A Pilgrim's Diary

A Pilgrim’s Diary.

We stood there numb and beleaguered, throwing occasional glances at each other, trying to comprehend how messed up we were. The rugged looks attracted a lot of attention all along the way. Our dresses were soiled; our hair spike into brown coloured Mohawks and the beards we sported could tackle a poky pine. The security forces must have noted down in their diary – “eight suspects in long dirty nomadic gowns”. 

We knew what we would be up against before we set out on this journey, but you never know the road until you walk a mile. This pilgrimage specialty was the begging experience. We set out with absolutely nothing – no food, no money. Divine Providence was what we hoped for. The first night was relatively comfortable as the villagers recognized us as ‘holy pilgrims’ and provided us food and shelter. 

Next morning, little children came screaming on the roads and the elders ran from their fields to greet us. Eggs, flour, milk and sugar were traded to deliver the ‘royal nashta’. Totally aware that this could be our only meal of the day, we devoured the sumptuous brunch, as the kind folks watched with pity. They shared with us stories of how Francis Xavier had touched their lives and how made it a point to visit him every year. That night we walked the unlit roads, relying on trucks and the moon to show us the way. We halted at an old school, which apparently was a refuge for the drunks. It was cold, so we lit up a fire and roasted some potatoes; as the drunkard kept singing in his sleep. 

As we woke up, we realized people had turned suspicious and even alerted the police. Begging for meals here was the toughest and most humiliating experience. We had to face rejections and threats for a long time, until a protestant missionary welcomed a couple of us with the promise of providing tea. To our worst fears, we had to endure the ordeal of an hour-long talk on religion, before he actually broke our overnight fast. The next phase was torturous as we had to navigate slopes and climbs of the Western Ghats. More than once did we contemplate giving up; when one was down and out, the other would come around and pick him up. Hope and determination dragged us on. Beside reciting prayers; we drank water from springs, plucked fruits from wild trees, bathed in the streams and wrote our names on rocks.

The goal of reaching Ponda by dusk was slowly turning into an impossible dream. After much deliberation, I decided that we break a rule, hitch-hike and get to Ponda. A truck driver granted us our wish after an initial hesitation to let us onboard. Later on, the bearded man opened up and shared a lot about his family and his faith in Saint Francis Xavier. It was amazing to witness such testimonies of inspiration from people of different faiths. We had nothing to lend him so we offered him a cap as a gift for his son.  He refused but we persuaded him to receive it as a blessing from the pilgrims. 

 

It was Diwali night and undoubtedly the best time to beg. Amusingly, Christian families were the ones who snubbed us and put us through inquisitions of sorts; even after we revealed our true identity. However, the Hindu brethren of Ponda were kind and charitable; showering us with boxes of sweets and tiffins of food. Once again we sat down together and shared the bounty we collected. We camped in an old school verandah. None of us could sleep that night. The thrill and anxiety of standing at the threshold of the Basilica had possessed our minds. Soon, it was rise and shine.

By noon, on the fourth day of the voyage, we caught a glimpse of the monument from a distance. Battering the cold weather, chilly breeze, the aches and bruises; we were now within a few meters from our destination. We stood there with our eyes greased and lips parched, our knees swollen and soles peeled. Nature had taken its toll on us. We began to walk those final hundred yards, when the real feeling began to sink in. The feeling of belongingness replaced the emotion of achievement. It dawned on us that we had come to meet a fellow pilgrim and a gutsy adventurer. We dusted off that vain feeling and breathed a different kind of pride. We stood there overwhelmed, just staring at the monument and boy! It felt awesome! Deep within our hearts was a tiny voice that said here is what you want to be. A promise was made to emulate the miracle of Francis Xavier and strive to make the world a better place.

Four years down the line, I know they still strive to live up to that promise. Many are called, few are chosen and only some are meant to be. Dedicated to all the Jesuits, who hang on to hope in times of trials and tribulations; and in the same passion and spirit of their elder brother, Francis Xavier, continue to work for the greater glory of God.  In memory of those who chose to let go, but endeavor to lead and inspire a change in all they do. The mission may be defined differently; nevertheless, the pilgrimage goes on!