Present Day : 00:30 Hrs
My hands are tied behind my back. From the position I'm lying I can only make out the ceiling. It is strangely curved in shape, like the wooden hull of an upturned boat. The smell of moistened earth announced the approach of rains. The sound of drums of a tribal dance underway is wafting in from a distance. I remember to have been invited to such festivals so many times - to have squatted on the ground with the entire village, mesmerized by the women singing and dancing in line sequence to the rhythm of drum and tune of flute.
Sounds of muffled voices bring me back to reality and I strain my ears with the hope of catching any word. I try to cry but only a feeble groan escapes my mouth. I moisten my cracked lips with my tongue. I need water badly. My thoat is parched from thirst and the back of my head is paining unbearably. I don't know how long I'll be able to hold on in this condition.
What time is it of the day ? Or is it night now ? I don't know. Turning my eyeballs to the right, I can make out a window. The glass pane is covered with a thick cloth, most probably a blanket which is blocking the light outside. There is a gasoline lamp burning close to my head which is driving me nuts. Will closing my eyes bring any respite ?
A huge, dark statue stood before me, blocking everything behind. It was a hindu goddess - pitch black in colour, eyes which burnt like embers and lips smeared with blood, a pair of prominent, white canine all adding to her ferocity ; a garland of skulls worn around her neck, eleven hands brandishing weapons while one held the amputed head of a corpse - from which blood trickled. It was the most scariest of idols I've seen in my life. Suddenly the idol went up in flames and her skin started to peel off at places, exposing her flesh, arteries and bones. Her face had also changed to someone I'd known so well. 'Maya !' I shrieked with horror. But there was noone. And then I realized why Maya could never be here.
Ten Years Ago
Since the day I landed at the obscure village near Suri, forty-eight kilometres from Rampurhat town of West Bengal; I knew I'd have to start from scratch.
They lived like stray cattle on the streets, filthy and buzzing with flies; their families having abandoned them for long. The villagers still believed the disease to be God's curse, punishment for their sins in earlier births. People avoided going near them, let alone touching them. Hardly anybody knew that treatment for leprosy was available now. It's despicable the way these illiterate people were misled based on their religious beliefs, so that the society could easily wash their hands off their responsibility towards them.
I started with renovating the ramshackled church, turning it also into my residence and clinic. At first people ran away seeing a man clad in white robes. I guess they haven't seen a Christian priest before; the church having been abandoned for long. It took a great deal of cajoling to convince them to come for treatment. But what could medicines do in absence of proper diet ?
A primary school for the lepers' children was founded . The elders were given training in making jute bags, cane baskets and other handicrafts and their wares were later sold at Rampurhat handicraft fairs. We called our project 'God's Blessings' The children however came for the lunch, rather than to learn ABCD or arithmetic. As news of our initiative spread, more and more people started enrolling at the rehabilitation centre.
I took it upon myself to visit every home regularly to check. It was during one of such visits that I found Maya loitering on the streets with a sullen face. I was astonished at her resemblance with my daughter Mary. She too had long, curly hairs extending to her waist; except that her skin was black. Her parents had given her the name Mahamaya after the hindu Goddess Kali, but the villagers called her just Maya. She didn't seem to be infected, so I wondered why everyone avoided her. As it turned out, the villagers considered her evil, the cause of their misery. I learnt that her father worked as a Mason at Suri. She had a brother two years younger to her and both had started going to school in Suri, only a year back.
While coming from home I had carried one of Mary's dolls along with a frock, few hair ribbons and lots of chocolates; amongst other things. When I beheld her belongings everyday it made me feel her presence. And now when I saw Maya, I couldn't help giving them as a gift. Her dirty and tattered clothes gone now, she looked like a little princess in the white frock. I could never forget her cheshire cat smile. While every child in the village addressed me as 'Doctor Uncle', Maya would call me just 'Dakta', unable to pronounce the bengali word clearly at her age.
A discoloured patch had shown up at her back at the age of ten, when her parents had left her at the leper colony, fearing leprosy. All the problems had started since then. The children who played with her had died one by one, either in a night's fever or while vomitting blood. Without heeding the villagers' warnings I brought Maya to my chamber.
Upon examination I found her to be affected with psoraisis and not leprosy. It is a rare disease in which there is a peeling rash across the entire surface of the body. The rash itches or burns intensely, and spreads quickly. That explained her skin bleeding. But I knew very well that psoriasis was not contagious and so death of other boys and girls through her was impossible. It could be they got infected with diarrhoea and going by the unhealthy conditions in which they lived; it was most probable. Maya was in the advanced stage of 'Erythrodermic Psoriasis' and I knew her chances were bleak. However I still prayed to God for a miracle.
