My golden moments in Pithora parish

By F. M. Britto

Raipur, Jan 21, 2022: The invitation from the parish priest to participate in the golden jubilee celebration of Pithora parish in my Raipur archdiocese delighted me.

After my priestly ordination in May 1979, then Diocesan Administrator Pallottine Monsignor Francis Werner Hunold appointed me the assistant parish priest in Pithora. Being the first parish of my priestly ministry, I have very fond memories of the people and ministry there. I served there for two years, later I was appointed its parish priest for a year, 1998-1999.

As an assistant, every alternative evening I used to cycle along with either catechist Sankirtan Baghel or Ranjit Tandi to remote Catholic villages to catechize, hear confessions, say Mass and visit the families in their cottages. First time I cycled 17 km and reached Baeldihi by dusk, exhausted. I was then disheartened to hear the church bell calling people for confession and Mass.

While listening to the confessions in the church, sitting under the dim light of a hurricane lamp, I slept off. When suddenly I opened my eyes, I was shocked to see a lady piously kneeling down by my side. I didn’t know how long she had been kneeling there after confessing her sins. I still remember that woman.

Another evening when we were in the neighboring Sukhipalli village, there was a heavy downpour at night. Sleeping in a villager’s hut and cot that night, I had no proper sleep since I had to wage war against an army of big bugs. Since in the morning it became impossible to ride back our cycles, there was no other alternative, but walk back home.

That morning the kind family woman stained some red tea through her sari and soaked a fistful of murrah (puffed rice) in a big copper plate for our breakfast. Catechist Ranjit went on strengthening me on the long way that it was only five km by short-cut. Only after reaching the parish by noon, hungry and tired, walking through the rough slushy fields, the old catechist grinningly revealed to me that we had walked more than ten kilometers.

On the first Christmas eve there, I was amazed to see by evening a multitude of villagers from far flung villages reaching the parish on foot or by cycle. The names of the ‘practicing’ Catholics were then called out, village after village, for a free gift of foreign clothes by the generosity of German Franciscan Sister Mary Gerburg. After the hourlong pushing and yelling in the long uncontrollable crowd, some elderly men were complaining what they would do with a baby’s gown or a woman grumbling how she could wear a pants. Some strange youngsters were protesting that though they too were baptized, they got nothing.

My parish priest Father Alexius Kindo asked me to preach during the midnight Christmas Mass, while he would be the main celebrant. I spent more than a week writing down the sermon, fresh from my theology class on the Incarnation, getting it translated into Hindi, and painfully memorizing it. But during the homily all that I could witness was villagers sleeping lying flat in the church, covering themselves from head to toe, with their rough blankets.

But before that midnight Mass ended, there was a long queue of villagers standing to receive the free chill bhajya roasted from the CRS wheat and oil. As the catechists yelled out the names of village after village, the crowd kept pushing and pulling, till we got up to say the morning Mass.

In the absence of my parish priest, I was summoned one noon to the police station. I got scared. Never in my life had I entered a police station. The huge Inspector questioned me, “Can you keep a babe without the mother’s consent?” I didn’t understand what he was yelling at. Only upon my return, I came to know from the Sisters that the child’s father and relations had entrusted that babe to the care of the nuns, since the insane mother was hurting her.

Today when I see this “babe” married and have her grown up sons and daughters, I feel happy to have caressed a number of such orphaned children brought up by these good sisters.

One evening Sister Gerburg invited me to accompany her to visit a house in the village. This Hindu woman had been troubling the sister for some money to offer sacrifices to appease the spirit of her deceased husband. Active in the Charismatic Renewal, I blessed her house with holy water.

We went to visit that woman after a month, since she didn’t turn up again. With big smile, she prostrated at our feet saying, “No more bhoot comes. You have chased it out.”

On the request of Sister Gerburg to fetch their first two candidates, Rosily and (late) Lucy, to join their Medical Sisters of St Francis, I volunteered to travel to Kerala, with my knowledge of Tamil-Malayalam. Thanks to their parents for trusting to send their young daughters in the company of an unknown young man. Later I taught them not only English and the Bible, but also English hymns, fresh from Nagpur St. Charles Seminary. I can bet that I sang much better than them – then.

There are many more memorable stories. The young generation may think these as fiction. That is because times have changed and we have also grown in our faith and the times have changed.

May the heavenly patroness Saint Agnes pray, not only for these persevering Gada convert parishioners, but also the pioneers.