[NoteMarch 2016
These story drafts that I am sharing on the blog are like yarns (pun). In each story I am rolling the tangled information into a ball. The full tapestry still needs to be knit together, the rolls of yarn will be used in the creation of the full story.
I prefer an interactive creative process, where input and conversation aid in the molding of story. Story tellers weave a story that resonates with a community. My community is very broad and global. In the telling the story takes shape. I have yet to take on the task of updating many of the older story drafts posted on this blog based on new insights and valuable input from others.
In this story draft I am spinning off of an obscure reference found that I, as of yet, have not found any further verification. Here I am playing with the complexities of life in 19th century Chota Nagpur (current Jharkhand and vicinity). Interactions between German missionaries, Adivasis, Hindus and the English. [Note: I use the word Adivasi in this story for the generic term of tribals that is preferred in todays setting. In the 19th century they were referred to rather by the derogative term "Kol"]
Many terms and names may not be appropriate. There will be some more editing required to get the terminology correct. I am sincerely aware that even the slightest references inappropriately made can be an offense to someone, so I apologize ahead of time. I am working on fine tuning and gaining a sensitivity to matters still foreign to me. In this I ask only for your forgiveness and patience.
Again, I welcome comments and questions. Many thanks, ahead of time, for partnering with me in this journey.
These story drafts that I am sharing on the blog are like yarns (pun). In each story I am rolling the tangled information into a ball. The full tapestry still needs to be knit together, the rolls of yarn will be used in the creation of the full story.
I prefer an interactive creative process, where input and conversation aid in the molding of story. Story tellers weave a story that resonates with a community. My community is very broad and global. In the telling the story takes shape. I have yet to take on the task of updating many of the older story drafts posted on this blog based on new insights and valuable input from others.
In this story draft I am spinning off of an obscure reference found that I, as of yet, have not found any further verification. Here I am playing with the complexities of life in 19th century Chota Nagpur (current Jharkhand and vicinity). Interactions between German missionaries, Adivasis, Hindus and the English. [Note: I use the word Adivasi in this story for the generic term of tribals that is preferred in todays setting. In the 19th century they were referred to rather by the derogative term "Kol"]
Many terms and names may not be appropriate. There will be some more editing required to get the terminology correct. I am sincerely aware that even the slightest references inappropriately made can be an offense to someone, so I apologize ahead of time. I am working on fine tuning and gaining a sensitivity to matters still foreign to me. In this I ask only for your forgiveness and patience.
Again, I welcome comments and questions. Many thanks, ahead of time, for partnering with me in this journey.
Day in Court, Doris Hahn (date uncertain, prior to 1900)
"Amen,” Herr Misionar Flex ended the after-meal grace in a rush, once again wiped his mustached lips with a white napkin, and added rather incidentally, “You may not have heard, we have a new Commissioner General.”
Ferdinand gulped and shot me a long suffering glance. Carefully he folded his napkin, placed it next to his finished plate with the fork and knife neatly crossed in the middle. I knew he was thinking: who this time? A drunken derelict, sent here to be disciplined? Or an ambitious youngling, hoping to use this post as a quick step out and up the ranks? Neither would be the ally he had hoped for. Aptly hiding his anxiety from such unsettling news, so I thought, he asked what happened to Mister Waterhouse.
“With these English, how can one know? Waterhouse managed a solid consistent administration, but with the slightest semblance of success they pack them off to Calcutta or the Northwest Frontier. Now Waterhouse was a real mensch. So let us see what this young sapling can accomplish,” Herr Flex took a final sip of the drop of coffee remaining in his cup as he rose from his seat. The heavy wooden chair scraped harshly against the old marbled floor.
“What’s the name of the new man?” Ferdinand asked turning his wedding ring with his thumb as he is prone to do when nervous.
Herr Flex stood stiffly at the table, “Handel-slee, I think,” then snickering to himself, “perhaps another one trying to hide his German origin. He only arrived last week. He brought with him his young frauen so perhaps he will not be reckless and restless. Jah, we see?”
