their own fancy. 
 
 But this reminds me . 
 
 Some time ago I paid a short visit to a neighbor mis- 
 sionary. It was in the beginning of the cold season and the 
 evenings were delightful. We sat out on the steps in front 
 of the bungalow and watched the stars being lit. "We talked 
 about home and our dear ones far across the seas and 
 exchanged experiences in our work. After a while con- 
 versation drifted on to other subjects and we fell to talk- 
 ing about servants. 
 
 The missionary's wife told the foHowing story : "Some 
 years ago high sleeves were the fashion in women's dresses. 
 Last time we were home on furlough, I brought with me 
 several waists of that style. They were too heavy and 
 warm for this country and I did not use them much so they 
 got motheaten. One day in the rainy season I looked them 
 over and found that they were eaten beyond repair, so I 
 threw them away. 
 
 During the following cold season we went to Calcutta 
 to meet some friends and bring them out to our station for 
 a short visit. We ordered our syce to bring the horse and
 
 SEEVAXTS. 
 
 49 
 
 carriage to the railway station on a certain day when we 
 would arrive with our guests. Imagine my mortification 
 when on alighting from the train our syce comes up to us 
 salaaming very politely, arrayed in one of my castaway 
 motheaten, highsleeved waists ! 
 
 Every European in India will have to learn, sometimes 
 
 THE VILLAGE BARBER. 
 
 through costly experience, that all servants are not quite 
 honest, at least not so honest as they profess to be. The 
 first servant we engaged was a Madrassy, that is, a man 
 from the Madras presidency. \Ye engaged him on the re- 
 commendation of older missionaries and because he could 
 talk a little English. He had to have one month's wages in
 
 50 
 
 SKK'JVHKS 
 
 SAXTALISTAN. 
 
 advance. Well, after being with us four or five days he 
 dissapeared into the mystic Indian night and we have never 
 seen him since. 
 
 You have to learn by experience how to deal with serv- 
 ants. When you are a stranger they usually take you in. 
 
 ON THE WAY TO THE WELL.
 
 
 THE MISSIONARY AS A DOCTOR. 
 
 A missionary out in the jungle, far away from doctors 
 and hospitals will by necessity be driven to "practice medi- 
 cine," no matter whether he likes to or not. People find 
 their way to him with their complaints. He is their father 
 and mother, he must help them. As to his ability to help 
 they have no doubt, for is he not a Saheb? And Sahebs 
 know everything. 
 
 When people have become Christians they have, of 
 course no more faith in their old medicinemen and cannot 
 employ them. Their medicines are given in connection with 
 offerings to the "Bongas," or evil spirits, and that practice 
 of course, is out of the question for Christians. Therefore 
 when there is sickness in the Christian native family they 
 naturally turn to the missionary. He must help them. And 
 so it happens that the missionary and his wife must "rush 
 in where angels fear to tread." They must begin to "prac- 
 tice." 
 
 First you send for some manual of medicine. 
 
 People tell you that homeopathic medicines are the best 
 for you to use. They are cheap and easy to take. Only 
 
 51
 
 52 SKETCHES FROM SAXTAL1STAX. 
 
 three drops in a little water, and yon do not run any risk 
 of overdosing your patients. If it does not cure it certainly 
 doesn't kill, and that a great consolation, because direc- 
 tions are not always followed out as carefully as they 
 should be. 
 
 Two men once came to the missionary to consult him 
 about their grandmother's uncle's sister-in-law, or what- 
 ever the relation was, that is only a matter of minor detail. 
 Well, they explained their relation's symptoms and ans- 
 wered all questions the missionary put to them. They had 
 brought a bottle, a thing patients often fail to do, -- ex- 
 pecting the Saheb to furnish them with one. There was 
 a crack however in the bottle, they had brought ; but on 
 their assuring him that it did not leak he thought it would 
 do. He then filled it half full of water, counted into it 27 
 drops of homeopathic fluid, and told them to give the pa- 
 tient an oystershell full three times a day for three days 
 and after that to return for more. They made salaams and 
 were off. 
 
 On the way home through some accident the crack 
 opened so that the bottle began to leak. They sat down by 
 the roadside and held a consultation. What was to be done? 
 The precious medicine was slowly dripping away without 
 doing anyone a bit of good. The medicine would be wasted 
 and they would have their long walk for nothing. Rather 
 than lose it they decided then and there to drink it them- 
 selves. So each drank half of the contents of the bottle 
 and was none the worse for it. 
 
 One objection to the giving of homeopathic medicine to 
 ablebodied Santals is that it tastes very little different from 
 water. In fact it is hard for them to believe that it is med- 
 icine ai ail. For such cases one must give Pain Killer or 
 some similar strong decoction. One takes a spoonful of
 
 54 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 this, mixes a little quinine into it, and gives it to the pa- 
 tient in a little cold water. The patient will shed a few 
 tears, the taste will abide with him all day, but he will nev- 
 er for a moment doubt that it was a dose of real medicine 
 he took. Often after such a dose the patient will clear his 
 throat, wipe his eyes and say, ''This ought to cure me." 
 
 But I must tell you about Puchia. He and his family 
 had been Christians for about a year and during that time 
 every thing had gone well with them. But one day he sent 
 word to the mission that he was very sick and asked us to 
 send him some medicine. As we did not know what was 
 ailing him we sent one of the preachers over to diagnose 
 the case. He found that Puchia was suffering from fever, 
 a cold, and an attack of colic. Medicine was prepared to 
 meet all these symptoms. Directions were given that the 
 Pain Killer should be taken at once to relieve his stomach, 
 in a couple of hours he should take a fever-reducing draught 
 and when the hot stage was passed he should take a dose 
 of quinine. This last was to be repeated daily for three 
 days. 
 
 After taking the Pain Killer Puchia felt better, so 
 much so that he was able to begin to reason with himself, 
 that, if one dose of the medicine helped him so much, it 
 was only reasonable to expect that if he took them all at 
 once he would get well all the sooner. 
 
 He then asked his wife to fetch him all the medicines. 
 Although she protested, he drank all the aconite in the 
 bottle, ate all the quinine we had put up for him, and then 
 turned over on his mat and went to sleep. This was in 
 the morning. All that day and the following night he 
 slept. The next day towards noon he awoke completely 
 cured. He never tired of extolling the power of the mis- 
 sionary's medicine.
 
 THE MISSIONARY AS A DOCTOR. 55 
 
 One soon becomes familiar with certain common re- 
 current complaints and their remedies. There is a skin dis- 
 ease, or itch, very common in the cold season, when people 
 do not bathe as often as they should. One finds that it 
 yields to treatment with sulphur, and people are very thank- 
 ful to get rid of it. 
 
 About four and a half million people die every year in 
 India from malaria. For this there is one principal remedy 
 quinine. And it is easy to administer, as the Government 
 prepares it and sells it at all the postoffices throughout the 
 land. It is put up in little envelopes containing one dose, 
 and each costing half a cent. But quinine is bitter and very 
 few people think it palatable, therefore one must see that 
 one's patients take it. It is always safest to have them take 
 it in your presence. 
 
 Sometimes people bring their blind to the missionary 
 asking him to restore their eyesight, or their deaf ones, 
 with the request that their hearing might be restored. 
 When they come thus one always gets a chance to speak to 
 them about the Great Healer who has come to heal all their 
 diseases. 
 
 There is no end to the variety of cases brought in. There 
 are boils to be opened, sores to be cleansed and bandaged, 
 and broken bones to be set. One must do his best to help 
 relieve their sufferings. After awhile the Mem Saheb will 
 specialize on women's and children's diseases, and the Sa- 
 heb on the men's ills and the surgical cases. 
 
 One day a man living eight miles from the mission sta- 
 tion having heard of the wonderful power of the missionar- 
 ies brought his case to the Mem Saheb. The difficulty was 
 this: A few days previously his buffalo cow had calved. 
 And though it was her own offspring, she was so perverse
 
 56 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANT ALT STAN. 
 
 and so unnatural a mother that she refused to suckle it. 
 Could the Mem Saheb give him some medicine that would 
 make the cow suckle her calf? 
 
 The Mem Stheb was sorry she had no cattle medicine. 
 The man had to return with an empty bottle. 
 
 BARBER PARING TOE-NAILS.
 
 THE MISSIONARY AS A PEACE-MAKER. 
 
 A missionary among a childish people like the Santals 
 soon learns that his work is not finished when he has 
 preached his sermon on Sunday. He must not only be their 
 religious teacher hut their guide to better things in every 
 field. His relation to his flock will be like that of a father 
 to his children. If they are sick they come to the mission- 
 ary, if they are in want he is their refuge. So also when 
 they quarrel, to the missionary they come with their com- 
 plaints. 
 
 Early this morning the whole adult male population 
 from one of the nearest villages arrived and asked to have 
 a little talk with the Padre. The headman came forward 
 and said : 
 
 "For two days we have tried to settle a dispute between 
 Lalu and Karan, but without success, now we have brought 
 them here to ask you if you will be kind enough to help 
 us." 
 
 Karan and Lalu came forward and on being asked what 
 the trouble was between them, they both started to talk at 
 once and evidently laboring under the illusion that the Pad- 
 
 57
 
 58 SKETCHES FROM SANTAL1STAN. 
 
 re was deaf. During a little lull in their vociferous expost- 
 ulations the Padre got a chance to ask : 
 
 "Who told you I was deaf ?" 
 
 "No one has told us that," was the reply. 
 
 ''Now don't you try to fool me," the Padre continued, 
 "someone must have tried to slander me and told you that 
 I was almost stone deaf and that you had to shout at the 
 top of your voices to make me hear. Do tell me the name 
 of the rascal and I shall make him limp. -- I can hear as 
 well as any of you." 
 
 These or similar remarks usually break the spell, the 
 excitement subsides and one can get down to business. 
 
 In this case it appeared that Karan had lent Lalu 30 
 cents a year and a half ago. For this sum Karan was to 
 have the privilege of using one of Lalu's fields for three 
 years. The headman and several neighbors were witnes- 
 ses to the transaction. Karan had worked the field one 
 year and was beginning to prepare it for the second year's 
 planting when Lalu went to the field and forbid him to 
 touch it. Lalu wanted to work his own field after this. 
 Hot words fell on both sides but, fortunately, they did not 
 come to blows. 
 
 In the Santal Parganas this transaction is illegal. A 
 Santal has no right to sell the use of his fields in this way, 
 and if such cases are brought into the courts both parties 
 are liable to be punished. 
 
 Lalu was asked why he had backed out of his part of 
 the contract. He replied that he thought Karan had got 
 much more than the amount he lent him from the one crop 
 he had reaped. 
 
 Karan was then asked to show how much paddy he had 
 raised on the field last year. He gave the amount, and 
 when the cost of working the field was deducted a net pro-
 
 THE MISSIONARY AS A PEACE-MAKER. 59 
 
 fit of 25 cents was left. This left a balance of five cents 
 of the loan besides interest for a year and a half. 
 
 "For what purpose did you borrow the money, Lalu?" 
 
 "My cows were put in the pound and 1 had to pay 
 damages to get them out," was the reply. 
 
 "Karan helped you when you was in trouble. You give 
 him your word of honor as a man that he could have the 
 use of this field for three years, but after he had used it 
 only one year you not only break your promise but drive 
 him from the field. This is not a man's act but that of a 
 child. You promise to pay Karan the balance of the debt 
 next fall, but, will he believe you? You have proved before 
 all of us how much your word is to be depended on. You 
 have broken your word once, you are able to do so again. 
 Apart from the fact that your transaction is illegal, three 
 years is too long a time. Two years would have been 
 ample. Karan ought not to have taken advantage of his 
 neighbor when he was in need. Christ has told us that we 
 should love one another and help each other in time of 
 need. 
 
 Lalu was asked to pay the balance of his debt in the 
 presence of the assembly. He managed to raise the re- 
 quired sum, paid it over, peace was restored and the two 
 men promised never to quarrel again. 
 
 Domestic quarrels are not uncommon and calls for 
 both delicate and diplomatic treatment. 
 
 A few evenings ago a woman came to tell the Padre 
 that she was not going to live with her husband any more 
 She said : 
 
 ''I will not stay with that brute any longer. You have 
 married me to him and now you must release me. I shall 
 never darken that man's door again. The world is big, I 
 can go anywhere, but back to him, never, never !"
 
 60 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 "What has happened?" 
 
 "My husband abused me, called me a witch and at last 
 he gave me a beating. Look at my shoulder here and my 
 arms and see for yourself. I'll never go back to him!" 
 
 There were bruises on her arms and one of her shoud- 
 ers, which bore testimony to the fact, that if they were 
 inflicted by her husband, he had certainly not spared the 
 rod. 
 
 The woman was asked to spend the night with her 
 brother who lived in the nearest village. In the morning 
 her case would be looked into. Her husband would be 
 called and everything done to straighten matters out. 
 
 "But, my baby ! Why doesn't my husband bring the 
 baby ?" 
 
 "Let the baby stay with its father tonight, it will be 
 quite all right. You stay with your brother tonight and 
 come over tomorrow morning." 
 
 At dawn the next morning the woman was at the mis- 
 sion. Restlessly she walked up and down the road wait- 
 ing for her husband to appear. After a night away from 
 her baby and her home, things began to look different. 
 When the husband arrived, it was but the work of a few 
 minutes to get each one to admit his share of the blame 
 and to ask forgiveness. Then both knelt at the throne of 
 grace and asked their heavenly Father to forgive them. 
 
 They admitted that they had been careless of late. 
 Their family altar had been neglected and they had become 
 very slack in church going. The enemy had seen his 
 chance to get in between them. 
 
 They said goodbye and started for home. The husband 
 walked ahead and the wife with her child astride her hip 
 followed five or six paces behind, but everybody who saw 
 them knew that they went home to live their second honey- 
 moon.
 
 SALKU AND HIS PIG. 
 
 A Santal village is quite democratic in its government, 
 There is a set of officers generally elected by the villagers 
 themselves. The leader is the village chief or headman, 
 called "Alanjhi." He has an assistant called "Paranik." 
 There is also a village messenger and a priest or two. Be- 
 side these there is yet another important officer, the "Jog- 
 Manjhi" whose duties are many and difficult to describe; 
 suffice it to say that he is more or less responsible for the 
 morals of the young people in the village. 
 
 Any villager can bring his or her troubles to the head- 
 man, who must hear them patiently and if he finds the 
 case of sufficient importance he will send the messenger 
 to call the villagers together and they will sit on the case. 
 Every adult residing in the village has not only a right to 
 a seat in the village council but has a right to partake in 
 its deliberations. 
 
 After hearing a case the village assembly will pass 
 judgement, and although the case may subsequently be 
 brought into the law-courts the judge or magistrate will as 
 a rule uphold the decision of the village assembly. 
 
 61
 
 62 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTAL1STAX. 
 
 According to western ideas of justice, many of the 
 decisions of the village council are queer, but as long as 
 they themselves are satisfied and their troubles are settled 
 peaceably, why should outsiders complain? Naturally it is 
 only petty cases they can decide, such as small property 
 cases, social questions, and matters pertaining to witches. 
 Litigation of this kind they enjoy. The villagers will leave 
 
 KL - * ^ x *i''** { i - >w :< ii -* al**v> . s 
 
 Si*g^ : ^^Ifem^ 
 
 BRINGING THE PIG HOME. 
 
 their work and sit for a whole day discussing from every 
 possible and impossible standpoint a case involving the 
 value of a few pennies. 
 
 But I must tell you about Salku and his pig. 
 
 Salku is a heathen living in one of the nearest villages; 
 Many of his neighbors and relatives have become Christ-
 
 SALKU AND HIS PIG. 63 
 
 ians, but he has always hidden behind some excuse. How- 
 ever, he is very friendly and often comes to the mission. 
 
 One day both Salku and his wife came to us in great 
 excitement. They complained that Sitol, a Christian neigh- 
 bor of theirs, had killed their pig. It was the only pig they 
 had, and they were very much attached to it and felt the 
 loss keenly. Would not the missionary, who is their father 
 and mother, compel Sitol to give them another pig, a live 
 one in place of the one he had killed? 
 
 Now it is Santal law that if a pig strays into a man's 
 field and does damage, the owner of the field is at liberty 
 to kill the pig and keep the head and one forepart for him- 
 self ; the rest of the animal he must make over to the owner. 
 Among neighbors in the same village, however, it is the , 
 custom to warn a man two or three times, and, if he still 
 persists in letting his pig run at large, it will subsequently 
 be killed. 
 
 This was in the spring, and Sitol had just planted his 
 corn. Salku's pig, who had in some way found this out, 
 went to Sitol's field, started to root out the corn and eat 
 it. Sitol was not at all pleased wih this performance. He 
 drove the pig away and sent word to its owner to take care 
 of it. But Sitol had no sooner returned to his house than 
 the pig was there again plowing crooked furrows across 
 his cornfield. 
 
 Sitol lost his temper, got his bow and arrows, went to 
 the field and the result was that Salku lost his pig. Hav- 
 ing cut away his rightful share Sitol called Salku to take 
 away what was left. But this he refused to do. 
 
 He said to Sitol: "What am I to do with a dead pig? 
 Give me a live one as good as the one you have killed, 
 otherwise I will go to the Saheb and complain." 
 
 Of course, there was no settlement. Sitol's temper was
 
 64 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 up and there were hot words on both sides, so they left the 
 dead pig on the field and Salku and his wife came to the 
 mission. 
 
 After asking them a few questions as to how it all came 
 about, I told them that the best thing they could do was to 
 go home, take charge of their parts of the animal and say 
 
 REMOVING THE BRISTLES. 
 
 nothing more about it. Afterwards I would investigate the 
 case, and if Sitol was at fault we would compel him to 
 make good the loss. 
 
 But Salku persisted that he would not touch the dead 
 pig. What he wanted was a live one. I tried to tell him 
 that a pig, like a miser, was no good to anybody until it
 
 SALKU AXD HIS PIG. 65 
 
 was dead. But all my arguments were in vain. Salku knew 
 what he wanted, and that was a live pig. 
 
 ''Well." I said, "you must go to the village headman 
 and complain. When the villagers gather to hear your case 
 1 will send some of my men over to help you and see that 
 justice is done." 
 
 The same afternoon the villagers were called together 
 and the trial began. In the examination it appeared that 
 Sitol had warned his neighbor only once that his pig was 
 doing damage. That was wrong of him. He should at 
 least have warned him twice. Therefore he was guilty of 
 wrong-doing. To this everybody agreed. 
 
 Sitol was found guilty. 
 
 The next question to be settled was this : What right 
 had Salku to let his pig run at large at this time of the 
 year, when people were putting in their crops? Everyone 
 else in the village had his pigs tied or herded. All agreed 
 that Salku had absolutely no right to let his pig run about 
 at its own pleasure. 
 
 Salku was also found guilty. 
 
 The next question to be solved was whether they were 
 both equally guilty, or if one offence was greater than the 
 other. 
 
 One of the village patriarchs spoke up and said: "I 
 think they are both equally guilty. They have both done 
 wrong and should be punished equally." 
 
 This opinion was received with a general murmur of 
 assent. The headman then asked in what the punishment 
 should consist, but, as no one ventured to propose anything 
 he asked three of the village fathers to go aside and agree 
 on a motion to lay before the assembly. After a short 
 deliberation they returned with this proposal that each of 
 the two litigants should pay a fine of one rupee, four
 
 66 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 annas, a sum which equals about forty cents in American 
 money. 
 
