By CAROL TERRY Of the Ramabai Mukti Mission of India
W EARY pilgrims tumbling out of jammed cattle cars; dusty pil grims walking barefooted along the roads; tired pilgrims jostling along in bullock tongas; desperate pilgrims prostrating themselves on the ground every few feet from their homes to the holy city; singing pilgrims carrying flags signifying vows; seeking pilgrims hungering, thirsting for an answer to their prayers. From every direction they come and in every way they come to Pandharapur, with hope and expectancy shining in their faces. A t the sight of the holy city, they prostrate themselves on the ground. It is a privilege just to have its dust on the body. With joy they bathe in and drink the filthy water of the river. Be cause the river is supposed to be the stream of perspiration from a god who fought to save them, they are taught that its waters cleanse from sin. The savings of many years are thrown into that river, while coconuts and flowers are purchased and offered to its holy waters. Those who have Saved their earnings for a lifetime are able to pur chase a white cow to give to the Brah man priests. Such is the goal of many, for they are taught that when they die and must cross the river of death, that cow will come, and, letting them hold its tail, will take them across the dreaded river. Those who cannot afford to buy such a cow may pay for the privilege of worshiping one provided by the priests. At the riverside there is the pilgrim beating himself, and with each stroke calling the name of a god. His chest is black from the beatings and his heart is desperate in its effort to make the gods hear. There are the hordes of beg gars, to whom the pilgrims give lavishly that they might gain merit with the gods; there are the highly-painted devil dancers, whose very movements are of another world, and whose eyes reveal those possessed. There are the evil Sad- hus, who are the leaders of the people, and yet whose wicked faces haunt those who know the truth. There is the woman paying a Brahman that she might kiss his feet, while another woman is pros trating herself for miles along the road leading to the temple in an effort to make the gods hear her prayers. The intense earnestness of her face as she gives her all that her prayers might be answered wrings the hearts of those who know the disappointment that awaits her. What ever her petition to the gods may be, she is desperately, deadly in earnest, and the milling crowd makes a path through F E B R U A R Y , 1 94 8
its midst for her to continue her pros trations. As the pilgrims enter the temple, many lick the mud at the entrance that has been tramped upon by thousands of filthy, diseased feet finding their way to
are those who drain from the pilgrim all that he has. For several days the pilgrims live in feverish excitement and utter devotion to the gods. Their emotions stirred to unprecedented heights by the devil dan cers, nothing is too much for them to give, no self-affliction too great a sacri fice. As they leave by train, by tonga, by foot, all their money is gone; the spring has left their step; .their shoulders droop, the excitement has passed, and the light of hope and expectancy has left their faces. They have done all the gods re quire; they have given until there is nothing left to give; they have afflicted themselves nigh unto death, and all that remains is a feeling o f unrest, emptiness, and hopelessness. Some will not come back the next year, for they have seen through the sham and pretense o f the priests. They have recognized the holy city to be naught else but a market for priests to peddle their wickedness and bleed the people o f their money, and they start despondently homeward without a god and without hope. And by the wayside stand the Mukti Bible women calling out to them the news of a living God, who is saying unto them, “ Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat . . . Incline your ear, and come unto me: hear, and your soul shall live” (Isa. 55:1-3). The missionaries came-back from the visit to Pandharapur with a burden that crushed the heart. For days afterward the heavy oppression of the city’s evil and darkness caused severe headaches and troubled sleep. The faces of the wicked Sadhus and the desperation on the faces of those afflicting themselves came before our eyes whenever they were closed for prayer or for sleep. The in fluence of the powers of darkness con tinued to hang like a pall over those who had had eyes to see and hearts to under stand. How good and clean and pure Mukti seemed upon arrival home! But an inescapable burden remains—the burden o f thousands of pilgrims seeking, seek ing, seeking answers to their prayers, only to be deceived and robbed by those who know not the meaning of mercy and truth; a burden that wrings from the heart a cry unto God that there may be those who will go and tell them of a God who can save, and that there may be those who will care enough to be ear nest intercessors in prayer for the mis sionaries who cannot battle the powers o f darkness in their own strength. Page Eleven
Miss Carol Terry In November, 1941, Miss Terry started for India, landing in Manila on Dec. 7, and with hun dreds of other missionaries, literally walking into the arms of the Japanese! Interned for three and one-half years, suffering unspeakable deprivation, Miss Terry had her final “baptism of fire” for her missionary service. After her release in May, 1944, she was obliged to remain home for some time to regain her health, but in 1946 she realized the desire of her heart to begin her labors in her adopted land of India. Her experiences in Manila are described in an interesting booklet entitled, Kept. the shrine of the gods. A bell is rung to inform the god that pilgrims have come. Dressed in silks and costly jewels, the god Vithoba, with eyes that cannot see and with ears that cannot hear, stands ready to be worshiped, as pilgrims pros trate themselves before him and leave all their living at his feet. The pilgrims pay and pay and pay. For the privilege of entering the city a fee must be paid. Money must be of fered to the river, which money goes to the priests. The coconuts purchased and offered to its holy waters are re gathered and sold again to other pil grims. To each priest two rupees must be paid; to the gods offerings must be made, and to leave the holy city, one must pay again. On every hand there
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