When the bullets started to fly

A year ago tonight I went to sleep thinking of the big day ahead. Phillip Yancey was in town and we were organising a donor pass event for people to meet him and hear some of this thoughts. I was tired from what was the end of a 6 month preparation period - with St. Andrews Hall in Bandra booked for the programme and seemingly everything in place earlier in the evening.

We had had our men's prayer at our house till about 11 PM. After they left I saw something on Facebook that chilled the blood. Someone commented that a bomb had gone off in a Mumbai hotel. Some kind of terror attack seemed to be going on. Early in the morning the calls started coming in. Something big was happening in South Mumbai.

By 8 AM there was still confusion - but one thing was clear that Phillip Yancey's meeting would have to be cancelled. The terror attack was continuing. This was no one bomb and then silence - but an on-going carnage. Instead of a high-powered evening meeting, Phillip and Janet spent most of the day with us at Jeevan Sahara - and then shared at a small meeting at Covenant Blessing Church. We held a time of prayer at that time - while the security forces were still in heated battle with the terrorists in South Mumbai.

173 people died to the cruelty of the terrorists guns and bombs. Many, many were injured. Many, many are scared and scarred inside and out.

------------------------

Cue to exactly one year later. Was it really only a year? It seems a lifetime ago.


There are signs around the city remembering the brave policemen who died during the operation (not many signs remembering all those who were not brave). The youth of our housing society held a motorcycle rally at 10 PM tonight - waving flags and shouting while driving around on mo-bikes and scooters. As a family we attended a tribute concert organised by a broad-based coalition of Christian groups (Catholics to Pentecostals under one banner - and everyone in between) which featured high-decibel praise-pop in English and Hindi and a dance performance by the Covenant Blessings Church youth group (called Outrageous). We left early (for Mumbai standards) because of the kids school tomorrow - and the brutally loud volume. The papers have gradually built up a crescendo of stories - esp. trying to ferret out human-interest stories about survivors of those days.

Other than a slightly more stepped up security presence - the odd search before going into a store - the policemen slouched behind sand-bags - the sight of more guns on men in khaki - other than these fairly trivial externals, on the surface we do not seem to be any more in a state of fear than we have been before.

But how very close we are to all hell breaking loose.

One of the big prayers we prayed a year ago was that there would not be the backlash through communal rioting. It didn't happen. While it is never easy to be a Muslim in many parts of India - we still have a large amount of civility.

In fact this year has shown what we suspected all along - that terror is not synonymous with jihadism - but also comes in saffron shades as well. Over the course of this year there has been the first trickle of documented cases where right-wing underground Hinduistic groups have been proved to be planting bombs (at times purposely using Muslim garb in the process).

We are still very very far from reconciliation of any sorts. The best we make do with is 'the never-say-die Mumbai spirit' - a sort of stoic heroism that keeps on going.

Our reconciliation cannot take place because no one owns up to anything. It has taken 17 years to publish the official report on the demolition of the Babri Masjid in the holy Hindu city of Ayodhya. It was so patently clear from the beginning that the various Saffron parties were hell-bent on demolishing the mosque and building a temple on what is alleged to be the birthplace of Lord Ram. The failure of the judiciary to sort out the dispute - handling the decades-old fight about which religion is allowed to worship on the disputed area - and the conniving of the state both played into the hands of the carefully cultivated mob who did the final deed and brought the mosque down into rubble. There is nothing new here - the priests of Jesus' day were quite happy to be rabble-rousers when needed 2 millenia prior.

These are not very happy thoughts. But it is in facing the truth - esp. the ugly attitudes that we hide (not-s0-effectively too) that can move us forward. For example, a person told me last year that 'he can't stand to see the Taj Mahal - since it reminds him of all what the Muslims have done to India.' I was flabbergasted. A PhD scholar (albeit in the sciences) was the person who gave me this nugget.

Strangely, we really don't have the stories. Not just stories of navel-gazing upper-middle-classy types. Nor Mr. Rushdie's 'magic-realistic' tales (whose 'grip' and power have eroded the further he has distanced himself from India). And not just the violence-soaked 'White Tigers' - but stories that both see the wretchedness around us and bring real hope for change.

I see two sets of stories that fit the bill. One is the painfully honest narrative accounts of the Bible. We are currently reading through David's relationship with Absalom. The tragedy and the cruelty fit in very well with what goes on today. The other are the lives of our HIV positive friends that we see (or don't see) around us. For those of us privileged to work along side some of these families - we are dealing with the currency of sorrow, with the coin of desperate forgiveness.

Can stories stop bullets? Can lives make any difference? I believe. Yes.

Welcome Caleb

We are thrilled to announce that Rahul and Varsha Mohite - our coworkers at Jeevan Sahara Kendra - were blessed today with a boy they have called Caleb.

