Fishermen--Part 2

Heading Out to Sea at Sunset

In our last blog, we had been exploring the fishing villages along the Bay of Bengal, and saw few or no churches.  As Russ and I continued north across the border to Orissa, we were burdened with the plight of these people.   But God is always at work and we soon experienced His power.

Ever since Vizag, mountains had been visible, but fishing continued to be a primary occupation on the seacoast. 

We arrived in Paralakhemundi with Bihit Parichha, a young man with a huge vision for God’s work from the mountains to the sea.  He and his family of four live in a tiny row house—about eight feet wide—stair-stepped up the side of a steep hill.  The roof leaks seriously during the frequent thunderstorms. 

Bihit's Home--Eight Feet Wide

We were planning to stay with him before we found that there are three abrupt steps up to the narrow rear courtyard, and the Asian toilet is at the far end.  Russ would have a problem.  Plus they would all be sleeping on the floor next to our bed—soaking wet when it rains.  We opted for a lodging room.  More about the room later… (Or maybe not.  It’s probably better forgotten.)

Baptism Service at the Bay of Bengal

On Sunday, Bihit invited Russ to speak at a little thatch church in Ganguwada village near the Bay.  There we learned that three new believers would be baptized the next day.  So, on Monday we crossed the dunes alongside an old wooden fishing boat, past more boats and mounds of nets down to the sea.  Russ remained on the last ledge above the water and prayed with the new believers. 

Bihit’s father Upendra, a noted evangelist, waded into the waves and performed the
baptisms. The surf had a powerful undertow which suctioned the sand from under my feet and made standing difficult.  The spiritual experience was even more powerful.  One man and two women publicly declared their faith in Jesu Kristu—with ancient-style fishing boats just offshore and waves crashing around them.  Through men like Bihit and the twenty five missionaries he has trained, God is definitely at work in the fishing villages. 

That day, so was Satan.  Russ was struggling uphill across the dunes, and someone decided to drive the SUV closer.  But for every downhill, there is an uphill, and it was almost

impossible to go backward in soft sand.  The wheels spun deeper and deeper as several strong men tried to push, but failed.  Coconut leaves were shoved under the tires.  No go.  Someone borrowed a rope from the fishnets, but it broke.  The sun got hotter as the day wore on, and nothing seemed to work.

Finally Bihit’s mother trudged through the sand with a rock in her hands.  Others joined her in carrying some rocks and driftwood boards.  Another piece of rope was found and the second small vehicle gingerly backed downhill—just a little.  Everyone prayed and pushed, engines gunned, the rope slack was taken up slowly—and we were free!  Bihit danced and praised God.  We all praised Him!

Russ and Upendra preached again, and we were refreshed by drinking coconut water

directly from the nuts of nearby trees—then to a festive lunch.  While the men talked afterward, the ladies asked me to go and bless a home with prayer.  Then I wandered the village, taking photos of goats, children, and elderly ladies.

This may be the seashore, but it is also a transitional area between the traditions of Andhra and the mountain tribes of Orissa.  Older women, and a few younger ones, do not wear a blouse under their sari.  For modesty, they rely on the scarf end which—in all of India—is slung across the chest and over the left shoulder.  I suppose it’s cooler and less restrictive, but…  Also, they have the most intriguing nose ornaments!  Some resemble a gold bee or butterfly hanging from the septum.  One lady was combing her gorgeous long grey hair and let me take her picture—a perfect blend of age and beauty.   

On Thursday we headed for another fishing village, Gunpalli.  The church was a tiny brick-

 walled, thatch-roofed building surrounded by heaps of fishnets. In a nearby shrine, a 

Church in Gunpalli Fishing Village

cement idol stared at me, and so did a sleepy dog whose cool nap I had momentarily disturbed.  Both of these villages usually have John Kumar, one of Bihit’s missionaries, as circuit preacher.  Today, Russ gave his powerful testimony to a full congregation.  

We were invited to lunch in a Hindu fishermen’s home a few doors down the sandy street.  Food was cooked by their neighbor Simeon, also a fisherman—and a member of the church congregation—who had just netted his first shark.  He and his wife fried it into the most delectable seafood dish we’ve had since the prawns at Chirala.  And all the neighbors, young and old, came to take photos of us with their cell phones.

Simeon the Fisherman and His Wife

Russ’ reputation as “The Man with No Legs” continues to make us a bit of a celebrity.  Hindus, Muslims and tribals are eager to meet us out of sheer curiosity—even asking for prayer.  Their questions open many doors for local missionaries such as Bihit and John Kumar to present the Gospel of Jesus Christ.   We concluded our time among the lonely little fishing villages with joyful celebration, knowing that the Lord is continually working in the hearts of men everywhere on His earth.

Stay with us as we explore the Eastern Ghat Mountains…   

--Alice Sharrock