Every week, the CharityFocus interns have to read a book and do a book report.  Last week, one of the them got "How Can I Help", by Ram Dass and Paul Gorman.  Here is an profound excerpt from Chapter 6:

In the middle of the Indian night, an intruder burst through the bamboo door of the simple adobe hut. He was a government vaccinator, under orders to break resistance against smallpox vaccinations. Lakshmi Singh awoke screaming and scrambled to hide herself. Her husband leaped out of bed, grabbed an ax, and chased the intruder into the courtyard.

Outside, a squad of doctors and policemen quickly overpowered Mohan Singh. The instant he was pinned to the ground, a second vaccinator jabbed smallpox vaccine into his arm.

Mohan Singh, a wiry 40-year-old leader of the Ho tribe, squirmed away from the needle, causing the vaccination site to bleed. The government team held him until they had injected enough vaccine; then they seized his wife. Pausing only to suck out some vaccine, Mohan Singh pulled a bamboo pole from the roof and attacked the strangers holding his wife.

When two policemen rebuffed him, the rest of the team overpowered the entire family and vaccinated each in turn. Lakshmi Singh bit deep into one doctor's hand, but to no avail.

When it was over, our vaccination team gathered in the small courtyard. Mohan Singh and his exhausted family stood by the broken door of their house. We faced each other silently across a cultural barrier, neither side knowing what to do next. Such an event ---- a night raid and forcible smallpox vaccination ---- was unprecedented.

Mohan Singh surveyed his disordered household, and reflected. For a moment or two he hesitated. Then he strode to his small vegetable plot and stooped to pluck the single ripe cucumber left on the vine. Following the hospitality creed of his tribe, he walked over to the puzzled young Indian doctor whom his wife had bitten and handed him the cucumber.

I had stood in the shadows trying to fathom the meaning of this strange encounter. Now I reached out to Zafar Hussain, a Muslim paramedic assistant assigned to me by the Indian government as guide and translator. What on earth was the cucumber for? Speaking in Hindi, Zafar passed my question along to one of the vaccinators, a Westernized Ho youth, who challenged Mohan Singh in the staccato rhythm of the tonal Ho language.

With great dignity, Mohan Singh stood ramrod straight. The whole village was awake now, people standing around the courtyard stage as the rising sun illuminated our unfolding drama. Measuring his words carefully, Mohan Singh began:

"My dharma [religious duty] is to surrender to God's will. Only God can decide who gets sickness and who does not. It is my duty to resist your interference with his will. We must resist your needles. We would die resisting if that is necessary. My family and I have not yielded. We have done our duty. We can be proud of being firm in our faith. It is not a sin to be overpowered by so many strangers in the middle of the night.

"Daily you have come and told me it is your dharma to prevent this disease with your needles. We have sent you away. Tonight you have used force. You say you act in accordance with your duty. I have acted in accordance with mine. It is over. God will decide.

"Now I find you are guests in my house. It is my duty to feed guests. I have little to offer at this time. Except this cucumber."

I felt numb and torn. For an instant, I wondered if I was on the wrong side. Mohan Singh was so firm in his faith, yet there was not a trace of anger in his words. I scanned my teammates' faces, looking for someone to respond to Mohan Singh's challenge. All stared at the ground, humbled by the power of Mohan Singh's faith.

[Hat Tip: thanks CPM!]

Posted by Nipun Mehta | comments (1) | permalink | more 'Inspiration' |