 Such fines when realized are as a rule divided equally 
 among the villagers who took part in the case. They either 
 divide the money, or buy a goat or a pig for it and divide 
 the meat, or which is the most common among the 
 
 FEASTING. 
 
 heathen they go to the nearest drink shop and buy rice- 
 beer for it. But according to Santal ideas it is neccessary 
 that such fines be spent in eating or drinking, so that the 
 offence may be removed. The sin of the offender is "eaten" 
 by those who judged him. Afterwards no one has a right 
 to throw the offence into his face again, his sin has been
 
 SALKU AXD HIS PIG. 67 
 
 eaten and digested, as they express it. Should any one 
 bring up the offence again he makes himself liable to pun- 
 ishment by his fellow villagers. 
 
 But there was yet another riddle to be solved before 
 the days work was done. What was to be done with the 
 dead pig? 
 
 After long and profound deliberations it was finally 
 agreed that Sitol should return the part he had taken away 
 and that the whole pig should be divided into two equal 
 parts. One part should be given to Sitol and the other to 
 Salku. Both men had been equally guilty of wrong-doing, 
 both had been fined equally, therefore it was only just that 
 both should share equally in the pig. The fact of the original 
 ownership of the pig was entirely lost in the deep deliber- 
 ations of the assembly. 
 
 Sitol took the part decreed to him, sold enough of the 
 meat to pay his fine and had a feast with his family on the 
 remainder. For them it was a joyous event, as the times 
 were hard and it was not often that they could afford to 
 have meat. Salku, the original owner of the pig, did the 
 same with his share but unfortunately his residue after 
 having sold enough to pay his fine was a very small one. 
 However, both parties were perfectly satisfied with the 
 outcome of the case. They went home as good friends as 
 ever. Their troubles had been adjusted by the village coun- 
 cil.
 
 THE SACRED BULL, 
 
 Beldangal is a large Hindu village. There are ruins in 
 it of old Hindu temples and palaces, but the glories of the 
 place all lie in the past, the hazy, dreamy past of Hindustan. 
 The present picture shows a couple of rows of low, straw- 
 thatched, illkept mud-houses, a crooked, dirty street with 
 a few goats, calves and naked children. 
 
 Many of the villagers are Brahmins. They are holy 
 men and priests of Siva, Ram, Krishna and the millions of 
 other gods of Hinduism. In fact, the Brahmin himself is 
 a god and is worshipped as such. All Hindus of the lower 
 castes must bow down before the Brahmin and worship 
 him. If a Brahmin comes to the house of a low-caste man 
 he must be entertained with the best the house can afford. 
 But first of all his feet must be washed in a bowl and the 
 host drink a a mouthful of that dirty water. By drinking 
 that water the man acquires merit and believes that his sins 
 are washed away. 
 
 Some years ago there lived an old Brahmin in this 
 village. H was quite rich, but he was old and feeble and 
 felt that the end was drawing near. Like a wise man he 
 
 68
 
 THE SACRED BULL. 69 
 
 began to prepare himself so that he could meet death in 
 the right way. 
 
 The first thing he did was to look about for a suitable 
 bull calf, whose tail he could clasp in his dying hand and 
 into which his soul could pass when it should have to leave 
 the body. He was anxious about his next incarnation. 
 
 HINDU WORSHIPPER. 
 
 AYhat if he should be sent to earth again to occupy the 
 body of a snake, a dog or a sow? The very thought filled 
 him with horrors. He must find a bull calf. 
 
 In a Santal village close by, a suitable calf was at last 
 found. After due bickering it was purchased and brought 
 to the Brahmin's house and tied close at hand should it be 
 suddenly needed.
 
 70 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAX. 
 
 In due course the Brahmin died clasping the calf's tail. 
 As soon as his struggles were over, the preparations for 
 his cremation were begun. The priests gathered. Holy 
 water from the Ganges was sprinkled on the bull calf and 
 he was consecrated to Siva. Then they branded it on both 
 hindquarters, on one side with the image of the lotus flow- 
 er and on the other with the trident, or the three-tined fork 
 of Siva. 
 
 The Brahmin's body, the bull calf and a number of 
 things necessary to the various ceremonies were then 
 brought out to a large pond near the village where the 
 funeral pyre had already been built. 
 
 With due ceremonies the body was put on the pyre. 
 The eldest son applied the torch to the wood with his own 
 hand, and all that was mortal of the old Brahmin was re- 
 duced to ashes. While this was going on, the calf was 
 brought forward and the eldest son, in the name of his 
 departed father, grasped it by the tail, drove it out into the 
 pond and forced it to swim across. When the other bank 
 was reached the boy let go of the tail and the ceremony, so 
 far as the calf was concerned, was over. 
 
 The calf was now a sacred bull. Xo one was allowed 
 to tie him or use him for any work, and he was free to 
 wander about wherever he pleased. 
 
 Xo sooner had the calf found out that he was free than 
 it started for its native village. Xearly all the people there 
 are Santals and have no great respect for sacred bulls. 
 From door to door it was beaten and abused, and for a 
 while it had a daily struggle to obtain food. 
 
 But as the days passed by he grew to be a large and 
 strong bull and soon found that he no longer needed to run 
 away from the little shepherd boys, but rather that they 
 would flee before his horns. He tried larger boys and the
 
 THE SACRED BULL. 71 
 
 experiment usually came out the same way, they fled. At 
 last he tried grown-up men, and his experience was that in 
 most cases his warlike appearence, flourishing horns, paw- 
 ing and bellowing would put even them to rout. The San- 
 tals whispered to one another that a Hindu "Bonga" had 
 taken possession of the bull, and they gave him a wide berth. 
 
 In this way the sacred bull became a first class nuisance 
 in the village. If a woman spread her grain on the ground 
 to dry, the bull would be there to eat it. All her shouting 
 and flourishing of stick availed nothing. 
 
 In the first part of June every year the farmers sow 
 their paddy, or rice, in hotbeds so as to get the plants ready 
 to set out as soon as the rains come. At this time of the 
 year these hotbeds are the only green patches on the land- 
 scape. Xo wonder these patches were a source of tempta- 
 tion to the sacred bull ! 
 
 Before dawn one morning an old Santal found the bull 
 in the middle of his hotbed munching the young, green 
 shoots. This was going a little too far, the old man thought. 
 His temper was up. Back to the house he went to fetch 
 an ax and a rope. 
 
 In a short time the spirit of the Brahmin was again 
 homeless, and all the Santals in the village knew before 
 sunrise that under a certain matkom tree at the edge of the 
 woods there was fresh beef to be had. 
 
 The entire Santal population of the village feasted. And 
 it was the understanding that no tongue should wag about 
 that matter, but that everybody should go home and forget 
 where the beef came from. And had the old man not been 
 indiscreet, the story would perhaps have ended here, but 
 his avarice led him into trouble. 
 
 He cured the hide of the sacred bull and took it to mar- 
 ket. The hide merchant, on examining it noticed the brands.
 
 72 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 Crowds of Hindus soon gathered around and some one re- 
 cognized the hide as the one which once covered the sacred 
 bull of Beldangal. 
 
 The Hindus were in a rage and threatened the old man 
 with violence. "Think of it," they said, "the Santals have 
 killed a sacred bull and perhaps even eaten it!" 
 
 SIRDARS. 
 
 The old man was then taken to the Sirdar, who is a 
 sort of head of the village watchmen in the district. The 
 Sirdar was a Santal living in the same village as the of- 
 fender, and had likely eaten his share of the beef. How- 
 ever, in his official capacity he called the villagers together 
 and made out a list of some twenty families who had par-
 
 THE SACRED BULL. 73 
 
 taken of the feast. The people were thoroughly frighten- 
 ed and wondered what punishment would be meted out to 
 them. The Sirdar held the opinion that they would all 
 have to go to jail ; still if each family would give him two 
 rupees, he said, he \vould square matters with the Hindus 
 and the whole thing would soon blow over. 
 
 Some days passed and the Brahmins in Beldangal be- 
 came impatient. The Santals had not been punished as 
 they thought they ought to be, so the Brahmins went and 
 called in another Sirdar, a Hindu. This new referee inves- 
 tigated the case, first in the village of the Santals ; then 
 he took seven or eight of the leaders with him to his own 
 village six miles away, where he kept them for two days 
 and, according to the custom of his ilk, tried to squeeze 
 heavy bribes from them. 
 
 But the Santals finally grew tired of this procedure and 
 agreed among themselves that it was best for them to go 
 directly to the magistrate, confess everything, and take 
 their punishment at his hands like men. 
 
 The magistrate called in the two Sirdars and the San- 
 tals and held a searching inquiry, under which the work 
 of those two men came out in a rather unfavorable light. 
 The Santal Sirdar having returned the rupees, he had taken 
 and being shielded by his people escaped punishment, but 
 the Hindu Sirdar was fined heavily, and barely escaped 
 losing his post for the part he had played. 
 
 The magistrate then asked the Santals which of them 
 had killed the bull ? 
 
 An old wrinkled Santal came forward, bowed low, and 
 said: "Your Honor, I killed it." 
 
 The magistrate laughed and saidr "Is is possible that an 
 old man like you singlehancled could kill a large strong 
 bull ?" But all the villagers declared that what he said was 
 true. The magistrate then put his hand into his pocket,
 
 74 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 brought out two rupees, gave them to the old man, and 
 told him to go home. 
 
 Through this experience both Hindus and Santals have 
 found out that before the law there is no difference be- 
 tween a sacred bull and a common plow bullock, and that, 
 as the sacred bull had no home and no owner responsible 
 for it, in the event it becomes a public nuisance, it as a 
 good riddance to kill it. 
 
 The Brahmins complain that since the Englishmen be- 
 came the rulers of this country justice is not to be had. The 
 most awful crimes, even the killing of sacred bulls, remain 
 unpunished. 
 
 On the other hand the Santals never tire of singing the 
 praises of the English magistrate. They say : "The Saheb 
 does not look at the face of the Brahmin, neither does he 
 look at the face of the Santal, but he deals out justice 
 equally to all." 
 
 SANTAU CHRISTIANS.
 
 In many of the villages in Santalistan the population is 
 a very mixed one. A dozen or more Hindu castes may be 
 represented, each with its own gods, worship and cere- 
 monies. But that does not matter so long as the people 
 are all Hindus. The power of the Brahmin holds them 
 together. 
 
 With Mohammedans it is different. They have very 
 little in common with the Hindus, and it is not infrequent 
 that Hindus and Moslems step on each others' religious 
 corns. 
 
 A short way from the Mission station there is a large 
 village. The most of its inhabitants are Hindus of the 
 various castes but there are also a number of Mohamme- 
 dan families. 
 
 Some time ago a babajee, or religious mendicant, came 
 to the village, ostensibly to strengthen the faith of the 
 Hindus. He was quite modern in his methods. Among 
 other things he carried with him an accordion, a patched 
 and scarred veteran of many a compaign yet under the 
 babajees trained hand an instrument capable of producing 
 
 75
 
 76 SKETCHES FROM SANTALTSTAN. 
 
 a series of the most wonderful sounds and noices ever in- 
 vented by man. 
 
 The young men of the village were recruited to help. 
 Some were put to beating drums, some to playing various 
 stringed instruments, and some to dancing- all this to 
 please and honor the gods and to procure an easy living 
 for the babajee. 
 
 The Hindu villagers were highly delighted with the 
 music, and enthusiasm grew fast. Every night the crowds 
 would be larger, the music louder, and the shouting of the 
 dancers more rapturous. All night long pandemonium 
 reigned in the street. 
 
 After listening to this racket for a week or two the 
 Mohammedans, of course, thought it was getting stale, and 
 they began to protest against having their night's rest brok- 
 en ; but no one heeded them. At last they thought they 
 could bear it no longer, therefore they raised a purse and 
 bought an old cow. They bided their time till the crowds 
 had gathered in the evening to resume their noisy dance. 
 Then they butchered the cow in sight of the dancing Hin- 
 dus just to see what would happen. 
 
 According to Hindu ideas to kill a cow, the most sacred 
 animal, is considered one of the greatest crimes a human 
 being can commit. 
 
 The killing of the cow stopped both the music and the 
 dancing and so far proved effective, but as to restoring 
 peace the measure was a total failure. It was rather like 
 the upsetting of a beehive. The babajee preached a crusade 
 against the Moslems and any longbearded follower of the 
 illustrious prophet who dared show his head outside his 
 door would at once be made a target for all sorts of missiles. 
 
 Fortunately most of the fighting in this country is done 
 by windpower. It is a question of good strong lungs.
 
 RELIGIOUS QUARRELS. 77 
 
 The Hindus would tell the Mohammedans what they 
 thought of them, their fathers and forefathers for twenty 
 generations back. And when the male line was finished 
 opinion would be passed on their female line of forbears. 
 
 But the Mohammedans were not entirely without train- 
 ing in this sort of warfare. They thought of several spicy 
 things to say about the Hindus, both of the present and the 
 past generations, so the scores were about even. 
 
 When the Hindus saw that no satisfactory results were 
 to be gained by verbal warfare they gathered a council of 
 war to discuss the situation. In this they decided on a 
 more modern way of silencing their antagonists. They de- 
 clared a boycott. No Mussulman was to be allowed to draw 
 water from the village ponds, and no Hindu was to buy 
 from or sell anything to a Moslem, or to have any dealings 
 with him of any nature whatever under penalty of being 
 outcasted. 
 
 As to water, the boycott was of no inconvenience. It 
 was just at the end of the rainy season and water was 
 plentyful everywhere. But many of the Mahammedans 
 were weavers and cloth merchants ; and, when they found 
 that they could obtain no space in the marketplace to ex- 
 hibit their wares, they found the boycott not only an incon- 
 venience but a serious loss to them, as it cut them off from 
 their means of livelihood. 
 
 Several of the Moslem fathers then got together to 
 consider what was to be done. After due smoking of 
 ''huka" and much stroking of beard it was decided that 
 five of the most representative members of their clan 
 should go to the magistrate of the district and lodge a 
 complaint of unfair treatment against the owner of the 
 marketplace. 
 
 "But," said one, "would it not be a good thing if we
 
 78 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 could get the Padre to give us a letter to the magistrate? 
 He knows all about our troubles and a few words from 
 him would surely limber up the arm of the law and help 
 us to secure speedy justice." 
 
 In consequence of his, three of the most longbearded 
 and venerable fathers kissed the Moslem blarneystone 
 if such a thing exists and came to the Mission. They 
 found the Padre on the veranda and after deep salaams 
 addressed him as follows : "We know that you are the 
 father and mother of us all. Your blessings preserve our 
 poor lives and there is no one like you in the land, and 
 above you there is only one Allah. Your Illustrious Pre- 
 sence knows that those worshippers of idols, our neighbors, 
 are persecuting us and have forbidden us to sit in the 
 market-place and sell our wares. Our children have be- 
 come like shadows from hunger, and we ourselves are, as 
 Your Higness well can see, bent with sorrow. In our 
 trouble we have come to Your Highness with a little prayer. 
 Would Your Highness make us and our children happy 
 forever by giving us a little letter to the magistrate so that 
 we might get speedy justice and these worshippers of idols 
 be put to shame?" 
 
 "O yes, the Padre would gladly do that if he wanted 
 your suit to be dismissed. But that he does not want. Look 
 here, those magistrates are very suspicious people, that you 
 know. Well, if you come to the magistrate with a letter 
 from the Padre Saheb he will think, "Those men must have 
 very little ground to stand on, as they have found it neces- 
 sary to get support from a Padre.' And he will dismiss your 
 case." 
 
 With more blarney about the wisdom of the Saheb they 
 salaamed and went their way. The complaint was lodged 
 with the magistrate of the district. He sent out two native
 
 RELIGIOUS QUARRELS. 
 
 79 
 
 deputy police inspectors to investigate the case on the spot. 
 One of them was a Hindu and the other a Mohammedan. 
 
 Each inspector went to his own people and raised as 
 much money among them as he could. Then the inspectors 
 called both parties together for a heart to heart talk, in 
 which they admonished them to make friends again and 
 forget their quarrels. If not, they would have to take the 
 leaders on both sides with them to jail, for they had both 
 been found guilty of breach of the peace. 
 
 This threat was effectual. The complaint was with- 
 drawn and peace settled again in the market-place under 
 the mango trees. 
 
 VILLAGE CHARCOAL PEDLER.
 
 MOSQUITOES AND OTHER INSECTS. 
 
 For a collector of bugs and insects Santalistan must be 
 a veritable Eldorado with an inexhaustable supply of mat- 
 erial. During the rainy season, especially, you will find 
 insects and bugs everywhere, all kinds of them, describable 
 ones as well as indescribable ones. If you light your lamp 
 in the evening and forget to shut the doors or windows 
 your table will soon be covered with the most wonderful 
 collection of creeping, flying, jumping beings, many of then? 
 regular stinkpots. If you go out for a morning walk you 
 will se big beetles rolling balls of cowdung along the road 
 in front of you. Why they do it and where they are rolling 
 them to only a bugologist can tell. 
 
 Then there are the armies of ants, always busy. Some 
 dwell in trees, some in the ground. In well ordered regi- 
 ments they move from one camp to another and you never 
 get tired of watching them. If you turn over a leaf or a 
 twig there are the white ants, a brotherhood, the members 
 of which are past masters in the art of destruction. The 
 white ant, they say, can eat and digest everything except, 
 perhaps, tempered steel. 
 
 80
 
 MOSQUITOES AND OTHER INSECTS. 
 
 81 
 
 Someone has claimed that the Himalaya mountains once 
 extended over half of India, but through the ages the white 
 ants have eaten and digested the greater part of them, and 
 they are still at the work. However we need have no fear 
 that the great peaks will be destroyed during our lifetime 
 as it is too cold for them up there to make fast progress. 
 
 THE WATERPOT SELLER. 
 
 White ants cannot endure the cold. So far they have 
 limited their operations to the warm countries. Hot and 
 sultry weather seems to stimulate them to extra activity. 
 Their disposition is decidedly pessimistic. They always 
 approach a thing from the dark side. They cannot stand 
 the light. 
 
 In the morning you may discover a pile of wet dirt in
 
 82 SKETCHES FROM S ANT ALI STAN. 
 
 the corner of your room. Poke a stick into it and you will 
 find it swarming with white ants. Unless your floor is 
 made from good cement you had better not put your shoes 
 there over night. If you do, you may find only the iron 
 heel pegs left to wear the next morning. 
 
 One of our missionaries, while out on a preaching tour, 
 once spent a night in a village temple. Thoughtlessly he put 
 a certain garment of his on the floor beside his bed, and the 
 result was that he had to wear his pajamas the next day. 
 
 On a hot sultry night a lady missionary took a mat and 
 placed it on the ground in front of her bungalow, where 
 she could get a little breeze. She fell soundly asleep. To- 
 ward morning she awoke with a cold creepy sensation about 
 head. It did not take her long to find out that her hair 
 was literally full of white ants, and she had to get busy to 
 save herself from being scalped or at least made bald- 
 headed. 
 
 The evil fame of the Indian mosquito has reached to the 
 ends of the earth. Compared to him his American cousin 
 is an aristocrat and a gentleman. He is a man of principle 
 and full of business. He will come prospecting around 
 your face, neck or hands, and when he finds a hopeful look- 
 ing locality he at once gets out his drill and starts business. 
 And if he has "struck oil" he will let himself be distracted 
 by nothing, he will chose death rather than to be deprived 
 of his business. 
 
