In the early days of the ACDP, I had to do all my own driving until a reliable driver could be engaged for our "TATA".
Keith and his beloved TATA truck.
For six months, therefore, I was a "truckie" and learned all the tricks of the road! This included knowing all the secret codes used to warn other truckies of police and Road Transport Authority check-posts. Sometimes the truckies were at fault and I never condoned that and they knew it, but often they were the innocent victims of bribe-hungry cops. Because there were times when, through my hand-signals and flashing lights, I was able to save some of my driver mates from police harassment, I was accepted as "one of the boys".
I came to know many drivers of trucks and buses and was welcomed into their fraternity. On resting up at their favourite roadside tea-stalls on late night runs, occasionally I would avail myself of the rickety old string cots provided by the proprietors, especially for truckies. I had access to all the "Speed" and "Pep" that I could have taken with my tea but chose to sleep off my tiredness, rather than try to keep awake at the wheel with the help of amphetamines. Listening to the truckies' bed-time stories and sharing their tales of the road, brought me into a close identification with those who had no choice of resting up as long as I could.
In spite of appalling road conditions, bandits, long delays at check-points and straying domestic and wild animals, they had to keep those trucks moving according to a strict schedule to satisfy the ruthless contractors who had no difficulty in getting replacement drivers. Whenever, through tiredness or poorly serviced vehicles, one of their crew went off the road, big fat contractors could cover all losses by insurance, so trucks were expendable - along with drivers and their families.
We in the West, are sometimes balked by transport drivers "holding the nation to ransom" through strikes and it must be admitted that, at times, Unions do go too far. But take away the Unions altogether and you will see what man can do to man. In such a situation, a driver's job is not to be envied. I had seen the plight of the truckies from the inside.
It was while on one such trip to Ranitola in the big truck, to buy a load of fifteen irrigation pumps, that I nearly reached the end of the road. After loading up the "TATA", I started to head off for home, only to find that the truck would not budge. At first I thought the hand-brake had jammed, but it was O.K.. Once more I tried, thinking that, perhaps, there was a rock under the wheel, but even in its powerful bottom gear, the truck would not advance more than a few inches. After failing at the second attempt, I decided to see what was causing the obstruction. To my utter horror, I found a small calf under the rear wheels! In the middle of summer, it had sought shelter in the shade under the vehicle.
I now faced a real problem because the poor creature had a crushed and broken leg, along with several broken ribs. With the truck fully loaded and the tarpaulin tied down, there was no way to load the calf aboard quickly and race it to a vet. A cycle rickshawala was close at hand so I asked him to take the calf at once to a vet. but he refused, being too afraid to get involved, even though I flashed a five-rupee note before his eyes. It was not until I thrust a ten-rupee note into his hand ' that he agreed to help me out. This must have been the biggest fare he ever had received, or ever would receive.
With difficulty, I struggled to load the injured calf aboard the rickshaw with help from no one. Murmurings were coming from the gathering crowd. It should be remembered that, in India, it is safer to run over a human than a holy cow. I had committed the unforgivable sin and was going to pay dearly for it. By now, the crowd was breathing fire and vengeance and their lathis (thick canes) were being shaken at me in a most threatening manner.
Their screams of violence were attracting more and more people until my truck was completely encircled. When it became obvious that they were after my blood, I climbed into the cab, which was the only place of refuge. I was utterly terrified as the cursing mob struggled to open the door, which I only just managed to shut and lock in time. With their sticks, they beat on the shiny duco of my beloved "TATA".
Never before, had I been so afraid of facing a painful death. I can recall saying to myself, "Oh my God, this is it; this is the end." Ever since I had those near escapes from death during service in the Air Force, I sometimes used to think of the way I might die. After the crash of a "Fairey Battle", at Evington Air Base, I had a fear of death by fire. Patients like Ruth's first burn case, Litengali, and the many others who followed him through the clinic, compounded my fears. But maybe rabies was more to be feared. I once had to nurse one such case right through to the bitter end and agonized with him as though I, too, had been bitten. If I had to die a violent death, I could not make up my mind what to choose. One thing was certain: since spending that month in the notorious Mandya Prison, I would never want to die of a beating. And yet, it looked as though this was going to be the way.
