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 Forgive them, for they know not what they do

Graham Staines and his sons were torched to death in January. By March, Baripada, where his leprosy home is located, had turned into a pilgrimage centre. His widow Gladys Staines was well on the way to sainthood. But should her canonisation, her public declaration of her love of Christ and even the possibility of the conversion of some of the inmates of the ashram detract from the value of their work?

by Siddhartha

"There was nothing I could do to save him," said Dr Subhankar Ghosh, a friend of the Staines family. He was a short, bald man, close to 50, who would have fitted the role of Hercule Poirot if he had sported a moustache. Dr Ghosh is a botanist who taught at the Ravenshaw college in Cuttack. "I was sleeping in a small room along with another Australian friend. It was past midnight. I heard a commotion, some shouting. The room had no windows. There was not much I could see from the small ventilator. Just the flames engulfing the two jeeps and a few shadowy figures. It was all over in an hour. When the mob had left we tried to douse the fire in the jeep. But it was too late. Graham Staines and his two sons were charred beyond recognition."

I didn't ask Ghosh if he could have helped earlier to save Graham and his sons. It would have only aggravated the guilt that was still gnawing at him. Besides, the question would have been unfair; in the face of a determined mob there was little that Ghosh and the other man could have done. If they had stepped out of the building they might well have met the same fate. I asked Rajkumar Panda, another friend of the Staines, who was present when the remains of the father and the two sons were brought to Cuttack for forensic examination, what state the bodies were in. "There were three boxes," he said, enunciating his words with precision. "The box containing Graham Staines was only three feet long, and mind you, Graham was more than six feet tall. There were only disjointed bones. The remains of the boys were also completely charred and one of them had his head severed, but the structure of the bones was more or less intact."

I was in Baripada along with Swami Agnivesh and a couple of hundred others from different parts of India. It was unusually hot for the time of year and the papers were calling it a heat-wave, reporting two people dead. We were there to render homage to the memory of Graham Staines and his two sons who were burnt to death by a mob on January 23, 1999. It was now the 11th of March, 48 days after the tragedy had taken place, during which period Gladys Staines had grown from an unknown housewife to a symbol of grit and kindness. At the height of her agony, just before the bodies were buried, Gladys Staines had publicly forgiven the killers of her husband and two little children and expressed her determination to stay on in Baripada to continue the work.

It had all begun years ago in Queensland, Australia, when Graham saw the photograph of a young man badly disfigured with leprosy. The plight of the youth moved him so much that he decided in that instant he was going to Baripada to work with the lepers. Graham sailed for India in 1964 and alighted in Bombay on the 18th of January, 1965, on his 25th birthday. From Bombay he proceeded to Baripada where he spent the next 34 years serving the disfigured inmates of the ashram, as the leprosy home is called. He met his future wife Gladys, who had come from Australia on a visit, in 1981. Graham immediately took to the simple and amiable woman. They were married in 1983 and went on to have three children -- Esther, Timothy and Philip. Graham was 58, Philip 10 and Timothy six on the fateful night when they were torched by Dara Singh and his fundamentalist Hindu brigade. (Esther, the only surviving child, is now 12).

When we visited the leprosy home, a short, pleasant, round-faced man in a red and yellow shirt greeted us. His furrowed face and crinkled smile reminded me of the American actor, Mickey Rooney. His name was Josiah Soren and he was the man who had started it all, whose photograph so inspired young Graham to journey to India. Josiah, now completely cured, is a staff member at the leprosy home. I looked at his smiling eyes and asked, in my southern Hindi, "When you think of Graham Staines, what is the picture that comes to mind?" Josiah's Hindi was glazed with his Oriya accent, "Laughing!" he said instantly, "when I think of Grahambabu I see him laughing. He was always laughing and loved to make the others laugh."
From his name I could see Josiah was a Christian. Graham Staines had been killed on the assumption that he was converting people to Christianity. A question leapt to my mind, one that I put to Josiah with some uncertainty. It had to do with the total number of Christian inmates in the ashram. My hesitation sprang from the fact that I was in danger of judging Graham Staines from the reply that Josiah would offer. Would the death of Graham Staines be less gruesome if it transpired that he had converted all the ashram inmates to Christianity? And would his savage killing evoke unqualified outrage in me only if it were found that he did not convert? I realised I was in danger of viewing conversion, a perfectly legal and legitimate process, even if I thought it undesirable, as sinister and depraved, by virtue of the furore it had sparked off.

I must admit to being relieved by Josiah's reply: "We are seven Christians here among the 80 inmates."