 Not so the Indian mosquito. He will come to you under 
 the guise of a philanthropist. He knows that your soul 
 is starving for want of music, so he comes to sing to you. 
 And he has a voice like a Scotch bagpipe. While he sings 
 he will scout around for a favorable place to attack you. 
 When his plans of attack are matured, he will call his 
 caste-fellows and put some of them at diverting your at-
 
 84 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 tention, while he relieves you of some of your superfluous 
 blood. 
 
 Now, if it were only the loss of a few gallons of blood, 
 you might, perhaps, in time be able to forgive him his 
 thieving propensities ; but there are worse things to be said 
 against him. He is a murderer. He will not kill you him- 
 self, oh no, he must not spoil his reputation as a philan- 
 thropist. His wife has to do that. 
 
 The females in one branch of the mosquito family, 
 called the Anopheles, have been delegated to poison you. 
 This they do by pumping into your blood the germs of 
 Malaria. If enough of the germs have been injected into 
 your veins, you get the dreadful fever. 
 
 You soon understand that the mosquito is your enemy, 
 and you must get him, or he will ultimately get you. There 
 can be no peace between you and him. You wage war 
 against him in various ways. First by draining off all 
 pools of stagnant water, or, if that is not possible, by pour- 
 ing kerosene on them, for in such places the mosquitoes 
 breed and multiply. 
 
 It is no easy matter to get the Santals to understand, 
 that there is a connection between the pool of stagnant water 
 and the man dying from malaria. You must demonstrate 
 it to them. You take some stagnant water, in which there 
 are a great number of those little wrigglers, or mosquito 
 spawn, and put it in a bottle. Then you tie paper securely 
 over the mouth of it, only perforating the paper with a pin 
 to give the wrigglers air. In a day or two they will be 
 surprised to see how many full fledged mosquitoes there 
 are on top of the water. In this way, little by little, it will 
 dawn on them, that you are right after all, when you say 
 that the little wrigglers turn into mosquitoes. 
 
 Next, you protect yourself against the onslaught of this
 
 MOSQUITOES AND OTHER INSECTS. 85 
 
 little foe, by sleeping- under a curtain. To each bed there 
 is a framework about three feet high, on which you stretch 
 your mosquito net. With the net well tucked in about you, 
 there is very little chance for him to get at you. He will 
 sing and drone and buzz around and blunder against the 
 curtain until he gets tired, then he will sit down on the 
 curtain-poles and sulk. 
 
 Someone has said, that if the Hindu doctrine about the 
 transmigration of the soul is correct, the Indian mosquito 
 must originally have been a Scotchman. The droning is 
 unmistakably a survival of the bagpipe. And besides that 
 you can trace the national shrewdness in his business 
 methods, for having treated you to his music, he will next 
 claim a "wee bit of a drappie." 
 
 If the mosquitoes have succeeded in filling your blood 
 with the germs of malaria, there is yet one weapon left 
 you quinine. You eat it in powders, drink it in solutions, 
 and swallow it made up into pills, and if that does not help, 
 you are invalided home. 
 
 The flea is another enemy you have to deal with. In 
 one way he is more to be feared than the mosquito, for he 
 spreads the plague. In the crowded bazars and native 
 houses, there are always a lot of rats. On these rats the 
 flea lives and thrives. Now, rats are subject to the plague. 
 When a rat gets the plague and dies, the fleas will leave 
 the dead body, and likely as not go and bite a human being 
 next and in that way transfer the plague. 
 
 War is therefore waged against the rats, but it is no easy 
 matter to exterminate them, where one has to deal with 
 narrowminded, fanatical Hindus, who shield the rat under 
 the plea that all life is sacred. And when they believe that 
 the spirit of some of their ancestors have come back to 
 live with them in the body of a rat, you cannot reasonably
 
 86 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 expect much assistance from them in their extermination. 
 
 Among the Santals rats are not very safe. Roasted rat 
 is a delicacy much coveted, especially by Santal boys. 
 
 There is yet another dangerous member of the bug 
 family which ought to come in for some consideration. To 
 mention his name would perhaps not be polite, so we shall 
 speak of him as the B-flat bug. His home is preferably the 
 cracks and joints of the native's bedstead, or in the floor 
 mats, where people sleep, and his food is human blood. 
 
 For some time scientists have suspected Mr. B-flat, and 
 now they have proved their case. They have found him 
 guilty of transferring the germs of leprosy from one per- 
 son to another. Everywhere in this land there are lepers. 
 They often travel about from place to place exhibiting their 
 horrid sores and stumpy hands and feet, while begging for 
 alms. People pity them, give them food and shelter, often 
 giving them one of their beds or mats to sleep on. Perhaps 
 after the lapse of several years it becomes known, that 
 some member of the charitable family has contracted the 
 dreaded disease. The bug, having fed on the body of the 
 leper, next bites someone, who has not got the disease, 
 transferring the germs to him.
 
 LEOPARDS. 
 
 Old Santals can tell us about the time, when the great- 
 est part of Santalistan was covered with dense jungle, 
 which was the home of tigers, leopards, bears, wild boar, 
 buffaloes, elephants, deer and other animals. The Santals 
 are both by profession and inclination clearers of jungle, 
 grubbers and diggers. They started to clear the forest, and 
 the fight began. The royal keeper of the jungle, the Ben- 
 gal tiger, would not surrender his home and haunts without 
 a fight. Many and weird are the stories told in the' thresh- 
 ing-places of an evening about this fight. His royal high- 
 ness was beaten. The long ironheadecl arrows and spears 
 as well as the traps of the alert conquerer of the jungle 
 proved too much for him, he had to retreat. 
 
 Once in a while even now-a-days a tiger may stray into 
 the district, but they are not at all common. However, the 
 caves, where the oldtime man-eaters used to reside, are to 
 be seen until this day. At the mouth of one cave I turned 
 over the remains of two human skulls, ghastly souvenirs, 
 which went to prove that the famous man-eating monsters, 
 of whom the Santals tell such legendary tales, were not 
 entirely mythical.
 
 88 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 But I was going to tell about the leopards. They are 
 relatives of the tiger, but there is no royal blood in their 
 veins, that is certain. Compared with the tiger, they are 
 lowbred, narrowminded and sneaky animals. They have 
 made their home in the rocky hills and patches of jungle 
 about us. At night they prowl about the villages and carry 
 
 SANTAL ARCHER. 
 
 away dogs, goats and even purs. Y^-s, they do not even 
 draw the line at a longlegged, razorback, brushbristle fac- 
 tory of a Santal pig. But their favorite dish seems to be 
 the ordinary pariah dog. In the villages about Gombro 
 hill there is hardly a yellow dog left to yelp at the moon. 
 The leopards have eaten them all. And if you judge them
 
 LEOPARDS. 89 
 
 according to the rule: "Tell me what you eat and I will 
 tell you who you are," the leopards would not get very high 
 marks on the character rolls. 
 
 In a year's time no less than four leopards were killed 
 near our Kaerabani station. Two of our Christian workers 
 are responsible for the death of one. 
 
 Early one morning I heard a man's voice at my door 
 calling excitedly: "Saheb, lend us your rifle!" 
 
 The man was so excited and out of breath from run- 
 ning that he could hardly answer my question as to why 
 he wanted the rifle. But at last I found out that a leopard 
 had been located in a little patch of jungle near his village. 
 I gave the mari an old army rifle we had at the station, a 
 few cartridges, and some good advice, and off he went at 
 a gallop. I also sent off another hunter with a shotgun and 
 bullets. 
 
 About noon I saw a long procession of people coming 
 up the road towards the Mission. In the van was the dead 
 leopard suspended from a bamboo pole carried by two 
 sturdy Santals. Then came the two hunters with their 
 guns. Following them were all the small boys within the 
 radius of several miles, all talking and gesticulating, and 
 evidently, discussing the events of the hunt. 
 
 There was the "big pussy," as the Santals called it, with 
 a large bullet hole in it's forehead and another in it's 
 shoulder. It was a young male leopard, measuring a little 
 more than six feet from tip of nose to tip of tail. The old 
 Snyder rifle in the hands of Boroda had done the job well. 
 The leopard had taken refuge in a cleft between two rocks. 
 The first shot broke it's shoulder and as it was about to 
 drag itself out another bullet in the forehead ended its 
 earthly career. 
 
 The people from the nearest villages soon gathered to
 
 LEOPAUDS. 91 
 
 get a look at the dead ''pussy." Some of them brought 
 their small children, and though they screamed from fright, 
 yet they were made to touch the dead animal. The Santals 
 have a superstition that if a child is fussy and cries at night 
 the best cure for it is to make it touch a leopard or any 
 other ferocious animal. The leopard skin was given to me, 
 and the Santals had a feast on the flesh. 
 
 Another time the same men got the rifle and went out 
 and shot a striped hyena near the Mission station. A family 
 of those so called scavengers of the desert had taken up 
 their abode in a cave near by. When the head of the family 
 was killed the others soon disappeared. The Santals ate 
 the flesh of the hyena, also. And when I chaffed them 
 about their appetites they told me that the flesh was fat 
 and nice and made an excellent curry. 
 
 The Santals love to hunt. Very few of them, however, 
 have guns. A native cannot keep a gun without first get- 
 ting a license from the government. If a gun is found in 
 the possession of a native, who has no license, he is prompt- 
 ly arrested, fined or imprisoned, and his gun is taken away 
 from him. But if they have no guns they have bows and 
 arrows and ironheaded spears, and many a wild beast of 
 the jungle has fallen before these weapons. From child- 
 hood the Santal boys are taught the use of bows and ar- 
 rows. They are among the few playthings a Santal boy 
 possesses, and he uses them diligently. As soon as he is 
 big enough to run about he shoots lizards and small birds 
 and soon becomes a skilled marksman. 
 
 People often complain that there are but few song-birds 
 in the Santal country, which is quite true. Birds of all kinds 
 are very scarce, especially in the Santai villages. If one 
 goes to a Hindu village one will at once notice the differ- 
 ence; there the trees are full of songsters, while in a Santal
 
 92 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 village even the chirp of a sparrow is rare. For this state 
 of affairs the young Santal hunter, I am afraid, must bear 
 the blame. 
 
 The Santals can tell many a "tall story" of leopard 
 hunts, every one of them, they assure us, being as true as 
 true can be. Here is a fair sample. 
 
 A LUCKY SHOT. 
 
 Near some villages about a days march from here, there 
 lived some time ago a man-eating leopard. When a 
 leopard once tastes human flesh and blood, he will eat no- 
 thing else. Among the victims of this leopard was the 
 daughter of a village chief. On hearing this the people of 
 the neighborhood were deeply stirred, and when the chief 
 called for volunteers to help him hunt the leopard, a large
 
 LEOPARDS. 93 
 
 number of young men came forward. Together with the 
 chief they went out determined to kill the monster. 
 
 From early morning they beat the jungle, but they saw 
 no sign of the animal. Late in the afternoon the village 
 chief in some way became separated from his followers and 
 wandered about alone. Suddenly he stood almost face to 
 face with his enemy. Quick as thought an iron-pointed, 
 reed arrow was fitted to the bowstring, a twang was heard 
 and the arrow 7 went into the shoulder of the animal. The 
 wounded brute, now furious from pain, at once sprang at 
 the chief. The latter dropped his bow and shinned up the 
 nearest sal tree. But the tree happened to be a small one 
 and being young and supple it began to bend over as he 
 neared the top. 
 
 \Yhen the chief realized the situation he said to the leo- 
 pard: "A few days ago you ate my daughter, and today it 
 looks as if you will eat me." 
 
 He then jumped to the ground and the leopard began 
 to chase him around the tree. Fortunately the chief got 
 hold of the leopard's tail and saved himself by always keep- 
 ing the tree between himself and the furious animal, all 
 the time shouting for help. 
 
 ^"hen his hunting comrades at last arrived both the 
 leopard and the chief were thoroughly exhausted. The 
 animal was killed, but the skin was spoiled because most 
 of the hair was worn off from the tail by the rubbing it 
 had received against the rough bark of the tree. 
 
 Once we had a magistrate in the district, who was a 
 keen hunter. He asked that word might be sent him if 
 leopards were heard of in the neighborhood. A few days 
 afterwards I had occasion to do so. The next morning out 
 he came bringing w r ith him two more Europeans and a few 
 extra rifles. From the nearest villages I had secured some
 
 94 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 beaters, who brought with them several big drums and a 
 number of dogs. 
 
 The magistrate arranged the hunt. The beaters were 
 to start their beating in one end of the jungle in such a 
 manner that the leopard when running away from them 
 would not have to go against the sun. Being of the cat 
 family the leopard prefers to go away from the sun rather 
 than against it. 
 
 Rifles and munition were then distributed and each of 
 us Europeans were assigned places along the brow of the 
 hill on the course which the leopard was expected to take, 
 when the hunt began. Each one of us had a few Santals 
 with him. 
 
 At a given signal the hunt began. Drums were beating, 
 the Santals were shouting, their dogs were barking, in 
 short pandemonium broke loose. There was noise enough 
 to frighten even the proverbial dead donkey. The narrow 
 belt of jungle in which we were stationed was so dense that 
 any animal smaller than an elephant could easily have pas- 
 sed within a hundred feet of us without being noticed. 
 
 The beaters were slowly coming down our way. "\Ye 
 were all alert, gun, spear, arrow or stick in hand ready to 
 give an account of ourselves should the leopard come our 
 way. Ten minutes passed, fifteen minutes passed. The 
 thing was beginning to get tedious, I thought. Then all of 
 a sudden a Santal in front of me grew rigid. He turned an 
 intensely drawn and fierce face toward me and \vhispered : 
 "He is near us." We renewed our vigils and strained both 
 eye and ear, but a regiment of leopards might well have 
 passed us unobserved in that dense jungle. 
 
 After a reasonable pause I asked the man, how he could 
 tell that the leopard was near. He replied : "I felt it in 
 my body, every hair on my body rose and I felt that the
 
 LEOPARDS. 95 
 
 animal was near us. It must have passed down this way." 
 Then he led us into the jungle and showed us a few claw- 
 marks, a broken twig, and a crushed leaf, as proof, posi- 
 tive that the leopard had passed unchallenged within thirty 
 yards of us. 
 
 The Santals are sons of the jungle and live nearer na- 
 
 THE CHURCH LEOPARD. 
 
 ture than we do, hence this strange sixth sence of feeling 
 the nearness of an enemy befor seeing or hearing it. 
 
 But the most exciting leopard hunt we have had hap- 
 pened at Benagaria, the old head station of our mission. 
 One morning a young man came and told us that he had 
 seen a suspicious looking animal in a culvert by the big water 
 reservoir, or tank, as it is commonly called. He thought it
 
 96 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAX. 
 
 was a leopard. This we could not believe as those animals 
 very seldom come into this neighborhood, but thought it 
 must be a hyena, or perhaps a jackel, the man had seen. 
 But to make sure we went over and had a peek into the 
 hole. And true enough, there lay a leopard glaring at us 
 from out of the semi-darkness of the culvert. Its eyes 
 looked like two burning coals, and as we were unarmed 
 we thought it best to keep at a safe distance. 
 
 All the available weapons at the mission consisted of 
 an old pistol and a double barrel shot gun of which one of 
 the barrels was cracked and useless. It was clear that if 
 the leopard was to be killed it would have to be done by 
 strategy. If we shot at it and wounded it someone would 
 be sure to be either mauled or killed by it, as a wounded 
 leopard is one of the most dangerous animals to have to 
 deal with. 
 
 Quite a number of men gathered and we held a council 
 of war. After discussing the pros and cons, public opin- 
 ion seemed to concur in that drowning would be both as 
 safe and painless a death as we could think of for the leo- 
 pard. 
 
 The hole or culvert in which the animal had taken re- 
 fuge is an opening about three feet high and the same 
 width, running through an earth embankment, which is 
 over fifty feet wide. The outer end of the culvert we de- 
 cided to block up with an old door, and at the other end 
 which comes out a couple of feet above the water of the 
 reservoir we would place a large, strong fish-net. The plan 
 was to get Mr. Spots to leave his refuge by the back door, 
 get tangled up in the net and dragged into the water, where 
 we thought we could dispatch him in ease and comfort. 
 
 People were gathering fast. Plow they found out that 
 a hunt was on, I do not know. But within an hour there
 
 LEOPARDS. 97 
 
 must have been about a hundred men present, all of them 
 more or less excited over the prospect of a real hunt. Some 
 of them had spears, some had stout sticks, but many had no 
 weapons of any kind. The old pistol and gun were then 
 loaded and given to the sharpshooters, the net brought 
 forth and everything got into shape. First the outer en- 
 trance was blocked, then the net was spread before the 
 inner opening and the signal given for a vigorous drum- 
 ming at the old door to frighten the animal out the way 
 we wanted it to come. 
 
 Everybody was now trembling with excitement, the 
 nervous strain was awful. Suddenly a low growl was heard 
 and a large head protruded from the culvert exhibiting a 
 splendid set of teeth. The half a dozen or more who were 
 holding the net dropped it and ran up the bank as fast as 
 their legs could carry them. One look at that white dinner- 
 set in the head of the leopard was enough for them. The 
 way being clear the leopard walked leisurely over the net 
 and up the bank to look for another hiding place. Fortu- 
 nately the man with the gun did not fire and the animal 
 trotted leisurely along towards an old limekiln. On closer 
 inspection it was evidently not satisfied with the place as 
 a refuge for one whose life was in danger, so it made for 
 the church. 
 
 Whether it was instinct or some other and deeper rea- 
 son which prompted the hunted leapord to look upon the 
 mission church as a safe refuge is a question which could 
 be discussed in another chapter. The fact is that it went 
 straight to the church and jumped on to the veranda on 
 the north side and began to look for an open door. But 
 all the doors were closed. We saw what it wanted and 
 sent a man around to the other side to open a door for it. 
 This being done, we slowly persuaded it to proceed around
 
 98 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAX. 
 
 to the south side, where it spied the open door, and the 
 darkness inside was an invitation to it to enter. The door 
 was at once closed and bolted and we started to take pot 
 shots at it through the "jihnils"' of the doors. On being 
 wounded it roared furiously. Never has such a powerful 
 voice been heard in the Benagaria church. 
 
 A HUNT. 
 
 The church proved to be a very poor refuge for the 
 leopard, but an ideal place for the hunters. Someone was 
 pumping buckshot into it all the time. Finally it went be- 
 hind the organ and lay down and one of our carpenters, a 
 Santal, Makai by name, got a chance to send a bullet through 
 its neck which finished it. But in its death agony it bit 
 large pieces out of the woodwork of the organ.
 
 LEOPARDS. 
 
 99 
 
 It was an old male leopard which measured seven feet 
 from tip to tip. All day it lay on exhibition, and the whole 
 neighborhood turned out to have a look at it. Old medi- 
 cinemen begged with moist eyes that they might get leave 
 to take away a few hairs from the leopards whiskers, from 
 which to make a charm for some of their sick friends. 
 
 THE VILLAGE WHEELWRIGHT.
 
 SNAKES. 
 
 India is a great country for snakes. It is said that the 
 snake family is represented here by more than two hun- 
 dred distinct species. Fortunately they are not all poison- 
 ous. Only thirty three kinds are dangerous to life, the 
 chief among which is the cobra. 
 
