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3 4 5 6 7 8

1.3000 1.7000 2.1000 2.5000

9 7 5 3

>> 3:8
ans =
3 4 5 6 7 8
>> 1.3: 0.4: 2.5
ans =
1.3000 1.7000 2.1000 2.5000
 >> 9: -2: 3
ans =
9 7 5 3

6) Using a built-in function, create a vector vec which consists of 30 equally spaced
points in the range from –2*pi to +pi.

>> vec = linspace(-2*pi, pi, 30)

7) Write an expression using linspace that will result in the same as 1:0.5:3

>> 1: 0.5: 3
ans =
1.0000 1.5000 2.0000 2.5000 3.0000
>> linspace(1,3,5)
ans =
1.0000 1.5000 2.0000 2.5000 3.0000

8) Using the colon operator and also the linspace function, create the following row
vectors:

-4 -3 -2 -1 0

9 7 5

4 6 8

>> -4:0
ans =
-4 -3 -2 -1 0
>> linspace(-4, 0, 5)
ans =
-4 -3 -2 -1 0
>> 9:-2:5
ans =
9 7 5
>> linspace(9, 5, 3)
ans =
9 7 5
>> 4:2:8
ans =
4 6 8
>> linspace(4,8,3)
ans =
4 6 8

9) How many elements would be in the vectors created by the following expressions?
 linspace(3,2000)

100 (always, by default)

logspace(3,2000)

50 (always, by default – although these numbers

would get very large quickly; most would be
represented as Inf)

10) Create a variable myend which stores a random integer in the inclusive range from
5 to 9. Using the colon operator, create a vector that iterates from 1 to myend in steps
of 3.

>>myend = randi([5, 9])

myend =
8
>> vec = 1:3:myend
vec =
1 4 7

11) Create two row vector variables. Concatenate them together to create a new row
vector variable.

>> rowa = 2:4

rowa =
2 3 4
>> rowb = 5:2:10
rowb =
5 7 9
>> newrow = [rowa rowb]
newrow =
2 3 4 5 7 9
>>

12) Using the colon operator and the transpose operator, create a column vector
myvec that has the values -1 to 1 in steps of 0.5.

>> rowVec = -1: 0.5: 1;

>> rowVec'
ans =
-1.0000
-0.5000
0
0.5000
1.0000
13)Explain why the following expression results in a row vector, not a column vector:

colvec = 1:3’

Only the 3 is transposed; need to put in [] to get a column

vector

14) Write an expression that refers to only the elements that have odd-numbered
subscripts in a vector, regardless of the length of the vector. Test your expression on
vectors that have both an odd and even number of elements.

>> vec = 1:8;

>> vec(1:2:end)
ans =
1 3 5 7

>> vec = 4:12

vec =
4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
>> vec(1:2:end)
ans =
4 6 8 10 12

15) Generate a 2 x 4 matrix variable mat. Replace the first row with 1:4. Replace the
third column (you decide with which values).

>> mat = [2:5; 1 4 11 3]

mat =
2 3 4 5
1 4 11 3
>> mat(1,:) = 1:4
mat =
1 2 3 4
1 4 11 3
>> mat(:,3) = [4;3]
mat =
1 2 4 4
1 4 3 3

16) Generate a 2 x 4 matrix variable mat. Verify that the number of elements is equal to
the product of the number of rows and columns.

>> mat = randi(20,2,4)

mat =
1 19 17 9
 13 15 20 16
>> [r c] = size(mat);
>> numel(mat) == r * c
ans =
1

17) Which would you normally use for a matrix: length or size? Why?

Definitely size, because it tells you both the number of

rows and columns.

18) When would you use length vs. size for a vector?

If you want to know the number of elements, you’d use

length. If you want to figure out whether it’s a row or
column vector, you’d use size.

19) Generate a 2 x 3 matrix of random

• real numbers, each in the range (0, 1)
• real numbers, each in the range (0, 5)
• integers, each in the inclusive range from 10 to 50

>> rand(2,3)
ans =
0.5208 0.5251 0.1665
0.1182 0.1673 0.2944

>> rand(2,3)*5
ans =
1.9468 2.3153 4.6954
0.8526 2.9769 3.2779

>> randi([10, 50], 2, 3)

ans =
16 20 39
12 17 27

20) Create a variable rows that is a random integer in the inclusive range from 1 to 5.
Create a variable cols that is a random integer in the inclusive range from 1 to 5.
Create a matrix of all zeros with the dimensions given by the values of rows and cols.

>> rows = randi([1,5])

rows =
3
>> cols = randi([1,5])
cols =
2
 >> zeros(rows,cols)
ans =
0 0
0 0
0 0

21) Create a vector variable vec. Find as many expressions as you can that would
refer to the last element in the vector, without assuming that you know how many
elements it has (i.e., make your expressions general).

>> vec = 1:2:9

vec =
1 3 5 7 9
>> vec(end)
ans =
9
>> vec(numel(vec))
ans =
9
>> vec(length(vec))
ans =
9
>> v = fliplr(vec);
>> v(1)
ans =
9

22) Create a matrix variable mat. Find as many expressions as you can that would
refer to the last element in the matrix, without assuming that you know how many
elements or rows or columns it has (i.e., make your expressions general).

>> mat = [12:15; 6:-1:3]

mat =
12 13 14 15
6 5 4 3
>> mat(end,end)
ans =
3
>> mat(end)
ans =
3
>> [r c] = size(mat);
>> mat(r,c)
ans =
3
23) Create a 2 x 3 matrix variable mat. Pass this matrix variable to each of the following
functions and make sure you understand the result: flip, fliplr, flipud, and rot90. In
how many different ways can you reshape it?

