Hello all,
What would the packing list for a 10 day excursion across the Himalaya include? Perhaps, in the traveler’s large rucksack tents, stoves, hiking poles, $200 hiking boots, $20 socks, cases of provisions, pots pans and utensils would be found. Carrying such a load on these mountains would prove daunting indeed. I wonder if the one carrying it would even be able to look up and enjoy the trip they were making under such a burden.
Few things have impressed me as much as the story of the peregrini. They were Celtic monks who would set sail into the frigid North Atlantic Ocean. What made them exceptional was that, in their sect, using sails and oars was prohibited. It was their desire to be driven by waves and winds to an unknown destination. It was their belief that wherever they landed was the predestined place for them to share the joy of God with others.
I set off on my journey scantily equipped for a western hiker but carrying too much baggage to be a true peregrini. In my small red backpack was a single change of clothes, a simple first aid kit, a bottle of water, a few chappati covered with jam, some almonds, a jacket, reading material, some personal effects and a large Pictorial Dictionary of Sign Language. On the back of my bag was strapped a pair of elbow crutches. My first destination was Puchowk to visit a village girl named Adrena who suffers from MS. I knew the way along the first hour of trail (given I visited Adrena once before last Dec.) but was clueless as to the path for the 10 days to come.
Before even reaching Adrena’s house a boy came to fetch me.
“They sent me to get you.”
“How? They didn’t even know I was coming.”
After the customary cup of chai, I taught Adrena how to use the crutches and gave her a smiley face exercise ball to strengthen her weak hands.
“Last time I was here I saw you using the banister to walk. With these I think you will be able to walk again. I want you to teach at Father Felix’s school. You have a Masters Degree in English and they are short one teacher. Why not earn some money so you can pay for your medications and help your family. There will be many people at the convent willing to help you out.”
“Yes Sir, I’ve been thinking about it since the last time we met. Now that I have these, maybe I can do it.”
“Do you remember the parable of the talents?”
“Yes.”
“You have a beautiful mind and a good education. If you bury it in the ground like the unfaithful servant… it would be a great waste.”
“OK sir, surely I’ll teach now.”
The way from Puchowk to Lungsheol was a mystery to me, but just as I was about to leave Adrena said,
“Hey bhai, are you going to Lungsheol today for the polio drops?”
In India, when you don’t know the way a friend always appears. He and his sister led me as far as Majan Dhara and then pointed to a mountain across the valley.
“That is Lungsheol. Go down, cross the river on the suspension bridge and climb straight up. The path is very recognizable.”
We parted ways and I made the hour journey alone following his instructions. Upon arriving at the local primary school, I found a Lepcha Cultural Festival in full swing. A few minutes after arrival a man in full garb came up to me and said,
“Sister Chunko called me and said you might be arriving tonight. You’ll stay with me.”
In India, when you need a place to stay a friend always appears. Someone led me over to a tent where the festivities were underway. I couldn’t understand exactly what was going on because the MC was speaking in Lepcha but seemed obvious enough that I was supposed to shake the old distinguished looking gentleman in ornate traditional dress’s hand.
So I did and the crowed yelled out “ACCHULEY!” with such enthusiasm that it startled me. Children were dancing and the young men were playing sarangis and tungnas. After a heavy lunch, Thomas Lepcha led me to his house. As the sun was setting, his children showed me the birthplace of Achyok Gaeboo the ancient king of their clan. Soon it was dark but a half-moon illuminated the village in pale blue.
Next to a dim oil lamp, I opened up my simple first aid kit and treated Thomas’s aged mother’s damaged knee.
“Ryan, tomorrow there is a large funeral in the village of Nim Busty. Why don’t you come with me?”
In the morning we woke and began our trip to this village which I had not intended to reach. As we walked through the jungle two representatives of the new political party fell in beside us. I silently nicknamed them ‘Greasy’ and ‘Sneaky’.
“So why have you come here to such a remote place? Are you on tour?”
“No, I’m doing research trying to find out where there are health facilities and health workers and where there are not. My wife and I lived in a remote village for 5 ½ years and opened up a Health Center there. Now, we are trying to decide where to live and work next.”
