A century ago and beyond, India was a collection of small kingdoms (I think it might have actually been the poms that unified them). These kingdoms were of assorted sizes and strengths, and each had a Maharaja ruling it. We saw some of the palaces, and in Rajisthan there are still some living maharajas. Our tour guides often referred to our various stops in Rajisthan as the princely states for this reason.
We have heard about the caste system in Hindu society. There were the Brahman, the highest caste that provided the scholars and religious leaders. Then the warrior caste, who are now the businessmen and politicians. Then the working class, the service industry. Finally the untouchables.
Sarah's dad comes from a Hindi Brahman family. That's one down and to the left of god.
A couple of generations ago, his family were from the time of the Maharajas in the state of Bengal. Today, Bengal is split into West Bengal, where Calcutta is, and the new Bangladesh. In both of these areas, the local language is still Bengali.
When India gained independence from the British in 1947, the one thing Gandhi couldn't do was get his people to agree on an inclusive government for all religions. There are many signs of this secular nature in both the flag and the currency of India, but it wasn't going to work for who would actually run the country.
Against Gandhi's best advice, the decision was made to split the country on religious boundaries. The bulk of central India would remain Hindu, while the Muslims would take the two top corners. These would become east and west Pakistan.
Those who were trapped on the wrong side of these new borders were often compelled to flee to 'their side'. Hindus in the east side of Bengal were pushed across into West Bengal, which stayed inside the new India. All lands they left behind were claimed by either the Pakistani government, or whoever was standing at the gate waving the last owners goodbye.
This is what happened to Sarah's dads family. They actually relocated to Varanasi, or Brahman Central.
Fast forward to this generation. Sarah's dad, Bishu, was a recent university graduate working for the Indian government in some kind of nuclear facility. During a laboratory accident, Bishu inhaled some chemicals, and within 24 hours he was completely paralised from the neck down.
He spent seven years in hospitals and in rehab in both India and Australia. The first few years in India were just keeping him alive, so no attempt was made to rehabilitate his body. According to the Australians, if he had come down under a few years earlier, he would have walked out of rehab. Instead, he was destined to live out his time in a wheelchair.
During the first few months, he would ask anybody who would visit, to read to him. Anything, fact, fiction, anything. This is where he met Vijaya, a nurse from a Christian family, who was to become his wife.
After some time he was able to read for himself, but his voracious appetite for reading only grew. One work of fiction that quite entertained him was in his bedside cabinet. The Gideon Bible.
Towards the end of his time in India, he had take his reading material seriously, and decided to convert to Christianity. He had a strong sense that he had been saved from certain death for some higher purpose, so he set about finding it. Obviously his relatives were not best pleased that he abandon his Hindu upbringing, and he was ostracized from the family.
Bishu and Vijaya went to Australia for his final rehab. When he was released from hospital, he was offered a position back home with the Indian government. A desk job. He declined.
What he chose instead, was for them both to enrol in a missionary school in Australia.
When they graduated, they were offered a position with the immigrant Indians in London.
Now, Bishu has always enjoyed a challenge. He never took the road well travelled.
Rather than the "safe" option of a desk job in India, with employment and pension for life, he took the challenge of a new career with a new religion.
Rather than the "safe" option of another desk job in London with an established ministry, he took the challenge of going to the land of his forefathers, the new Bangladesh.
Remember, this is a country that has no great liking for Hindus, and has even less tolerance for the workings of Christians.
Also, those missionaries that had already come to Bangladesh, were in the villages, where the real need for education and enlightenment was to be found.
So, a newly graduated missionary, going to a country with a low tolerance for mission work, and who had no way to join the established missions in the villages because of his wheelchair.
I did say that Bishu liked a challenge, didn't I?
After many years building his reputation for quality graduates, and building low level sponsorship and support from a handful of small churches in different corners of the world, he was in a position to establish a purpose-built school for his students. He found land on the outskirts of Dhaka, and The Christian Descipleship Centre had a home.
Despite his success on both his chosen path and his work for the rights and conditions for the disabled around the world, living in Bangladesh remained challenging. As a foreign missionary, he was only ever issued a visa for short periods, usually one year at a time. In later years, the government began issuing five year visas. In spite of this, however, they were always under the threat of expulsion. Missionaries must live to a strict set of conditions, and even the accusation of a breach could have the Chowdhuris expelled from the country within hours.
Even with this Damocles sword hanging over his work, Bishu never lost his love for his Bangladesh.
There have been many close calls with Bishu's health.
The damage caused by his initial accident had compromised many organs. He operated for the rest of his life on only one lung, operating at about 20% capacity.
He had been declared clinically dead after he collapsed while in Sweden for a conference. He proved them wrong, and spent many weeks there recuperating.
Another time, he was rushed to hospital in Sydney, only to recover in record time.
Each time, he had been near some of the best medical care available, and each time he survived.
In 2010, he fell sick and was admitted to a hospital in Dhaka. It was decided to airlift him to a hospital in Bangkok. During that flight, he passed away. His body was taken from Bangkok airport to the hospital by helicopter, where his family would see him later.
Apparently, there were a couple of things left on his bucket list.
- First, he didn't want to die in Bangladesh. He passed away in Burmese airspace.
- Second, he had always wanted to ride in a helicopter. It was the last thing he did.
Anyway..
Sarah's mum has done a magnificent job of continuing the work that her husband started.
Unlike too many Indian widows, she has found something to live for, and has decided that there is work that still needs doing.
And that, my friends, is why she is an Indian, living in Bangladesh.
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