>> mat = randi([1,20], 2,3)

mat =
16 5 8
15 18 1
>> flip(mat)
ans =
15 18 1
16 5 8
>>fliplr(mat)
ans =
8 5 16
1 18 15
>> flipud(mat)
ans =
15 18 1
16 5 8
>> rot90(mat)
ans =
8 1
5 18
16 15
>> rot90(rot90(mat))
ans =
1 18 15
8 5 16
>> reshape(mat,3,2)
ans =
16 18
15 8
5 1
>> reshape(mat,1,6)
ans =
16 15 5 18 8 1
>> reshape(mat,6,1)
ans =
16
15
5
18
8
1

24) What is the difference between fliplr(mat) and mat = fliplr(mat)?

 The first stores the result in ans so mat is not changed; the second changes mat.

25) Fill in the following:

The function flip is equivalent to the function fliplr for a row vector.
The function flip is equivalent to the function flipud for a column vector.
The function flip is equivalent to the function flipud for a matrix.

26) Use reshape to reshape the row vector 1:4 into a 2x2 matrix; store this in a variable
named mat. Next, make 2x3 copies of mat using both repelem and repmat.

>> mat = reshape(1:4,2,2)

mat =
1 3
2 4
>> repelem(mat,2,3)
ans =
1 1 1 3 3 3
1 1 1 3 3 3
2 2 2 4 4 4
2 2 2 4 4 4
>> repmat(mat,2,3)
ans =
1 3 1 3 1 3
2 4 2 4 2 4
1 3 1 3 1 3
2 4 2 4 2 4

27) Create a 3 x 5 matrix of random real numbers. Delete the third row.

>> mat = rand(3,5)

mat =
0.5226 0.9797 0.8757 0.0118 0.2987
0.8801 0.2714 0.7373 0.8939 0.6614
0.1730 0.2523 0.1365 0.1991 0.2844

>> mat(3,:) = []
mat =
0.5226 0.9797 0.8757 0.0118 0.2987
0.8801 0.2714 0.7373 0.8939 0.6614

28) Given the matrix:

>> mat = randi([1 20], 3,5)
mat =
6 17 7 13 17
17 5 4 10 12
 6 19 6 8 11
Why wouldn’t this work:

mat(2:3, 1:3) = ones(2)

Because the left and right sides are not the same dimensions.

29) Create a three-dimensional matrix with dimensions 2 x 4 x 3 in which the first

“layer” is all 0s, the second is all 1s and the third is all 5s. Use size to verify the
dimensions.

>> mat3d = zeros(2,4,3);

>> mat3d(:,:,2) = 1;
>> mat3d(:,:,3) = 5;
>> mat3d
mat3d(:,:,1) =
0 0 0 0
0 0 0 0
mat3d(:,:,2) =
1 1 1 1
1 1 1 1
mat3d(:,:,3) =
5 5 5 5
5 5 5 5
>> size(mat3d)
ans =
2 4 3

30) Create a vector x which consists of 20 equally spaced points in the range from – to
+. Create a y vector which is sin(x).

>> x = linspace(-pi,pi,20);
>> y = sin(x);

31) Create a 3 x 5 matrix of random integers, each in the inclusive range from -5 to 5.
Get the sign of every element.

>> mat = randi([-5,5], 3,5)

mat =
5 4 1 -1 -5
4 4 -1 -3 0
5 -2 1 0 4
>> sign(mat)
ans =
1 1 1 -1 -1
1 1 -1 -1 0
 1 -1 1 0 1

32) Find the sum 2+4+6+8+10 using sum and the colon operator.

>> sum(2:2:10)
ans =
30

33) Find the sum of the first n terms of the harmonic series where n is an integer
variable greater than one.
1 1 1 1
1 + + + + +…
2 3 4 5

>> n = 4;
>> sum(1./(1:n))
ans =
2.0833

34) Find the following sum by first creating vectors for the numerators and
denominators:

3 5 7 9
+ + +
1 2 3 4

>> num = 3:2:9

num =
3 5 7 9
>> denom = 1:4
denom =
1 2 3 4
>> fracs = num ./ denom
fracs =
3.0000 2.5000 2.3333 2.2500
>> sum(fracs)
ans =
10.0833

35) Create a matrix and find the product of each row and column using prod.

>> mat = randi([1, 30], 2,3)

mat =
11 24 16
5 10 5

>> prod(mat)
 ans =
55 240 80

>> prod(mat,2)
ans =
4224
250

36) Create a 1 x 6 vector of random integers, each in the inclusive range from 1 to 20.
Use built-in functions to find the minimum and maximum values in the vector. Also
create a vector of cumulative sums using cumsum.

>> vec = randi([1,20], 1,6)

vec =
12 20 10 17 15 10
>> min(vec)
ans =
10
>> max(vec)
ans =
20
>> cvec = cumsum(vec)
cvec =
12 32 42 59 74 84

37) Write a relational expression for a vector variable that will verify that the last value in
a vector created by cumsum is the same as the result returned by sum.

>> vec = 2:3:17

vec =
2 5 8 11 14 17
>> cv = cumsum(vec)
cv =
2 7 15 26 40 57
>> sum(vec) == cv(end)
ans =
1

38) Create a vector of five random integers, each in the inclusive range from -10 to 10.
Perform each of the following:

• subtract 3 from each element

• count how many are positive
• get the cumulative minimum

>> vec = randi([-10, 10], 1,5)

vec =
 1 8 3 -7 7
>> vec - 3
ans =
-2 5 0 -10 4
>> sum(vec>0)
ans =
4
>> cummin(vec)
ans =
1 1 1 -7 -7

39) Create a 3 x 5 matrix. Perform each of the following:

• Find the maximum value in each column.