 The cobra is not a very large snake. It is seldom in 
 this district more than three and a half feet long, but it is 
 a vicious brute. It does not flee from its natural enemy, 
 man, but is ever willing and ready to fight. It is a horrid 
 sight to see an angry cobra curled up, its raised head sway- 
 ing from side to side, hissing, ready to strike a death blow 
 at its enemy. One remembers that this little reptile yearly 
 murders thousands and thousands of people. 
 
 When angry, the cobra expands the skin of its neck un- 
 til it appears like a hood. On this hood are to be traced 
 two round or oblong rings that look like a pair of spectac- 
 les. The hiss of the cobra is not unlike that of a goose. 
 In the upper jaw, well forward, it has two sharp poisonous 
 fangs. They are constructed so that they fold back when 
 not in use; they are hollow and a small duct leads up from 
 
 100
 
 SNAKES. 
 
 101 
 
 them to the poison glands in the cheeks. When the crea- 
 ture is angry, the fangs are erected and it strikes forward, 
 puncturing the skin of its victim and injecting the poison. 
 \Yhen hitten by a cobra a strong man will only live for an 
 hour or two, so powerful is the poison. 
 
 SNAKE CHARMER. 
 
 The first cobra victim I saw was a young Mohammedan 
 woman. She was standing beside the wall of her house 
 when a cobra darted out of a hole and bit her. At once 
 she called her people and told them what had happened, 
 and with as little delay as possible they brought her to the
 
 102 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 native doctor at the mission only half a mile away. Within 
 a few minutes after she was bitten she was so weak that 
 she had to be carried. The doctor gave her a snakebite re- 
 medy and ordered her to be walked about and excercised 
 so as to keep up her circulation. The poison attacks the 
 involuntary muscles. 
 
 Some men dug the cobra out and brought it also to the 
 mission. It was nearly four feet long and everyone who 
 saw it declared it to be the largest cobra they had ever 
 seen. 
 
 In spite of all the remedies the woman gradually grew 
 weaker. Her legs became quite paralyzed and she was un- 
 able to move. The doctor said there was no hope for her, 
 yet he did not give up, but had people help him to rub her 
 arms and legs, nevertheless she sank gradually and within 
 an hour she was dead. 
 
 When she was lying on the ground unconscious and the 
 doctor had given her up, some Mohammedan women, her 
 friends and relatives, broke small branches from a tree 
 near by, squatted about the dying woman, and began to 
 draw these branches down her body all the time repeating 
 incantations. I asked the doctor what they were doing. 
 He shrugged his shoulder and said : 
 
 They are saying "mantras." 
 
 Why do they say ''mantras?" 
 
 With another shrug of shoulder he answered : "These 
 people are very superstitious and think that "mantras" or 
 incantations can save her life." 
 
 How sad to see their helplessness ! Nothing but empty 
 incantations to put against the potent poison of the cobra. 
 
 All cases of snakebite do not, however, terminate fatal- 
 ly. While at Kaerabani we had revcral which were all 
 saved. I must tell you about one of \v;o of them.
 
 SNAKES. 103 
 
 The Jarta family in the nearest village had decided to 
 leave their "Bongas" and become Christians. They had 
 received instruction and the day of their baptism had been 
 fixed. We were all looking forward to the day when we 
 could welcome them as members of the church. 
 
 On Saturday afternoon, the day before the baptism was 
 to take place, while I was having a language lesson in the 
 veranda, a young lad came up and told us that Jarta's wife 
 had been bitten by a snake, that she was unconscious and 
 had been carried to the house of the village headman, who 
 was a heathen. 
 
 We started at once for the headman's house about half 
 a mile away. W T hen we reached it we found the poor wo- 
 man unconscious, her feet and hands were cold, her pulse 
 very faint and her breathing was very slow. Three or four 
 w r omen were sitting about her with twigs in their hands 
 saying ''mantras" and weeping. They were all heathen. I 
 had brought a lancet and some permanganate of potash to 
 rub into the place where the snake had bitten her, but we 
 could not find the wound, and the woman in her uncons- 
 cious state was, of course, unable to tell us. So we decided 
 to take her to the mission house and try some other reme- 
 dies which we had. We then lifted her on to a Santal bed- 
 stead and four men carried her to the mission bungalow. 
 We ran the greatest part of the way against a heavy shower 
 of rain, for it was in the rainy season, and when we reached 
 the bungalow we were all as wet as we could be. 
 
 As we ran we laid the case before the Lord. If the 
 woman should die, the heathen in the neighborhood would 
 say that the "Bongas" or evil spirits had killed her because 
 she was about to become a Christian. And the result would 
 be that many, who were under conviction, and who were
 
 104 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 almost persuaded, would perhaps draw back and be lost to 
 the Kingdom. 
 
 Humanly speaking there was little hope for the woman 
 but we put the case in God's hand and determined to work 
 as long as there were any signs of life. 
 
 Her mouth had to be forced open to get the medicine 
 in, and by manipulating her throat she was made to swal- 
 low it. We rubbed her limbs, tried to restore respiration, 
 and put hot water bottles about her, all the time calling on 
 the Healer of man to raise her up. Several heathen neigh- 
 bors from the village were there watching us, wondering 
 what would happen. I cannot explain how eagerly we 
 looked for signs of life. We must have worked a quarter 
 of an hour with her when we noticed that her pulse was 
 getting stronger, and, as we placed a hot water bottle 
 against her back, she winced and groaned. A few minutes 
 later she opened her eyes, gazed about her in a half dazed 
 way, then stretching out her arms she said : "Where is 
 my baby?" The victory was won. In a short time she was 
 able to walk about. Our hearts were overflowing with 
 praise and thanksgiving. 
 
 'She was able to tell us afterwards that she went out to 
 cut broom grass, and as she was working a cobra darted 
 out and bit her foot. At once she started for the mission, 
 but after running a little ways she got so faint, that she 
 had to sit down. Fortunately there were some shepherd 
 boys near by, to whom she could tell what had happened 
 before she lost consciousness. One of those boys came and 
 told us. 
 
 The next morning she was able to come to church and, 
 standing beside her husband and children before the con- 
 gregation, she confessed her faith in God and with her
 
 SNAKES. 105 
 
 family received holy baptism. It was indeed a day of re- 
 joicing for the little mission congregation. 
 
 About a year later a Christian woman from the same 
 village was carried to our house. She had been found un- 
 conscious under a tree. We at once suspected snake poi- 
 son and began to treat her in the same way as Jarta's wife. 
 When she regained consciousness she told us that a cobra 
 had darted out from its hole among the roots of the tree 
 and with a vicious hiss had struck her. She at once gave 
 herself up for lost, committed her soul to her Maker, and 
 fainted away. Her little daughter playing near by, noticed 
 that something was the matter with her mother, at once 
 ran home to tell her big brother. With as little delay as 
 possible the young man got help to bring her to the mission. 
 After a few hours the woman was able to walk home, 
 leaning on her son, but it took her several days to get over 
 the effects of the poison. 
 
 Some time later I had another snake experience which 
 I shall not forget very soon. Together with several of our 
 native preachers I was doing evangelistic work in a dis- 
 trict about ten miles to the north of our mission station. 
 We were staying at a Government rest-house. It was in 
 March and the weather was beginning to get hot, and the 
 mosquitoes were very troublesome. In the evening I put 
 my bed in the center of the room and left the doors on both 
 sides open to get the benefit of whatever draught there 
 might be. Beside my bed was a table on which were some 
 tin cans and dishes. Two servants were sleeping on the 
 veranda. They had their sticks with them. In fact when 
 out in camp the Santals have a practice of going to bed 
 with their sticks. There are snakes and scorpions, jackals 
 and pariah dogs about, and a weapon may be required at 
 anv time.
 
 106 SKETCHES FROM S ANT ALI STAN. 
 
 About three o'clock in the morning I was awakened by 
 a scraping, rasping noise among the tin cans on the table. 
 There was a lantern in the room, but the light was turned 
 dow r n very low. In the dim light I thought I saw something 
 resembling a rope stretched from one tin can to another 
 within easy reach of my hand. I got the lantern, turned 
 up the light, and there instead of a rope was a large snake, 
 fixing me with his cold, beady eyes. 
 
 I called for my men with their sticks and between us 
 we soon dispatched the snake, and that without breaking a 
 single dish. It was not a cobra but was a so-called "kha- 
 rite," a tree snake, very poisonous but not so quick to strike 
 as a cobra. The snake had evidently been looking for a 
 way to get into the thatch of the roof where a lot of spar- 
 rows had taken up their abode, and in order to get on to 
 the table it must have climbed up the bedpost right by my 
 head. Xo more sleep that night ! 
 
 Tobacco acts on the cobra something in the same way 
 that it's poison acts on a human being. Once I gave a co- 
 bra a tap on its head with my stick and stunned it. Then I 
 asked a Santal for a little tobacco. This I put in the cleft 
 of a stick and thrust it into the mouth of the angry snake 
 and then let him go. At once he spread his hood, hissed 
 and raised his head and we all kept at a safe distance. But 
 it didn't last long, soon he seemed to get drowsy. His head 
 came down, and he acted as if he were drunk. Xo amount 
 of teasing would arouse him. Finally we pronounced him 
 dead. 
 
 I said to the Santals : Xow you can see what a great 
 poison tobacco is that it kills even a cobra. 
 
 Quite a crowd had gathered to watch the performance 
 and someone made the remark that the cobra was perhaps 
 only drunk from the effects of the tobacco, and that it
 
 SNAKES. 107 
 
 would come to life again. So we put the snake in an old 
 earthen pot and covered it up, and the next morning there 
 was no doubt that the cobra was dead "for good and al- 
 ways." Since then we have tried the tobacco experiment 
 several times and it always works out the same way. To- 
 bacco is poison for the cobra. 
 
 The natives are very much afraid of cobras, and well 
 they may be, for their bare feet and legs make an easy tar- 
 get for the poisonous fangs of the snake. When out at 
 night people often carry long sticks with which they beat 
 the road in front of them. In that way they mean to 
 frighten away any snake which may be about. 
 
 Once we had a Mohammedan living in our compound. 
 He was a Sheik and thought himself a very brave man, 
 afraid of nothing under the sun. Early one morning I 
 saw him throwing stones and brickbats in through the 
 open door of his house, all the time shouting at the top of 
 his voice. At first I thought he had lost what little reason 
 he had, and was running amuck, but finally I distinguished 
 the word "sap," which means snake, and went over to see 
 what was up. There in a corner of the man's room was a 
 large cobra with hood expanded hissing away ready for 
 business. A good whack across his neck soon settled him 
 and he was brought out hanging limp from my stick. The 
 Sheik salaamed and said: "The Saheb knows mantras." 
 
 During the hot weather snake-charmers often come to 
 show us their pets and to make them "dance" for us as 
 they express it. They carry their pets about in small, 
 covered baskets. When they want to give an exhibition 
 they squat on the ground and place the baskets in a row in 
 front of them. Then they beat a little rattledrum and play 
 some weird music on an instrument made from gourd. One 
 by one the covers are then removed and the cobras raise
 
 108 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTAL1STAX. 
 
 their hooded heads and sway from side to side, or bob up 
 and down while the snake-charmer and his assistant "make 
 music." Of course the men are careful to remove the 
 fangs from the poisonous snakes before taking them out to 
 exhibit. 
 
 Sometimes they carry about with them great pythons 
 
 THE SNAKE CHARMER, 
 
 more than ten feet long and wind them about their necks 
 and bodies. 
 
 In Benares one day we saw a snake that looked as if it 
 had a head at both ends. The Hindus call it the two-head- 
 ed snake, but on closer examination it appears that one of 
 the heads is only a blunt tail.
 
 THE RAINS. 
 
 The rains are supposed to make their appearance about 
 the middle of June every year, and last in this district until 
 the middle of September. Why it is called "rains" and not 
 simply "rain"' no one can explain, but after spending a 
 rainy season or two in this country you will ask no ques- 
 tions, but think the designation quite proper. 
 
 For a couple of months before the rains set in it is very 
 hot and dry. So dry in fact that the ground cracks. The 
 sun beats down from a brazen cloudless sky scorching 
 everything. The leaves shrivel up and fall like after a frost 
 at home. And all living things suffer. Even the crow has 
 nothing much to say, but hops about gaping ridiculously. 
 And anything that can silence the Indian crow is not 
 likely to be a fake, that is certain. 
 
 Yellow pariah dogs hop about on three legs resting one 
 at the time from the scorching heat of the road. And dust 
 is thick everywhere. Then it is that people travel by night 
 and get under a shelter before the sun has passed one fourth 
 of the sky. 
 
 About this time one begins to get interested in the week- 
 
 109
 
 110 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALTSTAN. 
 
 ly weather report of the government meteorological depart- 
 ment to see if they have located the monsoon or not, and if 
 they have, how far up it has got. It is to come up through 
 the Bay of Bengal and bring new life to scorched and thir 
 sty millions. 
 
 Before the rains set in we sometimes get thunder- 
 
 PLOWING. 
 
 storms. They usually come on in the afternoon and from 
 the west. First a black cloud is seen overhanging the west- 
 ern sky. As it draws nearer it changes color. First gray 
 then yellow, then purple. The rumbling of thunder is 
 heard. In a few minutes the landscape is blotted out. 
 Dust, dead leaves, more dust flies about you, envelopes
 
 THE RAINS. Ill 
 
 you, and gets into your eyes and nose. Trees are blown 
 over, thatch torn from the roof. All doors and shutters 
 are closed. It is dark, almost like night. The storm howls. 
 Blinding flashes of lightning pierce the dusty gloom. The 
 very foundations of the house quake from the claps of 
 thunder. 
 
 The result of this tremendous uproar may be only a 
 few scattered drops of rain, or it may be a hailstorm ac- 
 companied by a copious downpour filling the dried up tanks 
 and water courses, strewing the compound with leaves and 
 debris, but relieving the heat for a few days. However 
 this is not the ''rains." 
 
 They come on the fifteenth of June. A soft wind from 
 the south east swishes through the palms. White clouds 
 come up. A drizzle falls upon the parched ground. More 
 clouds hurry across the sky to bring relief to all living be- 
 ings. It rains and rains. The mailrunner brings the news- 
 paper. It is soaked, but you read with satisfaction the 
 broad headlines : "The Monsoon has burst." 
 
 In a clay or two the bare sunbaked ground is trans- 
 formed. Green, green everywhere. The fireflies dart in 
 and out among the tender leaves of the teak and tamerind 
 trees. The gold mohar tree is ablaze with red flowers. 
 Everything is throbbing with life. 
 
 Frogs croak everywhere. Some of them bray like goats. 
 The crow has found its voice and caws with impunity. 
 
 The Santal puts away his superfluous clothes, oils his 
 skin, gets his plow out and repairs it and looks as if he is 
 going to get busy. Even the laziest of the lazy seems to 
 have gotten some energy. It is the influence of the rainy 
 season on the sons of the soil. 
 
 Too much spoils everything. Rain all day, rain all 
 night. You are longing for a glimpse of the sun, because
 
 112 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 you want to set your clock right, but it persists in hiding 
 itself and you feel lonesome for it. 
 
 Damp and wet all over, everywhere. Xo dry clothes to 
 put on. They are all damp. Your pillow is damp. Your 
 furniture seems to perspire. Your shoes - - well you re- 
 member distinctly that they were black yesterday -- today 
 they are nearly white, covered with mould. 
 
 PLOWING. 
 
 Then one morning the sun comes out gloriously bright. 
 Then is your opportunity to get your rooms and clothes 
 dried. 
 
 From misty morning til evening dusk everybody is busy 
 in the fields. First the embankments between the ricefields 
 must be repaired so the water will stay in them. Then the
 
 THE RAINS. 
 
 113 
 
 water-covered field is plowed two or three times with a 
 little wooden plow drawn by a pair of humpbacked oxen. 
 When the field is ready, the little rice shoots are brought 
 and set out by the women wallowing knee deep in the mud. 
 Soon field after field is planted, turns dark green as the 
 shoots take root and grow. The landscape is transformed. 
 The desert is truly blossoming. 
 
 A REAPER. 
 
 About the steaming hot nights, the mosquitoes and the 
 tired feeling you do not wish to talk. You feel you are a 
 foreigner because the rains do not infuse you with energy. 
 It is rather the other way. You do not want to admit that 
 you get lazy, but you observe in yourself a strange disin- 
 clination to work. You want a long chair under the swing-
 
 114 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTAL1STAN. 
 
 ing panka where you can lie back in comfort and dream of 
 the old homestead way out on the western prairies of God's 
 country. You close your eyes and see it. A cool breeze 
 fans your cheek, light fleecy clouds chase each other a- 
 cross the deep blue Minnesota sky. The wheat-fields look 
 like a billowy sea. The air is full of the breath of new- 
 mown hay. You dream. 
 
 "Sabeb, they have brought a girl with a broken arm," 
 says a soft voice beside you. It startles you. You have 
 not heard the footsteps of your servant as he came to tell 
 you. You were far away, Dreams aside, now it is work. 
 
 SCENE FROM KAERABANI.
 
 A NIGHT IN A DAK BUNGALOW. 
 
 'ii is Hindustan, and evening, and a lonesome Dak bun- 
 ga\uw or government rest-house by the side of a long and 
 dusty road. The sun has just set across the hazy hills in 
 easterxj Chota Nagpore. Such a sunset! An Oriental sun- 
 set ! As the yellow dis. descended behind the hilltops it 
 drew before its mysterious exit a curtain of glowing red.: 
 A few moments its gauzy web hung over the western sky ; 
 soon it softened into saffron, which again slowly yielded 
 to prosaic gray. 
 
 Then came the short truce between light and darkness 
 which men call twilight - - the "Hinterland" of day, the; 
 borderland between the world of deeds and the world of 
 dreams. 
 
 The ne.v moon outlines its silvery sickle against the 
 background of gathering gloom. 
 
 From the native quarters behind the bungalow the el- 
 ders and teac'hers are chanting sleepily. It is one of those 
 weird chants which for the western ear possesses no melody 
 save the melody of infinite sadness. It is one of the old 
 Santal chants, l^ which Christian words have been com- 
 
 115
 
 116 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SAXTALISTAX. 
 
 posed. To the ear of a novice the tunes are nearly all 
 alike. And not only those of the Santals, but also those of 
 the other natives of the land, as well. The words and me- 
 ter may vary, but the cadence in the main is the same. - 
 It is the song of Hindustan the dirge of one lamenting 
 his long-departed youth and its divine illusions. 
 
 A LONELY BUNGALOW. 
 
 If you listen a while to that song, so spiritless and tune- 
 less and endless, you can hear the servitude of millions, of 
 myriads of men and women who have learned in suffering 
 something which they try to teach in song. The essence of 
 centuries of longings and heartaches and frustrated hopes 
 is trying to find expression in one dreamy, plaintive re- 
 frain.
 
 A NIGHT IN A DAK BUNGALOW. 117 
 
 But night is here. You walk forth and back on the ve- 
 randa while your servant is trying to set your supper-table 
 on an upturned grocery box. 
 
 The sounds of day are hushed and the voices of the 
 night are heard. The moon is disappearing. The blades of 
 yonder palm are silhouetted against the starry sky, blades 
 as delicately curved as the edge of a scimitar. Among the 
 branches of the mango trees a few fireflies gleam inter- 
 mittently, illuminating nothing but themselves. And the 
 cricket sings. This is a land where the cricket chirps 
 through all the year, and his song is melancholy, plaintive 
 and dreamy, like the song of the other natives of the land. 
 
