Of Schools, Snakes, and Beggars

Up and out early on a Saturday. Nine of us guests pile into to minivan taxis and head off for an adventure.
Our taxi driver is amazing. One drives with the horn in India. Either side of the road is OK if it is open. Now “open” is a vague term here. Oncoming traffic may be a bus or truck puffing along on its diesel smoke. Or a scooter carrying one, two, or even three if the last is a small child held in the mother’s arms, perched on the back like a gymnast who has mastered balance. Or it could be a bullock cart creaking along at half a mile an hour pulling sugar cane. Perhaps it is a bicycle ridden by a cripple who has rigged up wheels and gears so he "pedals" with his left hand. I'll not mention a swarm of people walking on either side of the road and on the road, too.
So the driver honks as he approaches a walker, a bus, a motorbike, or a fruit and vegetable pushcart. Then he sweeps into the oncoming lane, guns it, jerking back into place as oncoming mirrors swoosh by with barely an inch to spare from hitting ours. It’s a sport, really. Riding shotgun, I concentrate on not hitting the phantom brake pedal with my right foot—or sucking in my breath too loudly.
An hour of this brings us to a one-track lane hedged in by fields of 12 foot high sugarcane. And there it is—a two acre field with a bright iron gate, A sign on the arch says Krist Jyoti Academy. Jyoti is Hindi for “children.” Next door a 6 inch bore of water streams into channels flooding some rice paddies about to be planted. Egrets pluck insects. Crops grow 12 months here. A sugar crop and a wheat or rice crop.
The headmaster comes to greet us. I recognize the face. As we enter the small office room, I see another young man and a woman whom I had in my ethics class at New Theological College in 2006. They are running this school where there is no other school for several miles. We visit some classes. Kids all in a uniform dress, from teeny 4 your olds to the big kids in standard (grade) 7. If we enter, they all rise to face us and give a unison greeting. Soon some of our party are teaching them songs like “Deep and Wide” that have motions. Brooke (from Salt Lake City) teaches a lesson as the teacher translates. She blows bubble gum as an illustration of her points about the Pharisee and the Tax Collector regarding pride and humility. The teacher? He has no gum and blows no bubbles. At the end each child gets a piece of bubble gum.
In an older class we get all the kids into the center and sing and dance “The Hokey-Pokey.” It’s a way to learn some English—left foot, right foot, shake, turn about.
We learn how successful this ministry can be. All castes must be together. Some parents start coming to the startup church. They know their kids will learn the Lord’s Prayer and study about Jesus in history class. But they don't care. It's a better education than the public schools. In the after school program for kids in public schools there is more opportunity to teach Bible and Christian beliefs.
The leaders of Krist Jyoti Academy are praying for funds to put on a second floor so they can offer high school also. $50,000 would do it.
Santosh and his wife serve us a meal they cannot afford. Santosh does not eat—he is fasting. We pray for them—they lost a special needs daughter in July at age 7. Grief is still close to the surface, as are the tears.
“Lord, show us how we can help them,” is our prayer as we wave goodbyes.
In a few miles we turn off to a Dalit village of snake charmers. These untouchables have old suitcases and woven baskets on a platform. Each has a snake inside it. An older boy drops a dark plastic bag on the ground and starts pulling out a reptile. One foot. Two feet. Three, four, five, six, seven! A python slithers around. The brave among us have our photos taken crouching by the black and white animal, touching his beautiful skin. He ignores us pretty much.
Next a cobra raises its hooded head from a basket. The charmer waves his hand near. Hiss and strike! Someone says it has been de-fanged. Still—it is a fearsome specimen. And by the way, they say the viper is deaf to the music the handler plays, focusing only on the swaying motion of the instrument.
Sam passes some money to the handler. But an old woman is staring at us and shouting angrily. She doesn’t see the money transaction. When she turns she is satisfied and calms down.
After that, it’s Haridwar, (God’s Door or God's Mouth) a holy site where several million pilgrims are expected in a few weeks to celebrate a Hindu festival. Hawkers and stalkers are in the crowds. Girls about age 7 to 9 are bumping us and pointing to their little dishes for our money. We scowl and say no with a firm voice. Uncle says that if you give anything you will be mobbed like bees around a hive. Besides, they are pimped by handlers who take the money for themselves, feeding these urchins only enough to keep them working.
Our women are taking photos of bathers washing away their sins in the sacred Ganges, while the guys are trying to form a safety ring around our photo-snapping ladies. We spy three young men casting hungry eyes upon them. We do not stay long.
Pradeep has been shooting movie footage all day for the college. We get back to our cars and cannot find him. Needle in a haystack time. Sam calls his cell phone. No longer in service. Sam calls his wife back at home. Gets new number. Uncle calls and Pradeep answers. He is only a few yards away panning the crowd and sees Sam and Uncle in his lens.
Off we go. Past the little monkeys lining the road in the forest preserve. Begging is good for them as Hindus get merit by feeding them. Sam tells us of riding through here once on his bike when several trees were down blocking the road. Elephants push trees over here onto the road since the tops do not get hung up in the over-story. They know that they will come to the ground where they can eat the leaves. Unpredictable beasts. It takes courage to wait for a chance to pass by them. Sam has managed to bypass them various times—but not without a rise in blood pressure.
Roads are packed—and it is not pilgrimage time yet. That’s India—people everywhere in the cities and larger towns. Uncle says India's population is far more than the official tally. Perhaps 1.2 billion souls. 460 languages and people groups, hundreds never reached by the Gospel as yet.
That’s why we serve him. That’s why we’re here. To rescue some from the original serpent who still holds so many in darkness. We must pray—more. We must give—more. The church is starting to rise to the challenge here, the densest population of the unreached in the world.