• Find the maximum value in each row.
• Find the maximum value in the entire matrix.
• Find the cumulative maxima.

>> mat = randi([-10 10], 3,5)

mat =
1 -5 0 -2 10
2 1 1 6 -3
-6 10 -3 5 2
>> max(mat)
ans =
2 10 1 6 10
>> max(mat, [], 2)
ans =
10
6
10
>> max(mat')
ans =
10 6 10
>> max(max(mat))
ans =
10
>> cummax(mat)
ans =
1 -5 0 -2 10
2 1 1 6 10
2 10 1 6 10

40) Find two ways to create a 3 x 5 matrix of all 100s (Hint: use ones and zeros).

ones(3,5)*100
 zeros(3,5)+100

41) Create variables for these two matrices:

A B
é 1 2 3 ùé
ê 2 4 1 ù
ú ê ú
ë 4 -1 6 û ë 1 3 0 û

Perform the following operations:

A + B
é3 6 4 ù
ê ú
ë5 2 6 û
A – B
é -1 -2 2 ù
ê ú
ë 3 -4 6 û
A .* B

é2 8 3 ù
ê ú
ë 4 -3 0 û

42) A vector v stores for several employees of the Green Fuel Cells Corporation their
hours worked one week followed for each by the hourly pay rate. For example, if the
variable stores
>> v
v =
33.0000 10.5000 40.0000 18.0000 20.0000 7.5000
that means the first employee worked 33 hours at $10.50 per hour, the second worked
40 hours at $18 an hour, and so on. Write code that will separate this into two vectors,
one that stores the hours worked and another that stores the hourly rates. Then, use
the array multiplication operator to create a vector, storing in the new vector the total
pay for every employee.

>> hours = v(1:2:length(v))

hours =
33 40 20

>> payrate = v(2:2:length(v))

payrate =
10.5000 18.0000 7.5000

>> totpay = hours .* payrate

totpay =
346.5000 720.0000 150.0000
43) Write code that would count how many elements in a matrix variable mat are
negative numbers. Create a matrix of random numbers, some positive and some
negative, first.

>> mat
mat =
1 -5 0 -2 10
2 1 1 6 -3
-6 10 -3 5 2
>> sum(sum(mat < 0))
ans =
5

44) A company is calibrating some measuring instrumentation and has measured the
radius and height of one cylinder 8 separate times; they are in vector variables r and h.
Find the volume from each trial, which is given by Πr2h. Also use logical indexing first to
make sure that all measurements were valid (> 0).

>> r = [5.499 5.498 5.5 5.5 5.52 5.51 5.5 5.48];

>> h = [11.1 11.12 11.09 11.11 11.11 11.1 11.08 11.11];

>> all(r>0 & h>0)

ans =
1
>> vol = pi * r.^2 .* h

45) For the following matrices A, B, and C:

2 1 3
1 4   3 2 5
A=   B = 1 5 6  C=  
3 2 3 6 0 4 1 2 

• Give the result of 3*A.

3 12
 
9 6 

• Give the result of A*C.

19 6 13
 
17 8 19

• Are there any other matrix multiplications that can be performed? If so, list them.
 C*B

46) Create a row vector variable r that has 4 elements, and a column vector variable c
that has 4 elements. Perform r*c and c*r.

>> r = randi([1 10], 1, 4)

r =
3 8 2 9
>> c = randi([1 10], 4, 1)
c =
4
9
7
8
>> r*c
ans =
170
>> c*r
ans =
12 32 8 36
27 72 18 81
21 56 14 63
24 64 16 72

47) The matrix variable rainmat stores the total rainfall in inches for some districts for
the years 2014-2017. Each row has the rainfall amounts for a given district. For
example, if rainmat has the value:

>> rainmat
ans =
25 33 29 42
53 44 40 56
etc.

district 1 had 25 inches in 2014, 33 in 2015, etc. Write expression(s) that will find the
number of the district that had the highest total rainfall for the entire four year period.

>> rainmat = [25 33 29 42; 53 44 40 56];

>> large = max(max(rainmat))
large =
56
>> linind = find(rainmat== large)
linind =
8
>> floor(linind/4)
ans =
 2

48) Generate a vector of 20 random integers, each in the range from 50 to 100. Create
a variable evens that stores all of the even numbers from the vector, and a variable
odds that stores the odd numbers.

>> nums = randi([50, 100], 1, 20);

>> evens = nums(rem(nums,2)==0);
>> odds = nums(rem(nums,2)~=0);

49) Assume that the function diff does not exist. Write your own expression(s) to
accomplish the same thing for a vector.

>> vec = [5 11 2 33 -4]

vec =
5 11 2 33 -4
>> v1 = vec(2:end);
>> v2 = vec(1:end-1);
>> v1-v2
ans =
6 -9 31 -37

50) Create a vector variable vec; it can have any length. Then, write assignment
statements that would store the first half of the vector in one variable and the second
half in another. Make sure that your assignment statements are general, and work
whether vec has an even or odd number of elements (Hint: use a rounding function
such as fix).