Stepping to the door to the outer veranda he halted and stated that it was time for his class at the seminary. He paused long enough for Ferdinand to nod in agreement then stepped through the white curtains into the warming day. Frau Flex was away assisting a mother-to-be in Gumla, so the two of us were left alone at the table of the grand Raja Bangala that had once also been our home when we were married, where we started our family.
In a huff I rose and began to gather the breakfast dishes, “You should have spoken to him about the matter.”
“My flower, I know already his reply. He will not agree to this. None of our missionaries will condone this. Yet, I have made my promise to Daoud.”
“Why did you make a promise before consulting the others?”
“Have you no concern for Idna? For Lohardaga? It is my responsibility alone. Whatever may happen falls on my shoulders alone.”
“Oh Ferdinand,” I said passing the plates to the ayah who had entered where Flex had departed. As I moved back towards him, I knew that I could not express my fears at this time. Placing my hand on his strong shoulder I whispered, “God will go before you.” Ferdinand held my hand and kissed it.
“Do you think we visit this new Commissioner first, as I had planned?” he wearily asked.
“Waterhouse would have given us useful advice, as you said. But you know nothing of this man, and with a young bride by his side, he is less likely to be favorable. Let us just go directly to the courts and face the Magistrate today, if he will see us.”
“He will see us. I am certain of that. Whether he will be in our favor that is another matter." Rising with assistance of his cane he added, "As I gather my documents together will you go see if Idna is ready? I will go straight to the court. For you women I have arranged for the carriage to deliver you to the courthouse.”
Kissing his hand that still held mine I replied, “I will see if she is ready then.”
“I am so grateful for you,” he added as he went into an inner room and I to the out door. I turned to shoot him a strengthening smile.
However I did not feel so strong as I walked into the warmth of the sun. It worried me that he had relied so heavily on the counsel of the Indian leaders of the church in Lohardaga and Idna’s brother Daoud. But I knew also that our beloved missionary brothers and sisters would never be willing to compromise so it was right for Ferdinand not to involve them.
Even I had been encouraging him in this direction he was not head strong set on, until we arrived in Ranchi yesterday. Once I began talking among the other misionar frauen I felt sick to be withholding anything from them. I was grateful that Frau Flex was not there. Her overbearing nature would surely have caused me to speak, despite my husband’s request. It felt underhanded, improper. Still I comprehended the necessity for making this appeal to the courts. For the survival of our church in Lohardaga and for Idna.
Idna had attended the girls school in Ranchi, all the way to high school. She was bright, beautiful and full of zest for life. She reminded me much of my older daughters. Full determination accompanied by compassion, as my Louise. Playful and dramatic, like my Marie. Strikingly beautiful, like a dark version of Frieda.
Her brother, Daoud, had arranged her marriage with Sapo from Lohardaga. So we were glad to have Idna now living near us again. But she was not happy with her marriage and her husband’s excessive drinking. He plunged the new family quickly into debt. She worked tirelessly to smooth out the rough places caused by bad decisions Sapo regularly made. Somehow she ensured that there was enough food for their young daughter. When he failed to manage the small farm plot. She herself would work out in the fields, even when she was pregnant. Despite her attempts to save their land, it was at risk of being taken over by the diku zamindar.
Today our purpose before the District Magistrate, however, was not to fight for the land. That battle was lost. No thanks to the Bara Lal (grand prince) who had broken with his people the old Parha concord and brought in these Hindu tax collectors and soldiers and created the repressive zamandari (landlord) system. No the land could not be recovered with the laws the way they existed under the English.
The insult to injury that Sapo had made was his deal with the diku (outsider) priest. Under strong pressure from the Hindus, Sapo made a deal to became a Hindu in order to remain on his ancestral land. The land, taken over by the diku, where he would now be forced to work as an indentured servant. If he refused, he would be sent to Assam to labor in the tea plantations. The loss of one’s ancestral land was, in deed, a tragedy for any Adivasi.
