Chapter Fourteen, Section I.
From this point on things took a turn for the better. The first remittance from the Cameron Edison Trust now meant that we were no longer living from hand to mouth, not that we ever had to go without a meal, even during the famine. I remember the day, back in 1950, when Mr. & Mrs. Perry, the initial pioneers of our field, testified that, right through the famine periods of their day, not once were they completely without food. "God will take care of you in the same way," they said. And He did.
With faith now restored to the point where I had no doubts whatsoever that the "Temporary Moratorium" would eventually be lifted, it was decided to leave the poultry, fishery and piggery projects in abeyance. In anticipation of the day when they could be revived, I decided to take a correspondence course in Agriculture and Animal Husbandry, through the Bombay Branch of the British Institute of Technology (BIET). This was only a diploma course but it would suffice to carry us through that period until we could engage a graduate.
The ACDP Managing Committee decided to request the Cameron Edison Trust to cover the cost of enough suction hose and delivery piping to make all the CBSD irrigation pumps operable. Another plough was requested, enabling us to utilize the tractor's full potential. All this was granted; in fact, everything we asked for, was provided. Our cup was full and running over. There were some very marginal farmers whose poor, barren land grew only "Sarsong" (Mustard crops) but they lacked processing and marketing facilities. For them, we asked for an Oil Press.
I was jubilant and, in terms of job satisfaction could not have been more gratified, especially when I launched out in the ACDP's electrification program setting up two generators, including a 18 KV A, 3 phase, 415 volt diesel-driven set to power all the lights on the Sahaganj farm and, turn by turn, all the 5 H.P. irrigation pumps, thresher, workshop, 10 H.P. oil-mill and recreation centre with a 16 mm movie projector.
Whatever job I had on hand - wiring, concreting, bricklaying, plumbing, metal-work, vehicle or engine repairs and carpentering, was an opportunity to share skills with my Indian friends so that when it came time for us to leave the field, there would be technically trained staff to carry on. This is the secret to all successful third-world development programs - training national staff to take over.
The conditions under which we worked were most primitive. Before we could lay flooring or pour concrete foundations for the equipment, stones and rocks, collected from the jungle, with Forest Dept. permission had to be hand-broken with hammers - a most laborious task. Erecting and climbing the twenty transmission line poles was one of the jobs that terrified me because we had no proper ladders to reach twenty-five feet to the top to connect the five cables to their insulators. With the help of Bhednadi Sahib, who knew the Forest Officer, we managed to get two of the longest and thickest bamboo available, but the ladder made from these was not quite long enough. Even the thought of negotiating the last few rungs at the top of that springy, rickety contraption, always causes my palms to sweat and the soles of my feet to tingle. I could never have been more thankful than when Cornelibai Kumar, who was far more nimble than I, was prepared to learn the trade and eventually be responsible for all the wiring and also the maintenance of electrical gear.
Although I was thrilled really to be getting on with the job of establishing the Project at last, I was not quite so full of the Holy Spirit as we were in those early pioneering days. What was wrong? There just had to be something amiss because I was not operating at full potential and at a time when I needed every erg of energy of body, mind and spirit to bring to fruition all my dreams and also the hopes of Ralph Moran and the Cameron Edison Trust. But by now, experience had taught me that, whenever the flow of God's Love and Power into our lives decreases, it is because we, at our end, have turned off the tap by allowing pride, selfishness and resentment to come between the Lord and ourselves.
At this time, Geoff and Anthea Saunders were
terminating their ministry and the Mission was closing down its operation in
India. Geoff, now a presbyter in the N.I.U.C., had successfully guided our
churches into their new relationship with the former Anglican
Charlie was a difficult person to get along with and yet I just had to love him if the taps were to be fully turned on. Humbling though, inevitably, it would be, it was vital, even if only for my own spiritual health, to forgive him sincerely and to relate to him just as Jesus would. As I thought of this strong-willed Marxist and the way he frustrated our ministry through the years, not only over the girls' hostel incident, but also later, by sexually exploiting the wife of a junior karmchari, I wondered however I could love such a man. But I just HAD to and not only Charlie, but also another, more senior mission worker, whom we shall call "Johnny".