With a loud and overly affirmative voice Greasy said, “This is good. This is very good. You will have the party’s full support!” As if I wanted such a thing! Later, Greasy leaned towards a friend and said,
“This is the kind of person we need to catch. He will bring more foreigners with him and it will mean money.”
I almost turned around but decided to throw caution to the wind and continue on seeing how the day took form. In Nim Busty, the 27 year old son of a rich man had died when he was thrown from the roof of a jeep. Soon after arrival we were hustled into a tent and set before a feast. As I was feeling like a giant white locus which descends on houses only to eat its food and leave, the uncle of the deceased came up and asked me,
“What else can I get for you, Sir?”
“Oh nothing, nothing, I have more than I need here.”
For a moment the sheen cleared out of Greasy’s eyes and he said in a natural, kind voice,
“You know in our religion we say that the guest that arrives without an invitation is God himself coming to visit.”
The uncle of the deceased then said in a voice loud enough for the entire assembly to hear,
“Here we have an uninvited guest from another land. Aren’t we blessed; Aren’t we lucky. It is a great honor to the dead. Bring him more food and something to drink!”
A man showed us the way into the monastery where two dozen monks sat chanting for the dead. Butter lamps were lit. Incense was burning. A monk in crimson robes was pouring water from a bumpa before an image of the absent son. On the altar were bananas, papayas, oranges, packages of Happy Face Fun-time Biscuits, holy tormas and a bottle of Officer’s Choice Rum. We were seated in the front.
An uninvited guest had arrived. All of the gifts on the altar were for God; all of the gifts on the altar were for me the uninvited guest. On the way back to Lungsheol another funeral guest was walking as we hiked along the jungle path,
“Sir, we think you have a lot to teach us and we would like to hear your advice on how to change our village. Tonight there will be a party for you at my house. Please come.”
That evening, 25 of us sat around a bonfire. Given the moon was waxing, the night was even brighter than the one before. First, I had them tell me about the story of their village and the small school they were running. Then I told them the story of Daragaon. They told me about health problems and I told them about health. The table was set for dinner with plates of rice and bowls of beef stew. The bonfire had been lit for me. The table had be spread for me. The fatted calf had been killed for me… again.
“Sir, please do not forget our village after you leave.”
“Don’t worry, I couldn’t forget even if I tried.”
After waking up the next morning back at Thomas’s house, he informed me,
“My wife’s father just happens to be going your way and you don’t know the trail. He will lead you as far as Gidang.”
With another hearty meal in my stomach I headed off with the 72 year old man, whom even though he was carrying his own load, skipped across the mountains lightly. Every half hour or so we ducked into a random house and drank tea. It gave me a great opportunity to do the research I had set out to do. Several hours later we reached Gidang and stepped inside Tshering Lepcha’s house. It soon became apparent that Tshering was traveling to Barbhot (my next destination) the next day.
The old man turned to me, “Well, you don’t know the way and he is going. So you stay and eat here tonight. Then you won’t loose your way.” Tshering said,”Of course.”
I said, “Sure.”
Tshering’s wife used to work for Hayden hall as a paramedic. Throughout the afternoon and evening they painted a picture for me of the surrounding villages and their health condition. The next day, a grandmother came to Tshering’s wife for help. Her grandson had thrown a rock and split open her hemophiliac grandaughter’s forehead. Tshering’s wife was out of bandages, so I stopped by her house after breakfast. The little red first aid kit came in handy again as I closed the wound on her head with a butterfly strip. From there we made the grueling climb to Barbhot where a new Catholic church was being consecrated. The Bishop of Darjeeling just happened to stay at Git Dabling the night before (where Amanda and Asher were) so my family caught a ride in his jeep to come and meet me.