 In the solitude of the hot, sleepless nights the cricket is 
 your companion and counselor. How intimate his song 
 can grow. You read into those monotonous strains all 
 your emotions until you cease to have any. Teh. tch, tch ! 
 It sounds as if it had been ringing from the beginning of 
 time and was destined to go on ringing to the end. 
 
 At first it irritates you, then it depresses ; but in the end 
 it dominates you. Struggle as you will, you are doomed to 
 succumb to its soothing strains. Tch, tch, tch ! Night after 
 night, it seems to din into your ear the essence of eternal 
 monotony. 
 
 But the crickets are not your only companions and coun- 
 selors. They only bring the refrain to the music of the un- 
 seen world. 
 
 Your eye as well as your ear is subject to the spell of 
 night. The moon has now disappeared and there is the 
 march of the stars, --a mighty host, ever moving on- 
 ward, slow, solemn and silently eloquent. Here they 
 scintillate in companies, there they shine in awful isolation. 
 Some burn with a steady, penetrating brilliance, which 
 seems to pierce your very soul, others twinkle, as it were.
 
 118 SKETCHES FROM SAXTALISTAX. 
 
 in unison with the notes of the cricket. The song of the 
 universe, the music of the spheres let them call it what 
 they will -- but the spell of the night is upon you and 
 the spell of the mysterious East. 
 
 ''Khana Saheb !" calls you back to things terrestrial. 
 On your box is your curry and rice, the food of the East. 
 A few years in Bengal have taught you to like it. Now 
 you want it hot with pepper and other condiments, again 
 the influence of the East. 
 
 The Christian workers gather. You discuss the work 
 of the day with them and at last commit yourself and them 
 into the hands of Him who sleepeth not. 
 
 Your "charpoi" palmetto mat and blankets are ready. 
 With a "johar," the servant disappears into the night. You 
 are alone with your own thoughts and the crickets. You 
 turn the light of the lantern low, and as you do so the trade 
 mark on the lantern chimney catches your eye. You read 
 the words : "Made in Austria." 
 
 "Made in Austria -- made in Austria" - The cricket 
 takes up the words and fits them into his notes and chirps 
 them into your soul. You try to rid yourself of them, but 
 you cannot ; you are under his spell. You want him to say 
 "America" and not "Austria," but he persists. At last you 
 give up and say : "What's the difference, Austria or Amer- 
 ica? it is exotic, foreign, anyway. Let it go with "Au- 
 stria." Finally his song seems to grow fainter and fainter. 
 From the far away distance is wafted back to you, from the 
 the shores of the sea of stillness, faintly, very faintly, 
 "Austria A u s t r i a."
 
 WITCHES. 
 
 The belief in witches and witchcraft is firmly rooted in 
 the hearts and minds of the Santal. However, the Santals 
 are not alone about this belief, it is common both among 
 the Hindus and Mohammedans in this district. Almost 
 daily the magistrates in our courts have to hear cases in 
 which women are accused of witchcraft, or some trouble 
 has arisen at the bottom of which this belief is to be found. 
 
 In their old "Sagas" or traditions the Santals tell us 
 how it was brought about that they learned the craft. 
 
 "Once long, long ago the Santal men met together to 
 discuss the question, what they ought to do with their 
 wives. They were entirely out of hand and did not obey 
 their husbands. When asked to do a thing, or on being 
 corrected by their husbands as the head of the family, the 
 women would turn around and abuse and scold them. And 
 as everyone knows, when it comes to abuse, a man is no 
 match for a woman. The men agreed to carry their griev- 
 ances to Marang Burn, the devil, and ask his assistance. 
 
 At midnight they gathered in the sacred grove, called 
 Marang Burn, and addressing him as grandfather laid 
 
 119
 
 120 SKETCHES FROM SAXTALISTAN. 
 
 their troubles before him. The old man very graciously 
 consented to help them. He would give them occult power 
 which would enable them to defend themselves against 
 the wiles of their women. Before he granted them the pow- 
 er they would, however, have to make their signatures on 
 his documents in their own blood. He gathered some leaves 
 from a sacred tree and asked the men to draw blood and 
 put their marks on the leaves. This frightened the men 
 and they asked their grandfather to kindly excuse them 
 for the time being, they would return the next night and 
 sign the documents. 
 
 Unknown to the men some women had followed them 
 to the grove and from their hiding place heard everything 
 that was said. When they saw the men arise they hurried 
 home by a short cut, and before the men arrived all the 
 women in the village knew just exactly how the land lay. 
 
 The next day the men found a great change in their 
 women-folks. They were as amiable and nice as they could 
 be and the men began to think that it would not be neces- 
 sary for them to sign Marang Burns documents. The 
 next night they did not return to the grove as they had 
 promised. On the following day the women w r ere still more 
 loving and kind to them, gave them extraordinary good 
 things to eat, brewed rice beer and gave them so much of 
 it that by night they were dead drunk. 
 
 This was the opportunity the women were looking for. 
 They took their husbands clothes and turbans, pasted some 
 goatshair on their upper lips and at midnight started for 
 the sacred grove. After having saluted their grandfather 
 they asked him to bring his leaves that they might sign 
 them, for they could no longer endure the torments of 
 their wives. 
 
 Marang Buru brought the leaves, the women pricked
 
 WITCHES. 121 
 
 their skins with thorns, pressed out a drop of blood and 
 signed their husbands' marks on the leaves. Marang Buru 
 then taught them witchcraft and gave them full directions 
 how to "eat people." Before cock's crow they returned to 
 their homes rejoicing. 
 
 After their debauch the men slept rather late the next 
 morning and were not in the best of humor when they at 
 last got about. They very soon found out that their women 
 had not reformed after all. They were worse than ever. 
 Again they 'had a consultation and decided to go that very 
 night and put their marks on Marang Burns leaves. 
 
 When they told their grandfather what they wanted he 
 was very much surprised and said : "I have already taught 
 you. What more do you want?" But the men declared that 
 they had not been near him since the first night when he 
 asked them to sign and they promised that they would re- 
 turn the next night. Marang Buru, however, brought out 
 the leaves and asked the men to see for themselves if it was 
 their marks or not. They had to admit the marks but de- 
 clared that they did not put them there. 
 
 When Marang Buru at last understood that the women 
 had deceived both himself and their husbands he got into 
 a great rage and swore that they would yet get even with 
 those rascally women. He got some more leaves and asked 
 the men to put their marks on them. This they did as di- 
 rected and Marang Buru then set out to teach them the 
 art of the Jan Guru, how to find out witches. And ever 
 since that time there has been enmity between the witches 
 and the Jan Guru. 
 
 The Santals believe that the witches have their meetings 
 at night in some sacred grove or forest. When their hus- 
 bands are asleep they get up, say some incantations and put 
 a broom or some similar object in the bed beside them and
 
 122 SKETCHES FROM SANTALlSTAN. 
 
 the men, poor fools, feeling the broom beside them believe 
 it to be their wives and have no idea of what is really going 
 on. 
 
 It is also believed that witches do not walk on the 
 ground, but by means of sorcery fly through the air in 
 whatever direction they wish. The "Bongas" also appear 
 to them and dance and flirt with them. They also play 
 with tigers, ride on them, caress, and kiss them. These 
 gambols they continue till nearly cock crow, when they re- 
 turn to their homes remove the broom and lie down in their 
 proper places. 
 
 Witches make pupils of young girls. At night they go 
 about from house to house and call for them. Then they 
 take them to the sacred grove, teach them "mantras" and 
 other things pertaining to the practice of witchcraft. If 
 the girls are unwilling to learn they tell them that the ti- 
 gers will eat them and thus frighten them into learning. 
 When a pupil has advanced far enough they put her to a 
 test by asking her to "eat" some one of her own relatives, 
 her father, brother or sister. Should a pupil refuse to 
 submit herself to this test the witches will make her ill or 
 cause her to become demented or mad. Witches must feel 
 no mercy for anybody, not even their own husbands and 
 children. 
 
 It is very easy for the missionary to ridicule all this 
 talk about witches and brand it as silly nonsense, but the 
 fact still remains that to the Santals these things are act- 
 ual and real. 
 
 The Bonga worship of the Santals is essentially a man's 
 religion. Women have almost no place in it. Many of 
 the sacrifices she may neither touch nor taste. For this 
 reason it may be that the women may have felt a desire for 
 some sort of worship of their own, that may account for
 
 WITCHES. 123 
 
 their nightly gambols and offerings. That they possess 
 any occult power by which they caus.e their victims to be- 
 come sick and die is very improbable. There are plenty of 
 herbs and roots which if given to anyone together with 
 their food will cause sickness and death. Be that as it may, 
 the fact remains that the belief in witchcraft is a supersti- 
 tion that dies hard. Every now and then a case will crop 
 up among the Christians, where some poor woman is su- 
 spected of practicing witchcraft. 
 
 One morning a big Santal came up to me and asked me 
 to look at his back and shoulders. One glance at his broad, 
 brown back told me that he had been in a fight and had 
 rather got the worst of it. He had received a good beating. 
 
 I knew the young man well, and instead of sympathizing 
 with him told him that I was ashamed to see that he, a 
 giant of a man, had let himself be licked. But my banter 
 did not have the desired effect. The young man sat down 
 and cried like a baby. He finally told us that his father 
 had given him the beating. His father was a thin wea- 
 zened old man whom one would not quickly suspect of 
 such deeds. 
 
 ''Why did your father beat you?" 
 
 "Because I would not send my wife away. How can I 
 send her away now, we have three children ; who will take 
 care of them if I send her away?" 
 
 "But why should you send your wife away?" 
 
 Little by little the facts of the case came out. The old 
 man and his four sons and their families live close together, 
 and, as the custom is among the Santals, work their fields 
 jointly and hold a good deal of the property in common. 
 Except the oldest son and his family they are all Christians. 
 Of late there has been a good deal of sickness in the family 
 of the eldest son. One medicine man after the other had
 
 124 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 been called in without result. At last a medicine man 
 greater than all the rest was called in and he succeeded in 
 finding out what the trouble was why the medicine did not 
 have any power to heal the sick ones. There was a witch 
 at the bottom of the trouble. The help of a witch-finder 
 was then sought. This dignitary after receiving his fee 
 
 A MEDICINE MAN. 
 
 led the suspicion towards the wife of the second son. He 
 did not mention her by name but by hints and parables at 
 which they are such adepts, gave the men to understand 
 just exactly who was meant. 
 
 On returning from the witch-finder the old man took 
 the case in his own hands. The suspected daughter-in-law 
 was ordered to make the sick ones well at once. She pro-
 
 WITCHES. 
 
 125 
 
 tested that she was innocent. Then he ordered her to 
 leave her house and family and never to show her face there 
 again. On this he got his stick and proceeded to enforce 
 his order at once. Then the son interfered with the result 
 that he received a good beating. 
 
 We adviced the young man to go home and keep quiet 
 for a few days, then we would take up the case and try to 
 restore peace. 
 
 A week or two later we gathered the whole family and 
 had a heart to heart talk with them. By that time the old 
 man was thoroughly ashamed of what he had done and 
 ready to sue for terms. \Ye asked him to beg his daughter- 
 in-law's forgiveness and to make her a present of a cloth. 
 And for the offence he had caused in the church by running 
 after witch-finders and believing in their humbug, he was 
 asked to drop forty cents in the collection box for the poor.
 
 THE JAN GURU. 
 
 He is a rather pleasant old man and fond of a joke. 
 You will find him squatting on the sunny side of the village 
 streets as you pass through. His name is Jarta, or rather 
 that is the name he is known by. What his real name is, I 
 do not know. Jarta means matted locks. For years and 
 years, perhaps from the time he was a small boy. Jarta's 
 hair has never been washed, combed or cut. It has been 
 allowed to grow and has through the years gathered itself 
 into four or five matted locks stiff with ancient dirt and 
 oil. They look like pieces of dirty ropes hanging down his 
 back or wound around his head. 
 
 If you look closely at his face you can tell that he is a 
 cunning and crafty man. His small shifting eyes take in 
 everything about you at a glance. And cunning and crafty 
 he needs to be for he is a Jan Guru and that means a witch- 
 finder. 
 
 Jarta is indeed a bad man and has caused a lot of mis- 
 chief among his people. Yet he is very nice and polite and 
 likes to talk to you, that is as long as you don't talk to him 
 about his Savior and the salvation of his soul. As soon as 
 
 126
 
 THE JAN GURU. 
 
 127 
 
 that subject is broached he becomes quiet, and if you keep 
 on he will get up and leave you ; but he will never dispute or 
 argue with you. 
 
 The heathen Santals believe firmly in witchcraft, and 
 when they are sick they always fear that some witch is at 
 the bottom of their trouble, and, as they express it, is eating 
 
 THE JAN GURU. 
 
 out their insides. Like everyone else a sick Santal wishes 
 to get well as soon as possible, so he sends for an Ojha or 
 medicine-man. That dignitary comes, feels the pulse of 
 the sick one and shakes his head like a real doctor. He 
 then goes out, collects the friends of the patient and gives 
 them the result of his diagnosis. He has found the sick 
 one in a very bad state indeed. It must be either "Bonga"
 
 128 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 or a witch that is causing the mischief. Do the friends 
 wish him to find out for them? 
 
 "Yes, by all means !" they answer. 
 
 The Ojha then asks his fee. When that is secured he 
 gets two leaves from the sal tree, puts a few drops of oil 
 on them, rubs them against each other and from the marks 
 the oil has made on the leaves pretends to read the cause 
 of the sickness. If it is found to be a "Bonga" that is 
 tormenting the victim, that personality must by means of 
 offerings be persuaded to leave. If it is a witch, she must 
 be found and brought to terms, and there is where the Jan 
 Guru comes in. He alone can tell who the witch is that 
 causes the trouble. 
 
 As soon as the relatives of the sick find out that it is 
 a witch that is "eating" their friend they lose no time but 
 prepare at once to go to some Jan Guru. A whole party 
 will go, often one man from each house in the village. 
 Their mission is a secret one and they will tell no one 
 where they are going and often even get to their destina- 
 tion by a circuitous route. This is done to prevent evil 
 spirits from putting obstacles in their way. 
 
 Arriving at the village of the Jan Guru, they usually 
 have to wait a while before they get an audience. They 
 must first send him presents and offerings. When they 
 come before him he will ask a number of leading questions 
 about the neighbors and relatives of the sick one, and he 
 usually manages to get at what he wants without arousing 
 the suspicions of the people who have come to him. He 
 will find out, perhaps, that the wife of the sick man has 
 been quarreling with some other woman in the village who 
 has been found guilty of witchcraft before. He will settle 
 on some one, and after certain ceremonies are gone through, 
 he will begin to describe the house she lives in, her relation
 
 THE JAN GURU. 129 
 
 to the sick one and other things about her, so that although 
 he names no one, everybody is sure of whom he means. 
 
 The most of the men went away suspecting just that 
 woman, and now their suspicions are confirmed. With 
 the Jan Guru it was a case of finding out just what advice 
 was wanted and giving them that. 
 
 The Jan Guru may also have a tout or helper who will 
 get into the confidence of the men, and having found out 
 everything, bring word to his accomplice, sharing the pro- 
 fits. 
 
 The party now returns home and then trouble begins. 
 The poor suspected women is dragged out and threatened 
 with all sorts of violence, and if the sick one does not im- 
 prove, they will carry out their threats. It is not uncom- 
 mon that all this fuss togather with the assurance that the 
 witch has really been discovered, has a restorative effect 
 on the sick one, and he begins to feel better. If he does 
 not improve, you may pity the poor witch. 
 
 A few years ago some people from a village six miles 
 away came to Jarta with their troubles. The son of their 
 headman was at death's door. After receiving his fee Jarta 
 went into a trance and indicated who the witch was. The 
 men went home and threatened her, but the boy did not 
 improve. When he was dying they drove the poor woman 
 out of the village and beat her so that she died from the 
 treatment she received. Of course the offenders were put 
 in prison for it. Old men will tell you that it was not at 
 all uncommon in olden times to put witches to death. Now 
 the usual thing is to drive them from their villages. Many 
 a home has been broken up that way, and many a woman 
 has had to leave husband and children and flee to her
 
 130 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 friends, if she had any, because she was accused of witch- 
 craft. 
 
 The old Jan Guru knows he is a humbug but he won't 
 leave off his evil practice because he makes an easy living 
 by it. 
 
 A SACRED GROVE.
 
 IN CAMP. 
 
 During the rainy season it is not possible for the mis- 
 sionary to do much village visiting. For one thing the mud 
 is too deep in many places even for a horse to get through, 
 and unless the missionary is bare of foot and leg, can walk 
 the embankments between the flooded rice fields and wade 
 through the brooks and mud, he will find it rather hard to 
 get about. And besides, he will likely as not find the vil- 
 lage empty of people when he gets there. Every man wo- 
 man and child who is able to w r ork will be busy in the fields. 
 During this time of the year the native Christian workers 
 go about from ricefield to ricefield and stop to speak a 
 word to the busy plowmen or the women at work planting. 
 
 By the first of October the roads will be passable, the 
 people at leisure, and the mornings cool and comfortable. 
 Then, if you are a hustling missionary, you will get out 
 into camp. You leave home for a week at the time and go 
 to some of the out-stations of your district. The workers 
 in charge of the station has been looking forward to your 
 coming, and the place will be cleaned up spick and span. 
 Usually there is a room for you to stay in, and you bring 
 
 131
 
 132 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 out with you a little furniture, such as a table, a chair and 
 a bed. Of course to a jungle missionary these things are 
 not absolutely necessary ; you can get along with a mat on 
 the floor for bed and squat on the floor when you take your 
 meals. It is wonderful how many things you can get along 
 without and yet be perfectly happy. One thing, however, 
 
 PLANTING RICE. 
 
 you had better not forget, and that is to bring your cook. 
 You can not afford to take any chances with your stomach 
 in this country. 
 
 If you have no mission out-station to go to, there is 
 perhaps a Government Dak bungalow in which you can 
 stay, while you work in the villages about. These bunga-
 
 IN CAMP. 133 
 
 lows or rest-houses are built by the government for magi- 
 strates and officers to stay in while on their tours of in- 
 spection in the districts. When not occupied by servants 
 of the government, the meek and humble Padre Saheb is 
 as a rule permitted to use them. Some of the bungalows 
 are furnished and can be quite comfortable; -but many of 
 them consist only of an empty room or two with rows of 
 large and small bats hanging from the rafters. 
 
 Apropos, a word about the bats. You abhor them at 
 first when you see their little beady eyes glare at you by 
 day, and at night, when you hear the flopping of their 
 leathery wings close to yor.r ear you do have sort of a 
 creepy feeling, which is not exactly conducive to sleep. 
 There is something uncanny and disagreeable about a bat. 
 l>ut little by little you get used to them, and at last you learn 
 to love them. If you. go to a bungalow, where here are no 
 bats, you miss them. They are your friends. If a mos- 
 quito is buzzing cJbo'nt your unprotected forehead with 
 evil intentions, one of your little friends will promptly come 
 to your rescue, snatch up the mosquito and eat it. That is 
 why you love them. At dusk you enjoy watching the erratic 
 flight of the little ones as they take their flying lessons, 
 and by the v;ay catch a few moths and mosquitoes. 
 
