Chapter Five, Section IV
While Ruth continued in these ministries, often in the face of almost overwhelming odds, much of my time was spent in travel, keeping open the lines of communication between our three centres and commuting back and forth to where we were conducting the road relief work. There were always the frequent pastoral calls to make around the churches, along with out-station medical calls. Now that we had developed such a good rapport with the District Forest Officer who had requested us to take up the road relief work, the time had arrived to strike while the iron was hot.
Ever since the Forest Department had been entrusted to maintain the road pioneered by the now defunct East India Railway Company, rangers, foresters and guards of the department had harassed our staff. This was in spite of the fact that they must have saved much money due to the work we constantly had to do to keep the track reasonably safe. Each year, we spent hundreds of rupees just to get it passable by Jeep.
Pointing out this to the Forest Officer for the district, we requested a more permanent road pass, explaining that there were times when it might be necessary to race a dying person to hospital, even after sunset when the boom gates are lowered. Why, it could be possible that a Government servant, perhaps even a Forest Dept. staff member, might need to be rushed to town for an emergency operation!
Fortunately, the road relief work was going well and this was in our favour when we submitted a formal application for a road permit to use all the Forest Department tracks in Palamghat District. To our surprise, we received an open, undated permit, giving us all that we had requested, with the proviso that "we continue to do to the road what we already were doing" (meaning the odd repairs)! This meant that we could now freely operate between Bhavnagar and Daulatapur, via Barwani, from Bhavnagar to Daulatapur, via Gochadaga and Mandya, also, with great difficulty, directly north from Bhavnagar to Daulatapur, via Ramkumaripur.
Although we were jubilant now to have such a free access to Palamghat District forest roads, we still were faced with the serious problem of getting a vehicle from Bundi, over the state border to Champapur. That serpentine trip would consume all our fuel if we repeated it too often. One day, a Jeep flashed through Bhavnagar from the Gochadaga direction and headed out towards Surgapam. Our hearts sank, thinking that it might be the Surgapam, M.P. Police from Ramanupuri, on the other side of the Kanahari River, opposite Gochadaga. There was one time when the police, in pursuit of bandits, had their Jeep literally carried by coolies across the river into Palamghat, to head off a gang trying to escape from Madhya Pradesh. With no C.B. radio or phone facilities, we had to wait for news to filter back through the grapevine.
It was not until the next day that word reached us that the Jeep contained a timber contractor and his staff who actually managed to get right through to Champapur, cutting down trees where necessary! They heard that a vehicle had made it right through to the hitherto impenetrable Eastern Surgapam (meaning our Mission Jeep) and they wanted to cash-in, illegally, on the rich forest products. If a forest guard had challenged them for cutting trees, a bribe would have done the trick!
Fully a month passed before another "outside" vehicle passed our way, this time a ten-ton Mercedes timber truck, heading towards Surgapam. Later, our informers revealed to us that this was the truck of the contractor who had left a manager at Champapur to arrange the illegal cutting of bamboo. This was how we got our road. A team of coolies carried on the truck, made such short work of felling any trees that inhibited free movement of this large vehicle through the jungle, that it would have given a conservationist a fatal coronary. Can we call this a miracle? Without knowing all the related facts, it certainly looked like a miracle. But then, it was all illegal and can God break the law? One way of reconciling these two opinions is to say that God created trees in the first place so He had a right to destroy them. Yes, it just had to be a Miracle - An Impossible Dream!
For several months, reports had been filtering through of the odd case of Smallpox in the area, but now there was no doubt that the "Maharani" had not overlooked even our backward parts. "Maharani" (Great Queen) is the revered title by which Smallpox is deified in India. If one is fortunate enough to survive her "visitation", the pockmarks, particularly on the face, are considered to be a sign of blessing! I am still haunted by memories of that epidemic when hundreds of pathetic cases from villages as far as twenty miles away, converged on Bhavnagar.
The victims were lined up in rows, lying on their backs on the field in front of the bungalow. The wailing and chanting of the relatives who had carried the victims to us on rickety old wooden, string beds and the moaning of the sufferers was almost drowned out by the incessant buzzing of big fat blowflies. Some of the more advanced cases were covered from head to foot with ghastly sores, which filled the mouth, throat, nose and eyes. Some already had gone blind. The stench was nauseating.
There must have been millions of flies, which nearly drove the patients crazy. Even if only to prevent that, we had to cover those poor creatures. About four thousand empty rice bags were stacked in a shed near our food grain store so these were used instead of sheets or blankets. From the garden, we secured two watering cans and filled them with phenol solution, in this way, washing down the patients to provide some measure of relief under the bags. What more could we do? We were utterly desperate.