The mob was now bashing on the windows and it would only be a matter of time before they would go completely berserk and then I would be totally at their mercy. I was to learn another vital lesson in that cab, a lesson I would like to pass on to any sanctimonious "born-again" reader who thinks he has achieved his salvation "in toto". You may think that your faith is sufficiently strong to stand up to the most severe testing. Beware of the doctrine of "once saved always saved". There are those who, believing that it is impossible to "fall from grace", quote such passages as John 10:28 (RSV) - "And I give them eternal life and they shall never perish and no one shall snatch them out of my hand."
I can assure you that, while I may have had some measure of faith in earlier days, there was not much left as I faced what looked like a rather ignominious departure from this life at the hands of a rabid mob. Certainly, none can snatch us from the hand of God if, by faith, we choose not to deny Him. But if, through fear we no longer wish to remain faithful, how can our salvation be secure?
When it seemed as though death was imminent, I cursed those fiendish predators, calling them "bloody bastards" and other vile names, in Hindi. Since that encounter with the Home Board, I had grown away from the Lord and in that vital hour, when I needed Jesus most of all, I lacked the faith to reach out for Him. At last, my faith was being put to the test and was found wanting. I knew that, had my faith remained, I would not have cursed those who sought my blood.
As I screamed out abuse, their shouts called for one thing - "Pakaro, Pakaro, Maro, Maro" (Get him, get him, beat him, beat him).
And then a wonderful thing happened: I began to pray, proving that there was still a residual spark of faith. "Oh my God, I cried, "let it be on the head."
I feared the long drawn-out beating. Skin can be ripped from the body without some victims losing consciousness. I wanted it over quickly and painlessly with a hard, stunning hit on the skull.
As they chanted "Pakaro, Maro", I was reminded of those who shouted in much the same way so long ago, - "Crucify Him, Crucify Him" - and that is what brought me to my senses and revived what little faith remained. I had almost gone right to the bottom of the pit. I had learned another lesson:-
LESSON NUMBER TWO: - "NEVER GIVE UP ON JESUS BECAUSE HE'LL NEVER GIVE UP ON YOU."
When we least deserve His help, He is there to sustain. So easily, I could have given up on that memorable day in the truck at Ranitola, but I reached out to Jesus, beyond the eleventh hour, and He was there to lift me up. But all was not over yet, not by far. The mob still had not succeeded in breaking into the cab to drag me out. Would they leave me there or flush me out in the traditional way, following a road accident - by fire? My fears and apprehensions were confirmed when I saw men running to the nearby Indoil gas station, perhaps to get a can of petrol. It is always happening - not only in India.
"Oh, my God! Oh, my God!," I kept repeating to myself, uncontrollably and then I thought, "It's either them or me," so I started the engine of the truck, with not a hope of ever moving against so great a crowd. With frenzied would-be-killers hanging to the sides, sitting on the fenders, bashing on the windscreen and blocking my path, I engaged bottom gear and slowly released the clutch, hoping TATA would budge against the weight of so many people. Gradually I started to move forward, not caring if any were falling under the wheels. Ever so slowly, I edged my way out on to the road where other honking vehicles came to my rescue, forcing my opponents to give up their fight. As an apiarist shakes off his myriad of bees, so those who could have torn me to shreds, gradually fell away and I was - FREE!
The trauma of coming so close to a violent and terrifying death really shook me up in the realization that I lacked the triumphant faith that had sustained Jatibhai right through his painful ordeal of martyrdom. When it came to the test, instead of forgiving my tormentors, I had cursed them. Jesus never would have reacted in such a negative way. I had let him down badly and hated myself for it. A deep sense of shame came over me, but as I drove that ten-tonner back to Daulatapur, the lonely four hours at the wheel provided an opportunity for reflection.