 If there is no Dak bungalow to stay in and no out-sta- 
 tion to go to, there is yet another way open to you if you 
 want to get into camp. You can bring a tent. A good tent 
 with a double roof can be quite comfortable, and you have 
 the advantage that you can be near the villages and move 
 about easily from place to place. There are usually a few 
 spreading mango trees near the village under which you 
 can pitch your tent. 
 
 After the first clay or two camping is not so exceedingly 
 interesting, but it is a means to a good end. That is why
 
 134: SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 you keep it up. And when you speak of comforts, you do 
 so relatively. There are degrees of comfort, as everyone 
 knows. 
 
 A rich American lady, very much interested in mis- 
 sions and a liberal giver to the great cause, thought she 
 would like td see for herself what a missionary's life was 
 like. So she decided to come out to India for a few months. 
 On the advice of the missionaries she came out during the 
 cold season. She was met at the railway station and taken 
 out to the nearest mission station and made as comfortable 
 as possible. She visited around for some time and every- 
 body did their best to make her stay as enjoyable as pos- 
 sible. When a lady missionary invited her to come out 
 camping with her, she accepted the invitation eagerly. 
 
 The servants, the tents and camp outfit was sent out 
 ahead and the ladies followed the next day. There were 
 neither roads nor vehicles, so they were carried in "dan- 
 dies." At dusk they arrived at the camp and found every- 
 thing in order. They had only time for at little look around 
 the place when the cook announced that dinner was ready. 
 The table was set under a mango tree. There was no 
 room for it in the tent. A lantern was suspended from a 
 branch above the table. It was a perfect evening, cool and 
 calm. The starry sky above, the mango tree with its 
 fireflies and the silent Indian night perfectly fascinated the 
 visitor. She was enraptured, charmed with everything. 
 
 "Why," she exclaimed, "everything is perfectly heav- 
 enly. How you missionaries can talk of sacrifices and 
 discomforts I cannot understand." 
 
 The lady missionary smiled and kept her council. For- 
 tunately no stinkbug found its way into the visitor's soup 
 and no jackals howled just then. Dinner over they retired 
 to the tent. There was a chair and a cot for each of them.
 
 IN CAMP. 135 
 
 The visitor thought everything was "just charming/' When 
 they retired for the night the missionary brought in a stout 
 stick and placed it beside her bed. 
 
 "What are you going to do with the stick?" the visitor 
 asked. 
 
 "O it's handy to have to kill snakes with and drive out 
 stray village dogs, and the like," answered the missionary. 
 
 "You don't mean to say that dogs and snakes can come 
 in to our tent?" the visitor again anxiously inquired. The 
 missionary lady then proceeded to enlighten her by relat- 
 ing some of her actual experiences with jackals, village 
 clogs, snakes and scorpions. "Why, it was only the other 
 day that I shook a large scorpion out of my shoe before 
 putting it on in the morning. In Tact we old Indians al- 
 ways shake our shoes before putting them on. It gets to 
 be a habit with us." 
 
 Nothing awful, however, happened that night except 
 that the visitors fine silk skirt slid off the chair where she 
 had put it and laid on the ground completely ruined by 
 white ants. Her shoes she had kept beside her on the cot. 
 The next day was a busy one in camp. Sick people were 
 brought and had to be helped. There were schools to be 
 examined and meetings to be held. And besides that one 
 of the servants while gathering firewood had been stung 
 by a scorpion. He was in agonies the most of the day. 
 
 Again they had a lovely dinner under the mango trees, 
 but it was not quite as charming as the previous. That 
 night the visitor kept all her belongings with her on the 
 cot. They had only but retired when the visitor screamed 
 for help. "I am stung. It's my ankle! It's a scorpion! 
 Help quick, auh !" 
 
 The missionary told her to lie perfectly still and she 
 got the lantern which was left burning in the room, turned
 
 136 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 tip the covering at the place where the wounded ankle was 
 supposed to be. After a diligent search she found, not a 
 dreadful scorpion, but a sharp toothpick which in some way 
 had dropped into the bed. 
 
 Peace was again restored and the tired missionary was 
 on the point dropping off to sleep when she heard a small 
 
 IN THE THRESHING PLACE. 
 
 voice calling her by name and inquiring if she was asleep. 
 On being assured that she was awake the visitor said : "Did 
 you hear me say last night that I thought missionaries ought 
 not to talk about sacrifices, hardships and discomforts? 
 Well, may the Lord forgive me. Goodnight !" 
 
 A few days or weeks of camp life will develope your 
 taste for it, and if there are any discomforts or hardships
 
 IN CAMP. 
 
 137 
 
 you learn to take them as part of your days work. To- 
 gether with your Christian workers you go out from your 
 temporary home every morning to preach the gospel in the 
 adjoining villages. The field is often one seldom visited 
 by the preachers and there are no Christians in the neigh- 
 borhood. 
 
 THRESHING RICE. 
 
 Early in the morning you go to the threshing places 
 just outside the village. There is where you will find the 
 people. Usually several threshing places lie close together, 
 and often you can get a score of men who will sit for hours 
 on the sunny side of a pile of straw and listen to the 
 message of salvation.
 
 138 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALIPTAN. 
 
 The people are strangers to your Christian workers as 
 well as to yourself and you must approach them carefully 
 and tactfully if your visit is to do any good. It is best for 
 you at first to keep in the background and like good 
 children be seen rather than heard. You leave it to your 
 preachers to establish proper relations. After a few com- 
 
 THRESHING RICE. 
 
 monplace remarks about the crops or the weather one of 
 the preachers will say: ''Den thamakur!" which means, 
 "Give us some tobacco." 
 
 You may happen to know that the man who begged for 
 tobacco has a good supply of that weed tied up in his cloth, 
 but that does not prevent him from begging. Tobacco is 
 used as a means of establishing polite and friendly rela-
 
 IN CAMP. 
 
 139 
 
 tions between the Santals. If a man is unwilling to share 
 his tobacco, there is very little use in trying to talk to him. 
 Usually a dry tobacco leaf is forthcomming. The preacher 
 takes it and gives it over to some young man in the gather- 
 ing and asks him to prepare it. Squatting on the ground 
 he will then proceed to rub the tobacco leaf to powder in 
 
 BRINGING HOME THE GRAIN. 
 
 the palm of his hand. He will then ask for "chun" or 
 slacked lime. From the waistband of someone a folded 
 leaf will be extracted and handed to the tobacco maker. 
 In this leaf there is powdered lime burnt from clam shells. 
 A little of the lime is sprinkled on the powdered tobacco 
 and mixed well with it. When all is ready the tobacco 
 maker will rise and if he is a devout worshipper of the
 
 140 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 "Bongas" he will scatter a little pinch on the ground as an 
 offering to them, and then he will go from one to the other 
 of the party putting a little pinch of the powder into the 
 right palm of each who wishes to partake. By a dexterous 
 movement of the hand the men will manage to transfer the 
 tobacco from the palm to their mouth without spilling a 
 single grain and without the hand touching the lips. 
 
 Fortunately etiquette does not demand that the mis- 
 sionary should partake of the preparation. It would be 
 rather hard on him if it did. 
 
 The tobacco has now broken the spell, coldness and re- 
 serve have melted away, tongues are loosened, ears and 
 sometimes hearts are opened for the message of peace. 
 You are permitted to sow the seed. Sometime, perhaps 
 after many days, there will be a harvest.
 
 AMONG THE BRETHREN. 
 
 The tent is pitched under some spreading matkom trees 
 just outside the village. The hot, steamy and sultry days, 
 which follow the rainy season, are over, and the air is de- 
 lightful. It is autumn in Santalistan, and the sound of the 
 sickle is heard in the rice-field. 
 
 There is a chair at the tent door, where you can sit and 
 watch and listen. The shadow's are growing long and the 
 day is preparing its departure. With heavy sheaves on 
 their heads, the women are returning from the rice fields. 
 In spite of their heavy burdens they laugh and talk. The 
 joy of the harvest is in their hearts. Another picture flash- 
 es across your mind : the last great harvest and the songs 
 of rejoicing of those, who are then able to bring in sheaves. 
 
 The shepherd boys are bringing the cattle, goats and 
 sheep home toward the village. Slowly they amble along 
 as if keeping time to the music of the bamboo flutes which 
 the boys are playing. The mellow flute-notes quiver in the 
 calm evening air. Long, trembling notes they are with an 
 undercurrent of longing and sadness and hopelessness. 
 Especially hopelessness, the sad hopelessness of one who
 
 142 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 has been oppressed and almost crushed, and only retaining 
 the half faded memories of that which was and can never 
 be again. 
 
 You listen and listen until you seem to enter into the 
 spirit of that music and you think you understand it. That 
 burden of sadness, which is borne to you on those trembling, 
 
 BRINGING IN THE SHEAVES. 
 
 minor flute-notes, is it not the essence of the life experience 
 of the Santal people? Their history is that of an oppressed 
 race, whose pride has never been entirely crushed. But 
 repeated flights from oppressors, leaving ruined homes be- 
 hind, to begin again life's struggle in other places must 
 have spread a pall of hopelessness over them like the black 
 smoke rising from their funeral pyres.
 
 AMONG THE BRETHREN. 143 
 
 As a people they have been homeless, drifting from 
 place to place, and they have been stunted like a tree often 
 transplanted. There was nothing, which bound them to the 
 soil they tilled and to the forests they hunted. Their dear 
 ones died and were carried out to the burning ghat. From 
 among the ashes of the funeral pyre a few charred bones 
 were collected, not to be stored in sacred urns in their 
 sanctuaries, but to be thrown into the Damukdia river. On 
 the banks of this, their sacred stream, they were left stand- 
 ing alone with their burden of sorrow; the river carried 
 away from their sight the last tangible vestige of connec- 
 tion between the living and the dead. The last sad duty to 
 the departed one was performed. They looked into the mists 
 of the broad river, but there was no joyful vision there, 
 no hand outstretched to take away the burden of sorrow. 
 
 This is the feeling they have tried to express in their 
 simple music. There may be thrills in those melodies 
 which aim at gayety, but it is only for a moment, always, 
 always the strains of sadness will return. 
 
 You can but think how different everything would have 
 been if there had been a memory to cherish, a grave to 
 keep green, or a sacred spot to defend. 
 
 You awake from your reverie to find that it is growing 
 dusk. The weird music has ceased and the last stragglers 
 of the herd have been brought in for the night. Rest and 
 peace take the place of the busy hustle of the day. But for 
 a lonely pigeon cooing from the copse the stillness is almost 
 oppressive. 
 
 Out of the dusk, white-clad figures begin to appear. It 
 is time for evening prayers. Slowly and in single file they 
 come and squat on the greensward in front of the tent, 
 men on one side and women on the other. It is a Christian 
 village and the assembly for evening prayers is a large one.
 
 144 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 Heartily they join in the singing of a hymn. The great 
 majority of them are illiterate, but they have learned most 
 of the hymns by heart, and with a strong voice to lead them 
 they find no difficulty in following the words of the hymns. 
 A portion of scripture is read and the old but ever new 
 story of Jesus and his love is told again. The eye of faith 
 is directed to look beyond these trancient and temporal 
 things to those, which are real, everlasting and unchange- 
 able, the love of God. 
 
 After prayers, ending with all repeating the Lord's pray- 
 er in unison, they say good-night. The women depart to 
 prepare the evening meal, but the men linger. They say 
 good-night but are in no hurry to depart. 
 
 Someone prepares tobacco, and with that for an excuse 
 the men again sit down and draw their thin cotton sheets 
 well up about their shoulders for the night air is cool. 
 Little by little conversation becomes general. At first it 
 is "small talk" about crops, cattle and the like, but finally 
 it drifts into serious channels. Trouble and ill feeling be- 
 tween brethern is brought to light and discussed. Opinions 
 for and against, are freely expressed. It is dark, no man's 
 face can be seen distinctly, and that very fact seems to give 
 them courage to express what is in their hearts. 
 
 Before long men are asking each other's forgiveness. 
 Old troubles are settled. It is nearly midnight when some- 
 one suggests that we again surround the mercy-seat to offer 
 thanks to Him, who is the author of love. 
 
 As you kneel that night beside your cot in your lonely 
 tent, you feel mean and humbled because you so often have 
 grumbled and complained as if the work was in vain and 
 the days wasted. Now that you have seen the work of His 
 spirit, you feel that you ought with all your heart to praise 
 Him for calling you to be His witness among these grown-
 
 AMONG THE BRETHREN. 
 
 145 
 
 up children. As you confess your sins and try to claim 
 His promises, and look up into His face, so full of love and 
 tenderness, you can but say : "Had I a thousand lives to 
 live, I should place them all on Thy altar to be dedicated 
 to Thy service among these people." 
 
 THE HOUSE-BUILDERS,
 
 IN DULU'S COURT-YARD. 
 
 Dulu was for a long time the only Christian in the vil- 
 lage and has been the object of considerable persecution. 
 Not that anyone did him bodily harm, for there are other 
 ways of persecution. His heathen neighbors slighted him 
 in every possible way, they could think of, and heaped all 
 sorts of ridicule on him whenever they had an opportunity. 
 But Dulu was not discouraged, neither did he become sour 
 or bitter. He just smiled through it all. His life was a 
 daily testimony for Christ among his benighted neighbors. 
 And his testimony was not in vain, the tide turned and now 
 about half of the villagers are Christians. 
 
 One day it was before the tide had turned we were 
 having a meeting in a threshing place near Dulu's house, 
 and after having tried to make the way of salvation as 
 clear as possible, we called on those present to express 
 their opinion. A young Santal stretched himself, yawned 
 and said: "What do you gain by becoming a Christian? 
 I can't see that it is any easier for you people to support 
 yourselves that it is for us. We have to work for our liv- 
 ing whether we are Christians or heathen." 
 
 146
 
 IN DULU'S COURT YARD. 147 
 
 To this question Dulu in his quiet way replied : "You 
 all know that I came to this village together with my fa- 
 ther when I was a boy ten or twelve years of age. My 
 mother and sister had died in the famine and father and I 
 came here in quest of work. A short time afterwards we 
 became Christians. \Ye were then as poor as we could be. 
 All my earthly possessions was a stick. And today, though 
 I am far from rich, yet my children need not go hungry 
 and naked. Had I remained a heathen I should have been 
 worse off than any of you. I do not work harder than 
 the rest of you, neither do my fields yield more than yours. 
 How is it that I have food and many of you have none? 
 My friend, it is God's blessing and nothing else." 
 
 There was nothing to reply. Everyone knew that what 
 Dulu said was true, and the man with the materialistic ob- 
 jection could only hang his head. 
 
 Dulu can not give long discourses on Christianity, nor 
 preach, nor exhort, but he tries to live Christ, and after all 
 that is what counts. That so many of his fellow villagers 
 have turned to Christ is more due to the testimony of 
 Dulu's life than to the preaching of the Christian workers. 
 
 One morning four preachers happened to meet in the 
 village and after visiting the Christians we agreed to go to 
 Dulu's house for a little rest and a drink of water. Dulu 
 has four houses built in such a way that there is an open 
 square or courtyard in the center. The house nearest to 
 the street is the cowhouse. One end of this has been par- 
 titioned to the courtyard. The heavy door studded with 
 iron and brass nails gave evidence of prosperity. Not 
 many people in the village could afford such a door. As 
 we entered, Dulu's wife at once brought out a couple of 
 string beds for the preachers to sit on, and a small stool for 
 the Saheb. Then she went and got a few brass vessels, filled
 
 148 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 them with water and put one on the ground before each 
 of us, whereupon she made obeisance before each one in 
 turn. Each one of the preachers received the kind of greet- 
 ing his relationship to her entitled him to. 
 
 In the meantime Dulu appeared. He had been repair- 
 ing a wall but climbed down, washed his hands and feet 
 and came forward to greet us. After tobacco had been 
 made and distributed, and the usual talk about health and 
 crops got over with, Dulu remarked : "The Lord has been 
 very good to us. We had a wonderful experience last 
 night." He then told us the following story. 
 
 Dulu and his family had retired as usual the evening 
 before. The children slept on a mat on the floor of the 
 same room as their father and mother. In the corner of 
 the room a number of chickens also spent the night huddled 
 together. Chickens have free run of the bedrooms of the 
 Santals and they never sit on a perch but huddle in a cor- 
 ner and early in the morning they rouse the family. The 
 only alarm clock the Santal has is a cock. 
 
 During the night Dulu was awakened by the cackling 
 of the chickens. He lit his lamp to see what was the matter 
 an found two hens flopping around on the floor dying. The 
 rest of the chickens were running about hiding here and 
 there. At once he understood that a cobra had paid him 
 a visit. 
 
 Dulu got his stick and began to search for the snake. 
 All through the room he searched but could not find it. 
 He roused his wife and children and they all joined in 
 the search, but all in vain. They were all very much fright- 
 ened. How could they lie down and go to sleep again 
 knowing that the cobra might be hiding in the room? Dulu 
 then set the lamp on the floor and asked his wife and child-
 
 IN DULU'S COURT- YARD. 
 
 149 
 
 ren to kneel with him and pray that the Lord might show 
 them where the snake was hidden. 
 
 \Yhen the prayer was ended Dulu looked up and there 
 on the threshhold he saw the head of the cobra. It was re- 
 turning- to the room. A moment more and Dulu's stick de- 
 
 IN THE SHADE OF THE MATKOM TREE. 
 
 cended on its head and the danger was over. Again the 
 family knelt on the floor, this time in thanksgiving for the 
 wonderful deliverance. 
 
 ''The Lord saw how frightened we were," said Dulu, 
 "and He just sent that cobra back so I could kill it and we 
 could all lie down again and rest safely until morning."
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Life everywhere has its ups and downs, its joys and 
 sorrows, its days of sunshine and its days of darkness and 
 gloom. The life of a missionary is no exception to this 
 rule. There are days of disappointments, dark and gloomy 
 days when dreams of victory vanish and it seems as if the 
 enemy is gaining ground all along the fighting line. 
 
 At the time referred to in this sketch we had just passed 
 through such an experience. Christians had fallen and 
 would not let themselves be raised up again. Inquirers had 
 come forward, but none of them seemed to get courage to 
 take the step and confess their faith in Christ. Among 
 our inquirers at this time, and of whom we entertained 
 hope, was a Hindu belonging to one of the lower castes. 
 He had shown great interest in the truth taught him, and 
 had repeatedly expressed a desire to become a Christian. 
 But when he was asked to take his stand for Christ and 
 confess Him openly, he withdrew and for a couple of 
 months we could not get near him. Our opportunity to talk 
 to him was cut off, but not the opportunity to pray for him. 
 
 150
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 151 
 
 Daily this Hindu and his family were carried to the throne 
 of grace by the little band of workers. 
 
 Suddenly one early morning in a pouring rain Puchu, 
 for that was his name, came to the mission, sought out one 
 of the workers and asked to be taken to the missionary. 
 Something had happened to him, he said 
 
 AN OLD CHRISTIAN. 
 
 He began to explain that the reason why he had come 
 now was that he wished to become a Christian and wanted 
 to be baptized right away. On inquiring what had brought 
 about this sudden change in him who only a short time be- 
 fore had declared that he would not break with his caste 
 and become a follower of Christ, he told the following story. 
 
 After being convinced in his heart that Christianity was
 
 152 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 right, his earnest desire was to become a Christian. He 
 spoke of this to some of his friends, but they frightened him 
 and told him that if he became a Christian he would be 
 outcasted, no one would help him when sick or in want, 
 and when he died, no one would take his body out to the 
 burning ghat, but it would be left to rot in the house. They 
 also threatened him with bodily violence if he broke caste. 
 . For these reasons he gave up the idea of becoming a Christ- 
 ian and kept out of the way of the preachers. When they 
 came to his village he would hide somewhere rather than 
 meet them. 
 