No one came on Maya's funeral. Michael and his wife Nancy, who had brought her up at the village made the arrangements and I had to officiate the burial. We had sent news to her parents but to no avail. My heart sank as I saw her being laid inside the coffin - her little life's final destination. She seemed to be sleeping and her face was smeared with all the innocence of the world. As I read the prayers while she was lowered into the earth, I found it hard to hold back my tears. Then I remembered. Sometimes we don't understand God's ways immediately.
One Day Before : 17:30 Hrs
I'd just completed my evening prayers and was about to have my supper when a jeep arrived outside and a group of men armed with swords and machetes stormed into the church. First they took out all books from the shelves and set them on fire, pushing and pinning me against the wall when I tried to resist. They ransacked the building, turning the almirahs down and breaking all medicine bottles and first aid kits.
The leader of the gang, Rajenderbhai - a bearded man in his mid-thirties then held up his hands implying his men to stop. 'Pack up your belongings and go back to America, Doctor'. He spoke in amateurish English. 'Okay I'm ready to do that if you promise to take care of these hapless people.' I took stock of the situation before speaking. A ridiculing smile crossed the man's lips hearing me speak hindi. I tried to look into his eyes, making effort not to sound a bit aggrieved, but trying to find a solution treading his way'
So long Rajender was standing with his right leg on the chair before me, but now he kicked it away, pulled another one and sat crossing his right leg over his left. 'We'll take care of our people. You needn't worry Saheb'. Bringing his mouth near me he hissed like a snake. 'Our people don't need Christian missionaries to throw them alms and teach a few english words in exchange for .. You have no right to make our people Christians against their wishes.' 'Good gracious' This really surprised me. 'But we don't convert anyone against their wish'. I defended. 'We only take in those who willingly likes to embrace Christianity out of love for Jesus Christ. You and your men are free to be my guest and check out for yourselves'.
A crowd had gathered in front of the church - people on crutches, people with distorted faces, people without eyes, with fingers of hands or feet missing; which they deliberately tried to hide by wrapping shawls around them. Fate had not just made a mockery of their lives, but also snatched away their self-respect, the power to reason, to decide between right and wrong.
'These missionaries have come here to strip you of your religion, alienate you from your fraternity, your country. Never believe the white-skinned, they can never become your friends'. Rajenderbhai was at his job. The homebringing process had begun since long behind my back, I found, and today's act was a pre-rehearsed one, perhaps the concluding part.
They broke out in loud applause after the hate speech aimed at all Christian missionaries - the people who sacrificed their lives towards improving the lives of lepers and slum people in India for decades. It was then that I saw axes and sticks in their hands. The eyes which once begged compassion was now filled with rage.
'Do you know what had happened to Maya ? Or the many other children who died in this man's hands ? At this one of the men whispered something into their leader's ear. 'Hmm . Your centre has other serious charges too, Doctor. You've fed beef to the villagers. 'You've also distributed lingeries to the womenfolk - tried to stain the rural innocence of village people with the filth of the west.
Rajenderbhai continued with the accusations unabatedly. 'Let them off and they'll never stop adultering our society. Do you think these people deserved to be spared ? He faced the villagers again. I knew anything I said in my defence was useless now. So I left it to God to save another of his innocent son from further misery and no matter what I had complete faith in him. At the mention of Maya, Michael, stepped forward and measured me using a mixed expression of sorrow, anger and hatred; before spitting on my face. Then someone hit me on the head from behind.
Present Day : 01:45 Hrs
These are days of sunny spells and scattered showers in India. The rain has stopped since long, and the air was getting warmer again; but still no signs of my abductors. Maybe they've decided not to come at all. Perhaps my worst fears is going to be true - that they're going to starve me to death. The thought of water once again brought attention to my parched lips ! I could even drink my body waste now. The room was getting hotter and hotter every minute and whether it was due to the sun outside or I had caught a fever I couldn't say. At this moment I became aware of a strong odour - a pungent, oily smell I was so familiar of. Kerosene!
Suddenly I was choked by black smoke billowing from the floor causing me to cough my head off.
Almost instantaneously the window glasses cracked into pieces letting in currents of hot air into the room. It took some time for my worn out brain to register the fact that the building had been set on fire. And the realization of it sent a cold wave of fear down my spines. The first thought which came on my mind was of Mary. When I closed my eyes I saw my daughter smiling at me .. that same cheshire cat smile. 'Remember my birthday Papa ? You've promised to come home'.
