Bill FLynn's flight to India #6

India Update 06

PILGRIMAGE TO DANTOLING

Father Joseph gave me a wonderful gift over the extended weekend of February 9th through 12th. A four day trek through the Diocese of Orissa with an emphasis on the more remote parishes in the tribal and “interior” parishes. The centerpiece of the journey (850 kilometers total distance traveled) was the annual festival in Dantoling (not much more than a remote forested area) in honor of the Our Lady of Lourdes. At the Dantoling site itself there is a large grotto on the top of a small mountain with steps and a foot path to the summit (we didn’t do the climb to the top – no time). There is also a huge outdoor altar where the Bishop of Orissa and about 25 priests con-celebrated Mass. However, I am getting ahead of myself. First the two-day journey to get there.

Father Shillu, one of the three priests who operate the Shanti Bhavan (S.B.) seminary owns a SMALL car of Indian manufacture. It cost approximately $5,000 USD new and it is about three years old. Cars usually do not last more than five years in India and for understandable reasons. The roads are very rough. Fr J, myself and one lucky seminarian left on February 9th after our 0600 breakfast. We proceeded to the parish at Jalter (maybe on a map or the Google Map system) that was the home town of the seminarian. We enjoyed lunch at the rectory and met Fr. Joshy the parish priest. His parish “set up” was along the usual lines – modest Church, rectory and administrative / storage building, a boys and girls hostel (37 boys and 14 girls, hostel population aged 4 to 13), gardens for fruit trees and veggies and coconuts and chickens and ducks – but no cows. It was a poorer parish that the one in Ryagada near S.B. The hostel children were assembled for a brief welcoming song and presentation of flowers to me. I answered questions about the U.S. with Fr Shillu interpreting for about five minutes. They have a very nice flower garden with eight colors of gladiolas. We took pictures with the seminarian’s parents and family members. He is a “tribal” and their houses are long and low structures with a single thatched roof that covers about eight separate family units. Other multi-house buildings were in the area. The parents were initially in the forest (on the near mountain) gathering crops when we arrived – no notice was given to them – and we had lunch while the seminarian ran up the mountain to fetch his parents. They were thrilled to entertain us in their house. We continued on our pilgrimage with Fr Joshy on board. The seminarian was to take a bus back to S.B. the following morning. Being home for one night with his family was a wonderful treat for the seminarian. In the three years they are at S.B. they only get to go home for 30 days each summer.

So three Indian priests and one tall Irishman continued on along a very bumpy and pot-holed roads to Birikote. It was dark when we arrived and before we went to the parish, we paid an unannounced visit to a convent (1930 at night) with an all-girl hostel. The priests simply said, “Let’s stop in at XYZ convent and introduce Bill.” No warning to the nuns whatsoever. Our car pulls up to the front iron gate and Fr Shillu lays on the horn – I mean really lays on the horn - maybe 15 beeps until someone comes to the gate. They see the priests and wide smiles break out. The gate opens wide and we are ushered in with lots of chatter and questions from the nuns to the priests about “how is Fr ABC, What is going on at Dandoling this year? How many seminarians do you have at S.B. this year? Etc., etc., etc. [Imagine a car full of priests and a strange man pulling up to a convent in the U.S. - unannounced and at night. Then they lay on the horn and want to just stop in for some tea and cookies! I’ll have to try that when I get home.] In we go and we meet the five nuns and 84 girls that live at the hostel. Same routine (in the time we had tea, the girls were assembled, flowers were picked from their garden, they sang their Hostel Welcome Song and presented me with flowers). Then they were silent and looked intently at the sisters and priests. One of the religious must have nodded, I didn’t see it, and the questions poured out like a torrent of water over a waterfall about life in America. When I told them girls their age surfed the ocean waves (they have never seen an ocean but know what it is) they were aghast. When I explained with intentional detail and time, that in America girls and boys are just the same – all are treated equally – the nuns breathed a sigh of relief and reinforced my message with ten words to my one. The Q & A session lasted at least 20 minutes. We were on “Indian Time”, which I was to learn repeatedly on our trip, meant no real time schedule. We then drove a short distance to the parish area and in the town / village of Mohnah. We stopped at another convent where I met Sister Rosy, the Mother Superior for the last 25 years. She is as “Rosy” as her name implies - with a very happy disposition and a peppery manner of speech when needed. The convent also had a hostel on their grounds; however, we begged off the introductions due to the hour. We washed up for a very nice and tasty dinner served by the sisters. All sisters on staff and we four men ate together. They held dinner for us to ensure they had lots of table talk about the diocese and various nuns and priests around their area. After dinner I was shown to my room with private bath and had a wonderful night’s rest. Morning bell for prayer in a convent keeps the same hours as S.B. Gong, gong, gong at 0445 with only 30 minutes before Mass which was concelebrated in the parish church. Why did we sleep at the convent? The rectory was too small with no real guest room and the parish priest was unfortunately infected with a severe case of the chicken pox. The rectory was in “semi-quarantine”. The Mohnah parish was Fr Joseph’s first assignment as a parish priest and he spent five years there. The people love him tremendously and repeatedly would not let go of his hand or cassock sleeve. At Mohnah I met the father of another seminarian and we took pictures together and “talked”. He spoke no English and I spoke no Oriya (Indian dialect of the area); however, we communicated with hand signs and a little laughter. All three priest from our car con-celebrated Mass this Sunday morning. I have pictures J.