 The previous evening he had retired as usual and fell 
 asleep. About midnight he awoke with the strange sensa- 
 tion that someone was in the room. He looked up, and 
 there beside his bed stood a tall figure. At first it was 
 indistinct and then gradually it became clearer until every 
 detail of its form and face stood out very clearly. From 
 the left arm of this strange visitor hung a long white robe, 
 and although nothing was said Puchu understood that the 
 robe was intended for him. A long time the visitor stood 
 beside the bed. At last Puchu asked him : "Are you not 
 going to give me that robe ?" To this the visitor made no 
 reply, but as Puchu looked up into his face he saw that he 
 ,was weeping. A moment more and the strange visitor 
 was gone. 
 
 Puchu could not sleep any more, but lay thinking about 
 what this strange vision meant. And the more he thought, 
 the clearer it seemed to him, that the white robe was the 
 salvation, which he had refused to accept for fear of his 
 caste fellows. God wished to give it to him, but he had 
 refused it, and the messenger had wept because he had to 
 take the robe away again. The thought also occurred to
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 153 
 
 him that it was now too late to seek salvation, and that he 
 was to die soon. What should he do? 
 
 At daybreak he got up, picked up his stick and his um- 
 brella, and without saying a word to his wife came to the 
 mission and wanted to be baptized at once. 
 
 We told him that both he and his family ought to be 
 further instructed, and when prepared they would all re- 
 ceive baptism at the same time. But he would not be re- 
 fused. He wanted to be baptized today, right away. He 
 was convinced, that if he did not get baptized that very day 
 he would die. 
 
 We saw that the man was deeply stirred and that it 
 would perhaps not be well to postpone his baptism ; so we 
 sent him to bring his family. One of the Christian work- 
 ers accompanied him. They returned with four of the 
 children, his wife and eldest daughter were not as yet ready 
 to follow him. Together with his children Puchu received 
 baptism the same day. It was a day of rejoicing for us all, 
 but especially for Puchu. His wife and daughter were 
 instructed, and a month later we were able to welcome them 
 also to the church. Years have passed since then, but we 
 have never yet had reason to regret that we received Puchu 
 as a candidate for baptism with but little previous instruc- 
 tion. 
 
 A short time after Puchu's conversion another soul was 
 brought from out of the darkness in a similar way. She 
 was an old blind woman over sixty years of age. Her 
 daughter was the wife of one of our Christian workers and 
 a warm-hearted woman. One day she came to the mission 
 with a very sad and heavy heart. She had just returned 
 from a visit to her old mother. After having told about 
 her visit she burst into tears and said : "Every day for 
 fifteen years I have been praying for my mother's conver-
 
 154 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 sion, but she seems farther away from God today than 
 ever before. Today she scolded me and told me never to 
 speak to her again about her soul. It seems as if the Lord 
 will not hear my prayers, what shall I do?" 
 
 Looking at it from a human standpoint the hope for the 
 old woman's conversion was not very bright. She was an 
 exceptionally hard old heathen, well versed in all "Bonga" 
 matters, and experience has taught us that such people 
 seldom change, especially at her time of life. But we are 
 not supposed to look at such cases from our standpoint, 
 but from His, who is able to bring even those in the dark- 
 ness of death back to life and light. God's promises were 
 held up before the brokenhearted woman and she went away 
 to keep on praying and trusting in God, that He would find 
 some way of touching her old mother's hard heart. 
 
 Two weeks after this event the old blind woman sud- 
 denly appeared at the door of her daughter's house. This 
 had never happened before. Imagine the daughter's sur- 
 prise at seeing her old mother at the door ! A little girl 
 from the village had led her to the house. On arriving she 
 dropped the little girl's hand and told her that she might 
 return. The daughter wondered what this meant, but asked 
 no questions, and set about making her mother comfortable. 
 
 At last the mother said : "Daughter, I have come to 
 you to stay with you and to be wdiat you are." 
 
 The previous night the old woman had dreamt that she 
 was dying and that she passed on to the next world in 
 company with her three children, two sons and the daughter 
 referred to, who were all Christians. They walked up a
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 155 
 
 lane lined with beautiful palms and flowering trees. At 
 last they arrived at a broad gate, through which she got 
 glimpses of a beautiful garden and people walking about. 
 Her children were all in front of her as they entered. Then 
 suddenly, a tall dark man with a long bamboo stick in his 
 hand steped in front of her and stopped her. She asked 
 him, "Why do you stop me?" "You do not belong here," 
 he replied. "But my children, why do you part me from 
 them, I will go where they go," she said, but the man told 
 her that her children belonged there and that she must go 
 away. Her children went on and joined the people within 
 the gates and were lost to her sight, and she was turned 
 back. 
 
 The dream was so vivid and real to her, that as she 
 awoke, she sat up in bed and cried at the thought of being 
 parted forever from her children. Her hard heart was 
 melted, and she resolved then and there to break away from 
 her heathen friends and the "Conga" worship and become 
 a Christian. 
 
 Together with a class of about twenty souls she was 
 baptized on a Sunday morning. She not only answered 
 the usual questions put to the candidates, but she interrupt- 
 ed the solemn proceedings by making quite a long speech 
 to the congregation, setting forth the reasons for the step 
 she was about to take and deploring the fact that she had 
 waited so long before she accepted the invitation to come to 
 her Saviour. 
 
 For half a year she lived with her daughter, and she 
 used her time well. If she was unable to get someone to
 
 156 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 take her about to her old friends and relatives in the vil- 
 lages, she would send for them and entreat them earnestly 
 to leave thir "Bongas" and come to Christ. When at last 
 she was taken sick with dysentery, she told everyone that 
 she was going to leave them. She knew she was going 
 home. She died peacefully rejoicing in her Saviour. When 
 no longer able to speak, she lifted her hand and pointed 
 upwards. 
 
 From out of the darkness the Lord had led her into his 
 own marvelous light. 
 
 BRINGING FIBRE GRASS TO MARKET.
 
 GLIMPSES BEYOND THE VEIL. 
 
 Pandu was one of our Christian workers. He was not 
 conspicuous for his brilliancy either as a preacher or as a 
 catechist, but in his humble, quiet way, he bore witness for 
 his master of the hope that was in him. Perhaps he was 
 best known as the husband of Solma, the leading bible 
 woman in this part of the mission field. 
 
 One clay in the beginning of the rainy season, Pandu 
 very suddenly passed away. His case looked like cholera, 
 but there was no struggle, the end came quietly, and his 
 last hours were full of joy and peace. 
 
 His wife told us that during the last month before he 
 died he would often drop hints to the effect that his end 
 was near. During the week before he died he spent his 
 spare moments in making a new bed. One evening 
 while watching him at his work, his wife made the remark 
 that she thought that this bed would not be as pretty as 
 some of the others he had made, for Pandu was rather 
 clever with his hands and could make nice things. On hear- 
 ing this remark he stopped working , turned to his wife and 
 said in a quiet way: ''I havn't the time to make this one 
 
 157
 
 158 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 pretty, as I shall need it very soon, for on this bed I shall 
 sleep my last sleep." 
 
 His words came true ; four days later he was carried 
 to his last resting place on that very bed. 
 
 Bhima was a pupil in our boy's boarding school ; he was 
 about fifteen years of age when he died. He was the son 
 of one of our preachers and brought up in a Christian 
 home. From early childhood he had been taught how to 
 pray and what it means to live a Christian life. At the age 
 of eight he came to the boarding school. Although he did 
 not distinguish himself as a scholar, yet with his true Chris- 
 tian character he won the love and esteem of both teachers 
 and fellow-pupils. It is told of him, that when asked by an 
 older boy to get some peppers from the garden of one of 
 the teachers, who happened to be away from home that 
 day, that young Bhima looked at the tempter and replied, 
 "Do you think I will sell my soul to Satan for a pepper?" 
 
 About a month before Bhima died he called his special 
 friend or chum aside and told him, that he soon would 
 have to leave this world. "It will come about in this way," 
 he said, "first I will get a headache and then two days af- 
 terwards I shall die. But I want you to promise me that as 
 long as I am alive, you do not tell anyone what I have told 
 you now. If my mother should find out that I am to die, 
 she would feel very bad, so don't tell anyone." 
 
 Bhimas words came true. He took to bed one day with 
 a severe headache. His chum was at his bedside and wept, 
 for he knew what this sickness meant. "O Bhima, why 
 are you going to leave me-" cried his chum. Bhima re- 
 plied : "I am going on before you a little while. In three 
 months you will join me and we shall be together forever." 
 
 Two days afterwards Bhima passed away trusting in 
 his Saviour.
 
 GLIMPSES BEYOND THE VEIL. 
 
 159 
 
 When Bhima's chum saw, that everything his friend had 
 said about himself, came true, he became frightened and 
 ran away from school. But like Noah's dove finding no 
 place to rest, lie returned, sought out Bhima's mother and 
 told her everything. He was taken back into school again 
 and three months later, precisely as Bhima had foretold, 
 
 WOOD SELLER. 
 
 is no 
 
 he passed away to be with his friend, where there 
 more parting. 
 
 Among a class of catechumens that were baptized in 
 the Sohor district there was a nine year old boy by the 
 name of Ram. For some time he had been suffering from 
 fever and enlargement of the spleen and was quite emacia-
 
 160 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 ted. He was therefore not able to go to the pond to be 
 baptized publicly like the rest of the class, but received the 
 holy rite in his room, lying on his bed. 
 
 One day about a month after his baptism Ram was 
 walking about feeling much better. His mother said, 
 "You will soon be quite well again." To this He replied, 
 "Yes, mother, I shall be better soon for I am going away 
 tonight." His mother, thinking he intended to go to some 
 of his friends, remarked, that she thought he had better 
 wait a few days until he got stronger. 
 
 Across the street from Ram's home, Lutu, the Chrisian 
 worker, who had been his instructor, lived. In Lutu's 
 house all the Christians in the village used to gather for 
 evening prayers. Quite early in the afternoon the boy be- 
 gan to ask for Lutu, saying, that he wanted him to gather 
 the people for evening prayers. His mother told him that 
 Lutu was out in the villages preaching, and would not re- 
 turn before dusk, and besides it was not yet time for eve- 
 ning prayers. But the boy would not be quieted, he wanted 
 to have evening prayers right away. He went to the hous- 
 es of all the Christians in the village and asked as many as 
 he could find to come with him to evening prayers, as he 
 called it. Nearly all the people were at their work in the 
 fields, only children were at home, but these he gathered 
 in the usual place and had prayers with them. 
 
 After prayers in which he had committed both himself 
 and his playmates into the loving care of his Saviour, he 
 told them plainly that he was to leave them. Several of the 
 children went home weeping. 
 
 Lutu returned from his work a little earlier than usual. 
 The children told him what had happened, and he went to 
 the sick boy and found him lying on his bed, but very
 
 GLIMPSES BEYOND THE VEIL. 161 
 
 cheerful and contented. Lutu said : "What is it I hear 
 about you? You are surely not going to leave us." 
 ''Yes, uncle, tonight I am going," was Ram's reply. 
 "Why should you leave us now" said Lutu, "you have 
 been getting much better of late and the Lord will surely 
 make you quite well again and you will live to serve Him 
 for many years." 
 
 But the boy repeated that he was going, and that he 
 was only waiting for the messengers to come for him. 
 
 Lutu then sat down on the bed beside the boy and talk- 
 ed to him about Jesus and his heavenly home, and when 
 the time came for the people to gather for evening pray- 
 ers Ram folded his little hands, closed his eyes, and a little 
 sigh told that the messengers had arrived, and the little 
 spirit was free. Ram had been a Christian only a month. 
 
 In the village of Kaerabani there lived, some years ago, 
 an old woman by the name of Lukhi. She was a quiet, un- 
 obstructive old soul, very fond of her grand-children and 
 always to be found with one or two of them by her side 
 in church on a Sunday. 
 
 Pier oldest grand-daughter was about to be married. 
 The banns had been published and the wedding day fixed. 
 No one looked forward to the event with greater pleasure 
 than the grandmother. But two weeks before the wed- 
 ding was to take place she was suddenly taken ill with 
 dysentery. In two days she became so weak, that she could 
 hardly move in bed and all hope for her recovery was gi- 
 ven up. The bride-to-be sat by her bed and wept saying: 
 "O grandmother, why are you going to leave us, at least 
 wait untill after my wedding, but don't leave us now." 
 "It will be as He wills," was the whispered reply. 
 Late in the evening she became unconscious, her feet 
 and hands were quite cold and everyone thought she was
 
 162 SKETCHES FROM SAXTALISTAN. 
 
 dying. In this state she remained the most of the night. 
 The family and other friends watched by her bedside. At 
 dawn she opened her eyes, looked about her in a bewildered 
 way and asked : "Where am I ?" On seeing her grand- 
 daughter she said: "O, there you are. I am not going just 
 yet. I will be \vith you and partake in your wedding feast." 
 
 She then told those about her what had happened to 
 her. She had, as she expressed it, been to the other world 
 and there she walked up a beautiful street, entirely differ- 
 ent from anything she had ever seen. There were a lot 
 of people about and they all looked so happy. From out of 
 a group of children little Lukhi, one of her grand-children 
 who had died the year before, came out and greeted her. 
 But just then a tall man came up to her and in a pleasant 
 voice told her that she would have to go back for a while 
 yet. "In a month from now," he said, "you may return." 
 
 She then asked for some food and after a little while 
 got up, dressed and took her broom and started to sweep 
 the courtyard, as was her habit every morning. 
 
 She was quite well again and able to partake in the 
 wedding festivities, and as she had foretold one month af- 
 terwards she passed away very quietly never to return.
 
 REMARKABLE ANSWERS TO PRAYER. 
 
 The Santal Christians believe that God hears their 
 prayers. They believe that if God has promised a thing, 
 it must be so. He can not lie. When they see that Christ 
 has promised : "Ask, and it shall be given yon," - they 
 believe that He who gave the promise is both willing and 
 able to fulfill it. With childlike faith they lay hold of the 
 promises and they are not disappointed. 
 
 At a meeting of the Christian workers the other day 
 we were discussing prayer, and one of the men told us the 
 following incident : 
 
 "Last week my youngest daughter, a child about five 
 years old, was taken very ill. Little lumps, about the size 
 of a bean, were raised all over her body and she suffered 
 awfully. Although I have treated people for sickness and 
 given medicine for years, I have never seen such a case, 
 and several of the brethern, whom I called, also told me 
 that they had never seen a case like this one. 
 
 We tried every remedy we could think of, but the child 
 only grew worse. For three days and nights her mother 
 and I watched by her bedside and prayed that our dear 
 
 163
 
 164 SKETCHES FROM SANTAL1STAN. 
 
 one might not be taken from us. On the fourth night we 
 saw that she was growing very weak and we feared that 
 the end was near. It was after midnight when I went 
 outside and again cried to God to spare my child. After 
 I had prayed a calm came over me. I did not worry any 
 longer. God's will would he done. I entered the sick- 
 chamber again, sat down on the mat beside the child's bed, 
 leaned my head on the edge of the bed and in this position 
 I fell asleep. 
 
 In a dream an old man came to me and asked me if I 
 had faith in God. Three times he asked me this question, 
 and each time I replied that I had. He then told me to 
 put dust on the body of the sick child in the name of Jesus 
 Christ and the child would live. When I awoke the day 
 was just beginning to break. I took the moaning child in 
 my arms, carried her out, put her on the ground and rub- 
 bed dust all over her body, the way the old man had told 
 me. Then I put her on the bed again and she fell asleep 
 quietly and slept for about two hours, when she awoke and 
 told us that she was hungry. The child was perfectly well. 
 The little lumps on her body were all gone. God had heard 
 my prayer and in this wonderful way healed my child." 
 
 Another incident happened in our Girls' Boarding 
 School a few days ago. One of the rules of the school had 
 been broken. No one confessed, but suspicion fastened 
 itself on little Muni, a nine year old girl, because she had 
 committed that very same offence once before, and was 
 then let off with a warning. The matron thought that 
 this time she would have to take her punishment and pro- 
 ceeded to give her a little spanking. 
 
 Muni knew she was innocent and that she had been 
 punished for the offence of another girl, and she felt the 
 indignity very keenly. But the school bell rang and she
 
 REMARKABLE ANSWERS TO PRAYER. 
 
 165 
 
 wiped her tears and went to her class. At noon she re- 
 fused to eat her dinner, but went to her sleeping-room, 
 spread her mat, knelt down, and with tears told her Heav- 
 enly Father all about her troubles. One of the nurses sit- 
 ting close by heard everything she said. She asked her 
 
 SANTAL FLUTE PLAYERS. 
 
 Savior to show her in a dream who it was that should have 
 had the punishment. 
 
 Muni now lay down on her mat and fell asleep. When 
 she awoke, about an hour later, she went to the matron and 
 said: "Now I know who committed the offence for which 
 I was punished. It was Man j ban."
 
 166 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAX. 
 
 "How do you know it was Manjhan?" the matron 
 asked. 
 
 Muni then told her that she had asked Jesus to show 
 her in a dream who the offender was, and that she had 
 seen Manjhan. The nurse, who heard her pray, told the 
 matron what she said in her prayer. Manjhan was then 
 called and confessed that she was the guilty one. She 
 asked Muni's forgiveness for the pain and disgrace she had 
 caused her. 
 
 But I must tell you about Dumni, and how the Lord 
 heard her prayer. Dumni had been given to us when she 
 was a little girl six or seven years old. Her widowed 
 mother was a heathen and very poor. There was famine 
 in the district and many people suffered. Dumni's mother 
 had one single hen which laid one egg a day. This egg 
 little Dumni would bring to the mission every day and sell 
 it, and for the money her mother would buy a little rice, 
 from which she made soup for herself and her children. 
 She had several sons, but Dumni was her only daughter. 
 When the widow saw that she could not support all her 
 children any longer, she brought Dumni to the mission and 
 asked the missionary's wife to take her and keep her as 
 her own child. The gift was accepted and shortly after- 
 wards Dumni was sent to the Girls' Boarding School. 
 
 A few weeks ago she was confirmed together with a 
 class of thirteen girls. On Monday previous to the confir- 
 mation Sunday one of the older girls in the school missed 
 some money from her box, and accused Dumni of having 
 taken it. But she pleaded her innocence and said she knew 
 nothing about the money. The case was looked into, and, 
 although there was no direct evidence that Dumni had ta- 
 ken the money, yet they were not able to clear her from 
 the suspicion. She knew, that unless the case was cleared
 
 REMARKABLE ANSWERS TO PRAYER. 167 
 
 up and her innocence established, she could not be con- 
 firmed together with her class. 
 
 In her distress Dumni fasted and prayed. She also 
 asked the other members of her class to help her in prayer. 
 Every day the class met for Bible study and prayed. Sa- 
 turday the last meeting was held, and up to then nothing 
 had happened ; the case was not cleared up. 
 
 The meeting was over. Final instruction for the mor- 
 row was given. At last Dumni was called and asked to 
 confess, if she were guilty, and admonished not to forfeit 
 her peace and joy for the sake of a few cents. But she 
 answered that she could not confess that in which she was 
 not guilty. With tears streaming down her face she said : 
 
 Every day I have prayed that God would clear up this 
 matter, so that my innocence might be established, but un- 
 til now He has not heard me. No one else can help me." 
 