How far removed was my character from that of Jesus who wept over Jerusalem - shed tears of sorrow and forgiveness for the very people who later were to torture him to death. And why had I degenerated spiritually? It was because I had harboured bitterness and resentment over the Home Board's discipline. True Christian love keeps no score of injustices - never feels offended or indignant. But ever since that rough encounter with the Board, I had allowed malice to well up in my heart like a canker. By the time I reached Daulatapur, where I was able to share these experiences with my "Mother Confessor", Shantibe Dube, I had learned a little more: -
LESSON NUMBER THREE: -"NEVER TAKE IT OUT ON JESUS."
We may see much in the
It was in that truck that I determined, there and then, no longer to feel ill will towards the Mission authorities. As is so often the case, the traumatic experience such as I had had in TATA, on the very brink of death, turned out to be a blessing in disguise to bring me back to the Lord. And that was a Miracle.
My heart went out to the Missionary Committee, in Britain. I asked the Lord to help me act positively - to think of all the happy experiences I had enjoyed with its members in so many different places in England, Scotland and Wales.
When, in such a positive way, we look for the good in others, we find that their defects pale into nothingness. In my heart I prayed for each one, especially the two or three who were determining policy. I know, for sure, that all the members were not against me. It was not until I had forgiven the Home Board, that, over a period of weeks, I began to feel the renewing power of the Holy Spirit, flowing back into my heart.
One day, for the first time in months, I realized I was whistling as I went about my work. Although I kept to my word not to accept preaching appointments, I found myself getting more involved in fellowship, discussing the things of the Lord and testifying to the saving power of God in Christ. Whenever the question of Union or theological issues pertaining to Episcopacy were raised, I avoided discussion and hoped that the Home Board would take cognisance of that. Whereas, a few months earlier, I was sinking deeper into the abyss, I had now taken a turn for the better and felt myself climbing right up out of the pit that had threatened to engulf me. I was a new man. I thanked the Lord for the lesson I had so painfully learned:-
LESSON NUMBER FOUR "NEVER HOLD A RESENTMENT IT IS SPIRITUALLY LETHAL|”
With a renewed and buoyant spirit, I dedicated myself
afresh to building up the socio-economic life of the church in preparation for
the day when it would be financially on its own. It was most fortunate that I
had a good team with whom to work. The General Meeting, well representative of
all sections of the public, comprised those who agreed to abide by the policies
of the ACDP Constitution and who had paid an annual membership fee of twelve
rupees. It was this body, which had unanimously elected Zackius Minz as its
President. Kalemari Khamal, who, by now, was fully reconciled to staying in the
area, was appointed by me and approved of by CBSD as Project Administrator. The
With the help of Shri Dharmpal Pande, our Daulatapur lawyer who had helped us in the litigation matters, we polished up our ACDP Memorandum of Association and Rules & Regulations, in the hope of someday, getting the ACDP registered with Government, to qualify us for a continuation of financial support, if the British Gospel Mission were to withdraw from India.
Payment to cover ACDP purchases was to be made in several stages. We had now received the documents of registration covering the truck and also the tractor, with three-ton trailer. All our fifteen irrigation pumping sets were now in hand but, without suction and irrigation delivery piping, were of no real value in terms of generating income. Payment to cover the purchase of this piping and other equipment would be made when CBSD received receipts for equipment already purchased.
We receive a second tractor -- Ruth driving.