Yet for Idna, the greater tragedy was to abandon her tribal identity. Adivasis were free; who would want to trade that in to be placed at the bottom of Hindu society. Despite what Bara Lal said, Oraon tribals are not Hindus. She could find nothing compatible between the Oraon culture and Hinduism, as she had found with the Christianity her family had embraced. Idna could not go along with her husband’s choice. She knew he would not work hard enough to please the zamindar. And in the end, they would be sent maybe even to the Adaman Islands as criminals. So Idna left her husand and went back home to live with her brother near Ranchi.
This was a very acceptable practice in Oraon culture: if your spouse is not treating you right you had freedom to return to your home and even remarry. The Oraon who turned to Christianity followed their missionaries’ attitude and no longer practiced separation or divorce. In the Christian community of Lohardaga the Dikus began to harass and insist that Ferdinand force Idna to return to her husband. Further the English had an established the Christian Marriage Act of 1872 that did not permit Christians to divorce.
Idna wished to be free from obligation to her husband and wished to seek a divorce so that he had no legal bearing on her or her community of Christians. As the constant harassment persisted she truly feared for her life.
Members of the church in Lohardaga approached Ferdinand to go to the court in Ranchi to advocate on her behalf. When he had been the President of the Lohardaga Council he was obligated to hear all the cases presented to him by Christians, Hindus, Muslims and all residents of the town. People continued to come to him even when he had finished his term. Having never studied law, he had to learn quickly the English law and local traditions in order to be an effective advocate. Clearly the people relied more on him than some of the native barristers who simply twisted the law for the benefit of their community or self-interest.
Time was important. Ferdinand had to make a step before the Dikus did. He knew the law, but he understood also that there was freedom of religion for each individual. As was the case with all laws, there was always room to make exceptions. Another law that could be weighed as more important than another.
Ferdinand would present Idna’s case and was willing to take the matter all the way to the higher courts in Calcutta. Idna was not the first, nor would she be the last to wish to seek a divorce. He could fight this all the way to amend the law across the nation.
With that thought I shuddered even under the warmth of the sun.
I turned the corner into the row of huts between the Raja Bangla and the Lal Bangla, beside the girgling brook. These were homes of the Christians who had lost their properties out in the villages. A group of about 12 Christians were waiting on their haunches by the horse cart. When they saw me walking down the dusty lane they rose and began singing. On my approach I shook all their hands, greeting each with “Yeshusahay”.
Idna was ready wearing a simply white sari with red trim and white flowers in her hair. She was accompanied by four other women also dressed in their finest tribal saris. Daoud wore a dhoti; across his bare chest was bow and arrow. The Oraon pastor and two seminary students were also among the group, also in dhoti but with their black pastoral jackets. The Urbas (tribal leader) from Lohardaga, Satya Minz, was also present, wearing a large red turban. Three other young men from Daoud’s village with drums and flute also were among the group.
As I climbed up onto the horse cart with the women. The women began to sing in Kurukh: “Lord lead us this day and guide the way.” The drums began to beat along, as the men echoed the women’s song. The flute finally found the tune and played along.
“It is your land, it is your sky, you bring the water, we are at your mercy,” the song went on as the horse moved to the beat of the drums and the men followed echoing the women.
The singing and drums uncharacteristically ceased as the small procession left the Gossner Church property and moved up the Main Road to Kutchery where all the buildings of the English Government had been built. The people of Ranchi, both English and Indian, stopped to watch the procession. Undoubtably they were wondering why there was no singing. We passed a mosque. We passed a Mandir. We passed the vegetable bazaar. I was stunned, for we traveled the whole distance in silence. Their hearts were heavy and in prayer. There was no song, no drum, no dance. Even at a funeral there would be music to lead the procession.
I was tempted to start to sing one of our German hymns that had been translated into Hindi. My original inclination was to go down the street singing the gospel in Hindi. Would that not be a way of witnessing in the street? No, this was not the time for that. This time I did not lead. Instead they lead me. Just like the horse that was being led at a slow walk, we slowly quietly approached the red-bricked courthouse.
