Highways of India

From the city of New York Faith sailed to Liverpool, England, and the journey in those days required about a week. The trip was uneventful and the weather fair as they sailed, and she soon reached her destination in England. Stopping over to visit the mission there, she was greatly burdened when she saw how needy this new work was. True, she had set out for India, but she had been asked by the Board at home to make this stop-over, and she felt that someone must put their shoulder to the plow; someone must help lift the load. Who more logical than she? She had been asked at home to encourage the precious souls struggling in this new field.

From the first day of her service in the homeland, Faith Stewart was a builder. Was some of the wall of Zion torn down? She tarried to fill in the breach. Was there a space where no wall stood and Zion lay bare to the mercy of the wolves? She stooped and bent her back among the humblest of God’s servants and carried her part of the load until a wall stood again. So, in Berkinhead, England, day after day she tarried, until at last three months passed, and she began to feel restless and eager to be on her way to the new land of her call.

Then, making all preparation and bidding adieu to the new and loved friends at this field, she set sail at last for India. Since she was never seasick, she could enjoy to the full the wonders of ocean and sky in a trip across and now look forward from day to day to reaching her goal soon.

All went well for the first three or four weeks at sea. One evening night settled down as before and all retired for rest in their staterooms. No one dreamed of fear or danger. Suddenly, out of the stillness of the night, there came a warning call for all to arise immediately. The call sped swiftly down the length of the ship where all were sleeping soundly in their staterooms. A terrible storm had risen at sea, and fearful dark clouds massed overhead, swiftly covering the beautiful starry sky and shutting out the thousand lamps hanging there. The ship seemed suddenly to be shut in an awful deep and dreadful cave of black clouds and surging waters.

There is something terrifying in the awful darkness of a severe storm on land, but how much more so at sea! There is the feeling of being alone between the awful surging and constant swelling of the waves beneath, and the fearful, blinding elements above. We remember distinctly a brief description learned in our childhood:

We were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul would dare to sleep—
It was midnight on the waters,
And a storm was on the deep.

’Tis a fearful thing in winter,
To be shattered by the blast,
And to hear the raging trumpet
Thunder, “Cut away the mast!”

So we shuddered there in silence,
For the strongest held his breath,
And the hungry sea was roaring,
And the breakers threatened death.

[James T. Fields; The Tempest]

There seems to be no refuge, and indeed there truly is none save in God.

The lightning began to dart to and fro across the angry skies, the thunder—deep, fearful, like a giant’s voice hovering over the ship—rolled and rumbled in the dense darkness. Rain fell in torrents; winds swept the troubled waters and lashed them. The ship became a plaything of the storm, tossed to and fro in the mighty billows. She dipped so low that the water began to pour into her portholes and fill the rooms inside.

When the alarm first sounded, Faith awoke and put her feet out on the floor of the stateroom only to find that water was already rising rapidly in the room and almost up to the springs of her bed. She hastily tied her night dress at the waist and stood up.

Just then the stewardess of that section came into the room. She was distracted with all the excitement and fear that was about her. Seeing this passenger standing calmly in her room, she cried out, “Oh, I don’t know what to do! There are so many calls for help; I cannot answer them all. Will you help me?”

So, clad in her night dress, she went forth to the aid of others on her first sea trip.

Fear had its grip on most everyone on the ship. The life boats were lowered. There was the general impression at first that, because of the flooded state of the rooms, the ship had sprung a leak and was going down slowly.

When boarding the ship each one had been given a number. That number was on the life belt provided in each stateroom, and it was also the number of a certain life boat. There were entire families traveling together on the ship, but as the work of saving people was planned, families were not allowed to be together in one boat. Always there was the danger of the boat never making shore, and in mercy some part of each family must be spared. So families were divided.

No one, living in security on the land, could truly picture the horror and fear in such a scene at sea. None were allowed on deck for fear of the awful waves sweeping them away in the darkness and fury of the storm. But as families began to realize that it was necessary to separate and what it could mean, consternation seized them and women fainted and were brought in by kind hands and laid out on the tables and ministered to.

