There is a part of the human brain that is similar to a salmon’s which drives it up a freshwater stream to its spot of origin or a whale’s which leads it across thousands of miles of open sea to the breeding ground of its ancestors.  When we physically see the structure which we call home, a lobe of fleshy wrinkles coordinates a series of emotional, psychological and even physiological responses.  They delicately whisper to us, “You have arrived.  You can relax.  You’re safe. You’ve made it.”  But occasionally, there is another voice that whispers even more quietly in people’s ears to ignore these reassurances and strike off into unknown territory.

Back in January (just after our month in the convent in Git Dubling), Amanda, Asher, Ian and I returned to Daragaon to collect our things. If after selling a house, or moving out of an apartment, if you’ve ever slowly driven by to see the old place… you’ll understand how we felt.  The old feelings of home start to rise up and then some silent understanding snuffs them out.  Even though there are signs of habitation the place feels deserted.   When we left Daragaon the corn was still to be cut, the amliso was green and glistening and fig trees still had their broad leaves.  January is the heart of the dry season and upon our return we found that the fields where dry and empty.  The trails were covered in dust.  The available fodder had been cut for the cows (including all the limbs of the fig tree).  The doors to all the houses stood ajar and the village was even more quiet than usual.  Where were the men on the trails asking, “And Sir, where are you coming from?”  Where were the women in the courtyards stating, “And Sir, I see that you’ve arrived”?  Since our departure, Ian has been living in our cabin; he will be occupying it throughout the entire new year.  It was as we left it but I couldn’t help notice new pictures pinned to the wall and a place where an untended candle had burnt down into a board.  We went to visit several of our friends at their houses too, but no one was home.  The village felt dry and deserted.
On our third day in Daragaon the pea sprouts shot up through the dust.  I went to talk to Tilak as he was working in his field.
“It’s been a drought this year, Ryan.  I need to water these or they will dry up in the sun… (On the end of a stiff plastic pipe was a rod of bamboo.  This hand made device had cleverly cut holes in it to let the water spray out.)… other people just spray water on top of the dirt but that evaporates quickly.  When I thrust this down into the soil it waters the roots.”
We sat watering peas together and talking about the current events of the village.  I was anxious to hear about all that had happened since our decision to leave our home.   The political climate had cooled significantly, the calls for Tilak to resign as the President of the Social Club had ceased and the members of the club, which had become apathetic after the Rice program, were beginning to regain their former vision.  In short, our decision to leave had the effect we intended it to have.  This was a great relief.  At Red Star Academy there were plans to construct the second school building (which was recently completed by volunteers from the club and community) and there were many new students coming for enrollment.  At the Swasta Kendra there was a good stock of medicine and a log which showed that 500 patients have since come for medicine since.  Devi, Kausila and Sabita had already weighed and measured the children of the village for the feeding program which was to begin again Feb. 2nd.  Despite the dust on the surface, we found that our trusted friends had been watering the seeds we had planted… deep down at the roots.  I noticed near the door of our cabin that our jungle orchids were about to bloom again.
In 2006, we help Prakash physically and financially begin the construction of his new home.  In January, it was almost completed and the family plans to have the “dedication ceremony” for their home this spring.  In the back, I found a well finished room with a beautiful new bed which Prakash had painstakingly built.  Upon seeing it I thought, “Finally a bed for this beautiful couple to sleep in.”
I asked Prakash, “So this will be your room?”
His eyes squinted and brow furrowed, “No, No, Ryan Sir.  Of course not.  This is the room for our guests!”
He showed us the second completed room.  There was a new mattress on the floor and all of the midwifery equipment that Amanda had given Ratna was neatly organized on top of it.
“This room is for bauju’s mothers.  When they come for check ups, Ratna takes care of them here.  Right now she is seeing 5 women.”

So much work, so much sweat and blood has been poured into that home.  I’ve never witnessed anyone labor as hard Prakash has worked for that house.  And the first two rooms he was able to finish, he has given away to others.  I looked at the two unfinished rooms at the front of the house. “So, I guess you will all move into these rooms after the dedication ceremony?”
Prakash mumbled in a low voice, “Actually, I was thinking we should keep these rooms for others too.”
Looking up at Prakash’s old ramshackle cottage which can barely contain him, Ratna, his sister Deepa and his 5 children, I shook my head in disbelief.

The week before leaving India we finalized where we will be living and what we will be doing when we return.  Father Felix has given us a large room at St. Stephen’s Academy in the village of Kaffer for us to start a health clinic and delivery center.  From there we plan to train, equip and supply a health worker/midwife for every village in the enormous surrounding region.  Hopefully, we will be able to raise enough money in the US to purchase an ambulance to link this remote region with a decent hospital.  As it is, most critically ill patients dieen route to a sub-standard hospital in Kalimpong.  Fresh out of my EMT course, I want to change this reality.  Along with being given a facility for our work, we were also given a home.  Down at the student’s hostel we were given a nice little room finished in pine boards, which is roughly equivalent to the cabin we left behind in Daragaon.  Our last week in Kaffer was spent setting up our new house, helping with some work around the school/hostel and getting to know our new neighbors.  The thing we are most excited about is working with the incredible network of priests, nuns, nurses, village health workers, community activists, social organizations and people of every faith which we’ve met in our last several months of traveling.  All that we have left behind (which was pretty much everything), we have recieved back and more in such a short time.  But why should we be surprised?  When Peter asked Christ, “We have left everything to follow you! What then will there be for us?”     Jesus replied, “Everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much in return.”

Even as late as last July, our feelings urged us to remain in our quaint little cabin and familiar community of Daragaon for a long, long time.  There was still so much to be done!  That fleshy little lobe in our brains had become attuned to our life there.  While many people think of us living in an extreme situation, we felt comfortable and safe there.  But a whisper to move on turned into insistent cry.  As humans we are all able to rise above the drive of primal instinct.  We are destined for more than living like salmon.  I’m glad that we ignored our instinctual feeling and headed out in search of a new home.  Now, in hind sight, we can see that to stay would have been to lose everything we worked for in Daragaon and to lose a future we never would have know about.  Thank you all for sticking with us and trusting us in this long difficult process.  Soon, I will send out a more in depth description of what this future holds and how you can be involved.