Treasures of our Planet:-

One freezing winter day last year while walking in the mall our feet stopped, of their own volition, in front of a travel agency. It’s possible the whipping wind and swirling snow outside had something to do with the sudden stop.  Before we knew it we had booked a week’s vacation in tropical Honduras at Telamar resort, to start after the March break. Cheaper and less crowded.

I had one gut clenching moment as we touched down at Roatan, shortest air strip I have ever seen, to let out passengers. It takes a seasoned pilot to bring a plane, from 36,000 feet, to a stop without skidding into the water bordering the runway. We took off again to land at La Ceiba, our destination. This time a breeze.

To our delight we discovered that time had no significance here. I would gaze out at the sun splattered path weaving through banana and mango trees and was reminded of my own hometown in India. Early mornings found us walking on the silky white sand of a beach where the Caribbean Sea meets the Atlantic Ocean at one point and boasts higher than usual waves that can have a frightening beauty, especially after a thunder shower. We witnessed one on the last day.

Two days into our vacation I started to fret. Something was bothering me and I couldn’t put a finger to it. Also, at this time our resort was fairly empty. We commented about it to one of the staff and he told us to enjoy the relative quiet this being Holy week, between Palm Sunday and Easter, a special time for Hondurans to come in droves to the resort and enjoy the pools and beach, drinking, eating, congregating with family. Aha, that was it. Palm Sunday! I had never missed church that day. We had to find a church. Our efforts were rewarded for we found one next to the resort, a quick walk up the street over a bridge and we reached the town square. Two churches stood facing each other. One was closed the other open. Guess which one we chose to enter? A woman spoke to us in Spanish, we asked questions in English. Somehow our communication was perfect.

We arrived punctually at 8:30am to share in the morning service on Palm Sunday. It was entirely in Spanish. Did we feel out of place? Not at all.

I will always treasure that moment when the people came forward to hold hands and recite the Lord’s Prayer, we in English the rest in Spanish. A heart-stoppingly beautiful moment to stay with me always, one that will give me strength of purpose, peace of mind, gratitude for a gift defined by the human touch.

This feeling of oneness in spite of the barrier of language is an amazing feeling. It creates community, fellowship, respect, and all the goodness of life rolled into one. We, the people, create our own treasures.

In the winter of 2010 we travelled to Egypt. Our plan was to see as much as possible within a week then proceed to Israel via Jordan. We did see all of the major attractions, and after a three day Nile cruise started back from Aswan to Luxor.  There was a train to catch to Cairo. It was late, desert nights, our driver made a wrong turn in the inky darkness of that desert night. I was gravely injured the car absolutely totalled, and I had to be taken to the hospital by ambulance. When I was lying hurt in the car where the window by my side had blown to bits glass lodging in my face, mouth, hair, both legs pushed up against my ribs for the driver’s seat in front had jammed into me, I had such trouble breathing that I was sure all the ribs had broken and punctured through my lungs. Scary thought and traumatizing, to boot.

Suddenly a young Egyptian approached our car, spoke in Arabic if we needed help. We didn’t understand but got the gist of it. If it hadn’t been for his gentleness and compassion at my time of need I would surely have been a basket-case.

Now whenever I think of that day I am more and more convinced that this young man was there at that time for a purpose. He looked after my wounds providing first-aid with the sure touch of a medical professional. Then the ambulance arrived and I was hustled into it. Even in my weakened state I tried to find him in the crowd but he had simply disappeared just as quietly as he had appeared. Who was he? I’ll never know. I don’t know his name, never got to thank him but I do remember two things about him – his eyes were full of kindness, his demeanour trustworthy.

I have come a long way from that day, thankful that my wounds have healed, with an important lesson learned. Human beings are born with qualities of goodness and mercy, love and compassion. We are the best of all treasures of our Planet.

Keep Well…..Keep Smiling

Purabi Das

Purabi Das is an emerging writer and poet living in Pickering who finds inspiration for her stories and poems from life in general. To find out more visit Purabi on www.facebook.com/purabisinhadas