>> vec = 1:9;

>> fhalf = vec(1:fix(length(vec)/2))
fhalf =
1 2 3 4
>> shalf = vec(fix(length(vec)/2)+1:end)
shalf =
5 6 7 8 9
Other documents randomly have
different content
“Yes, truly they got water—beautiful clear water, and it rushed in so
fast that the men who dug had to flee for their lives.”
“And yet they did not have a Brahman to bless it?”
“No, I have told you they follow Christ. They do not obey the
Brahmans.”
“Tell us what they did.”
“It was the time of heat! The river was dried up, and the new
buildings of the Christians were almost finished. But as it was not
fitting that this new religion should find shelter in our village, our
priests had tried to prevent them from getting land. They did not
succeed in that, but they forbade the Christian people to drink from
the wells of the village, and behold the river was dry. The face of
Raghu, the leader of the Christian folk, was sad, for what can man do
without water? But he went away to consult the foreign teacher.
When he returned, he was no longer sad, and it began to be said in
the village that the Christians would dig a well within their own
ground. Many heads were shaken, for no one thought that water
could be found there. When the Christians began to dig everyone was
still more amazed, for they did not dig at the lower end where water
might soon be reached, if it were to be found anywhere, but high up,
close to the dwellings of the low caste men. It was at the edge of
their ground, and we all gathered to watch; each man had some
taunt to fling at the foreigners, for they did not do anything to
appease the gods; they did not consult with the wise men, nor call
the priests to bless the well; they made no offerings at the temple,
nor did they feast the Brahmans; and everyone was certain that no
water would be found. It is true they did pray to their own God, but
everyone was sure He had not given them good guidance, for a child
may know that a well should not be dug near the dwellings of
outcasts. But in answer to all the Christians said only, ‘We will surely
get water.’ And they believed this, for they worked on day after day
through the great heat until the well was so deep that they had to
dig through rock—soft rock it was, it is true, but still hard enough to
break the points of pickaxes. Weeks went on, and we ceased to
watch the well of the foreigners, or to taunt them. It was an old story
in the village, but when at any time we passed near it we could see
that the digging was well and rightly done, and that if only water had
been there, it would indeed have been a great well. But one day, as
the village shops were quiet in the heat, there came a cry down the
street, and the sound was of men who called, ‘We’ve got water.’ But
we would not believe it till we ran to the well. There, as we bent over,
we saw depths of water, beautiful clear water. The God of the foreign
people had given them water! Come and see the ‘Jesus Christ well,’
and you will know that I tell the truth.”
Another boy was bitten by a deadly snake. He was much surprised
when he was bitten. He had gone out with his uncle to work in the
fields. All through the sugar-cane fields there are channels for water,
and if anything falls into these channels to stop the water from
flowing through them the sugar-cane will not grow. Timmaya Reddi
was pushing along the bank of a channel, bending aside the tall cane
stems to make way for himself, when he saw that the flow of the
water was checked by something that he thought was a stick. He
struck at it with his hook, and as he struck, the reddish-brown stick
sprang up, for it was a deadly serpent. Timmaya leapt back, but not
in time to save himself. The serpent bit his ankle, and then glided off
into the canes. The poison was swift and powerful, and the boy fell
back and remembered nothing until he awoke and opened his eyes
under a tree beside the white doctor’s tent. Timmaya did not know
what had happened. He had not felt his uncle lift him and run with
him to his mother’s house, and lay him there as if he were dead. He
had not heard the death wail rise from the village, nor had he heard
the rush and clamour when a Christian shouted, “The missionary
doctor! Take the boy to him. He came last night. He is in his tent
now. It is only a mile away by the short cut.”
Thus the noise went on, but the boy was unconscious of it all. Strong
men carried him by turns, down a steep path into a valley, up the
other side through bushes and then on, over the fields, till they
reached the white doctor’s tent.
But when they laid him down, it seemed to everyone there too late,
and they said that he was dead already. One man alone thought
there was time still. He was the doctor, who sternly bade the eager
crowd be silent while he fought for the life of the boy. And he won. In
half an hour Timmaya opened his eyes and asked, “Where am I,” and
in two days he walked back across the valley to the village where the
death wail had arisen for him.
There is another sad time at which many Hindu boys catch their first
glimpses of the King and His followers. It is the time of famine. One
night a little boy lay awake, gazing out at the sky through an opening
in the house. He watched the heavy clouds break and scatter, and as
the stars shone out, they brought sadness to him, not joy, for they
meant that the clouds had broken and gone, and that one more night
must pass without rain. As he lay he heard the sound of the priests
chanting the prayer for rain at the temple, and every now and then
the chant was broken by the clanging of bells that rang out on the
still air. The boy thought of his father, who was spending the night
there at the temple praying for rain. Then he thought of the long
days of famine, and of how old his father looked; and he
remembered how little that father had eaten during those days of
famine, and how much he had always tried to leave to his mother
and his brothers and sisters. And so the boy passed a restless night,
and wondered what could come to change these awful days of
famine.
Then in the early morning he heard his father’s step, and as it came
to the door a wail sounded from his mother within. His brother was
dead. The long misery of famine had been too much, and the eldest
son in the little home had died. The next days passed in a dream to
the boy. He knew that his father could no longer bear the pain of
watching his children die, one by one, and he heard him say that he
had made up his mind to seek the nearest relief camp. He
remembered that he was lifted into a passing bullock cart along with
his mother and three other children, and that his father trudged
beside them. The driver of the bullock cart had been a wealthy man,
but his servants were gone, and he was leading the ox to a patch of
prickly pear, the only green thing that was left in the whole famine
land. But the bullock was as weak as the men, and the sun was high
ere they reached the patch of prickly pear. They all ate the leaves
greedily, and would scarcely wait to pluck out the thorns. Then he
remembered lying under the bullock cart with his mother and the
other children, and watching his father and the bullock driver
disappear in the distance, and he remembered no more until he lay in
the clean white shed that had been quickly built to be a hospital for
the famine children. His sisters and brothers were there with him, but
help had come too late to save the lives of his father and mother.

