Chapter Fifteen
Growth in every department of the ACDP had become so phenomenal that market availability of certain essential inputs could not keep pace with our demands. Quite apart from the Project's own needs were those of the poorer farmers whom we helped with their purchasing. The energy crisis first started to hit us in 1975, when the distribution of petrol and diesel fuels, along with nitrogenous fertilizers, came under a strict rationing system. Other oil-based commodities, such as insecticides, pesticides, fungicides and certain pharmaceuticals also became scarce.
It was not as though the ACDP could not get permits to buy these goods; in fact, being a community development organization, registered with government, gave us priority. The difficulty was in not knowing soon enough when some item had become available on the market. By the time we had learned that several wagonloads of fertiliser had reached the railway siding or the dealers' godowns, the full consignment had been sold. Had there been a telephone line to our area, the merchants could have informed us and we would have raced immediately to town to make a purchase. On the Bihar side of the border there was no such problem, for Shantibe Dube and her nephews, Premchand and Ardan, bought up all our supplies for the Sultanpur farm. However, under the rationing system, goods bought in Bihar, could not be used in another state. Because of this, all our needs for Sahaganj and Nawapara farms had to be bought in Aranchalganj, M.P..
I was discussing this problem with the Supply Officer handling the M.P. rationing program when he said, "Look, may I make a suggestion? Why don't you move from Sahaganj to Bilaspur, where you'll know even before we do, when rationed goods are available. There is a Trust in Bilaspur, anxious to get a person like you who could start up an agricultural development project such as you have at Sahaganj. They have about one hundred acres of good farmland. The Chairman of the Trust has close ties with top officials in Bilaspur and he would be able to get you permits for all the rationed goods you need. If you are interested, I'll refer you to the Trust."
So it was that, about a month later, I received an invitation to head up an agricultural project under what we shall call the "Joshi Benevolent Trust." Bilaspur is the divisional headquarters town from which rationed goods are sent to six districts, including Surgapam. Being located there would enable me to know, well in advance, when petrol, diesel, fertilizers and cement would be available in Aranchalganj. Kalemari, Khushi Ram and I went to Bilaspur to meet Mr. Joshi and to check out the feasibility and viability of the whole proposal. We also engaged a technical expert to ascertain the pH value of the soil and the irrigation potential of the subterranean water table of the area.
Mr. Joshi was quite a big businessman, heavily involved in the export-import markets. His Bilaspur home was a mansion and, as for his residence in New Delhi, where later I was invited to a sumptuous meal, it was luxurious beyond all imagining - far more palatial than any of the fine homes in the US or Britain where Ruth and I had been guests. The man seemed to be rolling in money. As an international entrepreneur who was constantly travelling around the world, he was not easily available for an interview but eventually, did manage to spare some time to discuss his plans. . The Trust's farm of a hundred odd acres, was part of a legacy from the estate of Mr. Joshi's father who had been renowned in the area for his concern for the poor. The Trust was committed to rehabilitating the destitute through income accrued from this family estate. "You jot down your proposals for the development of this land," said Mr. Joshi, "and I'll give you my thoughts on the matter. Then we shall arrange another meeting to pool our ideas and perhaps draw up a contract."
As part of the deal, Ruth and I were promised a house with electricity supply, a well with water- pump, a Jeep & trailer and time off during the weekends to visit Sahaganj, at our own expense. This would afford an excellent opportunity to haul in ACDP rationed supplies. Initially, the main problem was to find the time between Mr. Joshi's business trips abroad when we could meet to plan a development scheme and, hopefully draw up a contract for signing. Meanwhile, Ruth and I felt that it was about time we visited our families in Australia. It had been eleven years since we were last "home". That was in 1964 and meantime, my father had died and now my mother was frail.
The Moran Family Trust and Cameron Edison Trusts graciously combined to give us a much needed vacation, enabling Mr. Joshi and me to coordinate our flight schedules so that we would meet in New Delhi at the time of his return from Japan and immediately prior to our departure for Australia. Unfortunately, because "Red Army" terrorists had laid siege to Tokyo International Airport, Mr. Joshi's plane was grounded and he could not then return to India. At this late hour, it was impossible for us to change our own travel plans to wait for him so we had to leave India without signing the contract.
Our brief visit to Melbourne, one of the world's most beautiful cities, was an experience of mixed feelings. Precious were the joys of being reunited, after so many years, with parents, other loved ones, friends and our home church at Balmoral. Life in Melbourne, however, struck a note of sorrow and discomfort in our hearts. We had known privation in India for too long to re-adjust to the all too comfortable and complacent Western way of life, which brought on a cultural shock. For years, our hearts had ached for India while she desperately struggled, after long, bitter years of colonial oppression and exploitation, to build up her industries, reduce unemployment and lower the rate of inflation.
By contrast, while Indians were working hard to gain a higher status among their trading partners in the world's markets, we found many smug Australian workers, among the best paid in the world, systematically destroying the very industries that provided them with such a high economic standard of living. Our minds could not take it in. Also, we found that, in most cases, both sides in the industrial dispute were to blame, each exploiting the other. The affluence, even among the "poor", the exploitation of the Social Security System and the enormous waste of natural resources, seemed altogether out ofharn1ony with the poverty that was grinding many of my close Indian friends into the dust.
