Indian Antics VI

Season's Greetings to you, and best wishes for the New Year. It's been two weeks since I last wrote but I’m back in Malkangiri now and all set to get back into work. Today you’ll celebrate Christmas with me in rural India, after which we'll take a trip down south for the New Year. We'll experience Indian trains, buses, horse carts, tractors and of course the auto-rickshaw, as we see the sights and meet the people. As always I'll leave you with some points for concern, and thank you for your ongoing prayers.

Recent News
Today is my first day in Malkangiri for ten days. The familiar sounds of the afternoon are welcoming and very relaxing. Even the 6am temple chants this morning were pleasantly homely. As we drove back here yesterday, I watched the scenery grow slowly more wild while its inhabitants became more and more rugged. These remote parts of Orissa are certainly the most beautiful parts of India that I’ve seen. The people live in comfortable harmony with the land they are dependent on, moulding into and complementing the landscape collage. It was for these people I came here six weeks ago and it was with some disappointment I was told we were going away for almost two weeks. Dr Iris was to attend the Interserve conference in Pune, along with most of the Interserve volunteers. Remo was to set up and run a stall for the Reaching Hand Society at a large students convention down in Bangalore. By the instruction of the local police, foreign volunteers were not to stay in Malkangiri 'alone', due to the terrorist activities of the Naxolite group. So I packed my bags and went south to Bangalore, along with Remo, Laban and Dave (the other Aussie). But before I get onto that, let's first backtrack to Christmas here in Malkangiri.

Behind Bars
You will remember me telling you of the many Christmas programs I helped out at - 17 in total. But the most interesting one by far, was the program in the local jail. On Christmas Eve (Monday) I’d finished up at the medical clinic and said goodbye to Padma, who was doing reasonably well. I then met up with Probakar, a 21yo literacy worker with RHS, and he dinked me to the jail on his bike. The Malkangiri jail is tucked in behind the police station. It accommodates around 200 male prisoners and 5 females. 70% of the inmates are non-caste tribals, 13% are local casted Indians, and 7% are other casted Indians caught for drug trafficking. Offences range from stealing and assault right up to murder (many of the women murdered their drunken husbands), and even child sacrifice. Two high caste men in there had been convicted of the latter. Apparently one of them had had a dream in which he was told to kill a child and thus uncover vast amounts of buried treasure. After kidnapping an innocent child, they cut out his tongue to prevent him screaming for help. Then, after torturing and mutilating the boy they left him to die. Needless to say, no treasure was found. On the other end of the scale, many of the tribals have had inadequate judicial support, and will remain imprisoned until a family member can pay their way out.

When workers from RHS first visited the jail it was a dirty, messy hole, covered in smelly filth. With the warden's permission they went to work with the inmates to clean the place up. Now there is an extensive vegetable patch, clean courtyards and no offensive smells. Over the years, RHS has supplied sports equipment, garden supplies, chairs and tables, typewriters, carom boards and recently some black and white TVs. They also run daily literacy programs for all interested prisoners, and a weekly church service. All three of the previous wardens received rapid promotion, largely because of this work, so the current warden is quietly supportive also. After entering the waiting area through a huge metal gate I sat down and surveyed the goings on of the prison. One by one prisoners would be escorted to barred windows to meet with family members. After ten minutes of supervised conversation, the family would usually give a bag of food to the prisoner. The guards would do a thorough examination (often skimming a bit for themselves also) then return the prisoner to the yard. As I was led into the yard I surveyed the scene. Some inmates tended to the gardens, others cooked rice in huge cement tanks (a lot of rice is needed to feed 200 men), others chopped and sorted vegetables, while some helped build some sort of brick room. To the left of me was a walled off area, the women's prison, and it was here we first stopped. Upon entry I was greeted warmly by the five women inmates, and was introduced to a 2yo boy. This boy was born in the confines of the prison walls and had never seen beyond them. As I surveyed his view, nothing but blue sky and the tips of a few trees could be seen over the walls. I asked when his mother would be released and was told she didn’t know - another case of not having the money for freedom.

