Going back to my Roots

Over the last week, I got to visit the small village where my dad grew up for the first time. I have heard so many stories of his growing up days from him and his family and could only imagine what the place would be like.

We reached the little village around 10 in the morning and I was taken aback. It felt like we had traveled back in time … My dad was coming back after 24 years and even he was shocked. There were no roads except around the village. The houses were neatly aligned in rows with about 20 feet between them and looked like they were out of an old movie, with tiny front yards, and sloping roofs with tiles. The soil was like sea sand, loose and soft but reddish. I threw my sandals away and ran along the sandy streets just getting a feel of the place. There were not many people out at that time, perhaps the moms and dads where at work some place and the kids at school, while the older generation rested indoors till the sun went down a little...

The highlight of the little village was the church. All the roads led to the large red stoned beautiful church right in the center of the village, with a steeple that reached up to the sky having a big round clock midway. It was absolutely stunning. I have seen a lot of church buildings but none as beautiful as this one. It was built in the beginning of the last century and inside the windows had some amazing paintings. I walked around with my dad as he narrated the many events that took place over the years on those very grounds.

Dad had climbed up the steeple many a time when he was young but now it was closed as the ladders that went up was a little shaky. Dad however wanted me to get the full experience so we decided to give it a shot. The person in charge gave us the keys and we found a tiny little passage for one, through which we began our climb. Mind you, this steeple was exceptionally tall. There where seven levels and each level kept getting narrower. Dad led the way and soon we were heading up! On the third floor we found the mechanism for the clock. It was huge and ancient with a big round pendulum and a perfectly in tune tick-tock. On the floor above the clock was the large iron bell. Gosh! Though rusted and dusty, this bell has been ringing for the last two centuries 24 times each day, telling this little town the exact time from generation to generation!! As we climbed past the 4th level I felt like I was in a Famous Five Story book!! Creaking wooden panels on the floor, a narrow shaky ladder, up a dingy tower ...! :) Now we had pigeons flying in and out as well, through the large stone windows that gave us light and air. The view was getting more and more amazing. Finally we reached the top floor. Only one person could fit in the very top at a time since the wall was much narrower and so Dad encouraged me on. On one side, there was a small hole in which was a nest with a young pigeon and on the other side was the last stone window. I peered out and watched the tiny world underneath me! There was a cool breeze. Parrots flew way below me. The kids formed a line outside in the village school and they looked like ants in uniform! I could see this entire village and all the neighboring villages, perhaps even the other side of the globe! :)

Slowly we climbed back down and as we reached the last floor, dad picked up a pigeon feather and gave it to me. He said “That’s in memory of our little adventure”! The feather is safely tucked away in my little wooden box of treasures and the memory will remain forever in my heart. On my knees in that old church I whispered a little prayer, renewing a commitment I made over a decade ago. Before long, it was time to go.

Nothing had changed. To me it was a picture perfect village!
Still, I did not see a hospital, or even a tailors shop. No large vehicles, only cycles. No eating place or entertainment. I wish there was something I could do to plow back into that village that today created this wonderful family I am part of that is spread all across the world. I will.

Dear Mister God, this is @ina talking . . . Help me to always remember my promise.