Meanwhile, all the pumps and the tractor were lying idle, posing a heavy liability for the ACDP. Time was running out for the local farmers, whose patience was nearly exhausted. Many had agreed to hire our tractor for ploughing and there was also a demand for the pumps, but with neither ploughs nor piping available, the farmers were beginning to feel that we had let them down badly. In anticipation of being able to hire our facilities, some farmers had invested heavily in fertilizers and seed, which they would have difficulty in storing, free from humidity, insects and rats. If CBSD had given us only one pump with suction and delivery piping, it would have been much better than receiving 15 pumps with no piping. Why didn't they think of that when planning our financial support?
Although I forwarded receipts and vouchers to CBSD within a day or two after making a purchase, it would take three weeks for my statement of accounts to reach them in New Delhi. Allowing a week to process the accounts and a further week to issue another cheque, conditional upon the accounts being passed, time, which was of great importance to the farmers, was fast running out. Three more weeks would be required for that next CBSD check to reach me, about the same length of time for the retailers in Ranitola and Calcutta to clear it through their banks and another month for their goods to be ready for collection!
When CBSD officials conducted their feasibility studies, they did not take into account that the one hundred and fifty thousand rupees budget for the first phase would be funded in such dribs and drabs. Meanwhile, according to the Legal Agreement we had signed with CBSD, repayment of the Geneva loan would start from the date of the first payment!
Farmers, who previously, had been right behind us, were now losing confidence in what they had believed could have brought revolutionary changes for the better to their impoverished society. Some of the more hostile elements in our society were spreading rather militant rumours, which made me fear that I had a potential riot on my hands. But there were many who were still with us and they were the hundreds of workers making bricks.
Our CBSD monetary funds may have been tied up in legal agreements, receipts, accounts and red- tape but, at least, we had on hand the wheat necessary to cover payment for making all those bricks as a FFW scheme. Even if we would lose income by not being able to hire out the pumps and tractor, money would start rolling in once we had baked the bricks and could get the piggery, poultry and fishery project buildings constructed and the 20 ft. dam. wells lined. In anticipation of this, already we had bought six purebred Russian variety pigs. The local folk had never before seen such beautiful animals and many had already placed firm orders for piglets before we had our first litter. Under the financial agreement, CBSD had sent us funds to cover the purchase of three months' feed after which we would have to purchase further pellets from income derived from the sale of piglets or the hiring out of our facilities.
It was while Suresh and I were returning from Ranitola in the ACDP Jeep truck, with a load of pig feed, that a very strange thing happened. We were halfway home, between Mandya and Bhavnagar, on a lonely stretch of jungle road, around 10 p.m., with not another vehicle in sight, when we heard behind us a vehicle with twin horns demanding that we pull over. Terror struck at my heart, fearing that bandits had caught up with us.
I could hardly believe my ears and said to Suresh, "Did you hear what I heard?" It didn't sound like a Jeep or truck. I think it must be a car. What in the world is a car doing way out here in this wilderness?" Several more toots expressed the impatience of the driver of what turned out to be a taxi with Ranitola number plates. Suresh commented on what it must have cost to hire a taxi to come all this way and return there - a small fortune. "Hey, Suresh," I exclaimed, "I can't believe my eyes. In the back seat of that taxi are two members of the Mission's Home Board!"
"Suresh, I have no doubts at all. One has a mop of white hair and the other, black!" The two were talking together, so must have seen our truck, with its identification clearly manifest on the tail- gate in large letters - "Agricultural Community Development Project". But why didn't they look back when they passed us? Why had they made this unscheduled, secret visit? These were questions I could not answer. I remember saying to myself and sharing the thought with Suresh, "At last we'll be able to clear up the misunderstanding that has resulted in estrangement between the Home Board and ourselves."
This was what all we missionaries on the field had
wanted - occasional visits by Home Board members. "But why has it taken
them twenty years to make this unscheduled visit?" I questioned Suresh.
"These top officials will now be able to meet with Zackius, the
Chairperson of the
"Also, Suresh, I shall be able to show them the actual correspondence from CBSD with the condition that, as their Contact Person in the area, I should be the Director, with powers to appoint the Project Administrator." The Home Board also had a suspicion that I had usurped the position of Director with a special interest in c~ntrol1ing the funds. Yes, I felt sure that this visit by our British mends would clear the air.