Returning to the main courtyard, Probakar had assembled the men around the volleyball court, where they squatted in a closely huddled group. A few men had become interested in the Christian faith, and they led in a few songs and bible verses. They were obviously nervous, and I admired their guts for putting themselves forward without fear of the persecution that could follow. Probakar then said a few words about Christmas, and introduced Matt and myself to sing a song in Oriya. As I sung I surveyed the faces of these men. Brokenness and rejection hung almost visibly on their shoulders and I knew that I was incapable of really understanding and empathizing with them. For the tribals particularly, being separated from their family and their work would be unbearable, and many of them had at least attempted suicide in here. We finished singing and Probakar stood to award the literacy prizes. It was interesting to see the best students were tribals, since the casted inmates were so hostile towards working with them. As the students came forward one by one, many showed pride in their achievements. I handed out prizes of toilet jugs, combs, water jugs, sponges and soap holders to them, which they accepted graciously and returned to compare with others. After Dr Iris closed in prayer we handed out packets of sweets to every inmate. As I made personal contact with them they responded happily. And as we packed to leave, most of them eagerly came forward to farewell me, each according to his own custom. With 200 prisoners swarming around me I knew the guards would be useless if anything turned ugly. But not once did I feel anxious, responding with joy as they reached out for one of their few sources of love.

Throughout the rest of Christmas Eve my mind returned to these prisoners and I saw them afresh as victims of their crimes, and my heart went out to them.

Christmas Day
Christmas Day began like any other day. I watched the sun rise over the mountains and saw its light sparkle on the ripples of the lake, as I completed my morning jog. As I walked through town to the school for the Christmas service, I wished people a happy Christmas. Blank smiles greeted me in response for the most part but a few faces lit up with recognition. The only thing betraying a special season was the increased number of greeting card stalls. There were no Christmas trees, no decorated or lit up shops or houses, not even any Santa legs sticking out of the chimneys. But in the absence of the commercial 'Christmas spirit', I could better reflect on Christmas' real meaning. The love of God for us that he'd come to live alongside us ultimately in order to restore our relationship with him. In the afternoon I packed a bag with pineapple, coconut, bananas and chocolate and led the other volunteers to a quiet lake out of town. Here we relaxed and ate before trekking 20 minutes to the top of a nearby hill. From this vantage point we could look across Malkangiri to the west as the sun slid down behind it. It was dark as we started the half hour walk back to town, but as a tractor pulled alongside pulling a load of bagged grain, we were invited to climb aboard. So sitting aboard the grain bags, our regal procession bumped down the dusty road into town. It'd been a great Christmas.

Journey South
On Wednesday we were due to leave for Vizakapatnam in the afternoon. After packing my bags I sat with a few local kids watching them make a slingshot out of a rubber inner tube. A couple of them brought greeting cards for me, one which said "A Journey Must Begin With a Single Step, That is Important". Suman, the 13yo who gave it to me explained that it was because I was going for a journey today. I thanked him and handed out some Aussie koalas I'd brought. Packing into the Jeep along with Remo, his friend Raja, Dave, Laban and the driver we set off in the early afternoon. After almost ten hours we'd covered the 300km to Vizakapatnam, after stopping twice with suspension problems.

The train to Bangalore left at 7am, and took 26 hours. I was in a simple 'sleeper' carriage, containing eight berths. Travelling by train in India is an experience in itself as I quickly found out. I was in together with some Catholic nuns and a couple of businessmen. At each stop the train was boarded by a variety of salesmen and beggars. The beggars were a sorry sight and often had very serious deformities or handicaps. With little experience with beggars having been out in rural Malkangiri, I did what I could, offering fruit to all, and money to the seemingly worst-off. A couple of times some guys dressed in drag came along, harassing passengers for money. They were very rude, feeling up my leg and stroking my face, and I couldn't understand why they didn't get decked. Apparently if they don't get their way they'll sometimes lift their saris and flash - fortunately it didn't come to that in my case. When night came beds could be folded from the wall for sleeping. I was in the top of three bunks, staring at the ceiling but nevertheless quite comfortable. In their long blue dresses and scarves, the nuns looked like angels in the pale evening light as they slept. Being on a train travelling long distances, gave me the chance to see much of India from a distance in a short time. I watched for hours as fields and mountains drifted by. The dark bodies of farmers worked away in the summer heat, slogging away in plantations of grain, sugarcane, cotton, coconuts and vines. The landscape was very green, especially in the state of Andhra Pradesh, which is the largest consumer and producer of rice in India.