Others must be calmed in their hysterical condition, and still others must be controlled from doing rash things in the hour of their fear and anguish. All through these trying hours, Faith Stewart moved to and fro, calm and staid, and sure of the guiding Hand in her life. God had called her to India, and she had no doubt that He would bring her safely to port in His own time. So, in this time of fear and distress, she moved among them as one apart and was able to serve her fellow man in time of need.

They were indeed a strange-looking group. Hundreds of men and women and children who had come hurriedly from their flooded rooms at the warning call, clad only in their night clothes and wet to the skin from the flooded area of the ship.

Among the passengers was a bold and worldly woman who had insisted on staying up late with two of the men at the bar (who were of like character) and drinking on into the night. Twice the porter had warned them to go to their staterooms and retire. They still sat there becoming more intoxicated and helpless all the time.

Then the storm was on them without warning. Still awake because she had never retired, she suddenly realized that a serious time had come. As plans were made for departure from the ship, the awful realization came that this was no little thing. Fear, awful and convicting fear, seized her soul. She saw that she was now practically face to face with death and God—and in her awful condition. Who knows what thoughts, fears, and imaginations seized her mind in such an hour? Maybe back in childhood’s past there were memories of godliness, prayer, and trust, and these came before her confused and tortured mind. No doubt she had drifted far from that light.

There seemed to be no time or place in this scene of horror to repent. She had seemed to need no friend before and now knew no one to whom she could turn among the milling passengers moving about in fear and anguish also. She heard only the terrified cries of those who feared to be sent out on the angry sea in the little life boats. She saw the fainting of those that had given up in the awful din. One single thought prevailed in her distraught mind. The end had no doubt come; she was living in sin; and she was not ready to die. There was no time to repent. She was lost, lost!

In that awful hour her reason left her completely. She became insane. From that time she was put under guard and later placed in an insane asylum in some foreign place as they went. Ship companies cannot care for an unattended insane passenger. What an awful end! What a warning to all that read this true account! It is, and it should be, with solemn awe that we recall the word of scripture, “Be ye therefore ready also: for the Son of man cometh at an hour when ye think not.”* (Luke 12:40)

They were, however, never to need the life boats, for as the ship plowed slowly through the storm, a quiet was soon noted, and they found later that the ship had been floundering in the waters where, like the eruption of a volcano, the matter is thrown up by the awful whirling and surging of the waters below. With the storm above and the waters below, they experienced the worst. But the ship, though hindered by the storm, stumbled on, persevering in spite of all hindrances as she slowly drove out of the vortex and entered calmer waters.

There was to be an extended stop-over at Ceylon, India, so the passengers looked forward to this change. There was, however, much to be done. The captain ordered the lady passengers on one side of the ship and the men on the other. Trunks were opened; clotheslines were stretched on deck, and the contents of the trunks were hung to dry on the lines. Trunks open but sodden wet, were left in the engine rooms with the heat turned on, dried out and made ready once more to hold the dry articles hanging on the lines.

It was one of the greatest wash days in the history of the ship. Practically everyone was hanging clothes on the line at once. So she sped over the sea toward Ceylon with varicolored wash waving from her decks like a float in a street carnival.

All the passengers worked in unity, glad and thankful, sinner and saint alike, that their lives had been spared, and in gratitude, ashamed to complain of hardships or inconveniences. And so it was that they reached the docks at Ceylon, India. And a strange company indeed were they, all clad in clothing clean but rough-dried. Since, however, so many of them shared the same plight, they happily made the most of it and looked forward to the end of the journey which must yet keep them on the sea for a few days.