[A brief side issue re: The relationship of priests and nuns in India. Their relationship is very cordial, casual and mutually supportive. Just last night at S.B. we were at the dinner table and the doorbell rang. It was a nun traveling alone to Bubanheswar, for a meeting at the Arch Diocese. She had just arrived at the Ryagada train station and was asking for dinner and logging for the night. No problem said Fr J. “Ya’ll come on in.” or words to that effectJ. Lots of chatter exchanging news about the “troubled” areas (areas where the December / January riots took place), different priests and nuns’ status of health and assignments, etc. Another example: At Mohnah Sister Rosy was waiting for Fr Shillu to shut the garage door while she held the pad lock. When he took more time than she expected, she said rather abruptly, and with a bit of exasperation, “Oh YOU lock it Father.” And she put the lock on the doorstep and walked back into the convent. Another example: Occasionally, a few nuns stop in at S.B. for the scheduled morning Mass (there is a convent about 200 yards from S.B.). They are often accompanied by young women who are in their formation from the novitiate. Interesting.]

Back to the pilgrimage. Off to Berhampur (which is definitely on the map of India and the Seat of the Diocese). We had lunch in the Bishop’s residence and I was assigned the V.I.P. room for our overnight stay (the Bishop’s office and personal quarters were immediately next door). The Bishop is very friendly and cordial. He is a strict vegetarian; however, fish was on the menu for lunch. I had met the Bishop at the Social Service Center adjacent to S.B. the previous week so we were acquainted. In the afternoon we stopped by another convent with a hostel for girls. This time it was only for girls with handicaps. A few very serious cases; however, lots of smiles from everyone with the standard Q & A session. Same greeting – songs and flowers from the garden that were given back after the greeting so they could be placed in water and put on the convent altar. All convents have a chapel and keep the Blessed Sacrament in the convent chapel for Adoration services.

Then off to the cloistered community of nuns at Carmel Ashram Chatapur for a special request – prison rosaries. Back in New Jersey at the Cape May County Jail we are not allowed to give real rosaries to the prisoners when we visit for our scheduled Monday prayer service (some prisoners were misusing them by putting the beads in the door locks, etc.). Prison rosaries are small strips of blue synthetic cloth with a cross stitched on both ends and ten short lines stitched between the crosses. Prisoners can keep count of the rosary decades with these cloth rosaries. Why am I looking for a production source for cloth rosaries in India? Try to find American women who still use a sewing machine and have the time to stitch cloth rosaries! So we stop by and ring the bell (of course without any prior notice). After a rather long time a novice who has not yet made her final vows comes out and Fr J explains our request. The novice escorts us into a reception room with a dark window (4’ x 4’) that has vertical bars cemented into the window and that is backed up by a thick mesh wire grate. The Mother Superior and another nun come to the window and Fr J gives a greeting and receives a cheery greeting in return. We state our business and pass an example of the prison rosary through the bars and through the metal grate. After an extensive examination by both nuns I am asked to explain their intended use. This is followed by a further examination of the sample cloth rosary and the Mother Superior tells us they are very busy this month making candles and hosts for various congregations; however, in a month they can produce the rosaries for me. How many do I need she asks me directly? I say 1,000 without batting an eye. Mother Superior agrees and the deal is done. A few more pleasantries and we are ushered outside the building. I wondered what the cost would be since that was not a topic of conversation. Fr J said, “Whatever donation you might wish to make.” In any case, we have prison rosaries for the foreseeable future, and so do the other praesidiums in Cape May County.