The beauty of the hills and fields of inland India disappeared as we entered Bangalore on Saturday morning. Bangalore is known as the 'garden city' and was established as a retirement haven. It has developed into a quite wealthy town, which is clean and safe by comparison to other Indian cities. We first carted the gear for the stall out to the conference in an old Ambassador taxi. Our choice of taxi almost meant we didn’t make it as we conked out twice and crawled along slower than the many cyclists the rest of the way. But we made it to the campsite successfully and set up the Reaching Hand Society stall. In a hall along with twenty other stalls, our's displayed tribal weapons and crafts as well as pictures and information about our work. The conference directors were keen for Dave and I to leave quickly, as the campsite was government owned and foreigners were not welcomed. Thus began our week of holiday.

Tourists
We took an old suspensionless bus down to Mysore - 3.5hrs drive south of Bangalore. Here we spent two nights and got to see much of this popular city. Among the main attractions was the huge palace displaying furniture and art from the Maharaja's reigns, and lighting up externally at sunset. We also trekked the 1000 stairs up to Chamundi Hill, a site of pilgrimage for Hindus throughout India. As well as the temple, there were a number of notable statues and an interesting 'Godly Museum', displaying beliefs of a reformed Hindu sect. During the day we visited the Art and Craft Emporium, displaying amazing works in wood, metals and cloth. We also got dragged into a small dingy room where incense sticks and oils were made. I left Mysore with a drum, two flutes, a snake charming instrument, a carved box and some incense sticks together with a relaxed and refreshed body.

For two nights we stayed in Bangalore, a city of dirt, noise and many people. During one morning I found refuge from the hustle and bustle in the centre of the Botanical Gardens, a sprawling area of peace and serenity. I spent New Year's Eve in the Mahatma Ghandi area, along with about ten thousand other guys (and 20 or so girls). It was a night of noise, photos with strangers, lots of well-wishers, but no fireworks or entertainment to speak of. After seeing the New Year in there was little to do since the pubs and clubs were closing up already. As soon as possible we escaped from Bangalore and headed north on a bus to Nandi Hills. Changing buses after 1.5 hours we were crammed into a little 30-seater, along with 100 others. Our packs disappeared inside somewhere and I was left hanging on by one arm out the door. Fortunately I was shoved inside when we next took on passengers, my head jammed between a guy’s shoulder and another's armpit. I was no longer struggling to hang on, just struggling to breath. The trip to Nandi Hill was definitely worth the effort. The New Year's Day tourists had left by 6pm leaving us and a few other overnighters up top. Nandi Hill is 2000 metres above sea level, topped by the Tippu Sultan's palace and fort. Vertical drops off rocky ledges almost fully surround the top, making it easy to dispose of enemies and criminals. On the positive side, these ledges now provide a view from every side of the hill for miles. Unfortunately the India's horizon is obscured by dust throughout the year, abating only immediately after the rainy season. But in the peace and quiet it is easy to understand why the locals love Nandi Hills as a picnic spot.

Returning to Bangalore on Wednesday, we caught the train back towards Vizakapatnam with no problems. As expected the train ride provided more noisy food sellers, more sorry looking beggars and a few more drag queens. Arriving on Thursday night, we spent two nights in Vizakapatnam, awaiting the arrival of Dr Iris and the others from the Interserve conference. I took the opportunity to indulge in pizza at a small, continental shop. I never thought I'd get sick of curry varieties twice a day, but the change was most welcome. On Saturday we began the trip back to Malkangiri along with Dr Iris, her son David, and daughter Mary. On the way we called in at the Boora Caves, a sequence of huge caverns recently developed for tourism. I was sad to see the lack of protection of the features and noticed it was very dry due to development overhead. As we continued to Malkangiri I reflected on the misuse of India's beautiful environment, extending from littering to poor cultivation techniques and industrialization. But, as I watched the county become more and more rural and remote I felt very happy to be returning to Malkangiri and the people here, where capitalism has not yet reached.

Back to Work
Today I've just unpacked and relaxed, getting ready for work again. It's actually rained for an hour or so here, and the trees look greener than ever with the dust washed away. I was hoping the sunset might be impressive, but with the clouds still overhead, I'm not too sure. The air has got a certain freshness and coolness about it, very welcome after the heat of the last couple of months. With less than four weeks left here in Malkangiri I feel the urgency of getting back into work, and want to make the most of my remaining stay. I hope Christmas and New Year was relaxing and enjoyable for you, and best wishes for 2002! Thank you for your thoughts, prayers and letters; they are all greatly appreciated.