RESCUED FAMINE CHILDREN

In these and countless other ways, the new kingdom of love is seen
in India, and can be judged even by those who do not own Christ as
King. But there are many who do own Him, and find how much He
has to give besides the healing of bodily ills. You remember Chikka,
who broke the serpent idol? He was one of the first who learned to
serve Christ, though he had to wait a long time before he heard of
Him. Chikka’s family was poor, so he could not go to school, nor learn
to read or write, and for many years he had no one to tell him of any
god other than the idols he despised. He was nearly forty years old
before he heard of Jesus Christ, and after he had learned about Him,
he saw that He could do for him all that the gods of stone could
never do. Soon he and the missionaries urged the people of his
village to give up worshipping idols. The villagers had seen that no
harm had come to Chikka, and they began to think that perhaps it
was really true, as the missionaries said, that it was the worshippers
that kept the god Runga safe in his temple, and not the idol that kept
them safe. They left the god alone to see if he could take care of
himself. They brought him no fresh flowers, nor did they see that
there was oil in the lamp that burned before him. Very soon the
garlands withered, and the lamp went out. The temple became dirty
and untidy, and worst of all, the roof fell in just over the god’s head.
But though the villagers gave up the worship of the idol, that did not
mean that they were willing to become Christians. At Chikka’s
baptism, they took sudden fright lest drops of water should fall on
them by mistake, and make them Christians against their will, and
they rushed out of the church till they blocked up the door, and some
of them had to climb out by the window.
 CHAPTER XI
ANANTA THE SEEKER

