HINDU v. MOSLEM.

Franklin Times, Volume XXII, Issue 25, 29 February 1932, Page 2

HINDU v. MOSLEM.

WHERE DIFFERENCES ARE FORGOTTEN. (Lady Lawrence, in Spectator). When one hears so much of communal tension between Hindu and Moslem it is pleasant to recall that scattered in India are tombs of Saints who are equally revered by both sects. Bachal Shah, a Sindi Holy man, lies in a grove of date palms and mangoes on the banks of the Indus and Mahommedan though he was ,his shrine is tended by a Hindu Sannyasi. Dreaming' down the immense river come the golden Indus boats with their strange sails and rigging, and Hindus and Mahommedans alike tie up their craft and come up the river steps to pray. My old friend, Rahim Bux, and I rode out there one morning. As he ambled along on his skewbald pony, Ilfs hawk-like glance flashing out at me from beneath his turban, his small fine hands dropping the reins to gesticulate, he told me again in phrases picturesque as those of the Bible, the story of Bachal Shah and the dancing girl. Bachal Shah was a fakir amongst the Mohanas, the fisher folk, but he visite Benares and oHier places and could quote to the Hindus from their holy books as easily as from the Koran. Returning from his wanderings to Sukkur he would one day enter the bazaar arrayed in a nobleman’s gold embroidered coat and the next in a simple loin cloth. .Moslems cast their rupees at his feet, and when he sank to rest on a sack of grain in some bania’s. godown the trader would send the sack as a gift to Ibis man of alien faith. Little children loved him, for often he would play cowries with them, and such was his skill with a gun he shot the very fish in the river.

Dancing Girl Becomes Disciple.

Some sixly years ago a Punjabi dancing girl found her way to the Pir seeking peace. Thrice did Ihe Saint bid her sacrifice her jewels of shame and oasf them into the waters of the Royal River. Twice did she turn sorrowfully away, but ihe third time she lore I hem from tier body and flung them far out into the swift turgid waters. She became the chela or disciple of Ihe Pir. But first to purge her of her sins -she made the pilgrimage to Mecca, and so became a TTajiani. And you who go on personally conducted voyages, think of the discomforts of the journey to the Hedjaz in an over-crowded pilgrim boat sixty years ago. Think of the frauds perpetrated by the dalals on Ibis unlettered Indian girl. Tickets overcharged. Bedding carried off. and only produced for reward. Shortage of water. En{b*ss difficulty in joining a camel caravan as protection from Bedouin attack, and finally a present to be given to the (iovernor, and a high price paid for any hope of holy water. But she returned lo Sind purified and when Bachal Shall died she lived on at his shrine revered by Hindu and Mussulman alike.

But now Rahim Bux and I had reached the shrine. Dismounting we lied up our ponies. From the blackness of Ihe mango trees the holy man came forth to greet us. The face of this Sannyasi was the most arresting I have ever seen in its beauty, in ils peace. lie wore the saffron turban, plain white robe, and wooden sandals with a peg between his toes. Everything was exquisitely neat. The shrine stands in the midst of cultivation, so goats and a country cart with solid wheels and bullocks and calves stood about. But the sunlight glinting through the leaves of the mangoes and the sacred peepul tree showed that the ground was swept to the cleanness of a hoard, and the earthenware pots for grain, each eight or nine feet high, were Mending in an orderly row. The well itself (that usual source of disease in India) was hoarded over and Ihe bucket chained to it. The Sannyasi reached out 5 1 is hand., “The water is very sweet.'’ said he. A Haven of Peace. We passed a little tent, kept we were loid by a wealthy Shikarpuri pleader for his retreat. Then Rahim j Bux and tlie Sannyasi—these two of ! antagonistic faith—led me to-the tomb ! whose white-washed dome gleamed ! pale amongst the shade of the man- j goes. -Within Bachal Shah lay all ! alone. The tomb itself was covered j with a cloth. On little ledges white i

pigeons balanced sideways, roo-coo-ing and making the air musical with ihe l)cat of their wings. It seemed to me I hat a Saint as human as Bachal Shall would have liked his Hajiani beside him.

She lay with two other followers. Her LomJ) was discernible at once, l’or at. tiie head of the others were turbans decorated with peacock feathers; on hers freshly gathered rose and jasmine petals.

Rahim Bux remained to pray, and I rode home alone.

Few tilings are more invigorating than a cold weather morning in Sind. It was all turquoise sky and glittering dewdrops. Green parrots flashed in Ihe sunshine, little squirrels raced up the trunks of babul trees. The air was exquisitely light and clean and the sound ol' innumerable Persian wheels, oh the river banks rose, and fell. My pony was ready to jump out of his skin with the cold. e

But I did not gallop. I rode soberly. Musing on Bachal Shah and his dancing- girl, and on Rahim Bux, Mahommedan, praying at the tomb tended by a Hindu, it seemed to me that (he faith of the East is a very wonderful thing whether it be of Allah the one God, or whether it be the deities who —“ . . hover and swarm, like the wild bees heard in the tree tops, or the gusts of a gathering storm.”