# The Lutheran Pioneer_St. Louis_1929_S43
# Machine transcription, uncorrected — CHI Digital Archive (demonstration)

42,

THE LUTHERAN PIONEER.

We Are Imprisoned— Will Ye Visit Us?

The women of India are behind prison-bars,
handcuffed. Their jailers are custom, caste, fear,
superstition, idolatry. It is for us women of Chris-
tian nations to bring them the Truth that will make

them free. 4 :

We are in a Mohammedan street in Ambur,
South India. The street is lined with high, white
walls. The windows are closely shuttered. The
doors are closed. We enter a heavy, carved door —
Miss Ellerman, our first nurse in India, Retnammal,
a native Bible woman, my little daughter, and I.
_ A dark passage leads us to a small wooden booth,

like a storm-door turned inward. The door is in
the side of the booth, so that a man could not look
into the house, even if the street-door were left open.
If a glimpse is so carefully avoided, what fate would
await a man if he tried to enter there? We wait in
the booth and call. We hear whispering inside;
then the door is opened. We step in and find our-
selves in an open court, partly covered by a roof
resting on stone columns around the four sides of
the court. The rooms, about eight in number, form
a large rectangle about this court. The light and
air that find their way through the sky-light in this
court is all there is available to the wives and chil-
dren of the wealthy Mohammedan merchant, who
owns the house.
‘So far all has been forbidding. What reception
will we get? We hardly have time to look about, for
we are already hearing the rush of bare feet on the
stone flags, the tinkling of silver anklets, and the
swish of silk skirts. ®
“Salaam, Salaam!” comes from all sides as the
women leave their rooms to welcome Miss Ellerman
as an old friend. Like children pining for excite-
ment, they crowd around us, smiling and holding
our hands, all talking at orice.
They pat the white cheek of the ten-year-old
daughter. “Is she married?” is the first question
“and brings home a custom of theirs with a pang.
_ Some of them extend their wrists to us and ask,
“Am I well?” They think all diseases can be de-
_ tected by the counting of the pulse.
| They are short of stature, nearly all of them

_ slender. The paleness showing through their olive
_ complexions is accented by the smooth black hair

‘and dark eyes. In many faces, refinement and in-
telligence are evident. They are like birds in
, gilded cage. For a few years during childhood
they eee the village street to the school;

-It was a neat little place.

where they learned to babble verses from the Koran,
often meaningless to them. Then came imprison-
ment and marriage and long days of idleness, broken
only by quarrels with other wives; illness without
scientific help; days spent in sewing tinsel braid on
jackets or playing with their jewels. If they must
leave their homes on rare occasions, they travel in
ox-carts or carriages with curtains closely drawn. If
they must walk out, they wear a long, white shroud
that reaches from the crown of the head to the sole
of the foot. One sees them at times at railway-
stations peeping out at the world through a narrow
slit in their shrouds. This is pwrdah—the wealthier
the husband, the stricter will be the purdah of his
wives.

Our friends in the Mohammedan street listen
with eager attention as Retnammal tells them
a Bible story. Thoughtful questions and conversa-
tion follow. Then a hymn is sung. When we finally
rise to go, there are friendly salaams and “Come
again soon” and “Why do you stay away so long?”
as they crowd as near the door as they dare.

Of India’s one hundred and fifty million women,
forty million live thus, secluded from the world.
Only we women can reach them.

* 3k *

“Come and see my new home,” said my neigh-
bor (Golden would be her name translated into
English). Golden is a Hindu of a high Sudra
caste, called Nairs, on the western coast of India,
in Travancore. There are few Mohammedans there,
and the women enjoy unusual freedom. Golden
goes to market without covering her face, and her
daughter, though quite a big girl, goes to school. In
Golden’s family there is one circumstance that is
unusual. She and her husband are of different .
castes; she is a Nair, and he is a Brahmin. The
reason for this is that the husband’s particular
high Brahmin division allows only the eldest son to
marry a Brahmin —they want to keep their caste
small and exclusive. Golden and her children are
considered Nairs, nevertheless.

Of course, I went to see the new house. Golden
had built it with money inherited from her uncle.
The yard was enclosed
by the usual mud wall, beaten hard and sun-dried,
then covered with a narrow thatch of palm-leaves.
The house gleamed in clean, white plaster and red
tile roof. :

As I entered the porch, a ‘sleek Brahmin was
occupying the only chair. Golden explained to me
that it was her husband’s older brother, come to do