After all the festivities, the Bishop introduced us to those at the convent and they invited us to stay as long as we wanted. We spent a few days conversing with Agatha, the Nurse Sister, learning about the remote villages that surround the convent and enjoying the company to those that formed their community. I never got a chance to eat those chappati and jam or even the liter of water I had carried with me for sustenance. S I had been so well cared for along the way that I had to throw it all out! On the morning I left for Rateygaon we decided to stop by a local social worker’s house named Gemit. We spent the morning talking about which villages did and didn’t have health workers, and what were the most important things that needed to happen in the future. A man from the village of Sungure, whose wife was a paramedic, just happened to be visiting that morning too. As I said goodbye to Amanda and Asher and got up to head to Rateygaon this man said, “I’ll lead you along the trail as far as the village of Mungphel.”
It was a warm day with a cool breeze in the valley. The inhabitants were out turning the paddies with oxen and wooden plows. I soon came to the bridge which we built together last May. It was still solid as the day we built it and not a stone was out of place. Not bad for $100 and a group of guys who had never built a bridge before! I went straight to Maila Dadju’s house where I had stayed last May. Only the 2 deaf mute uncles were at home. When they saw me they smiled broadly, grunted and made some signals to me. They led me into house and continued to smile infectiously. During my last trip to America I bought a Pictorial Dictionary of Sign Language as a gift for them. I pulled out the book and we thumbed through the pages together. Quickly we learned the signs for chair, table, bed, door and light bulb. Upon learning the sign for “bullshit” we rolled around laughing so hard. We were all almost in tears. The imagery was so clear! These two men, now middle aged, were for the first time learning a language known by others. As they flipped through the pages I watched their hands tremble in the same way as lips murmur. When I got up to leave they tried to give the book back to me. They had never received such a gift before, let alone a book… as uneducated men… and such a big book! When I pushed it back into their hands they were shocked.
Already a few fields away I heard a noise, and then heard it again. “Hhhewoh, Hhhwewoh.” It was the elder uncle and it was the first time I had ever heard him try to speak. He was attempting to yell ‘hello’ to me across the fields. He made a sign which I interpreted as, “You’ll come again, right?” I signed back that I would. Down at Lal Doj’s house I found out that everyone in the village was going to a wedding the next day (which I was now of course going to) and that we would have to call a meeting for that night. Around 7:30 p.m. 18-20 men crammed into the small receiving room at Lal Doj’s house and they all started talking excitedly.
“This year, thanks to the bridge, we could graze our goats on the other side of the river!”
“None of the children had any trouble getting to school and back this year.”
“It is still in perfect condition. We will check it again before monsoon to see if any of the bamboo needs changing.”
Once the conversation died down a bit I asked them, “Well, what do you think needs to be done next?”
They talked about building a primary school so the children didn’t have to walk so far for education. They talked about building a health center. They talked about other bridges that needed to be built. In the end, we decided to send one girl from Rateygaon to the paramedic training this year. The village will collect money to pay for her transportation costs and incidentals. I will pay for her training. We also decided to look into some of the logistics of building a primary school. (land, staff, etc.) for 2010.
Lal Doj’s younger brother’s wife was 9 months pregnant, so I opened up the first aid kit again and gave him some sterile blades, gauze for cord ties and some antibacterial ointment. The following morning the mother-to-be fed me breakfast and we climbed up out of the deep valley to attend a stranger’s wedding in Deorali. It was another warm welcome in another village I had no intention of visiting, another spread of delicious food and another sunny day in the cool of winter. I never saw the bride and groom, but sure did share in their feast.