It was another two hours before Suresh and I reached Bhavnagar after passing the same taxi on its way back to Ranitola, one hundred and sixty miles to the south. Normally, on such late night trips, we would not call on Geoff and Anthea Saunders to disturb them and their children after they had retired for the night, but this time, there was a pressure lamp still burning in the Bhavnagar bungalow, so we dropped in to see why the Home Board members had come so urgently.
I was told that it was now too late for serious discussion which would be reserved for tomorrow, at our home in Nawapara.
Their visit the next day was brief and to the point. They asked me to resign!
I was stunned. "Of course, we imagine that you would want to stay," one of them said, "but it should be clearly understood that if you stay, we shall feel obliged to stop all funds to the Surgapam- Palamghat field."
This really hit us below the belt, for our Indian churches had not attained economic viability. Foreign funds would be needed for several more years or until the ACDP was properly established. With no funds coming in from abroad, many of our key karmcharis would be forced to leave the area in search of work in the towns. Eventually, of course, through the ACDP, they would be able to support themselves and the various ministries of the church. If funds were cut off, Geoff and Anthea Saunders' ministry in India also would terminate. For Ruth and me, there was no alternative; we just had to leave India and the churches we had come to love.
We were told that, on the following day, at Bhavnagar, I would be asked to sign a formal statement of resignation. Begging to be excused from the meeting, ostensibly to go to the toilet, I conveyed the bitter news to Kalemari, who, with his Indian colleagues, planned to cycle to Bhavnagar immediately, in the hope of being able to speak on my behalf. But on that fateful day, there was no justice. Our Indian friends were not permitted to present any evidence, which could have fully exonerated me of all their wild charges. I had heard of "British Justice", but these foreign visitors just didn't have a clue. "But I must not become resentful," I kept saying to myself. "Better to lose my career than my faith and all that makes life worthwhile."
In spite of the trauma, my faith was standing up well and, although I had disappointed Jesus when trapped in the truck at Ranitola, this time I would not let Him down. No matter how great may be the injustice of my dismissal, I was determined never to give up on Jesus. I would hold fast to Him and He would sustain me right through the suffering. I was prepared to lose my salary and recognition as a missionary, but I would never again turn my back on Jesus.
By now, Ruth and I already had experienced so many miracles, that we were not at all perturbed when, on the verandah of the Bhavnagar Mission bungalow, I was asked to sign on the dotted line to - "withdraw from the area by June 30th, 1970"!
God knew I was innocent of all the charges and He would vindicate me. Truth would ultimately triumph without me having to force the issue. Had I not learned that "justification is always granted - never usurped?" My faith continued to hold and my mind was flooded with comforting passages "Blessed are you when men shall revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely, on my account.
Rejoice and be glad for your reward is great in Heaven for so men persecuted the prophets who were before you." (Matt. 5: 11)
Under duress, not wishing that the churches should suffer in any way, Ruth and I resolved that, for the sake of all concerned, we would have to return to Australia.
When our Indian sisters and brothers were called together to be told of the Home Board's decision, they were incensed.
It was a very moving experience to see five of our leading brethren, risking displeasure from the Mission authorities, along with all the repercussions that such insubordination might involve, speaking up in my defence. However, in no uncertain terms, they were again informed that the British Board was not interested in holding an inquiry and that, - "Mr. Skillicorn has to go."
Chapter Twelve, Section IV
Ruth and I now faced many problems. We had started a work involving repayment of a loan of over one hundred thousand rupees. I was one of the signatories of the AICF-CBSD Financial Agreement. Calcutta Customs also soon would be demanding distribution certificates covering the wheat being used in the making of four hundred thousand bricks. Although we fully intended to leave, how could we, in the short time remaining before the end of June? Exit Permits are not granted if there are legal cases pending. Even if we did stay, where would we live? The latter problem was partly solved when a number of kind folk offered us accommodation. Our dear friend, "Moussi" Dube, had two rooms with attached bathroom, which she could make available and, to this day, those rooms are a haven of peace whenever we visit our Daulatapur family.