A man was immediately dispatched to Daulatapur, requesting the District Health Officer to send a team of inoculators. Instead, we received thousands of doses of Smallpox vaccine and hundreds of 10 ml. vials of Cholera vaccine because the latter disease also was rampant. How fortunate I was to have a team of about a dozen dedicated karmchari Mission workers scattered throughout the area. They would have to close their schools. There was no way out other than to call them in to assist.
Little did I know at the time that, twenty-five years later, our son, Paul, still an Official with UNICEF, based in Lucknow, would marry a lovely young American doctor, also based in Lucknow and working with the World Health Organization as an epidemiologist. She was one of a team of health experts who remained in India to see the last reported case of Smallpox. For the dedication and achievement of both herself and her colleagues, their WHO team was honoured by the President of India.
We feel sure that the sufferings we were witnessing in India, planted the seeds of concern in the hearts of our three sons, all of whom were called to careers of caring for the less fortunate. Robert received a scholarship to Hull (England) University where he met a fellow student. They married, graduated together and settled in Wales where they became deeply involved in the Trade Union Movement caring for exploited Welsh workers and brain- damaged children. Paul later graduated from Johns Hopkins University and became President of PRISM International, a caring organization involved, worldwide, in Projects in Rural Industry, Science and Medicine, as its name implies. Our youngest son, Bruce, was called to the Christian Ministry, graduating from the University of Southern Queensland.
With Saturday coming up, I was most concerned lest the disease should spread to the thousands who would be coming to the weekly market to buy cheap rice on the ration and also to receive payment for work they had done on the road relief project. This large assemblage also would provide an opportunity to vaccinate against Smallpox and give anti-Cholera shots. It was to be one of the busiest days I have ever spent. Those victims of Smallpox who had just been dumped, so near to death, had to be given their last rights. I don't mean "Last Rites".
Everyone has the right to a sip of water before expiring. Those whose noses were blocked with maggots and thick scabs and whose swollen throats were closed due to enormous ulcers, deserved the right to have some measure of help and comfort in trying to draw in their last breath. Our Mission workers were just marvellous as they moved from one dying victim to another, giving compassionate care. I am sure that a number of our karmcharis came into a very close relationship with Christ through those two epidemics.
On that Saturday, as early as six in the morning, desperately hungry people began to assemble with their cards at the ration shop. James would not be through on this day because of the last-minute preparations for the big baptismal service in a few days' time. Imagine the shock I received to find that the Social Welfare Officer, who held the key to the second lock of the ration shop door, had gone. In fact, all the Government officers had gone, even the police, fleeing from the "Maharani".
I was nearly going out of my mind, for I now had on my hands all the potential for a riot. And I had no wife at home to comfort me because I had earlier left Ruth in Mussoorie to put Robert into boarding school. Some of the folk who were waving their ration cards had walked from up to fifteen miles away, only to find two large padlocks separating them from the only food available in the area. I began to feel afraid, for a desperate mob in India can go berserk for reasons less than this.
It was nothing short of a miracle that, for a whole month, those locks remained closed and the food untouched, except by the rats, until desperate appeals to the Police and the Relief Department finally resulted in the shop being opened to reveal a shocking mess. During the month of no sales, we had no money coming in, so there was nothing to pay our staff, most of whom had been working at least twelve hours a day, with no off-days.
Ruth was in the Himalayas with no money for food, nothing to pay for spectacle repairs, nothing to pay school fees and nothing for medicine. She had a very dear American friend in the hills - Mrs. Mary McGarvie. She and her husband, Don, who had made a cycle tour through Surgapam in 1950, opened their home to Ruth and gave her comfort. Mary was Ruth's "Mother Confessor" and helped carry her through the crisis. Word of Ruth's plight had spread around the hillside and, in response, a group of "Christian Endeavour" young people came to the rescue with a gift of money. At the same time, relatives in Australia, who did not know of our financial crisis, sent Money Orders by post for all our birthdays at once. When Mary returned to her Disciples Mission station on the plains, she gave Ruth all the food supplies left in her pantry. This helped out until our own Mission could try to recover the money we had invested in ration shop food grains.
