Introduction

“What has the Sadhu been doing since?” That, I imagine, is the question which will be asked by many of those whose imagination, four years ago, was kindled by the parables, the personality—or even by a distant glimpse of the saffron robe—of the notable Indian Sadhu Sundar Singh.

He left England in May 1920 to address a series of meetings that had been arranged for him in America and Australia, returning to India in September. The Christians at Colombo and at Bombay, his port of landing in India, had made great preparations to celebrate his “conquest of the West” with a public ovation. Naturally, this was not to the Sadhu’s taste, and he caused no small disappointment and some resentment by declining to be made a hero. He avoided the crowds, and at once went North. The following summer he returned to the risks and hardships of mission work in Thibet. The anecdote that follows, abridged from an Indian newspaper, will illustrate the life he led.

One day in a lonely mountain spot a company of brigands set upon the Sadhu, stripped him, and, apparently, were about to despatch him. Impressed, however, by his demeanour, they hesitated. The Sadhu took advantage of the respite to begin a simple religious address. Still more impressed, they restored his clothing and conducted him to their cave, signifying their willingness to hear more. After a while they produced some rough food and invited him to share it. A bowl was handed him into which some milk was to be poured. As it was extremely dirty, the Sadhu began to wipe it out, before holding it out to be filled. At once the leader of the band, with an air of attentive consideration, took it from him, scoured it out with his own tongue and returned it, with a polite gesture, to the Sadhu. In the matter of drinking-vessels the high-caste Indian is far more sensitive even than the most delicate of European ladies; each member of a family has his own cup, which is never used by any other. But the Sadhu, appreciating the courtesy of the intention, accepted the kindly service in the spirit in which it was meant; and went on with his discourse and his meal.

In 1922 he accepted a reiterated invitation to visit Switzerland and Sweden. On his way to Europe he was enabled to realise his life’s dream and visit the sacred sites of Palestine as the guest of Sir William Willcocks, noted as the originator of the great Assouan Dam, whose interest in him (it is a matter of satisfaction to me to reflect) had been aroused by reading the book The Sadhu by Dr. A. J. Appasamy and myself.

From Switzerland, where he was received with great enthusiasm, the Sadhu went to Sweden, spending a fortnight in Germany en route. In Sweden he was the guest of Archbishop Söderblom of Upsala, who had organised a kind of Mission for him to conduct, and who subsequently published a scientific study on the subject of his mystical experience. Indeed, on the Continent a considerable literature about the Sadhu has come into existence—in French, German, and the Scandinavian languages. The Sadhu spent a short time in Denmark and (I think) Norway, and also visited Holland. He then came to England, but was so exhausted by his labours that he was compelled to rest. He, however, managed to address the Keswick Convention and a meeting in Wales before returning to India. Last summer a false report that he had been murdered in Thibet appeared in many newspapers, both in England and on the Continent. The death of his father had recently taken place, and it is supposed that similarity of names had given rise to the rumour.

Of the origin of the present volume I cannot do better than quote the account given me in a letter by Dr. Appasamy:

“The Sadhu wrote to me to join him at Sabathu and work with him at his new book. Sabathu is about two or three hours’ railway journey from Simla. It is a military station, and is three or four thousand feet above sea-level. His father insisted on buying a house here where his son could retire for rest, meditation, and study. Instead of buying a bungalow, as suggested by his father, the Sadhu has bought a large though old Mission-house, for Rs. 5,000. You go through the dirtiest and busiest part of the town to get to this house. His next-door neighbours belong to the ‘sweeper’ (i.e. scavenger) class, who often in the quiet of the night indulge in weird music or noisy quarrels. As, however, the house is on the edge of the town, you get, out on the other side, a magnificent view of the hills, extending for miles. I think the house is a symbol of the two worlds with which the Sadhu constantly tries to live in contact—the busy world of men, sometimes dirty and sordid, and the world of nature so beautiful and calm.

“The house is occupied by a friend of his, a doctor working in the Leper Asylum at Sabathu. The Sadhu comes up here whenever he feels the need for quiet work and study or rest. He has a room where he treasures the photographs of his friends and others whom he has met in the course of his travels, and where he also keeps a few books. Among these books I noticed two volumes of an Outline of Science recently edited by Prof. J. A. Thomson: the Sadhu has read through these two volumes carefully. The doctor, with whom the Sadhu stays when he comes up, is a married man and has four children. I was often interested in observing the Sadhu talking or playing with the children. People sometimes say the Sadhu ought to found a Monastery of some sort and train up other Sadhus. I think he would be very unhappy in such an environment. Though an ‘ascetic’ he is really a lover of family life, and feels most happy in a home.

“The Sadhu had the manuscript of Reality and Religion completed in Urdu. He said he had worked about twelve hours a day at it for twelve days. He kept the manuscript in his hand and gave the substance of each paragraph in English. Sometimes I took word for word what he said, and sometimes I put down the substance of his paragraphs, using, wherever possible, his own language.”

When I read the book in MS., what struck me was the clarity of the exposition. Ideas about God, Man, and Nature which most of us find it difficult to convey even to people of trained intelligence, are here expressed in a way which would be readily comprehensible to the simplest minds. As such it cannot fail, I think, to find a welcome from a wide circle of readers. Here and there are sentences to which a philosopher or scientist might take exception; but, as the Sadhu makes no pretence to be either of these, the discerning reader will not cavil at details, but will prefer rather to appreciate the direct simplicity of religious insight which pervades the whole.

B. H. STREETER,
Queen’s College, Oxford,
February 6, 1924.