The next day I met up with Amanda and Asher in Samthar and we made the hike to the convent in Suruk. We wanted to meet Miriam, the Nurse Sister. After the last time we met, Amanda decided to gather some midwifery supplies and a neonatal resuscitator for her work (the following day she trained her in using it). That evening we were invited to Laxman and Rupi’s house for dinner. (Some may remember them from an update I sent out last November. Mark, Nicole, Lincoln, Amanda and I happened to run into them outside of the defunct PHC in Samthar. Rupi was a first time mother with a breech baby who had been in labor for a long time. We evacuated her in the back of a pick up trip to the Kalimpong Hospital. The mother’s life was saved but hospital negligence led to the death of the newborn). Since our meeting last November, they had been calling weekly inviting us to their house. Asher helped chase the goats into the pen and feed the chickens. A niece and nephew came over and the 3 children spent the evening rolling around a big wooden wheel. It was a full moon night so bright that it seemed like daytime minus the color. Laxman borrowed bedding from a neighbor and insisted we all spend the night. We shared a simple meal of rice, potatoes and chicken. Under the glass on the table was a large poster of a cornucopia spilling out exotic fruits. These posters usually brandish nonsensical or poorly translated sayings in the upper-left-hand corner. My cynical eye spied out the phrase for a cheap laugh. On this poster it simply said in capital letters…
“JOY INCREASES WHEN IT IS SHARED”
The next day back at the convent, a mother and father brought their baby to Sister Miriam. The mother was a deaf mute, the father was a drunk and their baby, only 16 days old, was burned over 45% percent of its body. They had left the baby unattended in the house and a kerosene lamp caught its bed on fire. The father was passed out drunk and the mother was unable to hear its cries. She only suspected something when she smelled burning plastic and flesh.
I watched Sister Miriam uncover its wounds. Its feet, patches on both legs, buttocks, genitals, hands and right cheek were severely burnt. At only 16 days old this little girl’s ability to walk, her sexuality and her beauty were scarred for life. Out of my thinning first aid kit I managed to extract two packets of petroleum infused burn bandages that I always carried ‘just in case’. That day it was Sister’s job to delicately wrap the child up like a mummy. It was not my day to treat but to pray. I prayed that those scars would be transformed into beauty marks that attest to the fact there is a God that sends ambassadors of his love into a dark world.
During the 9 days I had been traveling, I had spent only 45 rupees (95 cents), so I was able to share 3000 rupees with Sister Miriam for the surgical expenses. The next morning Sister set off with the child for the hospital in Siliguri. Amanda, Asher and I set off for Kalimpong along a route we had never traveled and knew little about. Just as we were getting up to leave one of the Sister’s handed us a bag loaded with chappati, boiled eggs, cookies and orange juice. I was ending my journey with more than I started! It was like ‘loaves and fishes’. My family hiked for hours along a mild trail which weaved in and out of mango trees and hamlets. We rested at noon on the banks of a cool mountain stream and feasted. Asher swam naked in the river and we caught tadpoles together. After 5 hours and over 8 miles of hiking (almost all of which Asher hiked at only 3 years of age!) we arrived at the construction site for the Teesta Dam. Asher got a fresh burst of energy when he saw all of the cranes, bull dozers, dump trucks and cement mixers. We finally reached a hotel in Kalimpong, had a hot shower and fell asleep.
When some people consider the Celtic peregrini they consider them fools; fools that give up their freedom and throw themselves into a senseless fatalism. That is fine, I can see how it might seem like that to the majority. But if I could send a message back in time to these intrepid monks I would say, “I have tasted a bit of your desire to be at the mercy of the sea, to be driven by unseen forces. I also believe in a land of predestination and that the joy of God increases when it is shared with the inhabitants of that land. I hope I have the health and strength to follow your example throughout my life. I hope I never put my trust in oars and sails. Some may consider you fools bound by fatalism… but I know that pure abandonment to providence is a freedom no government can offer.”
And to those carrying a heavy rucksack up a mountain I would simply say, “Examine the contents of your load with fresh eyes. Look closely and see if holding on to some things cheat you out of having something much more.” If so, put those things down and look up at the mountains you are treading upon.
And to myself I wish to say, “If you dare travel as an uninvited guest in this world you become a little incarnation of the divine. Don’t ever take that lightly and do your best to act the part. Be holy as He is holy.” And to Christ I wish to say, “These few weeks I tried to be like you. I tried to make a cripple walk. I tried to give speech to the mute. I tried to fix a girl’s broken beauty. I tried to be at least partially divine while living in the flesh and instruct some disciples to do the same. I don’t think any of these efforts will necessarily be successful but I sure enjoyed getting to know you better by trying. Please, fill in where my efforts fall short. Thank you for increasing our joy when we share it.”
In Him,
Ryan, Amanda, Asher and the one Rupi was right about.
On the slippery roads 10 hours from our home, David turned the steering wheel all the way to the right around 