This man, also on the Palamghat side of the birder, had used his authority to profit personally through those church members whose misdemeanours called for ecclesiastical discipline. It was Johnny who often decided the nature of the punishment to be imposed. If a poor "sinner" had to forfeit an animal, it was not the church that gained, but Johnny, who ended up with the best herd in the village! In the same way, he acquired some of the finest plots of land in the area. This was one practice of the indigenous church that I could not condone. It seemed to be the very antithesis of what the Gospel is all about. As could be expected, Johnny, himself, became a delinquent, by misappropriating Mission School funds and, when disciplined, took over the school building, in collusion with a group of anti-Christian Hindus. I detested this man so much that, whenever I passed through his village, I took a detour to avoid the possibility of meeting him.
One thing was clear; if I really were to experience the Secret of Life, I had to love Johnny, difficult though it might be. With a prayer in my heart, one day I deliberately set out to have a spiritual encounter with Charlie and Johnny in their respective villages. With no reference to the past, I just called on them for a friendly visit. Although Charlie was not very responsive, I did observe that, from then on, he was much less arrogant and assertive and we continued to greet each other whenever we met, Charlie warmly shaking my hand and calling me "brother".
With Johnny, however, it was a different experience. It was the first time we had actually spoken together for years. As we renewed our friendship, he embraced me with tears welling up in his eyes - and mine too. Yes, it works; this is the "Ministry of Reconciliation - not counting their trespasses against them" (2 Cor. 5: 18-19). Johnny became a member of the ACDP and was able to share his farming expertise to help less privileged cultivators.
There were others, too, with whom I had to be reconciled. Among them was one whom we shall call "Jimmy". He was both a karmchari and a close friend of the local post-master. I had had no personal conflict with Jimmy, but resented him for many years because of the way he had deliberately tried to undermine James Russell's ministry, perhaps because of jealousy. From village to village he went proclaiming, "I am the King of Surgapam, not the Russell Sahib!"
The way he asserted his authority over the Christian Community was to open the mail, when visiting his friend, the Post-Master. Searching out the spicy bits of news with "sinful" connotations, he would use these intimate secrets to pursue his pastoral counselling! After burying another hatchet, along with the resentments I held against Jimmy, my newfound friend said to me, "Sahib I would like to become a member of the ACDP!”
One other person whom I had not forgiven was a close relative who, on the occasion of the furlough when our son, Robert, refused to return with us to India, said to us:- "You are not fit to be parents." It was after burying what I thought was the final hatchet that we really started to climb mountains. This is the purpose of our book - to help those who may not have found the Secret of Life - Jesus. Do you have a hatchet? Then bury it and experience Peace, Healing and - Miracles!
It was on an occasion while I was cycling to Karchand village that I discovered there was still one more hatchet I had not buried. On that track, whom do you think I met? - "The Moghul of Bundi"! I loathed this towering tyrant of a man. He was the epitome of evil itself; just about every form of badness rolled up into one - a male chauvinist pig, an extortionist money-lender, a bloated capitalist, a cut-throat land-lord, a smuggler - and he had a vile breath! I hated this man for the way he plundered the stalls of the poor bazaar traders, not paying for anything he "bought". I felt sure that the Lord would have excused me for not forgiving this monster that, for years had exploited the people of our area.
As I thought over the relationship I had with this tall, powerful Afghan, I realized that, while the Lord must have understood my difficulty in not forgiving my arch-enemy, there was no way I could operate at full power of body, mind and spirit so long as I continued to show animosity towards my brother from Kabul. "God help me to love this man," was my prayer. "Help me to see some goodness in him." As we passed each other, cycling in opposite directions, the first positive action on my part, was to greet my friend: "Salaam Ali Shah Sahib." That was all; it was the first step.
On numerous other occasions, we met in much the same way, with no response whatsoever on the part of the Afghan, until one day he stopped, dismounted from his pony and said to me, "I would like to talk with you, Skillicorn Sahib." For a full fifteen minutes we talked and I could have listened to his story- telling for hours as he related hair-raising adventures during his over-land travels between India and his home country. He expressed real excitement as he told of his plans to visit Kabul again to make preparations for eventual retirement there. After spending six months with his relatives in Kabul, he would return to India, hopefully to dispose of his property, proceeds from the sale of which would enable him to buy land near the capital.