Now back to the mess we found when eventually an official came with the second key and, together, we could open the shop. I am sure that no ration shop in a Hindu or Muslim area could possibly have remained closed for a whole month while people in the area starved. But we were in a tribal zone and, by nature, these simple folk are placid. I nearly cried when the doors were unlocked to reveal unimaginable damage due to rats, which had been on a picnic for four weeks. All this loss not only meant that some people would go hungry - very hungry - it also represented a great loss to the Mission and our four missionary families, in particular.
James, as Custodian, spent many a sleepless might writing reams of letters in the hope of gaining compensation, but all was useless. Cleaning out the shop was a big job, for every bag had to be removed, stitched where the rats had eaten holes and re- stacked. What had been a picnic for the rats became an orgy for their predators - nimble little boys who waited at the doors to catch the rats for food. Baby rats are a real delicacy in times of famine! The piles of rat faeces, together with the damaged grains of rice and wheat were swept off the verandah to the ground below and this time it was the women's turn.
They fought like cats and dogs, desperately rummaging through the rat droppings in search of an odd, unspoiled grain. I also saw women, some just skin and bone, searching through cakes of cow-dung for undigested grains or even grass-seeds. In times of famine, when cattle sometimes die in thousands, the animals often develop diarrhoea and digestive weakness, beneficial to starving humans.
It is amazing the ability that people in famine-prone areas have to survive on certain flowers, leaves, berries and even poisonous tubers. The latter are beaten to a pulp, soaked overnight to leach out the toxins, dried, ground to a powder and made into a sort of porridge. It provides some carbohydrate. One of the most tragic sights in famine times is to see parents heading for the towns with their children to sell into virtual slavery, the boys to work in tiny tea-shops or maybe the cigarette and carpet industries, and the girls in prostitution. Parents also sometimes sell themselves and their whole family into bonded labour - anything to survive.
By now, there were hundreds of enquirers pleading for baptism I know that Lionel favoured delaying the initiation until he returned from furlough, but James felt that to postpone this most important event, for which so many had been anxiously waiting, could possibly dampen their zeal. They could not wait to publicly confess their faith in Jesus Christ and his Way of Life. On the banks of the Kanahari River, James and his workers had prepared several baptismal pools with sufficient depth of water for immersion. The site had been made as tidy and pleasing to the eye as possible with decorative flags and coloured paper creating a most worshipful atmosphere.
It was a moving occasion as, one by one, after first cutting off each other's "Chotti" (pigtails), these courageous men and women of faith went down into the waters of baptism They knew full well what would be the consequences of such public commitment, but nothing would deter them. Symbolically, through their immersion, they had identified themselves with Christ and his death, pledging also to put to death their own self-life. As they were raised from the water, they resolved to walk in newness of life with Christ.
Following the baptisms, which in themselves were miracles, they performed acts of faith never before possible for them. Each one went to his or her home and removed from the rafters the diabolical fetishes ("Pooja Soops") that had possessed their community for centuries. These dirty, smoke-stained open-weave baskets contained the dried blood of sacrificed chickens, along with a little rice. The locals said that they were the "symbols of Satan's presence". With their intense belief in evil spirits, even after becoming Christians, it must have taken considerable spiritual strength to remove and destroy these baskets.
Some of the stronger converts removed these evil things in a most triumphant way, leaping and dancing as they smashed their soops to pieces with rocks. For others, it was a most traumatic and emotional act that produced body tremors, so great was their fear. After all, these objects of pagan worship and superstition had dominated their minds, their wills, their culture and their whole way of life and had exposed them to the whims and fancies of the all-powerful witch doctors.
There was a small group, which lacked the courage to remove their soops from the rafters so they requested James, Anthony, the karmcharis or me to do this. I am not superstitious but after handling a few revolting soops, I felt like washing my hands over and over again. When the karmcharis, and we expatriates touched these horrible fetishes, it was only by request and then, always in the presence of witnesses, with written approval, if possible.
It was just a matter of days, following the baptisms, when karmchari, Prabhu Das, made an emergency dash to James, at Karanja. "Please come to Karchand, Sahib," he pleaded with James in Hindi. "Doles ki Ma's (the mother of Doles) food tract is blocked," meaning that she had a strangulated hernia. It was fortunate that, because of our new road, the Jeep could be stationed at Karanja.