Entering the large open courtyard of the District Court House, I was grateful not to find a crowd of Dikus there who would be opposing us. Since the Dikus of Lohardaga had not anticipated our action, they did not organize a larger gathering set to challenge any claims brought forth against Sapo or their perceived authority over him.
The women went to the women’s side of the courtyard under the leafy shade of a tamarind tree. It was only then that I notice one of the women was carrying her baby strapped on her back this whole time. I wondered why she hadn’t left the child with Daoud’s wife who was watching Idna’s little girl. But as she brought out her breast to feed the child I realised that the baby was still breast feeding. With my children I spent those early years cloistered in the house. It seemed inappropriate to be breast feeding out in public, even if it were just among women. I rarely had an opportunity like this, to mingle with the villagers. My dear husband was always among them. Yet he never got to see women life close up. I treasured this moment as we spoke amongst ourselves about family and home.
The men sat down on their haunches in a semi-circle under a large mango tree. Ferdinand had arrived and was talking to the German agricultural consultant to the English, Dr. Voelker. I recognized him, for he had been the last month in Lohardaga. Of course there was no farming advice he had to offer that could improve the Adivasi farming practices. Maybe he had some interesting suggestion about fertilizers and fencing. Still these Adivasi are century old farmers. We have found we can learn a thing or two from them.
As Ferdinand moved over to a flimsy wooden bench next to an equally rickety table my heart welled up with pride. Now I had a chance to see my husband at work. I had never gone with him before to court or town council or participated in any of his civic activities. I was invited this time because it was thought that the presence of a white woman in the English court would be helpful. My English had improved quite a bit, so if I was asked to speak I could articulate a good defense for Idna’s character.
The courtyard was filled with activity. Four men stood in a line chained to each other around the waist, with feet and hands shackled, guarded by blue uniformed men with large black mustaches. They were the first to be let inside the court, once the Magistrate returned from his morning tea. If it had been summer there would be no court in the afternoon, but in winter court was held till early afternoon.
I hoped we would be received in today.
In one corner two Santal tribal men were receiving payments for animal skins that they had hunted in the jungle. I wondered if they had hunted in the hills around Ranchi. Why hadn’t they gone to the court in Purulia to receive their bounty? The English government offered a meager price for animal skins. The Santals in particular were fast losing their forests and fields and so this was one source of support for their families. I dreaded the time when the Oraons would pick up this practice around our Lohardaga jungles. We had never faced any problems with tigers or elephants or even poisonous snakes. It seemed best to co-exist with them, rather than hunt them down and kill them.
The rudely cut benches and desks for the barristers, were scattered under the veranda. In winter they would come out to the sunny court yard. But the English, insisting on order, kept them under the verandah roof even when it was still rather cool in the shade. Ferdinand now sat with our good friend, the barrister SC Roy. Ferdinand was showing the documents he had collected as possible support for their case. SC Roy began to write down the plea as they both discussed the wording.
I noticed the poor man sitting at the next table who with forlorn looked on wondering what his barrister was writing on the paper. If you know the law it can be used to your advantage, if you are illiterate or uneducated about your rights, the law is used as a tool to oppress.
Within the hour a tea walla came around selling tea in clay cups for a few annas. Ferdinand made sure there was enough for all of the women, as the men refused any drink. Before we had barely finished our tea I was astonished that Ferdinand was the first to be called into the Court building. He signaled to us to stay waiting outside. Only SC Roy and Ferdinand went inside.
Within minutes, it seemed, the matter was finished. Ferdinand’s bright smile, as he came out into the bright light, indicated that there was a favorable hearing. With his long strides he sauntered directly to Idna to ask her to go with him, the barrister, and Daoud to the court clerks desk to get the proper documents sign. She had been granted her divorce.
The procession headed back after all the paper work was secured and Idna’s papers were given to Daoud and duplicates were given to Ferdinand for safe keeping. The group gathered at the gate and the procession returned to the church compound with singing all the way. When one song would end another would begin. Only to the trained ear could tell the difference in melodies and rhythms. To us Germans, their songs seemed terribly single-tonal. But after a couple of decades we were quite accustomed to even our German hymns losing some of the melodic strength.