The ACDP had been looking for land to develop - land with irrigation potential and on the Palamghat side of the border, with better access to all-weather roads. Mr. Ralph P. Moran approved of the proposal to invest in land if it became available, but unfortunately, the tribal people who had a desire to sell plots to us, were not permitted to dispose of their holdings. The law prohibiting Adivasis from selling their agricultural land to non-tribals was a measure to protect them from unscrupulous speculators. If we were to buy land at all, it would have to be from either Hindus or Muslims. We knew that there was an element of risk in accepting Ali Shah's offer of sixty-four acres of good, arable land at Sultanpur, a few miles from Bundi, but after seeking competent legal advice, we were assured that there would be no hitch. By this time, with all culverts completed on the road between Bundi and Daulatapur and the Komela spanned by big road and rail bridges at Mandya, the ACDP's Sultanpur farm had tremendous potential right through the year.
After a liberal grant for the purpose was received from the Cameron Edison Trust, the ACDP and The Moghul of Bundi, signed the official documents in the Mandya Court. Ali Shah set out for his brief visit to Kabul with enough money to invest in a new property and we rejoiced in receiving the title deeds to what, potentially, was the best land in the Bundi area because of the stream that flowed all year, right through its centre. Although some measure of reconciliation had been achieved with the Moghul, his son was anything but cooperative. "Young Ali", as we shall call him, was planning our destruction, but Ruth will take over that story.
Chapter Fourteen, Section ***II
As can be seen, Keith and I were almost bending over backwards to live in harmonious relationships, even with those who sought to destroy us and our ministry. But it seemed as though we had taken on too great a challenge to attempt to draw Ali Shah into our circle of close friends. Actually, this man had mellowed somewhat over the years. He no longer carried that dreaded whip - only a knife! The same could not be said of his son, however. Young Ali had now usurped the dominant role his father once exercised among numerous Muslim families in the Bundi area. Instead of a whip, he carried a revolver and, on one occasion, openly threatened he would kill us with it.
It was Young Ali who was the leader of several marauding hordes of bandits who terrorized our area. It was he who raided the home of Kalidas, one of our neighbours, demanding that he reveal the hiding place of the family's savings.
With no local banking facilities at the time, many villagers who were fortunate enough to save a little, converted their wealth into silver and buried the cache in a secret place under the earthen floors of their homes.
Young Ali was determined to find the treasure. Tying his victim to pegs driven into the floor in front of the mud stove, this sadistic terrorist set about extracting details as to the exact location of the only real security the family had.
When the required information was not forthcoming, a shovel full of hot ashes was slowly poured over the screaming man who suffered shocking burns to chest, abdomen, genitals and thighs. Even though his daughter was pack-raped before his eyes and her breasts slashed in the most heinous manner, Kalidas would not speak. Finally, to silence the screams once and for all, more ashes were dumped into our friend's mouth.
This incident, just one of many equally as brutal, is told to describe the utterly ruthless nature of some of the people with whom we were dealing. Several of our tribal friends told us that whenever Young Ali called them to join the gang, they had to obey or suffer the most frightful consequences. Happily, prior to the publishing of this book, both Ali Shah and his son moved permanently to Afghanistan. Their many years of sojourn in India had served some useful purpose, even if just to enable the ACDP to purchase the only available large piece of highly fertile land in the area. However, before their final departure, there just had to be one real showdown.
The local Lands Officer provided us with copies of the relevant maps and it did seem that we had paid a reasonable price per acre. However, when it came to registering the land - a very lengthy process - some of the plots overlapped on the map, thus reducing the total area. We had paid for quite a few acres that did not exist.
There is a law in India, which prevents the sale of inherited land without the written permission of the owner's descendants. The sixty-four acres sold to us by Ali Shah had been acquired by the Afghan through a legal purchase, so it was not inherited land. He was quite within his rights to sell, but Young Ali thought otherwise, especially when his father returned from Kabul to see the once- neglected family farm being transformed into a Garden of Eden. A large dam, with almost unlimited irrigation potential, even in the hot season, was in the course of construction, scrublands were being cleared and fields levelled. Two twenty-foot diameter irrigation wells were being lined, canals dug and farm buildings nearing completion. It was all so exciting.
Ali Shah became very envious of what we had done to improve his former property and regretted that he had not sold it for a higher price. Young Ali went further and determined to take over the land. This he first tried to do by engaging a Muslim lawyer in Mandya but, because his father had not inherited the farm, the Court threw out the appeal. Having failed at litigation, Young Ali turned to harassment, trying to force us out by driving his cattle into our precious crops of wheat, rice, corn, and vegetables, causing thousands of rupees worth of damage. When our staff retaliated by driving the Afghan's cows outside the project's boundaries, Young Ali threatened them and their wives with violence. He even promised to bomb the home of Kalemari at the time his wife, Kantibon, was pregnant and about to deliver.
