When I was a kid my brother used to ride his bicycle to school in Bangalore. Between our house in the quiet section of D Costa Layout and the school was a spot in the road with a left turn over the tracks. As I recall there were lights, but the track itself had no fence between it and the roads on either side. It was a busy area at the time. A large tobacco plant was very near the intersection and the loaded trains frequently moved in and out.
Given the access and the otherwise quiet nature of the neighborhood it was also a favorite place for evil deeds. While we were initially unaware, the occasional report after school began to tell a tale.
“You have no idea what I saw today!”
“The body of a man with a big knife gash across his chest.”
“It was amazing and bloody gruesome! The body was right next to the train tracks at the intersection with Pottery Road. It looks like someone wanted everyone to think it was suicide but it is hard to see that this could be the case.”
If the story had been a one-time event, then it would have probably been long forgotten. As it was, the story repeated itself from time to time with minor variations. Sometimes the victims had been shot. On one occasion it seemed that they had been strangled. Rarely the bodies were there for more than eight hours.
I recently wanted a scene play out, lives abused and others in the process of destroying relationships, and wondered if I was reliving the stories of my childhood. An old writer tells how “fire flared against that rebel crew and torched them to a cinder,” (Psalm 106.18) brutal images that I struggle to accept.
As challenging as it is to see life’s difficult sights, it is even more difficult to accept the reality of my actions. With the good there is still much that can change. I pray the best of me can be even better.