Everyone was now happy and as we passed some old missionaries through the Gossner compound they simply assumed Ferdinand and I were part of an engagement procession and never asked us about the matter, much to my relief.
That evening before Ferdinand and I went under the mosquito netted bed, after we had laid all our matters at the Lord’s feet, we sang our evening hymn:
“Now in Jesus’ wounds reposing,
I my tired eyes am closing.
For his love and pardoning grace
Are my only resting place.”
I noticed Ferdinand’s joy had drastically diminished. I asked why he seemed so unsatisfied with the outcome of the day.
“It was all done to sweep the matter, once again, once and for all, under the rug,” he confessed. “I gained a victory for one by agreeing to take the case no further as a right for all Christian Women. I can only hope that the Lord will raise another advocate for that. Perhaps I will speak with Father Levine at the Jesuit mission to see if he would find it a worthy cause.”
He had made the right choice, though it lay heavy on his heart. If he had pressed the issue with the court, he would also put the whole Christian community at odds with each other. Life was always bringing us difficult decisions. The hardest choices always are those for the sake of unity and peace.
This is our life. Daily we come before the court of the Kingdom of God, defending our faith and actions. Do they live according to the teachings of our Lord? As the Apostle Paul teaches“make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification?”
Ferdinand gulped and shot me a long suffering glance. Carefully he folded his napkin, placed it next to his finished plate with the fork and knife neatly crossed in the middle. I knew he was thinking: who this time? A drunken derelict, sent here to be disciplined? Or an ambitious youngling, hoping to use this post as a quick step out and up the ranks? Neither would be the ally he had hoped for. Aptly hiding his anxiety from such unsettling news, so I thought, he asked what happened to Mister Waterhouse.
“With these English, how can one know? Waterhouse managed a solid consistent administration, but with the slightest semblance of success they pack them off to Calcutta or the Northwest Frontier. Now Waterhouse was a real mensch. So let us see what this young sapling can accomplish,” Herr Flex took a final sip of the drop of coffee remaining in his cup as he rose from his seat. The heavy wooden chair scraped harshly against the old marbled floor.
“What’s the name of the new man?” Ferdinand asked turning his wedding ring with his thumb as he is prone to do when nervous.
Herr Flex stood stiffly at the table, “Handel-slee, I think,” then snickering to himself, “perhaps another one trying to hide his German origin. He only arrived last week. He brought with him his young frauen so perhaps he will not be reckless and restless. Jah, we see?”
Stepping to the door to the outer veranda he halted and stated that it was time for his class at the seminary. He paused long enough for Ferdinand to nod in agreement then stepped through the white curtains into the warming day. Frau Flex was away assisting a mother-to-be in Gumla, so the two of us were left alone at the table of the grand Raja Bangala that had once also been our home when we were married, where we started our family.
In a huff I rose and began to gather the breakfast dishes, “You should have spoken to him about the matter.”
“My flower, I know already his reply. He will not agree to this. None of our missionaries will condone this. Yet, I have made my promise to Daoud.”
“Why did you make a promise before consulting the others?”
“Have you no concern for Idna? For Lohardaga? It is my responsibility alone. Whatever may happen falls on my shoulders alone.”
“Oh Ferdinand,” I said passing the plates to the ayah who had entered where Flex had departed. As I moved back towards him, I knew that I could not express my fears at this time. Placing my hand on his strong shoulder I whispered, “God will go before you.” Ferdinand held my hand and kissed it.
“Do you think we visit this new Commissioner first, as I had planned?” he wearily asked.
“Waterhouse would have given us useful advice, as you said. But you know nothing of this man, and with a young bride by his side, he is less likely to be favorable. Let us just go directly to the courts and face the Magistrate today, if he will see us.”
“He will see us. I am certain of that. Whether he will be in our favor that is another matter." Rising with assistance of his cane he added, "As I gather my documents together will you go see if Idna is ready? I will go straight to the court. For you women I have arranged for the carriage to deliver you to the courthouse.”
