“I accept it,” David said firmly. “Now go back to the guest rooms, Sirdar. Jehar, do not trouble your father any more tonight. Come to me in my study tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.”
Jehar rose. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I will come because of my father.”
He put out his right arm to his father, who clung to it and hoisted himself thus from the sofa and they went away after their farewells for the night, the father still leaning upon the son.
In the drawing room David turned to put out the lamp when Ted spoke.
“Wait a minute, Father.”
His father stayed his hand and glanced at him. “What is it?”
“I must say something.”
“Well?”
“I hope you will not try to change Jehar.”
“What do you mean?” his father demanded.
Ted spoke firmly. “Jehar has an immense idea — one that might revive the whole spirit of Christ in India!”
“I don’t see what you are driving at—”
“Father, an Indian Christ!”
“That’s blasphemous — or would be if it were not absurd.”
He gazed at his father with clear eyes, his heart beginning to flame. “I wish I could have thought of it, only I am not Indian. I wish I were! To see the spirit of Christ incarnate again in an Indian—”
“Ted, I will not listen.”
“But, Father—”
“It is very late and I am exceedingly tired.”
“Very well, Father, but I warn you that tomorrow I shall see Jehar, too.”
“I must beg you not to do so. I have an obligation to Sirdar Singh. It is very distressing for a father to know that an only son—”
“Are you going to try to keep Jehar from being a Christian?”
“Of course not. Could I do that when I myself have devoted my life to Christian education? I shall try simply to make him understand what it means to be a Christian in the place where God has put him, in the household of Sirdar Singh, and what great influence he can wield there, as a Christian. It would be folly to give it all up.”
“But Father—”
“Not one word more, if you please.”
His father put out the light and walked upstairs, and Ted stayed alone in the darkness. For a long moment he stood, thinking of Jehar’s face, and then suddenly, involuntarily, he lifted his eyes to pierce the enveloping night. He prayed, though without words, his whole soul reaching outward and upward for guidance and for light. From where does guidance come for the human soul, and where is the source of light? Where, oh, where had the light come from that fell upon the soul of Jehar?
The darkness did not change, he went upstairs to his room and read scriptures, he prayed as he had never prayed before because his prayer was simple, asking for nothing except for light. Still no light broke and at last he went to bed again. … He rose before dawn, as soon as the sultry darkness of the sky brightened delicately in the east with the golden edge of a cloud. He washed in cool water and went out to the small chapel, where sometimes the Christian students prayed. There as he thought he might, he found Jehar. The young Indian stood silent before the altar, his head uplifted, his eyes open.
Ted spoke, “Jehar!”
Jehar turned and saw him and smiled. “Teacher,” he replied.
“I thought I might find you here,” Ted said. “It is good. Let us talk together of what has happened. How is it that you did not tell me?”
“I do not know you well,” Jehar said without diffidence. “I did not think you needed to know about me.”
Ted was hurt. “How have I behaved that any pupil of mine should think I needed not to know him? Come and sit here on this bench.”
Jehar came down the aisle, very graceful in his fresh white cotton garments, and he sat down and waited, the smile still on his lips. His large dark eyes were clear, he showed no sign of sleeplessness or weariness or fear. Peace was in him.
“You are not going home with your father today?” Ted asked.
“I am going home,” Jehar said, “I shall go home with him and I shall live there for a while until he understands my heart.”
“And if he does not understand?”
Jehar’s face was calm and his bearing full of dignity. “Then I must leave my home.”
“You are very young, Jehar.”
“I am not too young to know what I must do. If I had not seen what I must do, I should also be preparing for my life’s work, either to take the management of my father’s estates, or to be a barrister, or some such thing. Now I know what my work is.”
“You cannot really beg for your food as sadhus do. Surely it is not suitable, Jehar. After all, people know who you are.”
“I need not to beg. God will give me what is necessary.”
“To me it sounds dangerous and strange.”
“That is because you come from the West, sir.” Jehar’s voice was courteous but positive. “To us of India there is nothing strange in wishing to become a sadhu. There are many sadhus, as you know. People do not wonder. It is so, and that is all. But I shall be a Christian sadhu and that is all.”
“What church will you join?”
“None, for if I join one then the others will not allow me to belong to them. I have inquired of this of my teacher, Mr. Fordham, who explains Christianity to us every week twice, as you know. From him I understand that church is good for many people but also I see it is not good for me, because I wish to belong everywhere, to everyone, only first to Christ and only to Christ.”
“Does he know you wish to become a sadhu?” Ted asked.
“I have not told him,” Jehar replied.
“And what makes you think that you know best how to follow Christ?”
“I do not know, except for myself,” Jehar said. He laughed unexpectedly, a pleasant boyish laughter. “I am not so stupid as that, surely, so that I think I can decide for others. It is only for myself that I know.”
“So you will take a bowl, a blanket—”
“I will take my bowl, my blanket, and I shall wear my saffron robe, so that men know I am a sadhu, but I shall preach only Christ.”
“Jehar, you make me afraid. It is so absolute.”
“Why are you afraid? I simply do what many have done, except I am of Christ. Siva and Ram I do not condemn, Kali I will not worship, nor Ganesh, for I cannot see them good or beautiful. But Christ I see is beautiful because he committed no crime and he harmed no one, and he spoke of God.”
“This one thing I will say,” Ted replied, after a moment, “you are renouncing the life of a man before you know what it is. I have seen Indians renounce life, Jehar. I saw Darya himself in prison.”
All India knew the name of Darya, and Jehar lifted his head in interest. “Did you see him indeed?”
“Yes, and he, too, has renounced everything except it is for his country, or so he believes. But he is not a young man as you are. He has known marriage and fatherhood, and only after these were taken from him did he accept renunciation.”
“I have no need to wait,” Jehar said confidently. “I have had a vision. Perhaps Darya had no vision until God had taken from him his wife and his children.”
“What vision had you?” Ted asked. It was impossible to be less than gentle with Jehar.
“I saw Christ plain,” Jehar replied. “It was not a vision of the spirit, you understand. There are such visions also, but I saw him with these very eyes.”
He touched his eyes with his two forefingers.