It was about eight o'clock at night when James arrived at Karchand village in the Jeep to be met by Jatibhai who had taken the initiative to see that Doles ki Ma received the best treatment. It was a new thing for these remote villagers to consider hospitalisation. They had heard that some of their relatives over the border, had actually been cut open by doctors with knives, but it was Jatibhai who assured the group that they use magical knives that do not hurt. "If the Sahib can get her to Daulatapur, then she will survive," insisted Jatibhai. "The methods of our tribe haven't failed yet. Why should we risk sending her so far, and at night?" butted in Sudhna. Prabhu Das was wise in not making any comment because he knew that, if Doles ki Ma should die, and she well could, then the village might turn against him and the Christian community perhaps revert to animism. The locals had to make the final decision. Jatibhai's powers of persuasion prevailed and James finally was able to get away with his patient curled up in the back of the Jeep, her husband and Prabhu Das accompanying her.
After a very slow two-hundred yard drive between bamboo fences that rubbed on both sides of the Jeep, James passed the Naka check-post and was surprised to note that Krishnadeo, the head border constable, was not on duty. In fact, there were no police at the border, which was very strange indeed. It was about 9 p.m., when he headed along that newly-cut road, trying without much success, to avoid many ruts, pot-holes, culverts and tree-stumps. Doles ki Ma was in excruciating pain, making it clear to James that it would be impossible for him to take her all the way to Daulatapur in the back of that small army Jeep. She needed a "khatia" (string bed) in order to stretch out and move freely to ease the pain caused by a build-up of gas in her intestines.
At around 10.30 p.m., James reached Bhavnagar and the agonizing woman was transferred to a bed on the larger 4-wheel drive Dodge "Weapons Carrier" which would give her a more comfortable ride to Daulatapur. We lost no time in preparing for this emergency dash to hospital. James and Prabhu Das had tea and, within half an hour, were on their way back to Surgapam while I was heading towards Daulatapur, via Barwani. In spite of all the care I took at the wheel of the Dodge, our patient was being painfully tossed about.
Somehow, I had to strike a balance between a race against time and carefully avoiding the very bumpy parts, hoping all the while I would not get stuck in the Duffi or Komela Rivers. I just had to get through before morning, but if I were to wait until dawn, I could get a team of men to help by also pushing the Dodge across the rivers. It was around midnight when I reached a flat part of the track where it went near to Pallo village.
About now, James would be arriving at Karchand and I hoped that all would go well for him and Prabhu Das. I had a most uneasy feeling about this whole trip after he and Prabhu Das reported the absence of the border police guard on their drive to Bhavnagar. Suddenly, the husband of my patient called out from behind, "Rokeeay Sahib. Please stop. Doles ki Ma cannot take any more. We must return home. We should have tried the village method."
I tried to impress upon him that the traditional tribal method used by the witch doctor would inflict more pain. "How would you like to have a red-hot sickle poked into your belly, maybe two- hundred times?," I screamed at the husband. "The village method is very cruel and will not help your wife. If we go on, Dr. Mrs. Kishore will give Doles ki Ma special Dream Medicine that will put her into a very deep sleep and then she'll wake up to find her "paikhanarasta" (alimentary tract) unblocked. Besides, the tract has only been blocked three days so we still have one more day to spare and her breath is not that bad. "
Victims, who eventually die due to strangulated hernia, often vomit their own excrement. During my twenty-five years in India, I only nursed to the very end one other such patient who died in this way, because we could not get her to hospital in time. I believe that the women who develop these hernias are often the victims of tyrannical midwives who violently butt the mothers' abdomens immediately after childbirth to get rid of the placenta quickly, in order that a "good haemorrhage may flush out all the badness" ! One midwife will prop the mother up against a wall and the other will ram her head into the victim's stomach, just like a butting goat. I was overjoyed when Doles ki Ma found the strength to accept the new method.
By now, it was two o'clock in the morning and, as we painfully made our way through the jungle, up and down, round and round, over streams and worm-eaten timber bridges, the headlights of the Dodge were occasionally reflected in the eyes of wild animals. They could have been deer, bears, leopards, tigers, boar, jackals or hyenas. The eyes shone like two torches held together. On some trips such as this, the bears would terrify us by actually charging at our vehicles. Once our Dodge was actually rammed and dented by a 200 Kg. bear.
An ethereal mist loomed ahead indicating that the river was only a short distance off. I thought it wise to wade to the other side of the Duffi to make sure there were none of the deep holes sometimes made by buffaloes, which remain in the one place for so long that the flowing water carries away the sand about them. Fortunately, the Duffi was not deep and I would have no trouble making it to the opposite bank.