Kissing his hand that still held mine I replied, “I will see if she is ready then.”
“I am so grateful for you,” he added as he went into an inner room and I to the out door. I turned to shoot him a strengthening smile.
However I did not feel so strong as I walked into the warmth of the sun. It worried me that he had relied so heavily on the counsel of the Indian leaders of the church in Lohardaga and Idna’s brother Daoud. But I knew also that our beloved missionary brothers and sisters would never be willing to compromise so it was right for Ferdinand not to involve them.
Even I had been encouraging him in this direction he was not head strong set on, until we arrived in Ranchi yesterday. Once I began talking among the other misionar frauen I felt sick to be withholding anything from them. I was grateful that Frau Flex was not there. Her overbearing nature would surely have caused me to speak, despite my husband’s request. It felt underhanded, improper. Still I comprehended the necessity for making this appeal to the courts. For the survival of our church in Lohardaga and for Idna.
Idna had attended the girls school in Ranchi, all the way to high school. She was bright, beautiful and full of zest for life. She reminded me much of my older daughters. Full determination accompanied by compassion, as my Louise. Playful and dramatic, like my Marie. Strikingly beautiful, like a dark version of Frieda.
Her brother, Daoud, had arranged her marriage with Sapo from Lohardaga. So we were glad to have Idna now living near us again. But she was not happy with her marriage and her husband’s excessive drinking. He plunged the new family quickly into debt. She worked tirelessly to smooth out the rough places caused by bad decisions Sapo regularly made. Somehow she ensured that there was enough food for their young daughter. When he failed to manage the small farm plot. She herself would work out in the fields, even when she was pregnant. Despite her attempts to save their land, it was at risk of being taken over by the diku zamindar.
Today our purpose before the District Magistrate, however, was not to fight for the land. That battle was lost. No thanks to the Bara Lal (grand prince) who had broken with his people the old Parha concord and brought in these Hindu tax collectors and soldiers and created the repressive zamandari (landlord) system. No the land could not be recovered with the laws the way they existed under the English.
The insult to injury that Sapo had made was his deal with the diku (outsider) priest. Under strong pressure from the Hindus, Sapo made a deal to became a Hindu in order to remain on his ancestral land. The land, taken over by the diku, where he would now be forced to work as an indentured servant. If he refused, he would be sent to Assam to labor in the tea plantations. The loss of one’s ancestral land was, in deed, a tragedy for any Adivasi.
Yet for Idna, the greater tragedy was to abandon her tribal identity. Adivasis were free; who would want to trade that in to be placed at the bottom of Hindu society. Despite what Bara Lal said, Oraon tribals are not Hindus. She could find nothing compatible between the Oraon culture and Hinduism, as she had found with the Christianity her family had embraced. Idna could not go along with her husband’s choice. She knew he would not work hard enough to please the zamindar. And in the end, they would be sent maybe even to the Adaman Islands as criminals. So Idna left her husand and went back home to live with her brother near Ranchi.
This was a very acceptable practice in Oraon culture: if your spouse is not treating you right you had freedom to return to your home and even remarry. The Oraon who turned to Christianity followed their missionaries’ attitude and no longer practiced separation or divorce. In the Christian community of Lohardaga the Dikus began to harass and insist that Ferdinand force Idna to return to her husband. Further the English had an established the Christian Marriage Act of 1872 that did not permit Christians to divorce.
Idna wished to be free from obligation to her husband and wished to seek a divorce so that he had no legal bearing on her or her community of Christians. As the constant harassment persisted she truly feared for her life.
Members of the church in Lohardaga approached Ferdinand to go to the court in Ranchi to advocate on her behalf. When he had been the President of the Lohardaga Council he was obligated to hear all the cases presented to him by Christians, Hindus, Muslims and all residents of the town. People continued to come to him even when he had finished his term. Having never studied law, he had to learn quickly the English law and local traditions in order to be an effective advocate. Clearly the people relied more on him than some of the native barristers who simply twisted the law for the benefit of their community or self-interest.
