The Phenomenon

Bird Village, where the Learning Center was located, was one of the remotest of remote villages. The living conditions were such that it seemed Jesus might have walked there only yesterday. 

This is where I must dig in to learn what I need to learn, I thought. It was the perfect lab for me to figure out how to help the poor, something I couldn’t do while sitting in America.

I called a friend in Allahabad and requested him to acquire one of the large tents used to house the spiritual pilgrims at the Kumbh Mela. His grandson delivered the tent. 

I stayed at the village for five months. A team of five people from Wichita and several local volunteers joined me. After that, I was there sometimes twice in a month for the next three or four years.

It was not easy camping. In the beginning, we had to travel eight miles to use the phone, which cost $3 a minute in cash to call the United States. We could rack up a huge bill in a very short time. There were no credit cards. Quite often, it could take several attempts and hours to connect. It was a frustrating experience for our families. Later, a line was provided at our campsite, but we could only make or receive calls through a private telephone contractor. We had a large laptop, but there was no Internet.

We decided not to have a car at our disposal for two reasons: First, we wanted to experience life as the people there lived it—and they did not have cars. Second, it was important that the people understood we were not superior to them, so we used public transportation—open jeeps, surplus from World War II. The fare was only a few cents because 12 or more passengers would squeeze in and hang by the doors as those jeeps plied slowly, but daringly, over the deep potholes. 

A few curiosity seekers started to drop in. They included a doctor from a village that was five miles away. He asked if he could be of any help. I suggested he come and examine patients on Tuesday evenings for a couple of hours. A small clinic was established at the campsite.

The news started to spread, and the crowds multiplied. People would arrive the night before and camp out. In the mornings, there might be 100 people sleeping on the ground, so we had to construct an outhouse. A medical assistant was hired to help the doctor. A dozen young people from nearby towns volunteered to take blood pressure, give shots, keep records, and help patients in other ways. Instead of a few hours, the doctor had to be there all day long, working late into the evenings. Soon the doctor reported that his practice was going down because even his regular patients were coming to the campsite, rather than to his office. They believed the campsite was holy ground and that healing took place there, irrespective of the doctor. The doctor did not seem unhappy about this because he also believed it to be true and may have been one of the instigators of the story.

Word spread that I was a saint who had arrived from America, along with my followers. It started when water gushed from the spot where I had stood and challenged the villagers to dig the first well. They believed water appeared because I had been standing on that spot. Stories began circulating of healing and miracles. Some even said, “God has arrived. If he touches you, you will be healed.” I worried that when these rumors were not sustained by facts, eventually there would be letdown and disappointment. At every step, I tried to squelch the rumors, which proved impossible. Local friends advised me that where medicine was not available, faith played an important role, and I should not try to crush that.

The camp was full of activity. It was run like an ashram, with many dedicated people working hard and living simply. At 5 a.m. every day, I went on a brisk five-mile walk. Sometimes, my associates joined me. At 7 a.m., we ate breakfast under the tent. People started to arrive at that time. Lunch was at 1 p.m. and many people joined us. The meal was kept very simple: Indian flat bread (chapati), lentils, one vegetable dish, a piece of lemon, and salt on the side. Dinner was at 7 p.m.—rice, lentils, and one vegetable, mostly for people living at the camp. 

The operation of the camp was made possible because a businessman from a town about 50 miles away took charge of the finances and the management. Very efficiently, he staffed the camp, hired cars when needed, and visited the camp on a regular basis. He sent his personal cook to cook for us. The cook was unflappable, no matter how many extra people showed up for a meal at the last minute. Somehow, magically, he would have the necessary food. He worked day and night, and single-handedly made sure the kitchen was well-managed. Because of him, our team didn’t have to worry about these details.

My main job was to meet the people and to direct the action. I was like the captain on a ship. The ship was being run by many people, who would not let me do anything. I was presiding and not pitching tents, managing the crowds, serving food, or any of those things, because the team and volunteers refused to let me. They took those jobs away from me out of affection. 

A good part of my days was spent visiting other villages. It was easy for people to figure out which road I would be coming back on. They would stand for hours on the roadside to stop me when our car passed, asking me to visit their village. They would not let me go by. 

“You have to come to our village,” they said.

“I have nothing to offer you,” I would answer. “Just come to Bird Village.”

“We are not asking you for anything,” they insisted. “Just you stepping into our village would be ample.”

It was the same story in village after village. 

Most of the time, I had to take a raincheck, which I made sure to keep. I would walk to some of the villages close by, and bike or go by rented car to the most distant villages. 

I realized that if the villagers were going to move into the modern era, they needed to change their perception of time. In that centuries-old culture, where the movement of people and goods was practically non-existent, appointments were made by season. For example, they would say, “I will see you next summer.” I made punctuality the starting point for changing this perception. It was like the needle through which the injection is given.