Thus, in good time Faith arrived at her destination in the month of February of the year 1914 at Calcutta, India. The wife of one Brother Moses, a native minister, met her at the docks. She was accompanied by a young woman, also a Christian, by the name of Sonat Mundul, the daughter of a high caste Indian. She went to the home of this family for the weekend, and there found true fellowship, and they in turn felt great joy to have her come to them in their needy land. They knew that she came to perform a labor of love in their midst.

Again it all seemed like a wonderful dream that the curtain had been drawn at last, and she permitted to step from the threshold of her own loved land and enter the open door of this distant country. And what did the future hold of joy, sorrow, trials, and conquests? Here at long last was India. Here, as she had sat alone by the seaside, God had called across the black mantle of the evening skies and written a message. There was a great work to be done. A sowing beside all waters. For God had said, “India’s little ones are calling you.”

Now, after years of tears, fastings, labors, prayers, trials, and longing, this was to be the field and scene of the actual response and the realization of her fondest hopes. It was with peace in her heart at last, and a will to do, that she, in good time, arrived at the city of Cuttack, where for many years she labored for the Lord. Sonat Mundul, the Christian girl who accompanied her, remained with her to share her sacrifices and triumphs for many years. She, too, had felt the call to launch out in behalf of the girls of India, but as a native girl, with all deep prejudice concerning womanhood in that land, it would be almost impossible to start out alone. So she now gladly came to the side of the new missionary.

Throughout the history of India, there have been many almost unbelievable sorrows in the lives of Indian girls. Of these, perhaps child marriage was the most common and cruel. In that day, frequently, little girls of eight years of age were sent away from the home of parents, and the love and care owed to a child of such tender age, to a strange home with an unkind mother-in-law or a cruel husband, or maybe both. Only God above and the tender little wife could tell of the lonely hours and the sad and bleeding hearts separated from brothers and sisters, from mother’s care, and the familiar surroundings of childhood, to serve a husband who may be thirty, or forty, or even sixty years of age. This was not a marriage of choice. If her husband chose to beat and mistreat her, there was no divorce or breaking of the marriage contract. The contract was not signed by her in the beginning. It was the work of others, but she was required to abide by it. They had planned and contracted, and she only paid the price for the rest of her life.

Another sad picture of this far land was the wrong of enforced widowhood. If her husband died while she was still practically a child and left no children, or perhaps had no sons, she had to bear the fate that was hers from that time. If she was unfortunate enough to live to be sixteen years old, her head would be shaved, and she would never be allowed to wear pretty clothing or the bracelets and ornaments so dear to the Indian women. She was allowed one meal a day and not allowed to share in the pleasures of the rest of the family.

Her little lonely heart became so sad and her existence so desolate and meaningless that the only way out seemed to be for her to take her own life. The census report of 1891 records that of 287,000,000 population of India, the number of widows—and, oh, so many of these were yet mere children—were 23,000,000. This meant that those girls would never be permitted to marry and have a home, but must live a lifetime the veritable slave of others.

Perhaps one of the outstanding sorrows of Indian life was the seclusion of their women, or the zanana. This particular custom came from Persia, a custom that required women to live in a secluded part of the home. In this way the Indian girl was deprived of the liberty of outdoor life. Only her husband, father, son, or brothers may see her face.

There was another custom of marrying a little girl to a sword, and from that time she belonged to the god Khandoba. Parents devoted this daughter to this god and in so doing consecrated them to a life of shame.

But we are particularly interested at this time in mentioning the temple girls. We have been informed that by far the greatest number of Hindu temples are not longer than eight by ten feet, or just enough room to house the idol and the priest who cares for it. Sometimes the god is nothing but a stone without any particular shape or design. Perhaps a bit of paint has been put on it, and someone has set it up under a green tree or perhaps in some small recess of a wall. A few withered stems or flowers or perhaps some broken coconut shells may lie about the idol, showing that someone has been worshiping there.