Bhednadi Sahib was prepared to treat us royally and extend his rent-free property for us, also offering to provide us with all our food. Rhagani Salur "Sufi" Daroga Sahib said he had a spare house free of rent. But all these places were too far from the centre of ACDP activities. For this reason, Kalemari decided that it would be better to build us a house on one of the plots purchased by the Project on the banks of the Rigalto River. It would take time to secure the permits for roofing timber and bamboo, but he had hopes of completing a small hut, twenty-five feet long and nine feet wide, before the start of the rains.
This year, according to radio and press reports, it seemed as though the monsoon would arrive early. In anticipation of this, I booked six of Arjan Singh's trucks well in advance, to transport our brick-baking coal from Dhanbad, in SE Bihar. As soon as all the wheat had been utilized, I lost no time in sending a report to the District Collector, requesting certification of impartial distribution, irrespective of caste, creed and race. I was most surprised when the certificate was endorsed by the local official, without any hint that he should get a bribe. I think it must have been because we had prominent members of the public in our ACDP governing body (Annual General Meeting) and also on the Executive Committee of Management. Furthermore, it could have been due to the sympathy we received from the public who considered us victims of vicious foreign interference in India's internal affairs.
It was so very important, in order that distribution certificates covering the wheat be speedily sent to CBSD, along with a request for funds to buy the coal, that I made a special fast trip to Ranitola by motor-cycle, to send the documents by air-mail. Besides, posting from Ranitola, obviated the need to register our mail, thus saving more time. Time was such an important factor with the possibility of the rains starting a month earlier in May. Clouds, in fact, already had started to gather, but with a restored faith, I had complete confidence that we would get the coal in time to successfully bake all those bricks -what looked like a mountain of bricks - 400,000!
It was a great day when our Bhavnagar to Surgapam "runner", Sobram, arrived with a sack of mail, including the long-awaited letter from CBSD. The first impression, before opening the envelope, was that the letter had not been registered. Prior to this, all CBSD, which included checks, was registered. "It must have been sent by ordinary post in order to save about two weeks of time, so vital in these last few weeks of the 'dry'...", I thought to myself. I shall never forget the shock I suffered when, on opening the envelope, no check was to be found! Instead, a letter from CBSD informed me that all further funding of the ACDP had been stopped, with immediate effect!.
The reason for this was explained in an attached letter, being a copy of the original sent to CBSD by its parent body, the All India Christian Federation (AICF). It appeared that the British Gospel Mission Home Board authorities had called at New Delhi, on their way to the field and informed the AICF that I had been opposing their endeavours to place our Palamghat-Surgapam churches under the N.I.U.C.. I was, therefore, no longer regarded as their missionary representative and, as such, should not qualify for further financial help for the ACDP.
Credit has to be given to the AICF, in that it had given me the benefit of the doubt by not completely blacklisting me, worldwide, as the Home Board had done. It was prepared to investigate the allegations, for which reason a "TEMPORARY MORATORIUM" was imposed on the ACDP that only would cut off further funds pending an official inquiry.
However, because the British Home Board was a member of AICF, that inquiry was not to be held until its membership expired a year later! Meantime, not only did we lose the urgently needed funds for the brick-baking coal, also we received no funds to buy irrigation piping, making all the 15 pumps redundant. Similarly, with no funds for ancillary gear such as scrapers, tillers, levellers and ploughs, the tractors were of no value for ploughing. About twenty farmers had been waiting patiently for the disc plough to bring lands, reclaimed through FFW, under cultivation and irrigation for the first time ever.