Then it is off to a Technical College that has just been built by the Ascension Brothers. Very nice building with huge electrical and plumbing classrooms. The setting was also attractive – along a wide river that runs to the sea – the Bay of Bengal. A short visit to the administrative building for the obligatory tea and then a ride to the beach along the Bay of Bengal in a city called Gopalpur (also on the map of India). It was drizzling rain so I only spent a few moments to look at an ocean. It will be my only chance to see some serious water until I lift off from Mumbai (Bombay) on my way home. A short stop at the main three-year Senior Philosophy Seminary in Gopalpur and a meeting with the former Rector of Shanti Bhavan who is now assigned at this senior seminary. Then back to the Bishop’s residence to wash up for dinner, again with the Bishop and a few visiting priests. Much talk about the pilgrimage to Dantoling the following day. The Bishop impresses me as a truly spiritual Shepard and a very gentle man in his manner. Early to bed because we are off to Dantoling in the morning.

Depart for Dantoling after a cup of coffee (50% hot milk and 50% strong coffee). Stop by Sorada to see the oldest mission church in the Diocese of Orissa. Very European in construction and built by Spanish missionaries in the early 1800s – abandoned and then re-occupied by the present order of priests. Arrive at Dantoling by 0930 for a “scheduled” Mass at 1030 “Indian time”. Small convent with a small garden – nothing else. Small church serving the local villages. Large group of tents on the left side of the walkway leading to the large altar area immediately below the high grotto on top of the hill. Vendors selling food, religious articles, and camping supplies. When the Bishop arrives a five piece rhythm band cranks up. Clarinet, trumpet, two types of symbols and metal “rattle” instruments and a small drum. Let me tell you they can really “get down”. Two large red umbrellas, with lots of silver tassels hanging from their edges, proceeds the Bishop who walks under a golden cloth canopy held up on four corners by bearers. About 25 priests precede the Bishop and about ten priests follow. I walk alongside the Fr J with the “following” priests, until we reach the area of the altar and then peel off to a chair in the crowd, as all the priests climb the 15 stairs to the altar. Quite a celebration of Mass and too long to relate here. However, I will explain when I return. One thing is worth mentioning – the Offertory. At that part of the Mass a long line of pilgrims bring their personal offerings: candles, incense, goats, chickens, a peacock, eggs, rice, etc. The Bishop comes down to personally receive each offering – each and every one. Easily over 100 pilgrims make these offerings and the bishop accepts each gift individually and blesses each person making the offering. Quite an outpouring of love from the laity. Remember, many pilgrims walk 40 or even 50 kilometers to get here and some pilgrims have to walk along roads where “the others” know who you are and why you are traveling. And we complain about the lack of parking near the church?

After Mass we walked slowly back to the “starting line” and ate lunch in a tent reserved for priests, nuns and seminarians. It is the custom in India to eat with your fingers – no forks, spoons, knives – nada. Ever eat rice with meat cubes and gravy, vegetables, salad and something else that was green with you fingers? I can – and I didn’t leave a single piece of rice on my plate. So many greetings and farewells by the priests and nuns that our departure was 90 minutes late by my watch; however, we were right on time according to “Indian time”.

