Sadhu Sundar Singh moved through the towns and villages of North India, going annually to help in a holiday camp for disabled boys, occasionally staying for brief periods in a hill station or in hostels in Delhi and Simla, but always returning to what he knew to be his calling. Clad only in his saffron robe with a blanket over his shoulder, he went quietly on his way, spending the early hours of each day in solitary meditation and prayer, walking mile after mile across the plains, stopping to preach wherever he thought he saw an opportunity.

His prolonged presence was not always welcome. Seeing some men reaping in a field one day, he went to them and started preaching. They listened rather indifferently for a time and then began to swear at him. They did not want to hear about a strange religion, they told him. They had work to do. Then one of them picked up a stone and threw it at him so hard and so accurately that it cut his face. Sundar dabbed the bleeding spot and wisely said no more, but for some reason did not move away.

A short time later the man who had thrown the stone developed such a splitting headache that he had to stop work. One scythe idle at harvest time was a serious matter as Sundar knew, and without a word, he went forward, picked up the scythe and started to wield it. This made a good impression on the men, especially as he went on working until they all stopped. At their invitation, he went back to the village with them to have something to eat. It was not until after he had gone that they took stock of what had been reaped that day, and to their amazement found it was a greater yield than they had ever had before. Their surprise turned to awe. It was because they had had the holy man reaping with them. A holy man! But they had rejected his message. They tried to find him then but he had gone. The incident was reported in a North Indian newspaper by one of the reapers to wanted to hear the Sadhu’s message now and urged him to return to them.