Obviously, the situation was becoming very critical and there was real apprehension that one of us would get hurt, perhaps even killed. Because our lives were now in grave danger, the Panchayats on both sides of the border formed a Joint-Panchayat and called an emergency meeting, with elected representatives from the Bundi and Champapur areas. The two disputing parties were summoned to argue the case in the Champapur Bazaar and to abide by the judges' decision. If no amicable agreement could be reached, the Panchayat would be obliged to turn the matter over to the police for necessary action. Keith and his project colleagues agreed to the proposal and, surprisingly, Ali Shah also was in accord.
At the time of this dispute, our middle son, Paul,
was visiting our area in connection with his Government related work as a
UNICEF official.
Our son Paul was a UNICEF officer when he visited us at this time.
Because Keith was afraid of bloody violence at the hands of these rapacious Afghans, Paul offered to accompany him to give moral support in the debate. For the same reason, Young Ali also was present to stand by his father. Keith became very despondent when we found out who were among the five judges. How could they make an impartial decision with Young Ali's threats hanging over them? Two of the judges were weak-spined; two were anything but friendly and the fifth was sometimes friendly, but more often not.
The two fathers faced each other, like David and Goliath, the Moghul of Bundi being at least a foot taller than Keith! It would take a Miracle to defeat Ali Shah and an even greater Miracle to win over the vacillating judges who would find it very risky to muster enough courage to decide against the monster who ruled the area with a rod of iron. When Keith's courage began to wane, Paul would whisper in his ear, "Think BIG Dad; think BIG!" We didn't realize it then that our Paul, through UNICEF, had himself become a big man in the area, with a very close rapport, not only with the top district officials in both Surgapam and Palamghat, but also with provincial heads in the Governments of Madhya Pradesh and Bihar. Because Ali Shah and his son had been raising the most noise in the dispute, the panchayat allowed Keith, as Director of the ACDP, to be the first speaker in the debate.
Under normal circumstances, Keith is very slow to anger, but on this occasion, because of the lies, accusations and blatant harassment levelled at so many of the village folk associated with the ACDP, Keith was provoked to behave in a way that is not natural to rum; he really blew his top! Unknown to those who beheld a different Skillicorn Sahib on that occasion, Keith was deep in prayer, right through the Court proceedings in that dusty bazaar with its hundreds of gawking spectators.
Sometimes, in confrontations such as this, it is the one most outspoken who gains the judges' favour, so Keith took full advantage of the situation. He blasted hell out of the two who, for years, had continually raped the area in more ways than one. Recalling how Jesus had driven the moneychangers from the temple, Keith gave the Afghans the most caustic dressing down in his best colloquial Hindi. Whenever Ali Shah or his son interjected, trying to get in a word edgeways, Keith would shout them down: --- "How DARE you interrupt while I am speaking; don't you DARE speak while I am presenting our side of the story. You SHUT UP and listen. I've completely HAD you, Ali Shah. You have totally exhausted my patience. And as for you, Young A1i, if you so much as show your face in this area again, you'll have to deal with me personally, and in no uncertain ways. And woe-betide you if I ever get another report that you are taking bazaar goods without payment. You know that you have received full payment for the sixty-four acres we bought from you and that, because of the overlapping of the maps, those sixty-four acres have been reduced to under sixty. You should compensate us for that loss."
Ali Shah moved toward Keith in a menacing manner and had to be ordered back to his place and to be silent until his turn came to have his say. But he refused to keep quite. "But you have not, " continued Ali Shah. The Moghul's attempt to further butt in only inflamed Keith all the more. "Chup raho - shut up!" he shouted. "You may think you can lord it over the poor, but remember this, Ali Shah; from now on, you will be dealing with the Skillicorn Sahib and that will be a different kettle offish. And until I have had my say and presented to the judges all our grievances- the PUBLIC's grievances - you'll shut up and speak only when asked to. Have I made myself clear Ali Shah? I speak on behalf of all present because the ACDP belongs to the PUBLIC!" Turning to the crowd, Keith called for the anticipated nods and acclamations of approval. "Bhaio (brethren), isn't the ACDP YOUR project?"