Time was important. Ferdinand had to make a step before the Dikus did. He knew the law, but he understood also that there was freedom of religion for each individual. As was the case with all laws, there was always room to make exceptions. Another law that could be weighed as more important than another.
Ferdinand would present Idna’s case and was willing to take the matter all the way to the higher courts in Calcutta. Idna was not the first, nor would she be the last to wish to seek a divorce. He could fight this all the way to amend the law across the nation.
With that thought I shuddered even under the warmth of the sun.
I turned the corner into the row of huts between the Raja Bangla and the Lal Bangla, beside the girgling brook. These were homes of the Christians who had lost their properties out in the villages. A group of about 12 Christians were waiting on their haunches by the horse cart. When they saw me walking down the dusty lane they rose and began singing. On my approach I shook all their hands, greeting each with “Yeshusahay”.
Idna was ready wearing a simply white sari with red trim and white flowers in her hair. She was accompanied by four other women also dressed in their finest tribal saris. Daoud wore a dhoti; across his bare chest was bow and arrow. The Oraon pastor and two seminary students were also among the group, also in dhoti but with their black pastoral jackets. The Urbas (tribal leader) from Lohardaga, Satya Minz, was also present, wearing a large red turban. Three other young men from Daoud’s village with drums and flute also were among the group.
As I climbed up onto the horse cart with the women. The women began to sing in Kurukh: “Lord lead us this day and guide the way.” The drums began to beat along, as the men echoed the women’s song. The flute finally found the tune and played along.
“It is your land, it is your sky, you bring the water, we are at your mercy,” the song went on as the horse moved to the beat of the drums and the men followed echoing the women.
The singing and drums uncharacteristically ceased as the small procession left the Gossner Church property and moved up the Main Road to Kutchery where all the buildings of the English Government had been built. The people of Ranchi, both English and Indian, stopped to watch the procession. Undoubtably they were wondering why there was no singing. We passed a mosque. We passed a Mandir. We passed the vegetable bazaar. I was stunned, for we traveled the whole distance in silence. Their hearts were heavy and in prayer. There was no song, no drum, no dance. Even at a funeral there would be music to lead the procession.
I was tempted to start to sing one of our German hymns that had been translated into Hindi. My original inclination was to go down the street singing the gospel in Hindi. Would that not be a way of witnessing in the street? No, this was not the time for that. This time I did not lead. Instead they lead me. Just like the horse that was being led at a slow walk, we slowly quietly approached the red-bricked courthouse.
Entering the large open courtyard of the District Court House, I was grateful not to find a crowd of Dikus there who would be opposing us. Since the Dikus of Lohardaga had not anticipated our action, they did not organize a larger gathering set to challenge any claims brought forth against Sapo or their perceived authority over him.
The women went to the women’s side of the courtyard under the leafy shade of a tamarind tree. It was only then that I notice one of the women was carrying her baby strapped on her back this whole time. I wondered why she hadn’t left the child with Daoud’s wife who was watching Idna’s little girl. But as she brought out her breast to feed the child I realised that the baby was still breast feeding. With my children I spent those early years cloistered in the house. It seemed inappropriate to be breast feeding out in public, even if it were just among women. I rarely had an opportunity like this, to mingle with the villagers. My dear husband was always among them. Yet he never got to see women life close up. I treasured this moment as we spoke amongst ourselves about family and home.
The men sat down on their haunches in a semi-circle under a large mango tree. Ferdinand had arrived and was talking to the German agricultural consultant to the English, Dr. Voelker. I recognized him, for he had been the last month in Lohardaga. Of course there was no farming advice he had to offer that could improve the Adivasi farming practices. Maybe he had some interesting suggestion about fertilizers and fencing. Still these Adivasi are century old farmers. We have found we can learn a thing or two from them.