 She cried as if her heart was breaking and her class- 
 mates were also crying. Just then the matron from the 
 school arrived and announced that the case was cleared up, 
 the money had been found, and that Dumni was innocent. 
 
 There was a moments pause, then Dumni said : Let us 
 thank God." And she poured out her heart in thanksgiv- 
 ing and praise to God for her wonderful deliverance. She 
 also prayed for the girl that had accused her falsely.
 
 SAM, THE MEDICINE-MAN. 
 
 The subject of this sketch was born in a village cabed 
 Ketosori in the Santal country. While yet a boy, Sam 
 often had visions and wonderful dreams. When he was 
 about nine years of age, an old man came to him in a dream 
 and told him not to eat anything that had been prepared 
 as an offering to any of the bongas; neither should he eat 
 anything unclean, such as the flesh of animals that had 
 died from disease. 
 
 For four years he kept this commandment. Then it 
 happened that one of his neighbors was taken sick. An 
 Ojha was called in, and after he had given the customary 
 offerings to the gods, and medicines to the man, he recov- 
 ered. After his recovery, a thanks-offering, consisting of 
 cakes made from chicken and pastry, was given. These 
 cakes were given to the relatives and neighbors of the man 
 who was healed. 
 
 On this occasion, Sam was asked to take some of the 
 cakes out to three or four boys who were herding cattle 
 outside the village. On his way out, it occurred to him 
 that he might taste one of the cakes. He was alone, so no 
 
 168
 
 PAM, THE MEDICINE-MAN. 
 
 169 
 
 one would be the wiser if he took one single cake. The 
 temptation was too strong for him, and he fell. When he 
 
 SAM, THE MEDICINE-MAN. 
 
 had eaten the cake, he noticed that a large mango-tree by 
 the way-side began to shake as if moved by a strong wind.
 
 170 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 But it was a. calm day. The boy stopped, and looked at the 
 tree and wondered what this could mean, when suddenly 
 a large branch was broken off and fell with a crash to the 
 ground. Then he remembered his dream and that he had 
 broken the commandment that the old man had given him. 
 He became so frightened that he got fever and was sick for 
 a couple of weeks. 
 
 During his illness, an old Ojha from the neighborhood 
 attended him. When Sam told him about the tree, he ex- 
 plained to him that a bonga was after him and w r as trying 
 to harm him. This fear caught the whole family and 
 they decided to move away from the village. Consequent- 
 ly they gathered their possessions and moved eastward to 
 the Sohor country and settled in a village about six miles 
 west of the Ganges. 
 
 In this neighborhood there was an old medicine- ninn, 
 who had a large number of "chelas" or disciples. Sam went 
 to this man and soon became one of his most promising 
 boys. When he had learned all the old Ojha had to teach 
 him, he graduated at the Dasae festival. Together with 
 their teacher, the class went from village to village. They 
 sang and danced for the people and in turns went into 
 trances, or were possessed by some bonga. After each 
 performance of this kind, they begged corn from the 
 people. Each boy gave his teacher a rupee and a goat, as 
 pay for the pains he had taken in teaching him. 
 
 Sam also visited all the greatest medicine-men in the 
 district and learned all he could from them, so that although 
 he was but a young man he soon became a famous Ojha, 
 not only among his own people, but also among the Hindus 
 and Mohammedans. From near and far people sought him 
 when they were sick or troubled by their bongas. They did 
 not come empty-handed, but brought with them offerings
 
 SAM, THE MEDICINE MAN. 
 
 171 
 
 of money, goats, pigs, fowls, and above all, plenty of rice- 
 beer, so that Sam could indulge in the luxury of going to 
 bed drunk almost every evening. 
 
 Several years passed by. Sam was married and had a 
 family. One day two of his children were taken sick with 
 dysentery. He gave them medicine and offered sacrifices 
 
 A CLASS OF YOUNG MEDICINE-MEN 
 AT THE DASAE DANCE. 
 
 to the gods for their recovery, but they grew worse. After 
 he had tried all the remedies at his disposal, and offered 
 the largest sacrifices he thought the gods could demand 
 without it having the desired effect, he went to a Hindu 
 mendicant, or holy man, and asked him to make sacrifices 
 to his gods for the children. He arrived at the shrine of
 
 172 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 the holy man early in the morning and the first thing he 
 was asked after having stated his case was if he had eaten 
 anything that morning. He answered in the negative and 
 the holy man said : 
 
 "Very well, go to the Ganges and fetch a bottle of 
 water. Buy some nuts, some butter, milkcurds, and ver- 
 milion in the bazaar and when you return we shall make 
 an offering to the gods for your children. But take care 
 that you taste neither food nor water before you return." 
 
 Sam was accompanied by one of his brothers. They 
 went to the Ganges, a distance of four miles, and procured 
 the things required by the holy man. It was in the month 
 of May and the weather was very hot. They were both 
 faint from thirst and hunger, when they returned. The 
 holy man offered to his gods and assured Sam that his 
 children would be saved. With hope in their hearts, they 
 returned to their home, where they arrived late in the after- 
 noon, but to their great disappointment found the children 
 worse than they were in the morning. That night one of 
 them died. The next night the other one passed away. 
 
 Then Sarn said, ''Xow I am through with the bongas. 
 I have offered the greatest sacrifices for my children and 
 yet they did not make them well. They have evidently no 
 power to heal. I shall never offer to them any more, no 
 matter what happens to me, and I shall have nothing to do 
 with them." 
 
 When Sam broke up his altar, people thought he was 
 crazy and warned him not to do it, for if he did, the bon- 
 gas would surely kill him. 
 
 Several weeks passed by, and nothing happened to Sam. 
 People came to him as before to be helped. He gave them 
 medicine which he prepared from roots and herbs, but per- 
 formed no sacrifices for them. He was convinced that the
 
 SAM, THE MEDICINE-MAN. 173 
 
 bongas were false but that somewhere there must be a true 
 God and he hoped to know him. 
 
 One evening in the rainy season, a young Santal came 
 to his house, and asked if he could get lodging there over 
 night. He was welcomed and shown genuine Santal hos- 
 pitality. The young man was one of the village school 
 teachers of our mission and had come to Sohor in connec- 
 tion with a law-suit. He was certainly led by the Lord to 
 Sam's house. After the evening meal, Sam gave him a 
 mat and showed him where he could spend the night. The 
 young teacher spread his mat, sat down on it, got a book 
 from his bundle and began to sing. The song was about 
 the love of God and his care for those who trust in him. 
 Sam's heart was touched. He had never heard the gospel 
 of salvation before. All he knew about Christianity was 
 that it was the religion of the white people and that some 
 Santals had disgraced themselves by adopting it and were 
 consequently outcasted. When the song was ended, Sam 
 asked the young man to sing it again. This he did and 
 then explained the song verse by verse. Neither Sam 
 nor his guest went to bed that night. The young teacher 
 told the old, old story of Jesus and his love over and over 
 again. 
 
 For a whole month this young teacher stayed with Sam 
 and instructed him and his family in the word of God. Then 
 he came to the mission and asked us to send a catechist 
 over to prepare them for baptism. 
 
 The Sohor country is outside of our missionfield, but 
 the society working in that district had done no work 
 among the Santals and were willing that we should baptize 
 them. Consequently after they had been instructed, a 
 pastor was sent over to baptize them. 
 
 After Sam and his family had become Christians, their
 
 174 SKETCHES FROM SANTAL1STAN. 
 
 heathen neighbors would have nothing to do with them. 
 They refused to give them fire, or to lend them anything, 
 or help them when they were in need. Sam had very little 
 land and was not used to hard work and it was not long 
 before he and his family began to suffer want. 
 
 One evening he found his wife weeping. She told him 
 that there was no food in the house and that everybody she 
 had asked refused to lend her anything. Perhaps after all 
 they had been foolish in becoming Christians. The out- 
 look was very gloomy, but Sam took his troubles to the 
 Throne of Grace and asked for help. 
 
 That night he had a dream or, perhaps, it was more 
 like a vision. He saw a European standing on a high 
 embankment directing a great number of people who were 
 busy carrying earth on to the embankment beside a great 
 river. Sam was made to understand that he should go to 
 the white man and ask for \vork. 
 
 When the vision had passed away he understood that 
 he should go to the Ganges where they were building a 
 new rail-road just then. In the morning he told his wife 
 that he was going away to get work. She said, ''How can 
 I let you go without getting any breakfast. Wait a bit and 
 I will ask your sister again to lend us a bowl full of rice." 
 
 In a little while she returned with a little rice. This 
 she cooked and gave him, and he was soon on Irs \vay to 
 the Ganges. 
 
 Arriving at the river, he saw a great number of people 
 at work building up an earthwork for a railway. Long 
 lines of coolies carried earth in baskets on their heads and 
 dumped it on the embankments. Among the coolies, direct- 
 ing their work, he saw a European and at once recognized 
 him as the man he had seen in the vision, lie went up to 
 him, greeted him respectfully and asked him for work.
 
 SAM, THE MEDICINE-MAN. 
 
 175 
 
 The European asked him if he could read and \vrite. 
 To this he answered in the affirmative and was told that 
 he would get work at once directing a squad of twenty 
 coolies. Besides his salary he would get a certain percent- 
 age of every square yard of earth his squad excavated. Sam 
 was happy and with his heart full of praise to God he com- 
 
 SAM'S HOUSE AND CLASS OF CATECHUMENS. 
 
 menced his work. He sent for his family and lived in the 
 camp for several months. Soon his squad was increased. 
 At times he had as many as one hundred coolies working 
 under him. 
 
 When the work on the railroad was finished, he re- 
 turned to his village, paid all his debts and had enough left 
 to live on for the rest of the vear.
 
 176 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 All this time he had been reading his testament and his 
 knowledge of Christian truth increased. The trials he had 
 gone through had deepened his spiritual life, lie now be- 
 gan to speak to his friends and relatives in the neighbor- 
 hood, inviting them to come to the Savior. At first they 
 ridiculed him and asked him to mind his own business and 
 leave them alone. Every day Sam cried to God for help 
 that His kingdom might come to the Sohor country where 
 so many of his people sat in darkness. 
 
 Across the street from Sam's house, his oldest sister 
 and her family lived. This sister was a very strong op- 
 ponent of Christianity and used every opportunity to 
 thwart him in his efforts to win souls for Christ. But Sam 
 prayed and waited for his opportunity and it came. 
 
 One of the sons of this sister, a lad of twelve years, 
 was working for a Hindu in the next village. An unknown 
 disease broke out in that village and several people died. 
 One night two Hindus brought the Santal boy home to his 
 mother's house on a stretcher. He was very ill. His 
 throat was choking and he was unable to talk. The 
 whole family was greatly alarmed and feared that the boy 
 would die. In her agony, the mother ran across the street 
 to her brother Sam's house, roused him and asked him to 
 come over and, if possible, to do something to save her boy. 
 Sam replied that of himself he could do nothing. It was 
 not in his power to save the boy's life, but if she would 
 give her heart to God and pray for her son, perhaps it 
 might please God to show her mercy and heal her boy. She 
 replied, "Yes, brother, I will believe in the God you be- 
 lieve in, but come quickly, and pray for my boy. 
 
 Sam soon knelt by the cot of the sick boy, placed his 
 hands on his head and prayed that God should be merciful
 
 SAM, THE MEDICINE MAN. 
 
 177 
 
 and save the boy so that the heathen might see that he 
 alone was the true God. 
 
 After the prayer the boy sat up and took some ginger- 
 water they had prepared for him. The next morning he 
 was perfectly well. A few months later, he came to the 
 
 DURGA AND RARIA ON THEIR WEDDING DAY. 
 
 Boarding School for boys at Kaerabani and is a promising 
 lad. 
 
 This occurance opened the eyes, not only of the friends 
 and relatives of the family, but of the neighbors as well. 
 They had seen with their own eyes that a boy, who was at 
 death's door, had been healed through prayer. The God
 
 178 
 
 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 of the Christians must he the trne God and stronger than 
 their bongas. 
 
 From this time, people began to listen to the word of 
 God. Their eyes and hearts were opened and soon a large 
 number asked to be instructed for baptism. A few months 
 later, Sam had the pleasure of seeing his first class of 
 catechumens baptized. In all there were forty souls. 
 
 In the work of instructing this class as well as to shep- 
 herd them afterwards, Sam has been ably assisted by Dur- 
 ga and his splendid v.ife Raria, a graduate of our Girl's 
 School at Benagaria. Shortly after their marriage, the)' 
 were sent to Sohor to assist in the upbuilding of God's 
 kingdom there.
 
 THE SANTAL MISSION 
 OF THE NORTHERN CHURCHES. 
 
 The Santal mission, as it is commonly called, was 
 founded in the year 1867 hy two men, whose names are 
 household words among the Scandinavian Lutherans, Boer- 
 resen and Skrefsrud. 
 
 II. P. Boerresen was a native of Denmark, born in the 
 city of Copenhagen, Xov. 29, 1825. His parents were poor 
 laboring people and his chances to acquire an education 
 were very limited. He learned the trade of a mechanic in 
 his native city and when about 27 years of age he went 
 to Berlin, in Germany, to learn mechanical engineering and 
 to better his conditions. 
 
 It was while he was yet a stranger in Berlin that he 
 heard his Savior's voice calling him and he received grace 
 to believe that his sins were forgiven. He soon began to 
 take part in the religious activities of that city and thus 
 came into contact with people who were interested in mis- 
 sions. Among others, he became acquainted with Mr. 
 Hempel, whose daughter. Caroline, later became his wife. 
 
 The marriage took place in the summer of the year 
 
 180
 
 THE SANTAL MISSION. 
 
 181 
 
 H. P. BOERRESEN
 
 182 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 1855. Both Boerresen and his young wife were interested 
 in missions and felt called to offer themselves as workers 
 in heathen lands. Their desire was to go to China, but no 
 way was opened for them and several years passed. They 
 had to he led through sorrow and trials before they were 
 ready to say : "Lord, where thou leadest we will follow !" 
 
 L. O. Skrefsrud was horn in Gudbrandsdalen, Norway, 
 Febr. 4, 1810. Mis parents were very poor and the family 
 was a large one. They were in ail 9 brothers and sisters. 
 His father was a shiftless man and the family often suf- 
 fered want. His mother was a warmhearted Christian 
 woman who took all her troubles to God in prayer. 
 
 While yet a lad in his teens, Skrefsrud had to leave 
 home and shift for himself. He worked for some time in 
 a machine shop at I.illchammer and it was his desire to 
 keep his confirmation vows and the promises he had given 
 his mother on his departure from home. He had been 
 away from home a little over a year, when he received the 
 sad news that his mother was dead. This was a hard 
 shock to the young man for he loved her dearly and felt 
 that he had lost his best earthly friend. 
 
 A year later he joined a highland regiment as drummer 
 boy, fell into bad company, forgot his vows and lived a 
 Godless life. But his mother's prayers should not remain 
 unanswered. His sins found him out and he had to suffer 
 bitter consequences. He was awakened to see his awful 
 condition and after long struggles found peace with God. 
 
 Simultaneous with his conversion the desire of becom- 
 ing a missionary to the heathen was kindled in his heart. 
 He began to study, especially languages, and to prepare 
 himself for the lifework before him. At this time he lived 
 in Christiania, the capital city of Norway. He had no 
 money to spend for schooling but worked all day and
 
 THE SANTAL MISSION. 

 
 184 SKETCHES FROM SANTAL1STAN. 
 
 studied in the evenings, receiving help now and then from 
 students at the university in the city. 
 
 In 1863 Skrefsrud applied for admission at the training 
 school for missionaries, shortly before established in Stav- 
 anger, but was refused. This was a great disappointment 
 to him and to ease his heart he told his troubles to a 
 Christian friend, Mr. Holte. This man advised him to go 
 to Germany and seek admission to one of the training 
 schools there. Holte also told him that one of his sons had 
 just returned from Berlin and could give him directions 
 about the journey and perhaps also give him letters of 
 introduction to Christian friends in that city. 
 
 Skrefsrud sought young Holte, got the desired direc- 
 tions about the journey and a letter of introduction to Mr. 
 and Mrs. II. P. Boerresen in Berlin. 
 
 Skrefsrud arrived in Berlin, in the fall of 1862, and 
 found the Boerresens, \vho were destined to become his 
 friends and coworkers as long as he lived. 
 
 For one year Skrefsrud attended the Prochnow Mis- 
 sion School and on his graduation he received a call from 
 the Goszner Society to join their mission to the Coles in 
 Chota Nagpur, India. Before he left Berlin it was agreed 
 that Boerresen and family should come out and join him 
 as soon as they had disposed of their business. 
 
 In May 1865 the Boerresens joined Skrefsrud at the 
 mission station Purulia. It was a joyful meeting, but their 
 joy was not to last long. A disagreement arose between 
 the German and Scandinavian missionaries and the latter 
 resigned their service as missionaries in the Goszner society. 
 Through trials and difficulties the Lord led them His own 
 way to the glory of His name. 
 
 From Purulia thcv returned to Calcutta, where Christ-
 
 THE SANTAL MISSION. 
 
 185
 
 186 SKETCHES FROM SANTALISTAN. 
 
 ian friends assisted them, and the Lord soon had them 
 where He wished to u?e them, among the Santals. 
 
 A September morning in 1867 these two servants of 
 God gathered a few stones south of the village of Bena- 
 garia in Santal Parganas where they had received some 
 land from a Bengali landlord, called it their Ebenezer and 
 kneeling consecrated themselves anew to God and to his 
 service among the Santals. 
 
 They had no mission society and no funds to fall back 
 on, but trusted in God that He would provide for them, and 
 they were not disappointed. Boerresen had to spend a 
 good deal of his time the first years in traveling about in 
 India soliciting funds for the mission. Skrefsrud threw 
 all his energy into the study of Santali, and so great were his 
 abilities as a linguist, that after three years he published a 
 Santali grammar which after having stood the test for over 
 forty years, is still the standard work in that language. 
 
 On the 28th of March 186 they had the great joy of 
 baptizing three young men, the first fruit of their labor 
 among the Santals. Forty-four years have passed since 
 that joyfull event. They have been years of trials, strug- 
 gles and tribulations, but also years of glorious victories 
 When Boerresen on the 21st of September 1901 was called 
 home to his rest not only a Ghristian community of 13,000 
 souls but even the heathen Santals, Hindus and Moham- 
 medans, who had come in contact with his great, warm 
 heart, mourned his departure. 
 
 On December llth. 1910 when Skrefsrud passed away 
 after an illness of nearly two years the Santal church had 
 a membership of over 15,000 souls. 
 
 At the time of writing this little historical sketch the 
 membership has risen to about 17,000, and the work is 
 growing a steady and healthy growth.
 
 THE SANTAL MISSION. 
 
 187 
 
 It was the hope of the founders of the mission that the 
 funds for its support should be raised in India, therefore 
 they called it ''The Indian Home Mission to the Santals." 
 After Skrefsruds death the mission was reorganized and 
 now bears the name found at the head of this chapter. It 
 is supported by contributions from friends in Norway, 
 Denmark and America. Each of these countries have a 
 comittee vi hich together with the trustees of the mission 
 are responsible for the continuation of the work. 
 
 Until today the Lord has helped, and may we not rest 
 assured that He will continue to help his servants until 
 the last battle is won? For he is faithful that promised.
 
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