LONGING TO SEE GOD
The fame of the Ulluri family was spread abroad in the land, not for their wealth, nor for leadership in great and noble deeds, but because they were devout. They had given to their Guru, Poliah, a cow worth sixteen rupees. This was considered a very noble gift to offer to a Guru, and established the reputation of the family for religious devotion.
Chinnapudy Poliah, though wholly illiterate, seems to have been a man possessed of a severe type of earnestness, that distinguished him from others, and supported his claim to being a Guru. He was a man who indulged in deep meditation, and was a dreamer of dreams. One day he reasoned in this wise: “The swami at Kottapa-konda and the swamis at other places where people go to worship were all made by men. Now who made these men? Who made earth and heaven? Must I die without seeing God?” His father was a follower of Nasriah. It was one of the earliest recollections of Poliah that his father took him to Tiprantakamu to see Nasriah. The lad never forgot the man who lived in poverty, like a sanyasi, ever ready to talk with any one of his chief doctrine—that there is only one God. Nasriah planted antagonism to idol-worship into the mind of the boy, and with it a restless desire to see God.
In his ministrations to the Ulluri family the Guru, Poliah, knew how to clothe his ignorance round about with a mantle of profound reverence. There were hymns and mantras which he taught them. He had caught a word here and there of the philosophy of the Rajayogi people, and gave a glimpse of his wisdom on special occasions to his followers; but as soon as he found himself going beyond his depth, he withdrew with that air of mystery which is so fascinating to simple-minded people. He would promise to tell them more next time, and thus kept them ever filled with curiosity, and on the alert, wondering what he would tell them when he came again.
One of the promises which Poliah was ever holding out to his followers was that they should see God. Now the aged father of the family had a great desire to see God. He was respected by all, and his sons began to consider the matter in earnest. They talked with Poliah, who demanded fifteen rupees as a fee. They thought this was too much. He waxed eloquent in describing the severe test which he had to undergo before he acquired the knowledge of the mystic formulæ. He pointed out that the whole family would without doubt obtain salvation if one of their number succeeded through his efforts in seeing God. Finally, Poliah agreed to be satisfied with eleven rupees, and the night was decided upon when the attempt should be made.
Ten men and women, who had faith, and were filled with the desire to see God, sat together at midnight in the house of the Ulluri family. Two little oil-lamps stood in niches in the wall, shedding a dim light on the scene. The Guru sat in the centre, his followers in a circle around him. He sang hymns and invocations of the Nasriah sect, and then proceeded to draw mystic circles, saying mantras as he drew them. His demeanour inspired awe, and his followers held their breath and feared to move.
At last the decisive moment had come. He motioned to all to withdraw, leaving only the aged father within. More mantras were said, more mystic figures were drawn, and then the father of the Ulluri family laid his fingers against his eyes, ears, and nostrils, as Poliah had previously instructed him to do. He understood, too, that he was thus to shut off all connection with the outer world, and to perceive God with an inner sense.
A little time elapsed, and then Poliah asked, in an awed whisper, whether he saw anything.
“All looks red and green, and in it I see something as if it were the picture of a man.”
“It is God,” said Poliah; “you have seen Him.”
Dazed and full of wonder, the old man joined his children without. He thought it over many a day, as he sat in the shade of the house, his grandchildren playing around him. Many came and went, and he had to tell them how it all seemed to him. It was a source of deep satisfaction to the good old man, and his sons did not begrudge the money it cost them.
Some years had passed when, one day, Wasipogu Bassiah came to Maduluri to get the tools with which he did his leather-work sharpened. He was a friend of the Ulluri family, and went to them for a visit before he returned to his home, three miles distant. While they were talking of this and that, he asked whether they had heard of the new religion, which a Dora had brought to Ongole, and which was said to be a good religion. They had not, but asked for further information. Bassiah could not satisfy them; he had only heard that those who believe in this religion are saved through one, Jesus Christ, that He must be worshipped, and no other swamis whatsoever beside Him. Moreover, a Yetti had told him that he knew several Madigas who had joined this new sect, and they did no work on Sunday, nor would they allow carrion to be brought into their village.