Varsha was admitted at Lok Hospital at 1 PM (Rahul had been visiting HIV positive families in the morning). Caleb entered the world at just before 3 PM - weighing in at 2 Kgs and 800 gms.

Older brother Nivedan is very happy. As are the proud parents - and all of us. God answers prayers. Another beautiful new life has begun.

Sheba had worked on a cross-stitch to welcome this child - and we were able as a family to go and meet Varsha and Rahul and their little bundle of joy at Lok Hospital this evening. Many hours went into making this picture - but nothing like the many hours God took to knit little miracle Caleb into life.

Phoren returned artist

Its been a while since we have heard from Stefan Eicher. Because its been a while since he was around in our beloved country of Bharat.

After a number of weeks of trying his mobile - the phone finally started ringing again this afternoon. Stefan and pariwar are back from their US jaunt. Safe and sound. Hale and pretty hearty.

Stefan, Neeru and their two bachhe Ashish and Anjali have just spent 6 weeks in the US, visiting old friends, making new ones, participating in an art camp, sharing in churches that are interested in the arts, and finally being speakers at our old college - the venerable and reinventing Taylor University.

I talked to a tired Stefan (and it was a tired Andi who talked on this side of the phone - I have to get to bed earlier) and got a glimpse of a very packed and very blessed time. He is just about to plunge into another Art week of the Creative Conscience group that meets in Delhi each year to do art with a purpose.

If you did not get to Orlando, Florida to see what Stefan did with the Limner Society - a week of art with old and new friends called 'the Art of Enduring' which ended with a gallery exhibition - you can still go virtually (like I did) to the photo gallery at the Limner's blog site: here! Happy viewing!

Beauty for sale

I couldn't resist this picture. Taken as usual from the BBC day in pictures site it shows a water buffalo in Bangladesh - and reflected in her eye - what seem to be eager potential buyers at the market she is being sold at.

It is unnerving to see so much beauty - and realise that the eye is not a human eye after all - but that of the often ungainly looking water-buffalo. It is also vaguely troubling to see the eagerness of the onlookers (buyers?) reflected in the beast about to be bought. The final bit is the opaqueness of the eye. Since it has become a mirror - we see the surroundings, but we have little clue about what this animal is feeling. Even in our friends the humble beasts - the eyes are the window of what is within.

Sir Henry Havelock

Its been a long time since I have read a stirring biography. Well, that long wait has just come to an end.

Of all the people to read about: how about Sir Henry Havelock?

Born 1795. Died during the First War of Independence / or great Indian Mutiny (depending on your take on history). That would be 1857. Pivotal year for India in many way.

But what of Sir H. He was a Soldier. Tactician. Father. Christian. Reformer.

I have just devoured a book on him by John Pollock called "Way to Glory". The book itself made its way over to our bookshelves via the jumble sale that IBL held last week. As with any good book - I found myself transported to another world.

It was a strange and familiar world - a place where the names are known, but the situations seem totally alien.

For one this is an out and out military history. It traces the rise of a man who did not have the means for advancement that was needed in his day - if you wanted to be promoted - you needed to buy it. The inside view of the early British army in India was also an eye-opener. The almost bestial conditions that the soldiers lived in. The daily depravity of alcohol and women. The craziness of wearing woolen red shirts even in summer. The cruelty and the disease that kept dogging them. It all sounds like fiction.

And yet it sounds like today. Havelock was part of the ill-fated Afghan expedition. The account is full of the same maddening situation that all foreign fighters in Afghanistan face - fierce locals who keep switching sides - and are ready to keep fighting. An elusive goal which keeps changing. For Havelock, who repeatedly facing fire - it was a miracle that he survived. Over his life-span of fighting 7 horses died while carrying him to battle.

After arriving in India, Havelock married Hannah Marshman, the daughter of one of the original missionary families with William Carey. His trip to India by sailing ship brought about the most dramatic of changes in this hard-driven man: a personal surrender to the claims of Christ on his life. Throughout his life, Havelock seeks to live out his faith - often to ridicule from fellow officers. We see him leading bible studies for soldiers - something unheard of and considered seditious by many. We see him suggesting that soldiers could fight without rum - something unheard of (even today). We see his deep frustrations with being denied promotion.

Parallel to his story is the stories of his three sons who become soldiers too. The eldest - 'Harry' Havelock ends up becoming Havelock's aide-de-camp in his finest hour. But the long sadness of Harry's rejection of his father's faith - and the wooing of his son through word and example form for me the most moving part of the story. Having fought through incredible odds and 'rescued' the Europeans in Lucknow, Havelock dies in his son's arms. Of dysentery. His son nursing him with love - having just days before finally come over to his father's faith in God.

