My diary writing was interrupted by a sudden trip home. But that’s a story in itself. You see when I came out here on assignment, I knew that this was a research project with fairly rigorous guidelines and continuity of the guiding hand was considered important for consistent application of methodology. So I never thought about a break in the middle and sort of braced my self for a five month sojourn.
But then the American coordinator came on a visit and asked a casual question as to whether I wasn’t going home some time in the middle of the project. I said no at first and then it struck me that it would be a great idea if I could be home for my father’s death anniversary. He passed away last year (2004) on the first of July. But since it wasn’t in the contract I wondered what the terms would be for the time-off. The indications were that it would be treated as paid leave but travel expenses would be to my account. That was okay by me.
But the Principal Investigator of the research project in the home office in U.S. got a little uncomfortable about my leave of absence, thinking it might have adverse effect on the project. And he went on dragging his feet. I didn’t push the matter having made my request with prayer and thanksgiving to a higher authority. The clearance came finally barely 5 days before the time I had to leave. It was easy enough to book my passage to Delhi, but things thereafter looked most uncertain. The flight from Kabul lands at Delhi at 1700 hrs if it is on time and it rarely is. So I was advised by the Indian Airlines manager not to take any restricted ticket for the same evening to Madras. He in fact suggested that I make my onward journey the next morning but that’s the time I dearly wanted to be at the cemetery with the family.
So I traveled to Delhi not knowing how I was going to journey on but trusting nevertheless. The plane was late; there was traffic congestion at Indira Gandhi Airport and when flight IC844 finally found a parking place I guess it was about 1830. I refused to look at my watch. And then the immigration was a total mess (when will they ever learn?). I knew that most Madras flights leave Delhi around 7 P.M. From my internet search I’d located a Sahara flight via Bangalore at about 8.15. Even that began to look doubtful as I emerged from the International Terminal just after 7 P.M.
I took taxi to ‘Domestic’. ‘Jet’ counter was the first and the girl at the counter told me there was a flight at 7.45 (surprise!) but she could only give me waitlisted ticket (doubt). I then rushed to IA. Their flight had left on time. Onto Sahara. The chap at the counter looked at me in a bemused manner and said I should come back the next evening ( so much for updating information in their websites).
Back to ‘Jet’. This time the girl said she would check the availability first and after a few minutes when faith battled with doubt, said she would issue me a ‘boarding pass’ (Hallelujah!). But she was very sure it would have to be a full fare ticket. It would set me back quite a bit and I asked if she was absolutely sure. She said she was and that was that. I quietened my spirit and boarded the craft with a thankful heart. Thus it was that I found my self sitting in a flight that I didn’t even knew existed.
The folks at home were absolutely delighted. When I knew that I was going to be in the flight home that evening, I telephoned my wife. She was overcome with emotion. And the next morning when I arrived with the others at my parents’ place for the prayer meeting, my mother went into a shock for a few moments and my sister was astonished (well, to the extent she is capable of; she is quite a stoic like my father !). To all of them it must have seemed like an ‘impossible’ miracle and so it was.
I was in a unique position of being on the ‘reverse’ side of the miracle, pretty much like a magician’s assistant on stage. One might be forgiven for thinking that I was feverishly manipulating matters unbeknownst to the other side but the fact was that while there was fervent desire on my part, it was more of a quiet confidence that God will come through and take care of the details both big and small.
Some of you may find it encouraging. I hope.
1 August 2005 Judah
Footnote: I came back to Kabul on the 9th of July. The next morning a ‘welcome’ rocket whizzed by and landed less than a kilometer from our guest house while I was sitting up to read my Bible at 5 O’ clock in the morning. Yeah, this is Afghanistan !