"Faith will solve all problems." I remember saying to myself. Ruth and I had come through experiences far more traumatic than this. "AICF / CBSD may have cut off our funds, but the Lord had not. He would provide the funds," I tried to reassure myself. However, because we had learned that 'God helps those who help themselves', Ruth and I decided that, in order to save the bricks, we would personally invest every rupee we had in our American Express Bank. Our cartage contractor, Arjan Singh, agreed to accept a Bombay cheque but it would not cover the cost of all the coal we needed.
Promising him that, within a month, I would get the balance of our personal funds from Australia, he agreed to buy all the necessary coal, the rest on credit. Fortunately, Ruth's mother had been putting aside for us some funds to help support us in our retirement years and we decided, on faith, to completely drain those resources.
God, even yet, would work His miracle. Never again would I doubt Him. Never again would I be resentful, even against the Home Board who had sent to all bodies with which I had been associated, intimation of my subordination and corrupt attitudes, made known, internationally, in a blue insert published in their monthly journal, "The Gospel Advocate".
I must admit that, on many occasions, I was tempted to become resentful but fought a spiritual battle within my soul, to have positive thoughts, even towards those who had not allowed a fair trial. This is more than can be said of one of my Sikh friends who, with traditional dagger at his side, visited us to inform. "Sahib, just say the word and I will do it!"
"Do what, Sardaji?" I inquired.
"I will kill those foreign mission people; just say the word!
I had some difficulty in making my Punjabi friend understand that, in the Gospel, there is no place for violence. We have to love our enemies - even those who would destroy us. This is part of the uniqueness of the Gospel that he just could not understand.
Even the children worked to make bricks.
All my efforts were now directed towards the bricks.
It would be criminal, after all that sweat and toil, to allow the shortage of
mere money to cause their loss. Although Arjan Singh was a Sikh, he had a great
interest in the concerns of the Christian
Some of the 400,000 bricks -- most of which were lost when coal did not arrive on time.
With clouds continuing to gather and humidity on the increase, I knew we were taking a very great risk to invest every single cent of our life's savings in buying up the necessary coal. During the years, having constantly to dip into our personal funds to maintain the work, we had few opportunities to put something aside for a rainy day. In spite of all that lack of financial security, Ruth and I firmly believed we were doing the right thing when we turned over to Arjan Singh, a cheque for six hundred and seventy five rupees, leaving just ten rupees (one dollar, at the time) in the bank, to keep the account open. We were absolutely sure that the investment was according to God's will. Had we not prayed about it? Had we not experienced so many definite answers to prayer and witnessed so many Miracles?
Keith with some of the 400,000 bricks.
It was not often that Arjan Singh went out personally with his fleet of trucks, especially on long trips as this was, all the way to Dhanbad. However, the fact that he went with his drivers was further evidence that God was behind the venture. Arjan did not want his six drivers to be delayed at the colliery where, daily, just prior to the break of the monsoon, trucks are queued up by the dozens in a desperate attempt to buy that last-minute necessary load of coal. Arjan had been away a full week when there was a mighty clap of thunder and the heavens were rent with bright flashes of lightning.
But all this was in the west, over Aranchalganj way. Arjan would be coming from the opposite direction. Our faith was being tested but this time was not found wanting. The first shower was just a teaser, damaging only the bricks on the outside. My faith was holding. By this time, hundreds of local folk had arrived on the scene to lend a helping hand, stacking the bricks near to where they were to be baked and covering the stacks with leaves and mud to prevent further damage. The heavy rain kept up incessantly.
It was a full twenty-four hours after Arjan's trucks bogged down, that word reached us of the tragedy. All the precious coal had to be dumped in the jungle, near the Bhavnagar Mission compound. This major calamity would be enough to send some people into a state of shock, but it was evidence of the mighty working of the Lord, that neither our Indian friends nor we gave up hope. The trucks may have bogged down, but we still had the tractor and three-ton trailer! There were now five of us on the staff who could handle the tractor and trailer and we had enough diesel fuel in stock to keep them working around the clock, getting all the coal through.
