Sometimes she lives in the heart of the Hindu town; sometimes in a village, in the primitive surroundings of a mass-movement community.  Eminent among such is Mrs. Azariah, wife of the first Indian bishop, and with him at the head of the Tinnevelly Missionary Society at Dornakal.  There, in the heart of the Deccan, among primitive Telugu outcastes, is this remarkable group of Indian missionaries, supported by Indian funds, winning these lowly people through the gospel of future salvation and of present betterment.

It was on a Sunday morning that I slipped into the communion service at Dornakal.  The little church, built from Indian gifts with no aid from the West, is simplicity itself.  The roof thatched with millet stalks, the low-hanging palmyra rafters hung with purple everlastings, the earth-floor covered with bamboo matting, all proclaimed that here was a church built and adorned by the hands of its worshippers.  The Bishop in his vestments dispensed the sacrament from the simple altar.  Even the Episcopal service had been so adapted to Indian conditions that instead of the sound of the expected chants one heard the Te Deum and the Venite set to the strains of Telugu lyrics.  The audience, largely of teachers, theological students, and schoolboys and girls, sat on the clean floor space.  One saw and listened with appreciation and reverence, finding here a beginning and prophecy of what the Christianized fraction of India will do for its motherland.

It was against this background that I came to know Mrs. Azariah.  In the bungalow, as the Bishop’s wife, she presides with dignity over a household where rules of plain living and high thinking prevail.  She dispenses hospitality to the many European guests who come to see the activities of this experimental mission station, and packs the Bishop off well provided with food and traveling comforts for his long and numerous journeys.  The one little son left at home is his mother’s constant companion and shows that his training has not been neglected for the multitude of outside duties.  One longs to see the house when the five older children turn homeward from school and college, and fill the bungalow with the fun of their shared experiences.  Mercy, the eldest daughter, is one of the first Indian women students to venture on the new commercial course offered by the Young Women’s Christian Association with the purpose of fitting herself to be her father’s secretary.  In a few months she will be bringing the traditions of the Women’s Christian College of Madras, where she spent two previous years, to share with the Dornakal community.