Bahá’í World/Volume 2/Kunjangood-The Village of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
KUNJANGOON—THE VILLAGE OF ‘ABDU’L-BAHÁ
BY
INEZ COOK
(From Star of the West)
IN THE heart of the jungle, some forty or fifty miles from Rangoon, lies a little Burmese village—Kunjangoon. Of so little importance is it to natives and Europeans alike that no one seems to have heard of it, and yet one feels confident to say that this small corner of Burma holds so dynamic a force that before long it must make itself felt at a great distance.
This dynamo of spirit is created by eight hundred Bahá’ís living and working as a unit—a thing thrilling to the heart and imagination. Picture this, if you can, in a country so steeped in the religious superstitions of the past, and whose people in this quarter still remain so primitive that it would appear almost futile to even carry the great Bahá’í Message of this age to them. To see this is to behold a miracle—for has not ‘Abdu’l-Bahá called it His village?
Seventeen years ago the first seed was planted by Jinabí Siyyid Mustafa Roumie that selfless servant of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, who has seen this wonderful work grow through submitting himself entirely to the Master and reflecting His love to these people.
It is worth while to repeat the story as it was heard, of how the first step was taken, for it shows that if the desire be strong enough to serve the Cause—in no matter how small a degree—we can make no estimate of its ultimate goal.
One day in the streets of Rangoon a man from the jungle was seen running breathlessly along, looking utterly desperate and at the point of exhaustion. A Bahá’í happened to be passing at this moment and was attentive at once to this poor man’s condition. Asking if he might help, and to hear something of the cause of his distress, he was told that the man was in search of a legal adviser and had come in a great hurry to the city—only to find himself at an utter loss.
The jungle-man had been accused of a criminal offense by his sister-in-law, in a passion of jealousy, and shortly afterward convicted by the magistrate, who had received a bribe of two hundred rupees from the sister-in-law. The Bahá’í said that he would lead the man to one who would advise him (i. e., Siyyid Mustafa) and help in any way possible.
On hearing the story Siyyid Mustafa said that he knew this magistrate and they would return together at once to the jungle. By chance on the river-boat they met the magistrate, who was indebted to Siyyid Mustafa for past favors, and when asked why he had convicted this man he said: “But the courts are at your disposal, do with them as you will.” Siyyid Mustafa assured him that only justice was desired and that he himself would plead this man’s case at another trial. This was done and the accused one freed.
After that several families of Kunjangoon came to the city at various times, and were always entertained by Siyyid Mustafa. For two years he was at this service, never during this time mentioning the Cause. Finally they asked him why he took so much trouble for them, saying that they had never met anyone like this before. Then he told them that he was a Bahá’í, and they asked to be taught, so that they might become as he was.
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There were ten to be taught at first—and these ten instructed others, and so on. Siyyid Mustafa visited them regularly and helped with all their affairs. A school was started, then a Mashriqu’l-Adhkár, and later ground was given them for community cultivation—the proceeds to be used for the Cause. There are sixty-five acres in all and last year the rice sold from this netted almost one hundred pounds sterling.
We had a great desire to see this Bahá’í village and decided to make the trip, in spite of all the discouragement we received from the English residents of Rangoon. They told us of all the hardships of the trip, which must be made in one day, and assured us that we probably would not return from the jungle alive and they knew nothing of the Bahá’ís and thought we were a lot of quite mad Americans bent on sight-seeing.
Siyyid Mustafa sent a man to Kunjangoon a day ahead of us bearing food, cooking utensils, etc., as these friends are unprepared for visitors or to do our sort of cooking.
We were up before daybreak and on the river by sunrise. The life of the East begins early, so already the little ferry was crowded with natives taking the river journey. They made a picturesque group—squatting amongst their gaily colored robes that rival the sunrise in crimson and blues.
In our tiny, first-class compartment there were already two men, a Burman and an American missionary who had been in the East twenty-one years. Siyyid Mustafa lost no time in giving them the Bahá’í Message, and we wondered how he had contained himself for two years when getting to know and understand the people of Kunjangoon!
Mr. Jones, the missionary, was to meet a co-worker at our stop, Twante, and then proceed to another village by the same boat. But we think ‘Abdu’l-Bahá had this trip in hand, and other things had been planned for this day.
When we landed, the second missionary (Mr. Spear) rushed on board and told Mr. Jones that plans had changed and they were both to go to Kunjangoon. We had met Mr. Spear in one of the shops a few days before, and when he saw us in this out-of-the-way place his amazement was ridiculous. “What,” he said, “are you American ladies doing in this jungle place-it is too curious!”
We asked them to follow in their car and have luncheon with us and see our eight hundred Bahá’ís—a still more unexpected sight.
We were met in a Ford car by two of the friends and driven to the village—twenty-six miles away. What a marvelous sight to see all our Bahá’í sisters and brothers awaiting us, dressed in holiday attire of most colorful materials. Lined up on both sides of the road as we approached, their joyous welcome of “Alláh-u-Abhá” rang forth. Such shining faces and eager curiosity combined would be difficult to picture.
There were four in our party, and before this the only Western Bahá’í they had ever seen was Mrs. Schopflocher. Everyone seemed anxious to be of some service to us, the only one for the moment being to reach for our wraps and parasols. They led us to the schoolhouse (of course, this was a holiday for the one hundred and fourteen children who attended), and grouped themselves about us on the floor—the men and old Bahá’ís taking precedence in front and the women and children in the rear. Then they sang Bahá’í hymns to welcome us—taught them in Persian by Siyyid Mustafa. The rafters rang with the pure joy afloat; and where the chorus was caught up by all the men one could almost see the volume of sound floating through the open doors, on through the sunbaked air to the nearby houses—just as one sees heat vibrations. Or was it just the tumult of my heart, and the mist in my eyes, that made the air seem vibrant?
Mr. Jones and his friend arrived in time for luncheon and seemed astonished to find things just as we had pictured them. They could not believe until they saw it themselves that this work had been [Page 143]
accomplished right in their territory—where years of effort had brought them so little reward by comparison. They appeared to be as interested in taking snapshots of the group as we did, but for what purpose they did not say. However, they left with promises to come again and give talks to our friends, which will be most useful, as the Bahá’ís are diligently studying the Bible.
After luncheon we were shown the village proper—which boasts a court, jail and hospital. Most astonishing of all in this progressive community, they have now a jitney service of Ford cars between Kunjangoon and Twante, twenty-six miles distant. One cannot imagine what this must mean to the villagers, who have had heretofore bullock carts as their only means of transportation.
Then we made our farewells and left, with regret, for the long trip home. It had been made possible to remain this long only by the generous loan of a private steam launch by one of the Bahá’ís of Rangoon, as the last ferry left Twante long before our arrival there.
Mingled with our joy of this day was an undercurrent of sadness which came as we talked to Siyyid Mustafa on the homeward trip. To quote his words as nearly as possible will give the best idea: “I am an old man now and who will carry on my work? Any day I may be called and who will educate these beautiful children? It breaks my heart to come and see them and to be able to do so little—we need teachers and money to help them now. When you leave don't forget my people of Kunjangoon.”
And who having seen Kunjangoon could forget it!