Cornelibai Kumar, one of our staff whom I had trained to be an electrical linesman, offered to make the first trip and it was a great thrill when he was able to bring through a full trailer load within twelve hours. He also offered to do a second trip, leaving Suresh and Sarson to help me improvise some sort of covering for all the brand-new irrigation pumps and other valuable equipment that could be damaged if allowed to remain wet.
No time was lost in getting the big lumps of coal broken up into a manageable size and mixed with firewood at the bottom of the kiln. How thankful we were to get enough respite from the deluge to lay five thousand bricks on the first layer of coal. Men, women and children worked like slaves, carrying up to nine bricks at a time on their heads. There must have been at least five hundred people on the job - all volunteers - moving like streams of ants to build up the kiln. And then we heard it again - a deafening clap of thunder - and with it, the heavens opened!
There was no time to waste. The fire had to be lit; at least we had hope of getting five thousand bricks baked - one eightieth of the total of four hundred thousand! The deluge fell again, but it did not prevent Cornelibai getting through with his second three-ton load. He had encountered much trouble on the road, but he made it. Although badly in need of sleep, he set out for his third load and we were able to lay coal on the second level. Even while the coal was burning on the first layer, our dedicated helpers continued to pile up the bricks, but our hopes were cruelly dashed when word came through that our faithful tractor driver, Cornelibai, had bogged down heavily in a stream between Bhavnagar and Bundi.
With undaunted spirit, our willing village people continued to pile up the bricks. The idea now was to half-bake the bricks, and after the monsoon, perhaps re-bake them. "We can do all things through Christ, who strengthens us." I kept repeating to myself It is truly amazing the super- human energy that can be generated through faith.
In torrential rain, working day and night, we laboured, but in vain. The cataclysmic downpour was just too much for us. We were inundated. Thousands of little waterfalls eroded their way deeper and deeper into the pile to end their travel in bursts of violent hissing.
The deafening roar of the Rigalto River, now in flood, coupled with the steam being ejected from all over the kiln and the noise from the piled, up rows of thousands of melting, unbaked bricks, stacked near the kiln, collapsing like so many rows of dominos, blew my mind and almost totally destroyed me as a person. As the dying coal embers spluttered their last spark of life, I went into shock and retreating into the bushes to hide my shame, burst into tears and convulsive tremors. There was now no faith to contain my grief and last spark of hope though there must have been some sort of god-concept in my tormented mind, enabling me to storm like a bull and splutter out my final blasphemous prayer.
"Look at the bricks; what about the bloody bricks? Our people need bricks; they need BRICKS, B R I C K S!"
And that was the end of my faith and the culmination of twenty years of missionary service. "Curse the Home Board Bastards," I screamed, "How much can a man take?
I was now wallowing in the mire - in the pit of despair and I was not alone. Many of our people shed tears on that occasion. Ruth and I had lost all our life's savings. We had lost all but two thousand of those four hundred thousand bricks. Another two thousand were baked enough to retain their shape but were not suitable for important building purposes. We now had no way of protecting our valuable equipment and vehicles; no way of renting out the pumps and tractor without piping and ploughs; no way of implementing the piggery, poultry and fishery projects and no way of repaying the one hundred thousand rupee loan owing to CBSD. Worst of all, I had completely lost my faith. There was now no god to whom I could appeal. The organized church was just one colossal, infernal power structure, religionised and controlled by cunning and unscrupulous male clerics with the sole purpose of manipulating gullible people!
My hearts ached for the farmers and village people who had staked all their hopes on the ACDP and me in particular. I had let them down miserably. I developed the most violent headaches, perhaps because of depression, that even Codeine could not relieve. Ruth stood up to the trauma better than I did, at least at this stage. Her turn was to come a month later - a delayed reaction.