Off to Antarba by way of a “short cut”. It saved us 50 kilometers; however, the road was right out of Westward Ho The Wagons staring John Wayne. We had to get out and walk along two sections. The weight of four men in the little car made it too low to get over the rocks and through the river. One section of the road was built intentionally with a concrete surface about five inches below a running stream. Shouldn’t have been a problem except the concrete was worn away and rocks were thrown in the void. I have pictures J. Arrived at Antarba to the largest physical parish church in Orissa. Quite nice and in the middle of…in the middle of…well, all I can say is - in the middle of the jungle and mountains and one small village. The previous Bishop wanted to make a statement to the people of this region that the Catholics were “here to stay” and we were committed to servicing the faithful of this region. It worked. All along the way you see cemeteries with white cement crosses over the gravesites; Mary’s statue in the roadside thatched roofed stores, rosaries around the necks of children. The parish church at Antarba follows the standard model with a hostel for boys, fruit and vegetable garden, cows, chickens, etc. One unique aspect - the church was built over and around very large rock boulders. I mean to say BIG BOULDERS. The parish priest wants to put garden flowers next to the church and he is also making a cement sidewalk entrance to the church and that will require a border of rocks. So guess how he is moving the Hugh boulders? The boys from the hostel are breaking them with one sledgehammer and four steel pikes (leverage tools). They then carry the pieces (varying in size from a baseball size to a briefcase size) to the borderline of the driveway and sidewalk after the boulder is demolished – one boulder at a time. They boys only work at it one hour a day and while I was there, they broke apart ½ of one boulder that was larger than an office desk. They range in age from six to twelve. During this same hour they moved a few smaller rocks while the “big” boy was wielding the sledgehammer. Amazing. Another visual, all the boys wore very nice looking red sweaters for morning Mass. Imagine about fifty boys aged four to twelve wearing red sweaters and shorts (no shoes allowed in church) sitting “yoga style” on the floor, very erect and attentive, while attending morning Mass. As in all hostels they learn basic educational skills that they would never receive in the village. Religion is the #1 subject, closely followed by English - then arithmetic, reading and a unique blend of history / social sciences / cultural heritage. The Catholics are the only religion with such an extensive network of youth hostels. I will explain why the other religions fear we Catholics when I return. I will put together a Power Point / slideshow presentation of my trip. Don’t miss it.

While at Antarba we met with one of the S.B. seminarian’s family. Father, mother, sister and the sister’s husband. They knew we were coming this time so they were “dressed to the nines”. Both mother and sister were dressed in beautiful red saris and lots of gold bracelets. The sister had multiple jewels on her forehead and lovely gold earrings. As is true in all cultures, the father and his son-in-law were dressed more simply in dress slacks and short sleeve shirts. It is just another universal fact of the human condition – women get all the bling and we men have to get by with “whatever” J. No email please. We left Antarba two hours late by my watch, but right on time for “India time”. The reason for most of the delay was that Father Shillu was a former, and beloved, pastor at this church and the villagers kept pulling him back into their houses for blessings and tea.

On to Paralakundi, the northern most parish in the diocese. It is a city parish but also has a hostel. Father Joshy, who was with us for the trip, had twelve boys from his village at this hostel. He was very excited to see them and discuss their progress with the pastor. He took me aside and said, “Bill, can you imagine the social impact when these twelve boys return to their village as educated young men? With all of the knowledge they have learned here at Paralakundi?” Simply stated, they will become leaders of their community and of the larger area community. They can represent the villagers in negotiations with the government and commercial entities. They will be able to champion action for social change and justice. They will be able to speak more eloquently in English than any government or commercial representative with whom they interact. (By Indian tradition, if you can speak English better than the next guy, you are already 50% more correct than he in any verbal debate.) More on this topic when I return.

After Paralakundi, we drove two hours on almost regular roads to Jalter and Father Joshy’s parish. We said goodbye (after the obligatory cup of tea) and then a 2 ½ hour drive over very poor roads to Ryagada and S.B. “Home Sweet Home.” 850 kilometers with my knees on my chin; however, I would not have missed this trip for anything. A great experience and a wonderful gift from all of those with whom we met and especially Father Joseph who made the arrangements. I said before my trip to India that I expected to receive more than I would be able to give; however, I had no idea the exchange would be so unbalanced. I owe these people much and I intend to use my ten year visa in the coming years.