Bassiah went home. Near his house he found a man sitting under a tree, evidently resting after a journey. He had enquired for the Madiga headman of the village, and was told he would soon come. As headman it was Bassiah’s duty to receive strangers, to enquire after their errands, and lend assistance if there was an appeal to him in his official capacity. Now when Bassiah heard that the man before him, Baddepudy Kanniah, was a follower of the sect which worships Jesus Christ, he was glad. He cared for his wants; in fact, he took charge of Kanniah. The tribal system of the Indian village community thus lent itself as a vehicle to Christian propaganda. Next day they went to Maduluri, and were well received as guests. They were asked to sit on a raised seat, made of stone, and as the villagers gathered around, Bassiah told them why Kanniah had come to them, and they agreed that it would be well to listen to all he had to say.
Little was said at the time, but after their visitors were gone some among the villagers expressed an opinion that it would be well to hear more about this religion, and proposed that they extend an invitation to come again in the evening, to eat with them, and then to talk more. This was done. Two men were sent to extend the invitation of the villagers, which was accepted. Kanniah had the best of opportunities that night. All were intent on hearing; the little children were asleep, and only the occasional barking of the village dogs broke the silence of the night. The hearts of the listeners were stirred within them when they heard the story of the death of Christ; and then, when Kanniah prayed after the manner of the Christian, who does not hesitate to make his thoughts known to his Father who is in heaven, they felt that they had never known anything like this before, and they said among themselves in the days that followed: “Why should we go on as heretofore? There is no salvation in all that we have been doing.”
As the younger men of the Ulluri family were discussing the new religion with several young kinsmen, who had come from a little distance, as soon as they heard from a passing Yetti that strange things were taking place in Maduluri, the aged father of the Ulluri family advised them to take time to consider. He asked them to remember that they had not been without religious zeal heretofore. Had not the whole family on one occasion journeyed to the grave of Nasriah at Tiprantakamu, with goodly offerings of rice and a goat? Did they not lay garlands on the grave, singing appropriate hymns? Had they not given to the Guru Poliah a cow, in return for his ministrations? And, above all, had not he, their father, at midnight some years ago, been allowed to see God?
Moreover, this Madiga patriarch had a daughter, Ukkamah, whom he held dear, with a peculiar love and respect. When about ten years old she became a widow. In her infancy, in imitation of the customs of the Aryan Hindu, her parents had married her to a young lad of a family well known to them. The second ceremony, when she would be led as a bride to his house, had not been performed. And now, like the Brahmin widow, this little Madiga maid was never to marry, not because it would have been contrary to Madiga usage, but because it was thought well to follow the example of the twice-born Brahmins.
As the years passed, Ukkamah took comfort in the religious rites taught by the disciples of Nasriah. Her parents encouraged her in singing the hymns of that sect, accompanying herself on the cithara. It came about gradually, after she was forty years of age, that she was asked to come to villages here and there and sing and play. She was treated with much respect. People said, “She is not like other women. She serves God.” After a time a cousin also lost her husband, and the two women henceforth went about together. They were not allowed to go away from any village where they had sung empty-handed. Money accumulated in their hands; they laid some of it as an offering on the shrine of Nasriah. Ukkamah gave a part of hers toward the support of her parents.
Ukkamah was now at a distant village, and her father insisted that, before any decisive step was taken, her opinion must be asked, for had she not more piety than any one else in the family? Condiah, the eldest son, was restless during the days that followed. Finally, he said: “Ukkamah is not coming. I shall go to her.” Two days he journeyed. There was welcome in his sister’s eyes when she saw him. “Is it well with all at home?” was her first question. She told the village people that her brother had come, and all gathered with a friendly curiosity, and the wife of the Madiga headman brought buttermilk in a brass vessel, that he might drink and be refreshed.
When brother and sister sat down to talk, Condiah soon found that he had no opposition to face. Ukkamah said: “I have heard of this religion. We said in the Nasriah sect that there is one God. This was right; but we did wrong, because we continued to worship idols. It is well that you have the desire to go to Ongole. Do not wait for me. Go at once. Soon I shall return home, and then I, too, shall make known my faith in Jesus Christ.” These were Ukkamah’s words; and as Condiah repeated them after his arrival at home, all were satisfied that the time had come when they should break away from the old, and enter upon the new life.
The Ulluri family was sufficiently prominent to make the change in their various relations a matter of comment. The Sudras were much displeased with them. Never before had the Ulluri family refused to come to work, as they now did, when called on the Sunday. The number of Christians was rapidly increasing, and all showed this same spirit of insubordination, which the Sudras had never before known among their serfs. “Let us teach them,” they said.