Gladys Staines had been receiving a constant stream of visitors in the past weeks. Mrs Reddy, a government servant, and an old friend of the family, had taken over the management of the visitors during the time I was there. She was immensely helpful to Mrs Staines and went about her tasks with forbidding efficiency. It was eight in the evening when I met Gladys Staines for the first time in her spare living room. She was big-boned, bespectacled and blonde, and looked perfectly at ease in her cotton sari. The photographs of her that had appeared in the press gave the impression of a stolid, plain woman. In reality she was an agreeable and attractive person, blue eyes lighting up vibrantly when she spoke. There were a few others also there to meet her. One man, a tall, bearded Punjabi, could have walked in from the Old Testament; the woman with him, clad in a salwar, held a small girl in her arms. They had travelled many hundred kilometres from Jullunder by train and bus,  strangers to Gladys Staines, turning up without warning. Baripada, which nobody had heard of a couple of months earlier, had now become a pilgrimage centre. The woman touched Gladys' feet and broke down in tears. Gladys spoke to her gently, urging her not to be upset. "Living in India, which is where I belong despite the colour of my skin, I see death as a part of life," she said. "So many people die in India each day from disease, accidents and other causes. When I know that so many families are afflicted I realise that I am not the only one to suffer such a loss. I try not to dwell on what happened. When I spend too much time lingering over what happened I feel upset. But I don't feel despondent for too long for I know that I will meet Graham and my sons in heaven one day. Without this hope, life would not make much sense to me."

Gladys Staines is absolutely clear in her mind that she will meet her husband and two children in heaven one day. At a certain point she even told me that if her husband had been the only one who was killed, people might not have sat up and taken note. Put differently, she was saying that the killing of the children made the sacrifice in the service of Christ even more compelling and inspiring. In some ways Gladys Staines was like a political revolutionary; the more the lives laid down, the greater the aura of the cause. In this case, the cause was the kingdom of God as enunciated by Jesus Christ. Or perhaps it would be more appropriate to say the Kingdom of God as interpreted by the evangelical missionaries, for there are many Christians who do not see `conversions' in the formal sense as integral to Christ's message, which was essentially one of unconditional love and service. Gladys Staines had sublimated the murder of nearly all her family into a sacrificial celebration of her love of Christ. But perhaps a great act of heroism  needs an unambiguous vision and mission; without this, many acts of kindness may not happen at all.

The next morning I joined Swami Agnivesh's intrepid peace brigade as it marched up Katcheri Road, the main commercial centre of Baripada. It was a narrow, dusty road with many pedestrians and an equal number of cyclists; cars were infrequent and the preferred means of public transport was the cycle-rickshaw. There was a banner which read `From Delhi to Manoharpur', and below, `Organised by Religions for Social Justice'. This was a new organisation that Agnivesh had floated. Marching with him were a couple of hundred other people who included Jains, Muslims, Hindus and Christians. About 70 people had come by train and bus from Delhi and 20 from Hyderabad. There were smaller groups from other places. They had travelled with little sleep, some in their 70s, to the bowels of India to offer moral support to Gladys Staines, visit the leprosy home and the cemetery where the bodies were buried, then lead a prayer meeting at Manoharpur, 180 kilometres away, on the edge of the jungle, where Graham Staines and his two children were put to death. Swami Agnivesh has been a consistent Hindu voice speaking on behalf of bonded labourers, untouchable dalits, working children, women and tribals.

The procession led to the town hall where a public meeting was to be held to condone the death of Graham Staines and his sons. Before the meeting got under way, I decided to visit Gladys Staines again. A pastor of the Protestant church, Valsan Thampu, who had accompanied Agnivesh from Delhi, came with me. When we got to the Staines house, Mrs Reddy spotted me through the curtains and threw me a look which said, "Oh you, not again!" But when she saw Valsan behind me in his priestly robes she beamed him a tired smile. In a moment, Mrs Staines appeared and was hugely happy to meet the distinguished pastor whose writings she had read. I winced as the pastor touched her feet and offered his condolences. Later I realised I was possibly reacting to my own historical conditioning, that the times were different, that people were touching her feet only as a traditional gesture of sacred respect to a good and courageous woman. But the path to canonisation had well and truly begun. Even before meeting Mrs Staines, I had heard friends referring to her as a living saint. And why not, I thought, although I was far too gone to believe in saints.

