I have been on the Bengali roads for fifty years now! In my early years in Bangladesh, the roads were much different from what they are now. They were bogs during the rainy season and dust baths in the dry season. Although most of the roads are paved, there are still many that have not changed from this at all. It was on these roads where I met individuals who represented the four different groups of people I would work with during my half century in the Bengali missions.

One day, I met an elderly man on the road. He respectfully greeted me with the Bengali greeting: "Nomostek!" His hair was snow-white but he was in perfect health, robust and stalwart. I replied, "Nomoskar!" glad that someone had acknowledged me, a foreigner. We conversed about current events in the local area. He told me that he was a high caste Brahmin, a Hindu priest. He was kind, gentle and understanding. Knowing that I too was a priest, he began to talk about philosophy. I was not versed in Indian philosophy, but there were enough points in common that we could discuss.

On another occasion, I once again met a man on the road who was going in my direction. He was dressed in a dhoti and had a sign painted in lime on his forehead. It looked like a question mark. He too was a Hindu, but a Harijan ("son of God". as Gandhi called the "untouchables"). He was extremely humble and resigned to his unfortunate destiny of being a member of the lowest caste in his society. At the beginning it was difficult to strike up a conversation; he was very reserved. As for me, I was possessed by an inordinate fear of saying anything that might in some way offend him. After some time my fears died down and as he gained confidence, our conversation became quite pleasant. He was illiterate but intelligent and logical. He had much wisdom and common sense, acquired in the long struggle for survival. I was happy to have met him, for my mission would be among people like him.

Still another man I met was completely different. He belonged to one of the minority tribes of Bengal. He was a handsome young man, intelligent, friendly, without complexes, conscious of being a free man. He was an Oraon from the Indian state of Bihar.

The fourth man I met, greeted me with the Moslem greeting: "Salaam aleykum!" He was a Bengali Moslem, one of the majority. It was not hard to walk together with him and chat.

A Dozen Years with the Harijans

I spent 12 years in Ruhea, at the extreme north of the country among the Harijans. There were thousands of them in the area, living in mud huts with straw roofs. They were terribly poor, mostly illiterate. They worked for big landowners and were horribly afraid of the Moslem majority of the then East Pakistan. If I wanted to help them effectively, my work would have to be slow and patient. I would have to open schools for them and educate them so that their children could get out of the rut of being landless peasants at the mercy of rich heartless landlords. With the assistance of a Milanese lay missionary we were also able to open a dispensary for the mission so that the poor could get basic medical care free of charge. Gradually, as my Harijan Catholic students matured, many became teachers. They taught in our village schools, becoming catechists who founded a new vigorous Catholic Church among their own people. Their future became brighter. In the course of the years, our educational system expanded and we were able to send the boys and girls who had achieved academic excellence for a university education. They are now occupying good positions in society. This was a far cry from their bleak beginnings when I arrived. They were outcastes, not accepted in the schools for fear that they would contaminate the higher caste children. They were not even allowed to draw water from the village wells. They have come a long way.

The Oraons

About tem miles away from Ruhea is another little town called Thakurgaon, a municipality which boasts a magistrate's court with a police station. A thriving community of Oraons live on the outskirts. They emigrated decades ago from the Chota Nagpur in the Indian state of Bihar. The Belgian Jesuits had succeeded in building up a very strong Catholic community in Chota Nagpur, which is now one of the two Catholic strongholds in Northern India. Those who had settled in Bengal practiced the traditional tribal religion which was unrelated to Hinduism. When some of the Oraons from Bengal went to visit with relatives and friends in Chota Nagpur, they were astonished to find that they were all Catholics, well-to-do and well educated. They held positions in government and higher professions. The visiting Oraons asked themselves why this could not be repeated back home in Thakurgaon. On their return, they contacted the Catholic Mission and asked for a priest and school. Since then, they too have become Catholics and ascended up the social ladder.

A Detour in Italy

After my years on the dirt roads in Bangladesh, I found myself once again on the paved roads of Italy. I agreed to return to Italy as the director of "Mani Tese", the promotion of fundraising for the missions. It was a big mistake! After many years in Bangladesh, I was quite unfit for the job. I had neither the eloquence nor the organizational talent to work in sophisticated Italy. I had become like the simple Catholics in my mission. During my stay in Italy, there was a war between East and West Pakistan. East Pakistan eventually became Bangladesh. After the war ended, I was allowed to go back to my mission as director of the Catechetical Center of Dinajpur. I enjoy this job. I like teaching Catholic doctrine and the Bible to our future catechists. They are the hope of the mission. I began correspondence courses for biblical studies. I went well, reaching people who could not normally attend the classes at the Center.

The reward of Working as Community

One day, as I was busy repairing the irrigation pump at Panchbiby, I received an urgent message from the mayor saying that he wanted to see me right away. I wondered what I had done to deserve such a summons. I rushed to the municipal offices fearing the worst. To my pleasant surprise, he greeted me in the friendliest way possible by making me comfortable and serving me tea and cookies! It turned out that he wanted my advice and cooperation for a project the Danish Ambassador proposed to him. The Danish government was willing to finance a "Popular Educational Center" for the youth where they could be taught the elements of agriculture, mechanics, sewing an domestic economy. I was overjoyed at the proposal and I promised the mayor all my help. It was a dream come true. I could now work on a common project for all the youth of the area without religious or social barriers. This project would eventually render the Center self-supporting. It was a pleasure to work with the mayor. He was highly intelligent, honest and a marvelous administrator. By profession he was a medical doctor. By religion he was a Moslem. We got along fabulously well together. Our cooperation helped the Center function smoothly and successfully.

On the roads of Bangladesh, I have made many friends, the reward for my long life in the missions. (Courtesy of "PIME World" Vol.46 NO. 9. E-mail: pimeworld@pimeusa.org PIME's Worldwide Web Home-page:

PACK UP AND GO

 Dinajpur, July 14th, 2002