# The Lutheran Pioneer_St. Louis_1927_S165
# Machine transcription, uncorrected — CHI Digital Archive (demonstration)

164

THE LUTHERAN PIONEER.

to give them a simple feast, you may be sure that
they hastened to accept the invitation. Bands of
Christians came from far and near. As each band
approached, some of the Khandala Christians went
out to meet it, singing and swaying their bodies in

A Hindu Pariah Village.

time with the music. Then, all together, they came
back, singing as they came. Of course, there were
speeches. Altogether it was a memorable and in-
spiring occasion in the little village and in all the
region. In fact, it resulted in the opening of Chris-
tian work in two other villages.

By, this time Rambhau’s child was very much
alive, but the dedication had shown him one great
‘blemish. The Khandala Church had no singing-
band with instruments, such as some of the other
village churches had. So Rambhau went to work
and collected quite a considerable sum from the poor
Khandala Christians. Then he trudged in to see
me to talk the matter over. Gladly I made up the
little amount he still needed, and he went back to
Khandala with a set of native instruments. He
himself could not sing, but soon he invited me to an
evening service, when I was filled with wonder.
Those unlettered villagers, in a few weeks, had
learned perhaps thirty inspiring hymns. After a
hard day’s work, in the fields they came to the little
church and sang and sang and sang for hours, until
I myself had to go home.

' But Rambhauw’s child was by no means grown
up yet. It needed constant care, as every healthy
youngster does. One day when I was in Khandala,
I was surprised to see a man in the most advanced
stage of leprosy huddled in a corner of the church.

“Who is that?” I asked.

Rambhau replied, “That is Bapu, a Christian
of Khandala. He has been in a leper asylum, but
became homesick for his village and so has crawled
here and is living in the church.”

“But he ought not to live here,” I said; and
fambhau agreed with me.

Some weeks later he came to see me.
you remember Bapu, the leper?”

“Yes,” I said. “Where is he now?”

“He is living in a hut I built for him. I take
his meals to him every day. My wife threatens to
leave me because I am going to a leper, and she is
afraid that I will bring the disease home, but what
can I do? Somebody must take care of Bapu.”

“But,” he continued, “now Bapu wants to go
back to the leper asylum, where he can have regular
care, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“T’ll pay his fare,” I said, “but it would be hard
for me to leave my work to take him.”

Rambhau was silent for some time, then he
looked up and said quietly, “I’ll take him”; and
he did. *

I ordered a special railroad compartment; for,
of course, Bapu was not allowed to travel with others
in a regular car. He was almost helpless now, and
notwithstanding his loathsome disease, Rambhau
had to lift him into the cart that brought him from
Khandala to Ahmednagar and into the compartment
in which those two were to travel together for hours.
As I waved them off at the station, I was awed at
the quiet Christian heroism of this uneducated
villager. Any man, however brave, might well shrink
from such a journey with such a companion; but
Rambhau carried it through. People refused them
water. No cartman could at first be induced to take

“Sahib, do

An Indian Village Street.

them from the train to the asylum, but by patience
and persistence he succeeded in getting this poor
leper to the shelter where he might end his days in
whatever comfort was possible.

Again, some time later, Rambhau came to
Ahmednagar. “I am off to see Bapu,” he said. “Be-