We were shocked by the huge amount of alcohol and
other destructive drugs, costing the taxpayers many billions of dollars
annually, being consumed, often "respectably", while those in other
lands starved for want of a morsel. It seemed to us that a nation has too much
food if, so selfishly, it can afford to let much of it rot to produce booze. I felt
over-come with a sense of shame to be associated with a Western nation, even my
own home country. As for the
Paradoxically, we found the taxpayers concerned about the many billions of dollars being wasted on fighting crime, domestic violence, health problems and carnage on the road, which were largely a direct result of their society's heavy dependence on alcohol and other drugs. This was a nation at war with itself and it was tragic!
The disparities between the rich and poor nations seemed totally incongruous in a world able to meet the needs of all its people, if only we would share our blessings with those less fortunate. One part of us wanted to stay in what some describe as "The Lucky Country", though one seemingly bent on self-annihilation, while the other was urging us back to the land of our adoption. We were further shocked to observe the little value placed on human life, especially that of women, as reflected in the trivial sentences imposed on rapists and the abusers of children by the predominantly White Anglo-Saxon male dominated legal system of our "Christian" Country.
It seemed as though the judiciary was bending over backwards, as it were, in sympathy with the criminals, spending billions of dollars on their rehabilitation, while the innocent victims of crime were virtually forgotten. We found that their fancy jails - virtually "fun-parlours", when compared with the Mandya Prison - were equipped with TV, telephones, spotless kitchens, soft beds, easy access to drugs, recreation facilities and sewerage systems with, of all things, stainless steel toilet pots! We were in a quandary; our minds boggled and we could take no more. At least we now knew where we belonged.
The return trip to India was quite uneventful until our Boeing 747, in preparation for departure, was being pushed away from the loading terminal at Hong Kong International Airport. Earlier, there had been an oil-spill on the tarmac and this, combined with heavy rain that night, caused the wheels of the huge tractor to slip. For fifteen minutes they tried to move our big jet, but to no avail. Meanwhile, the plane's four engines were shut down, leaving it to the auxiliary generator in the tail, to maintain the Jumbo's electrical power supply. At that time, there were so many other flights departing, that a second tractor was not immediately available to help us on our way. For a full hour, we waited in that sealed capsule - over four hundred passengers and crew - with the air- conditioning system only partially functional.
What should we do? Well, we decided to have a nap and it was then that one of the cabin crew decided, as a requirement of international health regulations governing departures from all foreign airports, to disinfect the cabin with insecticide. It was this aerosol spray, with no over-head jet-air ventilation being supplied and no prior warning issued to passengers by the cabin staff, that triggered off for Ruth one of her most violent asthma attacks that nearly took her life and made our arrival at Delhi anything but the pleasant experience we had looked forward to.
Our sorrows were compounded when we met Mr. Joshi in his fabulous air-conditioned chambers in one of the Capital's new high-rise buildings. In drawing up the contract, when we discussed the matter of accommodation that, initially, he verbally promised, he said, "You submit all your accounts, with receipts and vouchers to cover labour costs and the purchase of construction materials and the Trust will reimburse you."
But how were we to get a loan to build a house, however simple? And could we trust this man again, after he had already broken his word? Perhaps he thought that, because we were from a very affluent country, which he regularly visited on his business trips, we had access to plenty of money.
When it became clear that this Indian tycoon was not prepared to honour his earlier promise to provide us with a residence at Bilaspur, Ruth and I were in a dilemma. How did Mr. Joshi think I was going to find the time to search for land in Bilaspur and raise a loan to build a house?
The physical and emotional strain of living at Rigalto Bank and from there, trying to keep the ACDP supplied with all the essential in-puts and other scarce, rationed commodities, threatened to drive me into the grave. In spite of our deep love for the area and its people, we could not face returning to such a primitive existence. I had a feeling, deep down inside, that, if I returned to Rigalto Bank, the burdens of the Project would consume me. Moreover, after the recent brief visit to Australia, I had a real yearning, once more, to be with my aged mother who now needed me so much.
The ACDP now had reached a degree of maturity where it could afford to engage a "purchasing agent", based in Aranchalganj, to act as the Project's representative in the M.P. markets, in the same way as "Moussi's" nephew, Ardan, handled our purchasing and legal matters in Bihar. It was both a humbling and gratifying experience for me, personally, to realize that I now actually had worked myself out of a job. The success and viability of the ACDP had rendered me redundant, but before making any final decision, Ruth and I thought we should consult with our son, Paul, who was then still a UNICEF Officer, based at Lucknow. Paul is presently involved in Waste-Water Management using Lemnaceae or "Duckweed" ---" He and his American fiancée, met us at Lucknow Airport and drove us to the beautiful Moghul Rose Gardens where the painful decision was made.
With Ruth still weak after her severe bout of asthma,
it did not take Paul long to reach his verdict. "Dad," he ordered,
with the authority of a well-seasoned counsellor, "Get Mum out of here
immediately. Take this American Express open cheque and buy yourselves two
airline tickets to Australia." And so it was that, after half a lifetime,
without even a chance to return to Rigalto Bank to collect all our junk, our
ministry to India came to an end. At the Project's next Executive Committee meeting,
Shantibe Dube, was unanimously elected to replace me as Director. This honour,
granted to "Moussi" and which never could have been bestowed on her
by the
In 1951, loaded down with fifty-one pieces of freight, we had sailed to a place with - NOTHING, only to find - EVERYTHING - even the very SECRET OF LIFE itself. Twenty-five years later, with nothing in the bank and our worldly possessions comprising only the two small pieces of baggage that accompanied us on the plane, we returned to a strange land with "everything" and such opulence that our minds boggled. Whether we liked it or not, it was now clear that, at least for the time being, Australia was to be our home once more. Our mission had been accomplished and we praised the Lord for working His Miracle.