As Ferdinand moved over to a flimsy wooden bench next to an equally rickety table my heart welled up with pride. Now I had a chance to see my husband at work. I had never gone with him before to court or town council or participated in any of his civic activities. I was invited this time because it was thought that the presence of a white woman in the English court would be helpful. My English had improved quite a bit, so if I was asked to speak I could articulate a good defense for Idna’s character.
The courtyard was filled with activity. Four men stood in a line chained to each other around the waist, with feet and hands shackled, guarded by blue uniformed men with large black mustaches. They were the first to be let inside the court, once the Magistrate returned from his morning tea. If it had been summer there would be no court in the afternoon, but in winter court was held till early afternoon.
I hoped we would be received in today.
In one corner two Santal tribal men were receiving payments for animal skins that they had hunted in the jungle. I wondered if they had hunted in the hills around Ranchi. Why hadn’t they gone to the court in Purulia to receive their bounty? The English government offered a meager price for animal skins. The Santals in particular were fast losing their forests and fields and so this was one source of support for their families. I dreaded the time when the Oraons would pick up this practice around our Lohardaga jungles. We had never faced any problems with tigers or elephants or even poisonous snakes. It seemed best to co-exist with them, rather than hunt them down and kill them.
The rudely cut benches and desks for the barristers, were scattered under the veranda. In winter they would come out to the sunny court yard. But the English, insisting on order, kept them under the verandah roof even when it was still rather cool in the shade. Ferdinand now sat with our good friend, the barrister SC Roy. Ferdinand was showing the documents he had collected as possible support for their case. SC Roy began to write down the plea as they both discussed the wording.
I noticed the poor man sitting at the next table who with forlorn looked on wondering what his barrister was writing on the paper. If you know the law it can be used to your advantage, if you are illiterate or uneducated about your rights, the law is used as a tool to oppress.
Within the hour a tea walla came around selling tea in clay cups for a few annas. Ferdinand made sure there was enough for all of the women, as the men refused any drink. Before we had barely finished our tea I was astonished that Ferdinand was the first to be called into the Court building. He signaled to us to stay waiting outside. Only SC Roy and Ferdinand went inside.
Within minutes, it seemed, the matter was finished. Ferdinand’s bright smile, as he came out into the bright light, indicated that there was a favorable hearing. With his long strides he sauntered directly to Idna to ask her to go with him, the barrister, and Daoud to the court clerks desk to get the proper documents sign. She had been granted her divorce.
The procession headed back after all the paper work was secured and Idna’s papers were given to Daoud and duplicates were given to Ferdinand for safe keeping. The group gathered at the gate and the procession returned to the church compound with singing all the way. When one song would end another would begin. Only to the trained ear could tell the difference in melodies and rhythms. To us Germans, their songs seemed terribly single-tonal. But after a couple of decades we were quite accustomed to even our German hymns losing some of the melodic strength.
Everyone was now happy and as we passed some old missionaries through the Gossner compound they simply assumed Ferdinand and I were part of an engagement procession and never asked us about the matter, much to my relief.
That evening before Ferdinand and I went under the mosquito netted bed, after we had laid all our matters at the Lord’s feet, we sang our evening hymn:
“Now in Jesus’ wounds reposing,
I my tired eyes am closing.
For his love and pardoning grace
Are my only resting place.”
I noticed Ferdinand’s joy had drastically diminished. I asked why he seemed so unsatisfied with the outcome of the day.
“It was all done to sweep the matter, once again, once and for all, under the rug,” he confessed. “I gained a victory for one by agreeing to take the case no further as a right for all Christian Women. I can only hope that the Lord will raise another advocate for that. Perhaps I will speak with Father Levine at the Jesuit mission to see if he would find it a worthy cause.”
He had made the right choice, though it lay heavy on his heart. If he had pressed the issue with the court, he would also put the whole Christian community at odds with each other. Life was always bringing us difficult decisions. The hardest choices always are those for the sake of unity and peace.
This is our life. Daily we come before the court of the Kingdom of God, defending our faith and actions. Do they live according to the teachings of our Lord? As the Apostle Paul teaches“make every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification?”