It was harvest time, and since some of the Christians had helped to plough and till the soil, it was their right, according to ancient custom, to receive their share of the grain. To enforce a lesson, the Sudras thrashed their grain on Sundays, and the Christians, who showed their moral courage in staying away, thus incurred considerable loss.
On a Sunday the Sudras were all out on the fields at work; only a few had remained behind in the village. The old mother of the Munsiff made a fire to boil a little milk. While away for a few minutes, the fire touched a basket of bran standing near, which soon burned lustily, and, before the people could be called from the fields, ten of the houses were destroyed by fire. All the grain that had been gathered on those Sundays, to spite the Christians, was burned. The old mother ran away to hide herself for half a day, and when she again appeared, half distracted, she wailed, “God sent it as a punishment!” She had been specially harsh in her attitude toward the Christians, and that she should have been the cause of so much loss seemed to all a judgment direct from God. The strife was now ended. Henceforth the Sudras attended to small jobs on Sunday, and did their important work when the Christians could join them.
The vexation of the Sudras was again roused when they prepared a feast to one of the village matris, and sent for the Madigas to beat the drums and dance before the idol. It was one of the duties which they owed to the community on the ancient system of mutual service. But now they sent word that they could not come.
A message came back to them: “Then you stay by yourselves, and we stay by ourselves. You need not serve us any more. We do not want you.”
The Sudras thought it would be an easy matter to supply the places, but found themselves mistaken. Those who were not already Christians had a sense of clannish honour, and refused to come into work that had been taken from others of their tribe. Only a few worthless fellows came. The Sudras, therefore, thought best to make peace.
The Ulluri family was related to a number of other family groups, and it soon became known among them all that the Guru, Poliah, had been advised to become a Christian, as the only way in which he could obtain salvation. But some of the more distant branches of the family circle did not grasp the significance of the change. They thought a change of Gurus had taken place but that the ancient cults of the Madigas could not thereby be touched.
It happened one day that a messenger from a branch of the family, living ten miles away, brought an invitation to attend a feast to Perantalu. Several of the men of the family said : “We are Christians. What have we to do with Perantalu?”
Others said, “Let us go and tell them what we think of their markings on the wall.”
They went, and the unsuspecting hosts were overcome by the indignant demand that the markings be scratched from the wall, or their guests would not touch a morsel of the rice and curry which had been prepared.
One of them meekly remarked : “Heretofore it made no difference which sect any one joined, he could yet worship Perantalu. Is it then different with Christianity ?”
In the midst of argument and dispute some one took his sandals and offered to scrape the yellow saffron and red dots of Perantalu off the wall. It was done. Harmony was restored. The feast was enjoyed without being first offered to the departed female ancestress of the family, for whom the markings had been made.
“What good thing can she do for us? What evil will she ward off? It is God’s blessing that we want,” said one of the guests.
Another branch of the family were preparing for the annual feast to Nagarpamah. They worshipped Naga, the hooded serpent, personified as a woman, a combination of Sakti worship and the ancient serpent-worship. The huge ant-hills out in the fields, in which the white ants have their nests, are often the abodes of snakes, that coil in and out of the passages dug by the ants, and feed on the larvae. Once a year a feast is made to Nagarpamah, when her supposed abode is painted with saffron and red dots. Water is poured over the ant-hill to induce Nagarpamah to grant plentiful harvest; cooked rice is placed in front of it, and milk is poured into the passages. Puja is then made, and, whether there is any trace of a snake in the ant-hill or not, the worshippers go away satisfied to enjoy their own feast, for they believe that Nagarpamah is aware of the worship that has been offered her.
After hearing of the summary proceedings with the markings of Perantalu, it was thought best to put off the annual feast to Nagarpamah. In fact, it was never held, for Christianity spread so rapidly it carried all before it.
There were Ellama worshippers in the family who were ashamed to have anything to do with the Ellama-house, and the pot with the emblematical shells hung from the roof within. The Matangi of that region looked on with a displeasure which she did not try to conceal.
Schools were started. The brightest lads were sent to Ongole to study, and the men and women who sought for salvation in the Nasriah sect were singled out one after another to do valiant service at important centres of the movement of the Madigas toward Christianity.