There have often been learned Hindu men who have lost their faith
in idols, and the story of one of these has so much to do with the
lives of many children in India to-day, that we must not miss it out.
Ananta Shastri was a seeker for the King of India, though he did not
know it; and his daughter Ramabai is now helping hundreds of little
girls to find Him.
Many Hindus think that no woman ought to be allowed to learn to
read or to write, or to study the sacred books. Even if a husband is a
learned man, he cannot talk much to his wife about the things that
interest him, because she would not know what he meant.
Ananta Shastri was a very able man, and he did not think that it was
a good plan to keep girls ignorant, but it was not easy for one man
to do much to change this custom of the Hindus. One day, as he was
travelling, he met another Brahman. The second man had a little
daughter, nine years of age, with him, whose name was Lakshmibai,
and before the two Brahmans parted they had arranged that Ananta
would take the child home with him to be his wife.
The marriage day is generally a very gay one, and sometimes the
brightness and the excitement help to make the little wife forget that
she will have to leave her own home, and all those whom she has
loved, and go away with a stranger, to be under the rule of her
mother-in-law or aunts-in-law. But there were no marriage gaieties
for Lakshmibai. She was handed over to Ananta, and went away
with him, and she never saw her father or mother again. But though
the case seemed a very hard one, her lot was really much better
than a child wife’s often is, even when all sorts of gaieties and
feasting take place, for Ananta was very kind to her, and took her
carefully home to his mother, that she might teach her all the duties
of a wife, and show her how to cook and to grind. When the daily
work was done, Ananta wished to teach his wife to read and write.
He tried again and again, but his own people always interfered, till
he saw that it would be impossible for Lakshmibai to learn if she
stayed in his father’s home. Many a man would have given in, but he
would not give in. He went away from his home, and took his little
wife with him far into the forest. There was no sign of the life of
man where they rested during the first night. The little child lay in
terror on the ground. All the stories she had ever heard of wild
beasts and spirits came back to her, and it did not need memory to
bring fear to her heart, for right across a ravine a tiger roared and
prowled. Ananta watched by her through the long night. Soon he
built a hut to be a home for them. Though Lakshmibai had not been
long with her mother-in-law, she had learned all that she needed to
know for the simple out-of-doors life. Now her other lessons began
in earnest. She was a clever child, and Ananta found great joy in
teaching her. The beauty of the old Indian poems seemed doubly
great as he recited them to his wife, or listened to her repetitions of
them. The days passed swiftly into years. Disciples gathered round
Ananta, and soon a little dark-haired daughter was born and then a
son. Both of them were taught along with the band of disciples just
as if they had both been boys. Then another little baby girl was born
into the home, but by this time, Ananta was so busy with the older
two and with his disciples that he had no time to teach the baby
Ramabai, and all her early lessons were given to her by her mother.
But Lakshmibai too was busy. She had to fetch water, to cook, and
to bake, and the only time at which she could be free to teach her
little girl was when the faint light of the morning stole through the
tree stems to the door of the forest-dwelling. Then Ramabai was
wakened and lifted from her bed, and she learned all her earliest
lessons in the dim morning light from her mother’s lips.
Sanskrit is not now spoken by any of those who live in India, but all
who know Indian scholarship know it. It was in this language that
Ramabai learned the beautiful Hindu poems, and the stories of the
gods. There is much in these poems and in the stories that is ugly
and bad, but we can feel sure that it was the most lovely parts that
were taught to the child in the wood.
When Ramabai grew older she joined the others in their studies, and
then her father found to his great delight that this youngest of his
children had a mind that could answer to his own in no ordinary
way.
By and by the time came when the eldest daughter must be
married. Ananta was a Brahman, and he would have been disgraced
amongst all his people if he had not married his daughter while she
was still a child, so she had been betrothed to a Brahman boy when
she was very young. When this took place, Ananta arranged that the
little boy was to be educated as she had been, so that the two might
have many thoughts and interests in common. The wedding day
came, and Ananta sought to have everything as beautiful and costly
as custom demanded for the marriage of his daughter, but his heart
was bitter within him, because he found that the promises that had
been made to him about his son-in-law had all been broken, and he
knew that he had given his daughter to one who could not
understand her. And this was not his only reason for sorrow. Custom
had made him give her a large dowry, and spend great sums of
money on the marriage feasting. Brahmans and beggars had been
fed too, and he found that he had left himself and his children poor.
This made him feel more strongly than ever that there was much
that was wrong in Hindu customs. He lectured on the wrongs of
India’s women, and tried to prove that many of the things they
suffered were not commanded in the old writings. But another
trouble was before them. Ananta could not face the thought of
giving Ramabai to the same fate that had awaited her sister. So he
resolved that he would not marry her to anyone until she was grown
up. His friends and relations had been very angry with him for
teaching his wife, but they had not made him an outcast for that,
but when they saw that he was not going to arrange for Ramabai’s
marriage, they were enraged, and would not own him as one of
them. Then came the years of a great famine. None of Ananta’s
people would give him work, and no one had money to pay for
listening to lectures, so the little family moved about from place to
place. They always hoped that the gifts they had given to the gods
would bring them favour sooner or later. But one misfortune
followed another until at last they resolved to die. Ananta had
ceased to worship idols, but he had never heard of Christ. Yet,
though he had not heard of Him he was feeling his way as many a
Hindu has done, towards that same God whom Christ has revealed.
Yet though this is so, it did not seem to him that it would be wrong
for him to kill himself, for he believed as his fathers had done in the
worthlessness and wretchedness of human life, and that belief made
him think it right to leave it. The family talked in sorrow and
bitterness, and planned how they each in turn would end the life
that had become so sad. But the training that Ananta had given to
his children, and the close bonds of love that had been drawn
amongst the forests, were stirring instincts that he did not dream of.
It was a terrible thing to Hindu minds for a Brahman to do labourer’s
work, but Ananta’s son felt that it was a far more terrible thing to
see the father whom he honoured take away his own life, and the
lad made up his mind that he would find work of some kind no
matter how humble it was, and so bring food and life to his father
and mother.
But though they were saved the pain of knowing that their father
had taken his own life, they could not keep him with them much
longer. The suffering and want of these days of weary travel had told
on him, and with anxious thoughts about the future of his children,
he died. Amongst his last words was a special message to Ramabai
that she should always obey and serve God, for though the family
still worshipped idols yet Ananta had come to believe that there was
only one God in the universe, and that He would take care of those
who obeyed Him.
Caste and custom with their grim shadows watched over Ananta’s
funeral. He had put himself outside the bonds of caste, and no one
would help to bury him. At length the sad rites were over, but
Lakshmibai was so ill that her children feared that they would lose
her too. They could not find steady work even of the humblest kind,
and the one thing open to them still, they could not do. They could
not beg. The spirit of Lakshmibai was broken. She could fight no
longer. There was no refuge to which she could be taken. If she had
killed both of her baby daughters, doors might still have been open
to her amongst her caste people and relations, for the mother of a
son, even when she is a widow, is not wholly despised; but because,
instead of killing Ramabai, she and Ananta had taught her and had
refused to have her married when she was still a child, every door
was shut against her. There was no hospital nor home to which she
could go. For many a sick man and woman in India the only hospital
has been the waters of the Ganges or a living grave. It was terrible
for Ramabai to see the suffering of her mother, and one day she
started out to beg—only she could not do it when she came to the
point. But the woman to whose house she went saw the little
pinched face and the hungry eyes, and gave her a bit of bread with
which she rushed home to her mother, who was by that time too
weak to eat it, and very soon Ramabai and her brother were left
alone in the world.
 CHAPTER XII
THE PANDITA RAMABAI