Further on, the Komela River looked like giving me trouble because the water was up to my thighs. I decided it would be necessary to remove the fan-belt, lest the fan suck up the water and splash it back on to the ignition coil, distributor and spark-plugs. There was a sheet of plastic, which we always carried on board for occasions such as this. I used it to cover the engine and, in particular, the high-tension equipment. It seemed a long, long way to the other side of the river and, anywhere in that distance of three hundred odd yards, I could meet with disaster. With the Dodge in "special case" and the lowest gear, with four-wheel drive engaged, I gave the engine full throttle and released the clutch.
It is absolutely essential not to lose momentum. Once that happens, as it did on many occasions, the wheels dig their own graves and the vehicle's chassis just sits on the sandy riverbed. If the engine should stop, the exhaust system fills with water, making a re-start almost impossible. To prevent this problem, we found it wise to fit a long rubber hose to the end of the exhaust pipe and keep it tied well above water level. It is an eerie experience crossing a jungle river at night because vapour rises from the surface of the water, creating a ghostly atmosphere. By the time the other side of the river is reached, the engine coolant is near to boiling point as neither fan nor water-pump has been working.
This time we made it across the Komela and by dawn were in Daulatapur where Dr. Mrs. Kishore lost no time in scrubbing up and relieving Doles ki Ma of her intestinal obstruction. It is not a very pleasant operation to perform, especially for a High Caste, Bengali Hindu, but Dr. Kishore had all the devotion and compassion needed to handle the most nauseating jobs. Whenever we tried to pay her for her services, she refused to accept. Many of our Indian friends, along with Ruth and Colleen Robeson, owe their very lives to this lovely lady.
Two days after returning home from Daulatapur where I left our patient and her husband in the care of the doctor, a Jeep pulled up in front of our Bhavnagar bungalow. On rare occasions when "outside" vehicles came, excited little children would gather around, but this time it was different. It was as though the children knew instinctively that those who had come in the Jeep were not forest contractors.
Strange number plates indicated that this really was an "outside" vehicle, from the adjacent province of Madhya Pradesh. Another attached plate struck terror at the heart for it displayed the words, "M.P. Police" and the dual UHF radio antennae identified the vehicle as one from District Headquarters at Aranchalganj.
My guess was correct that they had come for James, but not being able to cross the Kanahari River at Bhednadi, about five miles from Karanja, they had travelled back to Baliganj and, from there, to Ramanupuri, to cross where a large number of coolies could be engaged. The water in the river at the Ramanupuri - Gochadaga crossing was about four feet deep, but fifty men would have had no difficulty in carrying the Jeep, with its occupants, across the river into Bihar. This circuitous detour would have added one hundred and forty miles to their journey.
"Where's Russell Sahib?," was all they asked, in none too polite a manner. When they learned that he was at Karanja, they sped off in that direction, as though they really meant business. A whole day was to pass before I heard the full story of what happened on the arrival of the police at Karanja. They were quick to the point. "Mr Russell, we are placing you under arrest and charging you on three counts as per the Indian Penal Code." Then they proceeded to read out, in English, the alleged offences:-
I. Moving rice from Banskuri to Champapur without a permit.
2. Smuggling, by Jeep, four bags of rice out of Surgapam to Palamghat District, Bihar, in a famine situation in the State of Bihar.
3. When challenged by the Border Police to stop at the Naka Check Post to show the required Food Movement Permit, you forcibly took the constable's "lathi" (long thick cane) and with it, severely beat the officer, inflicting grievous bodily harm.
While James was verbally defending himself, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, that a lower-ranking police officer was binding Laxshman to a tree to flog him with a thick, wet rope that already had been prepared. James raced to the defence of his tribal brother in Christ and, standing in front of Laxshman, courageously challenged the police, "You will first beat me before you will lay a hand on this innocent man." This infuriated the police who made their getaway as fast as they had arrived, shouting, "Mr. Russell, you will be hearing more from us soon! "
They headed for Bhednadi, instead of Bhavnagar, probably because of insufficient fuel to reach Aranchalganj via the long route. Somehow, they crossed the river, by ordering all the local inhabitants of Bhednadi to carry them and the vehicle on their shoulders. The whole episode was ludicrous because, had they really believed that James had criminally assaulted Krishnadeo, a Government servant, he would have been handcuffed and hauled away after a very severe thrashing. Instead, they simply charged him, Prabhu Das, Budhu and Saheba, later calling them to court to arrange for bail. The second and third charges were blatant fabrications, but the first charge was the result of a deliberate trap.