"Ha (yes), Sahib, Ha, Jee Ha." shouted the crowd, uproariously!
"Isn't the project designed to lift you out of poverty in order that you may escape from the clutches of blood-suckers like these Moghuls?” yelled Keith to the spectators.
And again came the lively chorus from the public -- "Ha, Sahib, Jee Ha, Sahib, Ha, Ha!
The public's jubilant response was just overwhelming. Keith had that large gathering in the palms of his hands and the time had come for the final blow against these contemptuous Afghans, who had to receive, in Hindi, one more volley from Keith in the only language they understood.
"Get this Ali Shah; no longer are we going to be puppets to dance when you pull the strings. We have had a GUT FULL of your BLATANT arrogance. From now on, if we want you in this bazaar or near our property at Sultanpur, we'll invite you. Is that clear? And do you, also, understand, Young Ali?"
Turning to the judges, Keith expressed appreciation for allowing him to speak so long; "Thank you for allowing us to present the PUBLIC's side of the dispute!"
Keith was still alive, but, as the Hindi idiom describes the fear that possessed him, his "liver was trembling". Ali Shah and his son were completely deflated and the more they expressed their point of view before the panchayat, the more they made complete fools of themselves. They had totally lost face, having been utterly humiliated. Their defence pulled no weight whatsoever. What a blow it must have been to the Moghuls who, for years, had shown no mercy in their dealings with others - cutting their crops, stealing their animals, raping their women and flogging those who could not pay up!
But what would the judges decide? With the crowd so silent and expectant that you could have heard a pin drop, the Chief Judge brought down his lathi with a hard bang on the rickety old table that had been set up to represent a court-room bar. Rising to his feet, he handed down the judgment of the Panchayat -- "Ali Shah, you have been found guilty of receiving funds in excess of the real value of the land acquired by the ACDP. You are hereby ordered by this Court to reimburse the ACDP by the amount to be determined by the Lands Officer. Furthermore, you and your son are hereby ordered to refrain from all further acts of trespass and harassment, failing which, this Court will deem it proper and necessary to report any violation to the police!" Thunderous cheers erupted from the crowd and the Moghuls retreated liked whipped puppies.
Ali Shah never did reimburse us, but at least we were free from the Moghul's harassment. That Court hearing, held in the Champapur bazaar, was "bizarre" in more ways than one. It jointly represented two local village authorities in two separate provinces - Bihar and Madhya Pradesh. The two spokespersons in the debate were both foreigners. Although one was an Asian, it was not to that one that the public gave its allegiance or the Court its favourable judgment. Although the five judges must have known the violent repercussions they could possibly suffer in arriving at a decision against the Afghans, they made what we believe to be a true and impartial assessment of the dispute.
In the days that followed, Ali Shah took on the appearance of a broken man. The son, however, continued to commit acts of violence in the area and, from a distance, still voiced threats against us, but that was all. His harassment against the ACDP stopped and, in our presence, he was always meek. Although Keith may have appeared confident during the debate, he was full of fear. Paul's encouraging words strengthened his Faith "Think BIG, Dad; think BIG" -- and continually uplifted his father, providing Keith with the extra Strength he needed to face those two bullies. Goliath had fallen and Truth, once more, had triumphed.
Immediately following that traumatic experience in the Champapur bazaar, fearing violent reprisals from the Afghans, Keith raced off to Daulatapur in the Jeep to report the matter to the police. He did not even return home, but told Paul to remain with me to offer protection. Because Kalemari and his family had been threatened with a bombing by Young Ali, Keith thought Suresh should accompany him to Daulatapur. We decided that, because of the possible ambush by Young A1i and his gang on some lonely jungle track, it was now just too dangerous for any of us to travel alone.
In Daulatapur, the police entered all the details of the Champapur bazaar incident in the station diary with the names of all those involved. These included the five Panchayat Judges who well could become, with us, the victims of a violent vendetta that Young Ali had promised to launched against all who had brought disgrace to his father before the Court. The police informed Keith that the CID had placed Ali Shah and his son under constant surveillance. However, because of the increased gravity of the situation, since the Champapur bazaar debate and judgment, a much closer watch would be kept on the Afghans. Right up to the time of our departure from India, we never were free from the fear that some night, like our neighbour Kalidas, we also might find ourselves in a bloody encounter with Young Ali and his band of thugs. In situations such as this, one has to live close to Jesus.