I insisted that if they wanted to see me, they had to be exactly on time. They had to learn to respect time, and they had to pay attention not just to the month, week, and the day, but also to the minutes. In the beginning, they found it very hard, but when they realized I would not meet after the scheduled time, people started being prompt. Once, we organized a conference of practitioners of native medicine. People came from as far away as 150 miles. Instead of being hours late, as was the tradition, everyone was there 30 minutes early. They requested that the meeting start earlier than scheduled because all of the participants were there. The needle hurt, but the injection was working.

I made another point about the magic of perception. I told them honestly that I did not have anything to give them. I would turn my pockets inside out to make the point. I told them they had all the ingredients to succeed. I was there to provide a slight twist in perception that would do the magic. I would use the example of a candle, which had all it needed to create light except for the spark of fire from an outside source. I was there to help provide that little spark so they could light themselves and provide the light for others. People related to that example and listened raptly.

Several volunteers from the U.S. and Europe visited while I was there. Volunteers came by the dozens from towns near and far. These volunteers brought information to the people on water harvesting, mulching, beekeeping, medicinal plants, and fuel-efficient stoves.

One biochemist on our team told us he had learned about a process through which the land could be regenerated by introducing microbes into the soil. At almost the same time, a journalist in California wrote an article in SPAN magazine about Trees for Life. This excellent magazine, published by the American Embassy in India, was read by the chairman of a large agrochemical company who sought me out and came to meet me. He told me that his company’s scientists had identified and isolated the bacteria culture that is in the guts of cows when they give birth. It is this primordial bacterium that enables cows to eat common grass and, within 24 hours, convert it into nutritious milk. This bacterium is what makes cow dung good for the land and highly valued by Indian farmers.

I made a trip to the industrial complex of this agrochemical company in Bombay where they

extracted this bacterium. Impressed, several other members of the team also visited the company. The agrochemical company was willing to share with us the bacteria culture that could spark life back into the land. They had simplified the process so it could be done by any farmer for use on his fields. 

The process required digging a slurry pit to which was added the bacteria culture, water, a certain quantity of starches, such as sugar cane or sweet potatoes, and plenty of cow dung. Within a few days, the bacteria multiplied billions of times, and the life-giving slurry was ready to spray on any organic material, such as grass clippings, leaves, or food leftovers. After two or three days, the organic material needed to be turned over, and after a week it turned into high-quality fertilizer. When spread on fields, it increased a farmer’s harvest many-fold. 

We were only able to create this organic fertilizer at the Learning Center on a limited scale because villagers need to use cow dung for fuel, so there was not enough to put into the slurry. We shared the slurry-making process with farmers in the surrounding area. Some were able to create the fertilizer and significantly improved their crop yields.

With the guidance of an enlightened forest officer, all native medicinal trees from that area were identified and planted to safeguard the stock (germplasm) for posterity. It was the only such garden in the state of Orissa. And adjacent to the big lake, a tree nursery was established with the potential of producing hundreds of thousands of saplings. The seed of change started to sprout. A huge amount of collaboration started to take place and things began to improve. People just woke up.

From this experiment I learned several lessons and saw many others reinforced. We experienced repeatedly that empowerment does not come from goods and giveaways. Empowerment is the result of changes in perception. In one village, a young man argued with me that his village needed a television set to view a popular television series. I told him that I would invest the same amount of money as the cost of a television set to spur development in his village, so that each villager could one day have their own television set. Six years later I visited the same village. I was told by the village head that their income had increased 15-fold in that short span of time. The village was awash in television sets, including one for the young man.

I also saw again and again proof that everything is interconnected. When one thing is done and done well, that leads to another development and another and another. When one person showed up, others followed. That interconnectedness manifested itself in mysterious ways.

At the conference of practitioners of native medicine, the group of 100 or more people agreed there was a need for a tractor if they were to make the improvements we had talked about. There was no tractor in the area. I told the group that when we identify our problems and focus on them as one body, something miraculous takes place. After the meeting, everyone joined hands and formed a large, wide circle. In their native language they sang, “We shall overcome.” People sang at the top of their voices. There was pathos, a plea, and power in their voices. At the end, a shudder went through the circle. Everyone felt it—something had changed.

They all just looked at me. No one wanted to break the circle. Within five minutes, I was told I had received a call from New Delhi with a request for me to call back. The phone was a 15-minute walk away, so I ran. The call was from the president of a tractor company. He said they were donating a tractor to us. The company was 700 miles away. 

“How are we going to get the tractor?” I asked, assuming it would take six months.

“Someone will leave tomorrow to drive it to your place,” he answered.

In five days, we had the tractor.