Gladys Staines reminisced about the time, a couple of months earlier, when she had told Graham that Christians in Gujarat should learn to forgive those who hurt them. "We were standing just there," she said, pointing to a spot. "Little did I realize then that this would happen to me. When Jesus was dying on the cross he cried out `Father, forgive them for they know not what they do!' He forgave those who killed him. To love means to forgive. And I am called to forgive those who killed my husband and children." It was a moving moment and we could not find any words to say. Later, I asked, "But the murder of the innocent children must have been hard to accept?" "Yes, very hard," she said, "I loved them dearly and my daughter Esther misses her brothers very much. But I know that God has his purposes that I may not fully understand just now."

Later that evening, reflecting on the `conversion debate', I must admit to feeling perplexed at the need to convert tribals, whether to Christianity, Islam, Hinduism or any other faith. My disquiet came from the conviction that tribals have their own worldview which is equal, and sometimes even superior, to those of other religious traditions. Without romanticizing, let me suggest that the tribal way of life has strong ecological undertones, besides being more equitable and gender-sensitive. Most tribal cultures see the Earth as Mother, to be respected and nourished, not to be plundered and polluted. Tribals also emphasize co-operation over competition, unlike us moderns who feel that competition is fundamental to our way of life, even if it leaves us profoundly unhappy, and suspicious of our colleagues and neighbours. Perhaps tribals can teach us a thing or two about god, society and nature. If there is a god, he is certainly at work in all that is good and true in the tribal ethos, just as he is at work in all religious and secular traditions. In future, the task of evangelisation may have to help uncover and reveal these truths, where necessary, rather than replace them with fresh metaphors and symbols.

Christians like Graham Staines have shown nerve and ardour in their service to the poor. It was touching to walk through the leprosy home the next day and talk to the inmates. A dairy run by them sells milk to middle class families and teashops in Baripada, where centuries of prejudice have been overcome to buy perfectly safe milk produced by lepers. A weaving unit produces saris, bedsheets and towels that are marketed all over the state. A locally produced reed is used to make doormats and bags. I bought one myself, a sturdy green and red market-bag, aesthetically fetching. It stands in my kitchen as a reminder of a remarkable and caring soul who gave up his life in the footsteps of his mentor, Jesus Christ. Graham Staines died that some of us may be startled out of our deadening torpor and, for a brief period at least, discover hope and love.

It is specious to imagine that Christian service will be to the detriment of the people of India, as insinuated in some quarters. Perhaps the best way to drive the Christians from their chosen fields is to beat them at their own game of service, as Tavleen Singh said in one of the pieces she wrote. A little competition in this regard will be to everybody's advantage in this poor and apparently hopeless country. Even from a demographic perspective Christians do not pose a threat. In fact, the official figures show that the Christian population is declining in comparison with the rate of growth in the other communities. As it stands, Christians represent a mere two per cent of the Indian population. Conversions are certainly happening, although on an almost negligible scale. The majority of the Christians in the country have little to do with it; only a few diehard groups are involved.

The need to impose a ban on conversions has been touted by some alarmists, although, if this ever happens, it may signify the beginning of the end of democracy for us. How can people be denied their right to become Christians, Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists, Marxists or atheists? I was born a Christian, was strongly drawn to Hindu spirituality, and moved eventually to a deep appreciation of Buddhism. I am grateful for the insights I have received from the Christian tradition, although I do not call myself a Christian anymore. To me the understandings and depth-experiences from different religions are not the property of their respective followers; they are the collective heritage of all humankind. Should there be a ban on journeys such as mine and others, whose numbers are growing? A few people may convert due to inducements, but for most oppressed people, the respect and concern shown them may be the deciding factor. Why did the untouchable Mahars convert in their thousands to Buddhism if they did not see their leader, Ambedkar, as one who was supremely interested in their welfare? Ambedkar clearly saw that untouchables would always have a low status within the Hindu caste system. Converting to Buddhism was a way for the untouchables to acquire a new identity.

I do not know if Graham Staines converted anybody. What is clear to me is that he was strongly motivated by love. How else can one explain an Australian leaving the comfort of his home, embracing a life of simplicity and spending 34 years among lepers in one of the poorest parts of the world? His wife Gladys has already captured the hearts of millions of Indians by her desire to stay in Baripada and serve the lepers. In forgiving the assassins of her husband and children she has shown herself to be not only a follower of Jesus Christ, but also the Buddha, Mahavira, Kabir and Gandhi. This enlarged vision is hopefully the message that her mission intends to communicate.

Siddhartha is part of the international committee of The Alliance for a Responsible and United World, editor of Butterfly Futures and a writer attached to  Pipal Tree, Bangalore.