Ramabai and her brother were alone, but they had one treasure that
very few Hindu brothers and sisters then had. They had their
friendship for each other, their common interests and hopes and
fears.
They were still very reverent to shrines and idols, though strange
thoughts and questions were rising in their minds, and the thought
of the one great God of whom their father had spoken to them grew
ever stronger. One day they found that they were near a sacred
lake, in which there were seven floating mountains;—at least they
were called mountains, but they were really only small hills. On the
shore of the lake there were priests, for worship was paid to the
spirits of the mountains. Ramabai and her brother had often heard
of this spirit-haunted lake, for it was a place of pilgrimage, and the
wonderful thing about it was that if the pilgrim who prayed at the
water’s edge was good the mountains slowly moved towards the
shore, but if he was bad the cliffs remained stolidly still, and no
prayers could move them one inch. When Ramabai and her brother
reached the lake they found that what had been called mountains
were only wooded island mounds, but there they were, all seven of
them, rising from the still waters.
 A SCHOOL FOR GIRLS
The priests warned everyone who came that they must on no
account bathe in the waters of the lake because of the crocodiles.
They seemed to be so much afraid that any of the pilgrims might be
eaten up, that they kept a very strict watch all round the lake.
Ramabai and her brother knelt by the shore. They had been true
worshippers of the gods, and they felt that if they were to be judged
by the best of the old books of India they were good. It is true that
their caste-fellows had disowned them, but, though many of their
old beliefs about idols and shrines still lingered with them, they did
not believe that a good god could be angry at their father’s
treatment of his daughters. So they worshipped eagerly, and looked
to see if the mountains were moving to the shore. But the water
lapped against the banks as calmly as before, and not an extra ripple
could be seen. They slept that night near the lake, and very early in
the morning, before the priests were on the watch, the boy made up
his mind that if the mountains would not come to him he would go
to the mountains! Ramabai watched him breathlessly, for had he not
the anger of the spirits to dread, as well as the hungry crocodiles?
He swam out to the nearest mountain, swam right round it, and
back to the shore. No crocodile had touched him, and the look in his
eyes as he returned to Ramabai was a look of anger, not of fear. He
had seen, when he reached it, that the mountain was only a sham.
It was cleverly built of mud and earth, on a floating raft. Trees and
creepers were stuck into the clay as if they grew there. Behind, out
of sight of land, there was a little boat. It was all clear to him now.
Some signal must pass from the priests on shore to the priest in the
boat, and if the pilgrim gave enough of money to the priest on
shore, the boatman pushed the floating mountain towards the land;
so it was not virtue but money that moved the spirit of the
mountain. This discovery opened their eyes to many other things. If
the worship of the gods was only kept up in order to give money to
the priests; and if, in order to keep up this great system, the priests
had to call to their aid the gloomy spirits of caste and custom, then
there might be escape for India from these terrible things. And with
eyes open to all she saw, Ramabai began to notice more than ever
before what a terrible life high caste Hindu widows had to live when
they were not the mothers of sons. Gradually she and her brother
gathered groups of people to listen to them as their father had done.
Soon the days of poverty were over, for Ramabai had found out
where one of her great powers lay. Crowds gathered to hear her
speak, and to wonder at her knowledge. But this relief came too late
for her brother, who had been so much worn out with want that his
strength gave way, and though he saw his sister safe from the fear
of poverty it was very hard for him to leave her alone. But though
Ramabai’s faith in idols had gone, her faith in God grew stronger
through the years, and she cheered the dying boy with the words,
“God will take care of me.”
Ere her brother’s death the fame of Ramabai had come to the ears
of the learned men of Calcutta, and they asked her to come and
meet with them. They questioned her, and listened to her answers,
and they sat in amazement as they heard her quote the ancient
writings. They were so moved by her learning that they gave her the
right to use the title Pandita,[7] which no woman had ever been
allowed to use, and they called her also Sarasvati, “goddess of
wisdom.”
About this time a Hindu gentleman, whose ideas were like those of
Ananta, and who shared Ramabai’s horror when he thought of the
life of many Hindu women, asked Ramabai to be his wife, and very
soon after her brother’s death she was married to him. They were
very happy together, but they were not content to be happy alone.
They dreamed and planned what they could do for Hindu widows,
and they even thought of opening their own happy home to them.
Soon a little daughter was born to them to add to their gladness,
and the plans for the widows were going forward brightly, when
death crossed the threshold, and Ramabai was left a widow—a
widow with no son. But the shadows of caste and custom had
already wreaked much of their vengeance on her, and now when she
might have suffered most severely, she was nearly out of their
power.
Her whole thoughts were for Manorama, her little daughter, and for
Hindu widows, and her one desire was to be fit to do the best for
them she could. English women lived in happiness with their
brothers and friends. English people had opened schools and
colleges in India, and she resolved to cross the sea that she might
learn from them in their own land, things that would help her to
brighten the lives of Indian women. So the young Hindu widow with
her little baby came to England. At Wantage the wonder of Christ
broke on her, and she saw that the God in whom she had blindly
trusted was He who had been shown to men in the life and death of
Jesus Christ. As Ramabai saw how great a difference this made to
her, her thoughts went out to the memory of her father, and she
answered his last words as she could not when he died, “Yes, I will
serve Him always.”
To-day Ramabai is surrounded by children. She has two homes, and
they are quite different. When she gave up her life to Christ the first
great piece of work she did in service to Him made many people
think that she was not faithful to Him, because in her first home, a
home for Hindu widows, the great shadows of caste and custom are
admitted. Perhaps at first it seems wonderful that this should be. But
as Ramabai looked round the land she saw that many other servants
of Jesus Christ had opened homes for high caste Hindu widows, and
that no inch of the door of these homes was open for caste and
custom. She saw too that only very few Hindus were willing to let
their daughters learn from those who would not allow them to follow
caste rules. So she made up her mind that she would open one
home to which little Hindu child widows might come, although they
still sat in the shadow. At first very few were allowed to come, but
soon the number grew greater. The little ones were taught many
things and they were kindly cared for, and none of their many
customs were interfered with. They were allowed to go to the bazaar
to buy offerings to carry to the gods, and to have the barber shave
them in his rounds. They might fast when they wished, and they
need never hear of the faith of Jesus Christ. Ramabai did all that she
could to rob the shadows that lay on them of their darkness, only
she did not say that they must leave the shadows before they came
to her. But ever as the children lived in the Sharada Sadan, they saw
that there was one woman—a Hindu widow—on whom the shadow
did not rest, one room in which there was no gloom. The woman
was Ramabai, and the room was hers. Night and morning she held
service there with her servants and Manorama, and the door of the
room was always open. It is not easy for shadows to linger round a
glowing light. Ramabai knew that, and she waited and hoped. She
did not wait in vain, for soon her pupils began to wonder what it was
that made her so different from others, and they came to ask her
about Jesus Christ and His religion.
Some of the little girls who came to her had been terribly ill-used,
and often it was a long time before she could bring a smile to the
dim eyes that had lost their childlike look, or even before she could
bring health back to the beaten, burned bodies that sometimes
came into her loving care.
It was difficult for Ramabai to get hold of those who needed her
help most. One time she heard of a little widow who was in great
misery, but the child was so stupefied with pain that she did not
wish for relief from it, or think that anyone could help her. Ramabai
asked the girl and the relations of her dead husband to come and
visit her, in order that she might win the love of the young widow,
and persuade her to stay when the others went. The relations were
glad to visit Ramabai, and they stayed for some time in a little house
within the grounds of the Sharada Sadan. Ramabai hoped that the
care the child received while she stayed there would have an effect
on her, and that before her relations left the place the widow would
be eager to stay. But the days went on, and the child was still lifeless
and dull, for though the Pandita did not know it, her relations
managed to beat and ill-use her every day. At last Ramabai felt that
she could wait no longer, so she told her guests in what was
understood as the correct way, that their visit had come to an end.
Then she asked the widow if she would stay behind. The relations
did not wish her to stay, but they could not prevent her if she said
she would, and she did say so, though she was still so dazed that
Ramabai feared she would lose her after all. On that life the early
years of pain have left traces that will never entirely go away.
When Ramabai had carried on her work in this school for eight
years, a famine broke out in Central India. She read of this famine,
and the thought of all the orphans who were left friendless by it
moved her, so that she hurried off to the famine district, and brought
back with her three hundred girls. The pupils of the Sharada Sadan
welcomed the little waifs, and made room for them within the
grounds for that night.
Some time before this the Pundita had bought a farm in order to
provide for her widows’ school. The famine children were taken to
this farm and nursed back to health there. Though in the Sharada
Sadan Ramabai led the girls to Christ by indirect means only, she did
not feel that she was bound to do so in the farm home. The famine
orphans were a gift to her from God, not a loan from parents or
relations, so she has from the first been free to tell them of the love
of Christ the King, for all children, and for all in sorrow. The new
home is called “Mukti,” that is “Salvation,” and high up over the great
entrance the words “Praise the Lord” in Marathi, tell of Ramabai’s
wish to call the walls of her children’s home “Salvation” and its gates
“Praise.”
 CHAPTER XIII
HORMASDJI PESTONJI

