Amol, his wife and three young children,
became the personal possession
became the personal possession
of the owner of a rice factory,
locked in to a new dark world
of spine bending labor;
eighteen hours a day,
seven days a week,
healthy or sick they worked.
when the food ran short
the family was grudgingly given rice to eat
(infested with worms),
but even though hope was denied them
hunger could not be denied,
so they ate.
the factory owner said
you are mine,
and if you ever escape,
I will hunt you down.
I will bring you back.
I will make you work.
you will never
leave
these walls.
the Justice Mission
explored and prayed,
worked and walked undercover,
researched and wrote,
asked quiet inquiring questions in the streets,
and wove themselves
into the seams of the system,
eroded the power base,
disturbed the web,
and subverted the way things are.
and one day at the rice factory
the doors broke off,
and the factory owner was led off,
looking more like a slave than an oppressor.
his rice factory shut down hard,
and Amol and his family walked out into open air
with no one at their heels.
no one to capture them.
no one to haul them back.
no one to force them inside
that kiln of despair ever again.
Amol, a Hindu,
knows he and his family were considered
worth saving,
worth praying for,
worth fighting for,
and he says he knows a multitude of prayers delivered him...
his oldest son aspires to be
a brain surgeon.
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