I found myself deeply moved by the book. And troubled.

I was moved on a number of points. One of them was an unexpected Mussoorie connection. It seems Havelock lived in Oakville Estate (well known for the Alter clan) at one point. Tragically, while his wife and children were at Oakville it burned down and killed a child of his. The fire badly wounded his wife Hannah and Havelock had to rush up to Mussoorie to help her.

Another moving part was to see the spiritual formation of a lonely, driven man. The ridicule he faced for his convictions - overlaid on the awful conditions of his 'job' brought back the basic question of 'how should we live?'

The troubling issues are the actual historical events of 1857. The terrible slaughter that took place. I have written earlier that we live in an age of terror. I would argue that 1857 would rank up there as one of the bloodiest years. All sides were involved in killing that was brutal.
As a person who leans towards pacifism, I found myself troubled by my being swept along with the 'heroic' progress that Havelock and his men make from Calcutta through to Lucknow.

Looking at the dawn of modern India - and the demise of many of the local empires of the time - what role should we accord the British? And in all the tumult of Empire - what role do we accord individuals? I feel foolish for knowing so little about my own country - and yet where do we have any kind of reasonable discussion on our history today?

On another track, I was (not surprisingly) fascinated to see the role that faith played in Havelock's life. One thing struck me strongly - that Havelock's persistence and success paved the way for his ideas to be widely accepted. The 'efficiency' of his life proved a powerful platform for the content of his ideas. I think that probably would be true of most of the influence that early 'evangelicals' like Wilberforce and others had on the structure of Empire.

So I end the book hungry for more. A good sign I think. Would that we had more biographies to poke us out of our stupor.

Living Legends - Bro John V. Rao

How do you preach for more than 50 years?

Well, you do so by sheer will-power - and great gratitude to God.

We stopped off in Rourkela on the first day of the month. One of the reasons was to celebrate 50 years of the Bethany Assembly - the place where Sheba's parents came to the Lord, where they were married, where Sheba and her siblings were nurtured and baptised, where Sheba and I were married.

Bro. Rao keeps on going strong. When we visited we were able to see that he continues to faithfully give the word. His eagle eye roved over the gradually filling up room - and he is still keeping the 3.5 hour long service moving forward with songs, prayers and sermons. His messages continue to be pointed. It takes a hard heart not to be affected by what Bro Rao shares from the word.

His early life was in the military. One day, when he was almost dying as a young man due to his alcoholism and tuberculosis, Bro. Rao made a decision to follow Christ. He has continued steadfastly in the path of his master, waking at 4 am each morning for prayer and preperation for the day. Having raised 2 daughters and many spiritual children over the decades. And preaching. And preaching.

A strong disciplinarian, Bro Rao does not suffer fools gladly. But he has a heart for people. He receives our newsletter every month and faithfully prays for us. He has given his life for the Lord - and lived it out in faithfulness. Some will quibble with his style - but no one can fault his consistency.

50 years of preaching.

Bro Rao with the next gen of preachers

Keys

On Saturday we made another mini-pilgrimage. To the far-away land of Mumbai.

Far-away because moving out of our tightly-meshed life of JSK-kids-school-church means that it is very difficult to go as a family to Mumbai - let alone farther afield.

We had twin destinations on this journey. First a big jumble sale of second-hand books that IBL held at Rathord Memorial Church in Parel. It was a joy to rummage through books and pick up a small truckload to add to our library - especially for our two hungry readers - the junior Eichers...

Well fortified (and heavily laden) with books - we continued South - ending up at the cavernous Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (known as Victoria Terminus in my youth). A short taxi-ride to the Metro cinema (taking us past the BMC building, the High Court, Cross Maidan and passing by my old school - Cathedral and John Connon) and we were in musical heaven - Furtados Music Store.

Amidst the jumble (and jangle) of guitars was the object of our trip - a Yamaha PSR E323 synthesizer. Or that's what we thought - having called up the night before our voyage across Mumbai. When we arrived the man told us that they were not in stock. We were in minor shock. But we pressed on. A little conversation by the sales staff and they brought out a previous model - an E313 which had been sent to the repair shop - but which he was willing to give with the same warranty and a discount. We grabbed it and walked out. Heavily laden (having also consumed some humongous masala dosas in between).

Enoch is now set for a musical journey. A month ago we would not have thought it possible. This week we have a machine for him to learn to play the keys. God is very good to us - we have been unexpectedly blessed by just the amount we needed to get a new one - and ended up paying even less than that!

Here's to my musical mother - who always wanted me to learn the piano (and which in my foolish laziness of youth I rebelled did not do) - but who has the joy of a musical two-some in her first 2 grandkids (and probably more to come from Stefan's 'guitar' 'guitar' crew)...