Plain and meaningless as this stone may be, it still receives the services of devoted followers as though it were one of the great and beautifully carved idols in a fine temple. Also, it is as faithfully worshiped. However, in the large and elaborate temples, there is often a hall where people may gather to listen to recitations concerning the different idols. Many of these buildings are covered with figures. It is often beautiful work, though sometimes very crude, as no means may be had to have better.

The temple at Puri is a very great temple, and so, of course, must have many to serve and many to come to worship. Each servitor must have one special duty. There is one servant to put the idol to bed, one to take care of his garments, another to awaken him from his supposed sleep, and so on. A report given of the temple at Puri states that there were over one hundred dancing girls, or slaves of the gods.

Someone has written concerning these, “The gods in the Hindu heavens are not satisfied with having one or more wives of their own. They have also a number of public women called Asparis.”

And according to Hindu belief, men and women who have performed some meritorious deeds go to heaven, and their chief happiness consists in the company of the Aspara. These little temple girls on earth are to the priests and devotees what the Asparis are in heaven. The only excuse for its existence is that it is a part of the religion of India. These young girls are dedicated in extreme youth, even in their infancy, to a life of prostitution in the sight of God and man, for they become the common property of the priests.

It was to this last-named group that E. Faith Stewart dedicated her all in service. She strove to rescue them from a life of sorrow and shame and give them a vision of real and honorable womanhood.

There seems to be an opinion of some that John A. D. Khan founded the “Shelter” in India. This is not true. He came to America and returned to Cuttack, India, and purchased a home for his own family use a few years before E. Faith Stewart went to India. After arriving in Cuttack, she was able to rent a very modest and small home not far from the Khan home. Sonat Mundul, who was a teacher, stayed on and taught the children. It was into this home that a little mite of a girl was rescued and brought to her, who had already been dedicated to the priests. A girl with soft brown eyes, a beautiful child, just ten days old.

A rocking chair had been brought over to India from the homeland, and this was used by the new foster mothers as a cradle by day and a bed by night. Placing a pillow on the seat, they pulled the chair up to the bed at night and so watched tenderly over her day and night. With such a small beginning began the rescue work of temple girls in the life of Faith Stewart. (That same chair, after serving for years, was brought back to Cuba, and after all these years stands today in regular use in her own bedroom.)

Often she saw women go weeping down the road either with an infant or a child to dedicate it to this sad life. Indian mothers are not hard. They have been taught that this is the very highest sacrifice, and being anxious to please the gods for fear of their displeasure and revenge, these sad mothers enter into this with the highest motives, sacrificing their tender little ones. Let me give you a report in Sister Stewart’s own words:

Knowing that these sad conditions truly existed, we were deeply burdened by our love for these sad and unfortunate little ones, and so we opened up a home where we could shelter and protect those who were liable to fall into the hands of persons engaged in immoral traffic.

In the beginning, we had difficulty in getting trace of such cases or being able to get them located, but by diligent and courageous effort on our part, always praying and trusting God to aid, and keeping persistently at it, it began to bear fruit. Some of these precious little children we were able to rescue from the slave traders themselves before they were sent to their destinations. We could only think continually of the awful places holding these innocent little girls, and long for some means to bring them out where they could live normal lives and hear the Gospel.

In those early days, I realized that we could not move fast, but we kept right on, watching for every opportunity to gather them into the fold and shelter of the home. However, we realized that alone we could really accomplish little. We began to pray that God would help us and send us the needed aid. It was four years after we started that, at long last, we received a letter asking if it would be possible for me to work in the capacity of Honorary Inspectress of Police. Also they offered to give me full authority to save these little girls from the dens of vice.

More opportunities came, and more was accomplished from this time on. Also, when there was famine and pestilence, this greatly increased the number of homeless and parentless children, and left great numbers of destitute with no relative or friend to help them.

We lost only a few of those we brought in starving, their little stomachs distended and in an awful state. God was good, and we were able to save most of those we took in.