On James' request, the Disciples Mission had made available to us a surgical team, under the direction of Dr. Verne Rambler, to perform over three hundred cataract operations on many visually handicapped people in the area. We had spent months preparing for this, visiting each village and arranging for the prospective patients to assemble at Karanja on a fixed date. The team had quite an elaborate, portable operating theatre, which they were prepared to transport by rail from Bilchandpur, taking three changes of trains to reach Daulatapur.
The movement of all this gear in itself would be quite a feat. Each patient would be required to bring at least one companion, but we knew that some would come with almost the whole family. It meant that many people had to be fed for up to two weeks but Karanja and Champapur villages could not provide sufficient food. It was necessary to submit a formal application to purchase food grains in the neighbouring village of Banskuri, six miles from Karanja.
Accordingly, James prepared an application and, by runner, sent it in a sealed envelope addressed to Clifford Lawson, at the Emmanuel Mission, Ramanupuri, and sixteen miles to the northwest by the short cut through the jungle. Cliff was most helpful in all this and personally posted James' application by "Registered Acknowledgment Due" from his local Post Office. We had every confidence that the special permit would be granted. After all, James and I had personally visited the Food Officer in Aranchalganj several months earlier and he was most impressed by what he called our “good social works for the suffering humanity”!. It was only because of the apparent kind interest of the Food Officer, that James ventured to go ahead with the big Eye Camp program. As we were leaving, the Food Officer actually gave us encouragement but emphasized, “However, one thing you must do, Mr. Russell, is to submit formal application on prescribed form”. It was this application that now had gone by Registered Acknowledgment Due post to the officer concerned.
Two weeks passed and no reply had come. James was becoming very anxious, especially when a message arrived from Dr. Rambler, via Anthony Robeson, who had relayed the telegraphic information, sending it to us from Daulatapur, by runner. Dr Rambler and his team of surgeons, nurses and para-medics were leaving Bilchandpur within three days. This sent James into a state of panic and immediately, he dispatched a runner to Ramanupuri, requesting Clifford Lawson to try to contact the Food Officer by phone.
Fortunately, the telegraphic office batteries were reasonably well charged. Sometimes this line is dead for weeks due to flat batteries or because a tree had fallen on the wires that connects Ramanupuri with Aranchalganj, the district capital, eighty miles to the west. Amazingly, he made easy contact and the Food Officer stated to Clifford, who later gave this evidence in the Court of Law, that, the permit already has been posted to Mr. Russell who may purchase the twelve bags of rice from traders in Banskuri and move it to Champapur on February the 6th!
This is the only “crime” that James had committed. In anticipation of the permit being sent, he trusted the word of an Indian official and arranged for a group of coolies to accompany a Mission worker to make the purchase of rice at Banskuri and carry it to Karanja. However, after the party had made the purchase and was loading up to return, two smart-looking police constables confronted them, just as James himself arrived on the scene by cycle.
This was obviously a trap, because never before had the locals seen such clean and immaculately dressed policemen. Their shirts and pants had actually been pressed as if for the parade ground. They were clean-shaven, boots and leather belts had been polished and brass buckles and shoulder badges were shining. Our guess is that they had been called before their superiors to be given a fabricated “court order”, charging James with this “offence”. But the interesting thing is that the rice was not confiscated and James was not hauled off to the police station, perhaps to be savagely beaten, as a local most surely would have suffered.
Years later, evidence was given in court that there was no record of the Food Officer ever having received James' application and yet the Postal Department's “Acknowledgment Due” form was received back, proving that the letter reached its destination. And if the officer had not received the application, how did he know from what village and trader James had intended to purchase the rice, and twelve bags at that? It was clear that the incoming-outgoing mail register in the Food Dept. Office had been tampered with to assure them of James' conviction.
The officials even had scattered rice on the track near the Karchand Naka check-post to give the impression that, in the alleged scuffle, when Krishnadeo was said to have tried to pull the rice from the Jeep, some grains spilled. To protect this from the birds, thorns had been placed over the area to await inspection from the higher authorities, the whole area of “crime” being roped off and placed under guard. Maybe James would be arrested when the forensic experts had completed their investigations.
In view of the seriousness of the charge, it was a miracle that James was still free - free to go ahead with the “eye-camp”. Three hundred-odd patients came with nearly that number of attendants to care for those who would be blindfolded for at least ten days. They would also cook all their meals. In spite of the restrictions, we received all the rice that was necessary! We were sad, though, that over the border, famine still prevailed.
Transporting a portable hospital with its staff required six return trips in the Dodge weapons carrier, between Daulatapur and Karanja. Anthony drove on the first three trips while I prepared for the next three, each return trip being around one hundred and ninety miles.