When I was in school Jesus was my polestar, hero and friend. He went with me everywhere, he was as vivid to me as my human friends, I felt his presence all the time. The feeling faded at around the time I entered college though my interest in and attraction to the Roman Catholic faith continued for many more years. Even today, committed as I am to Vedanta, however relentless and powerful its logic and philosophy, it is the religion of my youth that satisfies me most, emotionally. Believe in me, you will be saved. Everybody is as important as you are. Treat others as you wish to be treated. The kingdom of God is within you. The messages were so simple. Even a child could follow what Jesus Christ said.

When I was in the First Year in college, studying English Literature, a weekly test asked for an account of the greatest humanist. I wrote about Christ and shocked the nuns. “This is not what we expect you to be reading in the library and what the test was about …..but….it will do. Im not giving you any marks but Im not going to fail you either.” said my teacher Mother Antoinette. She sent for my Father and I don’t know what transpired.

I began to feel discouraged about Christianity at the time of the Vietnam War. Church history was as violent. If the Romans persecuted Christians, what did the Christians do to non-believers? Did Jesus ever say “Kill the non-believers, torture them if they do not turn to me?” He didn’t even say “Kill them if they injure you”. The grandest line in history must surely be “If anyone smites you on one cheek, show him the other cheek also”. An eye-witness account of the Crusades says jubilantly that the massacre of Muslims and Jews on a particular day brought on a river of blood that rose to the knees of his horse. “This is the most glorious day since Christ died to save the world” he says with such perfect ignorance of what Christ died for.

But this article is about the intense faith of a child and how it worked. When I was eleven years old I was selected for the school hockey team. My Games Mistress Deana Thomas had me playing right extreme. Anyone who knows the game will know that the players who have to run the most and fastest are those positioned on the extremes of the field/team. As the youngest player I was good –humouredly teased about everything. I was called the Stick Insect, I was so thin. My diet, particularly, was the object of much laughter because all the others were meat-eaters, much better built than I and much stronger though not necessarily for that reason. “You better eat some eggs or chicken if you want to build your stamina” was something I was told every day.

I thought about it, Chicken and eggs? No. It had to be something I could take into my vegetarian home. What was the last meal Jesus had with his disciples? Bread and wine. Yes. That was it. He had also told them to remember him. My body and my blood. What could be better? I asked about the bread and wine my friends received in Church. Alas, it wasn’t for sale. Why was his body and blood available only in Church?

That evening after everybody had bathed and the lamps were lit, I took careful aim and announced “From now onwards, may I have some bread and wine at this time? I have to build my stamina.” There was the kind of silence that made me regret my words but as usual I felt His presence and waited. My Mother’s sister, Echu Edathi said smoothly,

“Yes of course. You can have Indian wine.”

“Will it be from crushed grapes? It has to be crushed grapes”

“Why? Dasamoolarishtam is Indian wine. It is just as good. I will give you that and bread like you get in Church.” My Aunt understood what I wanted. “It will make you strong,” she said persuasively.

And so it happened. EchuEdathi used to freeze the bread, slice it fine, trim the crust and give me a slice along with an ounce- glass full of Dasmoolarishtam. My Mother’s face was expressionless as she brought this strange snack from the pooja room where I felt it had to be placed before I ate it. The point is, every time I thought of it, I felt strong. And my game improved, I didn’t feel tired, and my team mates congratulated me on my new diet though I told them I was eating as they had advised me to.

Only my understanding family knew what my faith- food was. Years later I read about auto-suggestion and the power of faith. Jesus too had said that if you had enough faith you could move mountains and seas.

I certainly moved the hockey field on the faith that I was eating what the disciples ate.