Before we leave India we shall hear the stories of four others of its
children who found their way to Christ the King. The name of the
first of these is Hormasdji Pestonji. He was not a Hindu, nor a
Mohammedan, but a Parsee. There are not very many Parsees in the
world, and most of them live in India. They are a powerful people,
though they are few in number. Their religion is a worship of fire,
and their ideals of character are high and noble.
Hormasdji went to a mission college in Bombay. Though no one had
to be a Christian in order to study there, yet each one had to listen
to lessons on the Christian faith, and to take his turn in reading the
Bible. Many of the boys hated the foreigner’s religion. They went to
the classes because they wished to learn English, but they would
gladly have closed their ears when the Bible lesson came. Hormasdji
was one of the fiercest of these. When he saw the name of Jesus he
refused to say it, and he tried to destroy the books in which it was.
But he could not help hearing.
Parsee women are not treated as most Mohammedan and Hindu
women are. They are honoured and loved, and may go in and out
with freedom; and home life amongst the Parsees is often bright and
happy. Hormasdji was extremely fond of his mother, and she died
when he was still very young. He was in passionate grief as he saw
her body carried out, covered with rich shawls, to the great white
towers of silence by the sea, where the Parsee dead are laid. “O god
Fire give me back my mother, give me back my mother,” he prayed;
but his brother came sadly back without the body he had borne
away, and the boys were motherless.
Hormasdji thought of his prayer, and began to wonder if ‘fire’ really
was God at all. His lessons at school made him wonder still more, for
there were strange experiments with fire and with water, and it did
not seem to him that what he had seen with his eyes could be true if
fire was really God. He became very unhappy. He did not wish to
believe that Christ could be anything to him and he had lost all faith
in his own god Fire.
One day he went for a swim in the sea. Before he plunged in he saw
a sandbank on which he often rested, clearly marked, but while he
was swimming the rising tide covered the bank and there was no
resting-place for him anywhere. He turned back to swim to the
shore, but it was too far away and he felt his strength failing. As his
strokes grew feebler he thought of Christ and everything seemed
different to him from what he had imagined. He knew that in his
heart he did believe in Christ though he had tried to think that he
hated Him. Those on shore saw that Hormasdji was in danger and
set out to rescue him, but he did not forget the thoughts that had
passed through his mind when he seemed to be sinking. It was in a
different spirit that he listened to the missionaries afterwards. He
was not content to hear only what was taught in school. He wished
to know all he could about the King of India, so he went to the
house of a Christian who lived in Bombay. He met another Parsee
there, who also studied in the college. It was a joy to them both, for
neither had known that the other wished to follow Christ. From that
day onwards they stood together, shoulder to shoulder. When
Hormasdji was nineteen years old, he was baptised, four days after
his friend. All Bombay was excited. No one had ever left the Parsee
faith before, and the Parsees stirred up the Hindus and both
together tried to kill the young converts. When a trial at law was
brought on, some of the Parsees clung to the wheels of the carriage
in which Hormasdji drove away from the court and said that they
would willingly die themselves in order to kill the man who had left
their faith. They tried to poison him and to set fire to his house but
all in vain. Hormasdji remained firm and spent his long life, for he
was seventy-one when he died, in seeking to bring the faith of Christ
into other hearts.