Knowing these facts, we were anxious to fully understand conditions that we might be able to do more for these precious children. When we made investigation, we learned that Cuttack, a city of about 75,000 inhabitants, had been for many years a headquarters for gathering these little ones into the brothels. According to the census report of 1919, there were over 10,000 girls under 14 years of age in the licensed brothels of Calcutta alone. This being our nearest city, many of these little ones had been shipped there by the keepers of the brothels in Cuttack.

Besides the public brothels, we had what is known as the temple brothels. These were houses connected with the great heathen temples where the little temple girls are kept. The temple girls are children who have been dedicated by their parents to the gods in the temple for a lifetime service. So, in fulfillment of this vow or some other vow that has been made, many little jewels are carried in the arms of their mothers to the temples and there laid on the altar as a sacrifice to the gods. These infants are cared for by the women in the temple brothels.

At the age of five years, these children begin their services by dancing before the gods for their amusement. When they reach the age of nine or ten years, they are put into what is called a full life of service to the gods, but is in reality nothing less than a life of slavery to the passion of the priests who serve in the temple. The life of these poor little girls is beyond description.

Knowing that these horrible conditions really existed, our hearts were constrained by the love of God, who is also the Father of these unfortunate little ones, to open a home where we could give protection to those who were liable to fall into the hands of persons engaged in this immoral traffic, and also where we could take in and protect any we might be able to bring out of these horrible dens of vice.

Therefore on September 1, 1914, the doors of “The Shelter”* in Cuttack, India, were opened. Miss Sonat Mundul, an Indian lady of high birth, good education, and solid Christian character offered her services for the noble work, and together we opened the Home and began a diligent search for such little ones.

Some little ones were rescued right from the slave traders before they were handed over to the brothels. In this we greatly rejoiced, but we could not yet feel satisfied. We longed to stretch forth our hands and burst open the doors of the dens of vice and bring out the little lambs that were being worse than slaughtered there and carry them to the shelter, where they could enjoy the happy freedom of innocent childhood and be reared in a pure Christian atmosphere where they would grow up to noble womanhood.

Although the work was hard and slow in the beginning, still we were conscious that God was working with us as one by one we gathered them in. We were aware, however, that unless we had the Government working with us and backing us in our undertaking, that we would be able to accomplish little in such a work. Therefore we prayed earnestly that God would give us favor with them. In December of the year 1918 our hearts were made thankful by receiving a letter from the Government asking if I would work in the capacity of Honorary Inspectress of Police of Puri, Cuttack, and Balasore, India, if they would invest me with authority to rescue minor girls from the brothels.

Knowing that it was the hand of God that brought this about, I gladly accepted it. At last the doors to these dens were unlocked to me, and it was my privilege to enter in and bring out the precious little ones who had so long been held in bondage. From that time, the work moved forward more rapidly, and we have at this present writing one hundred and ten happy children housed in the “Shelter.”

The first of these whom we had been able to rescue, after she had been placed in a brothel, was little Rangbati. When but two years and four months old, she was sold by her mother to the keeper of the brothel for two dollars and fifty cents and a piece of cloth. After locating this child, we appealed to the Commissioner of the Division for assistance in rescuing her. Then, in company with the Government Water Inspector, I visited the brothel, looking around here and there while he worked in another room. Suddenly he led me where a child was lying asleep on a floor. She was a dear little Indian girl, pitiful in her baby innocence as she slept quietly there. I stooped as though to look at her, and just then the caretaker left the room with the inspector. Quickly, I stooped and lifted the little one up in my arms and ran for the vehicle, which in India is a closed coach. Ladies must not travel in an open coach in this land for fear that men will see their faces. Just then, the Inspector came hurrying out to drive me to the station to board a train for Cuttack. (We had gone to the city of Puri where the great temple was.) As we climbed into the coach, the nurse ran to the door screaming loudly after us, but ignoring her cries, we sped on our way to the train. Thus was dear little Rangbati saved from a life of horror and shame and was brought into the shelter of a Christian home and all that it means.