I tried to wriggle my hands free from the rope that tied to the metal rings of the trapdoor below. The inconvenient position I was in, my lack of skill at it and overall the fatigue in my muscles made the task impossible. I could feel the intense heat near me and it appeared I was lying at the mouth of a huge oven. I knew I'd have to roll away from the door opening in the nick of time to prevent myself from falling into the basement room and getting incinerated inside.
Seconds seemed like hours and minutes turned into days as I waited for the flames to leap up to the rope tying my hands. And then it happened. I heard the flames sputtering near my ears and felt my skin getting roasted. Almost instantly the rope snapped, throwing me into an abyss of death.
It seemed I was falling into hell and I could hear voices of trapped souls from below pleading me to set them free. I could also make out a girl's sobbs, spelling out my name in her own unmistakable, inimitable way, pleading me to free her. That single moment reminded me once again the purpose of my life and I thanked God for chosing me. How my hands had managed to grip the iron rings at the last moment, how I gathered the strength to haul myself up, I don't know. My gown caught fire in a moment and I realised my legs were getting burnt to a crisp.
When I reached the floor above I could barely get up. In that state of shock and despair I recognized my church now. The place I'd been tied down was the sanctuary and the vesting room was right below it. The room had an entrance from behind the church and it was strange that a trapdoor existed here that I didn't know of. Also, there was no staircase going down.
The statue of Christ had come off the wall and was lying head down on the altar. The organ console in the choir was broken, the chairs in the nave upturned, the pulpit lying on the ground. The church was beyond recognition now. With flames all around, the transept or narthex were difficult to locate. Keeping a direction of right angles roughly to the altar I rolled away on the floor looking for the right hand side transept. As I neared the exit suddenly a part of the ceiling crashed down, blocking the door. A wooden joist hit me on my head and I must've blacked out for few moments.
That harrowing experience of making my way through the towering inferno and reaching the Narthex will give me nightmares even several years later. Everytime I made an attempt to crawl forward, I remember some invisible hands pulling me back. With claws as sharp as steel they tore away my flesh as I cried out in pain. All around me I could see silhouettes of different shapes and hear their whispers. Slowly they came near .. very near me till I could feel their hot breaths on my cheeks. And then the putrid smell of their burnt, rotten flesh began to torture my nostrils.
When I came out at last, laid on my back and looked at the sky above, the church was a roaring blaze behind me. The last thing I remembered was the sound of running feet and someone calling out my name.
It took about six months for me to recover. Complex skin grafting operations .. facelift .. multiple fractures .. spinal cord injury. And it made me crippled for the rest of my life. The inspector of the local police station visited me at the hospital one day and asked if I knew my abductors before. When he asked me to write an FIR and help them draw sketch of the leader of the group, I declined. My religion has taught me benevolence .. to forgive .. to believe in the change of heart ..
Moreover I know these people would get away no sooner than they are arrested. Even if there is law against illegal religious conversions, how could anyone take law in their hands ? Without strong political backing, how can anyone dare to conspire against a man believing in a minority faith .. take local people in their confidence and try to burn him alive, all in a secular country ?
Epilogue
Back home in America I place flowers and light candles before Mary's and my wife's portraits. I curse myself everytime I'm reminded of my helplessness in trying to save my child before I could even cradle her once in my arms. Perhaps it would have been better if I had listened to the doctor's words. Dorothy's body wasn't prepared for motherhood yet but I could hardly have waited for a year or two. I know only through my faith in Jesus Christ in all obscurities of life can my sins be atoned.
I celebrate Mary's birthday every year .. buy her new clothes, dolls and everything my heart desires. I can't stop doing it. When I'll return back to work I'll take her memories with me again. I've got to go back to India to complete my mission .. It doesn't matter if I'm not a missionary anymore. Who said one has to be one in order to serve God's children ?
The project which I had started in Suri must be completed and running. The diseases deadlier than TB, leprosy or diarrhoea in India are perhaps poverty and superstition. If we can fight them only then will mankind attain true salvation from sins owing to religious fundamentalism. Maybe only then will Maya's soul will get emancipation.
As I pack my bag, I'll keep aside my daughter's frock and hair ribbons. Now that I have a photograph of her I don't need to carry her belongings anymore. No matter whatever I've to endure to spread God's love, I know I'll always have Maya with me. In my heart, she'll always remain the daughter Mary we always wanted but never had.
