Wednesday morning we drive to the Christian Children's Fund village, the first place Caroline visited in India and where she met Papa. Traveling with her friend Chris Monheim in 2000, they came to check on Manus, a boy Chris had been sponsoring through CCF. Caroline wasn't even convinced that Manus was real. But he was, and he had received every donation and present that Chris had sent him. Papa worked with CCF, and it was during their visit to Manus that he told them of his orphanage and took them to the ashram. The children captured Caroline's heart, as they have mine, and The Miracle Foundation was born.

On the way to Manus' village, we stop first at another village to visit Bonnie, a little girl whom Caroline's niece sponsors. The niece's grandmother recently passed away and left her $1,000, which she wanted to donate to Bonnie for a dowry and to build a house. Caroline is going to present the money to Bonnie and her mother today.

When we arrive and approach the little plaster and thatched-roof house, we are treated to a charming ritual. A woman comes out and lays down a small wooden platform, kneeling before it with a bowl of yellow water. Papa explains that this is a powder mixed into the water for this blessing. One by one, we remove our shoes and step on the platform, where the woman washes our feet and then takes a blessing from them. Walking over the threshold into the house, a young girl takes a handful of rice and fresh white flowers from another bowl and sprinkles it over our heads. We crowd into a tiny room with Bonnie and her mother, while half a dozen Indians crowd the doorway to watch. Of course, immediately the sodas are brought, including the Indian version of Coke called Thums Up, which tastes sort of like a salty Tab. Although most of us don't even drink sodas very much, here we find ourselves gulping down Thums Up after Orangina constantly, in response to their hospitality. The purchase of 11 sodas is not insignificant here.

Papa explains to Bonnie about the bequest left to her, and her mother asks if some of it can be used for a dowry when Bonnie marries. It is decided that $700 will go toward building a new house, and $300 will be Bonnie's dowry - a substantial sum that will go a long way toward securing her future. I am amazed that $700 can build a house, but it is a huge sum of money for this village.

Leaving Bonnie's family, we drive another half hour through beautiful countryside, seeing occasional workers in the fields, harvesting or cutting bricks out of the natural stone hills. We come to a stop at a railroad crossing - the barricades are down, but a train is nowhere to be seen. Finally, it comes into view on the horizon, chugging along at about five miles an hour. After about fifteen minutes the train finally passes us and the barricades lift - one more sign of the no-hurry Indian philosophy. A little further down the road, we pass a line of women walking down the side of the road with some sort of branches or grain balanced on their head.

Finally we come to the CCF village where Manus lives. They are expecting us, and follow us as we leave the cars and tour the village. The foot-washing ritual occurs again, and more Thums Up are brought out to us, which we choke down with a gracious smile. Caroline gives Manus and his brother small gifts of magnet toys, and all the children candy.

There is another gift for this village, and Papa leads us to the community center for presentation. The community center is a tiny dwelling, about twelve feet by five, with open windows and a dirt floor. Back home, it would perhaps be fit for livestock. The bequest this time is money donated personally by Caroline and Chris Monheim, to improve and expand this community center, which is the heart of village life. There is much pomp and circumstance surrounding this gift. Papa selects three villagers who will do the work - they are brought forward for a prayer and a blessing. Papa makes a speech, something I suspect that, for all his humility, he loves to do whenever there's a crowd.

But it's not finished there. No, a contract must be signed! A piece of paper is found, a pen, and Papa labors over just the right words, the flowery formal language which he puts down on the paper. The ten of us sit inside the community center with Papa, waiting for the ritual to be concluded. When the contract is finished it is sent out, and still we wait. After a while, the paper comes back - it has been signed by all the villagers! Another ceremony is performed over the finished contract, another prayer song. Then, we head back to the cars, Papa leading the villagers in a parade chanting "Long live Caroline," which embarrasses her. I find it a validation of just how much a small amount of money means to these people, just how greatly their lives can be changed with a little assistance, something we would take for granted and never even miss.

From the village we head back to Cuttack, where we have been invited to lunch at Papa's office. For the first time, we are served something which I cannot bring myself to eat. It turns out to be mutton, and it's just too terrible to consider. I eat around it, the rice and the potatoes. Matt is the only one actually eating the mutton, and quickly everyone else's portions land on his plate. It seems so rude to us, an affront to their hospitality, to leave food on our plate. Also, in this land of constant want, it seems extremely wasteful. Matt, to the rescue, eats everyone's mutton, something for which we will all be eternally grateful to him for.

After lunch, to no one's surprise there is more waiting. We sit around Papa's office while he talks on the phone and walks in and out. I rest my head on my knees - moments later Papa is taking me by the wrist. "Come, come" he says, pulling me up and leading me to a back room. "You take rest." He sets me down on a bed; Caroline is already on a second bed in the room. We lie there, looking at the ceiling, taking rest at Papa's command.

After another hour or so, Caroline tells Papa that we really must head to the ashram - we have ordered ice cream and there is to be an ice cream party at 4:30 that we don't want to be late for!

Arriving, the ice cream is waiting for us and so are the children. Miilly and Babu line them up, as we pull out the ice cream and the soda for floats, and start serving it up in four lines. Not surprisingly, the kids love this! For over half an hour the only sound that can be heard is "slurp, slurp, slurp." They come back for seconds and thirds, which we keep giving out until the ice cream is gone.

Midway through the party I notice that I haven't seen Santosh. I ask some of the other boys about him, and they tell me he's up at the top of the stairs. I go up and find him, sitting alone and seeming sad. I sit with him for a bit, then bring him downstairs; but he doesn't seem interested in the ice cream. I ask Madu if something is wrong; she takes him into the boys' room and talks to him for a minute, coming out to tell me that he misses his mother. I feel it in my heart, and I know that although they are loving us being here, it can only at times make them miss the presence of their own parents. The good of us being here, loving these children and giving to them something of ourselves, outweighs any heaviness of sorrow. But it's easy to miss the sorrow most of the time, in the presence of the happiness and love that the ashram is filled with all of the time. I remember that, after all, these children are orphans, most of them through abandonment rather than death. It renews more than ever my committment to them; a committment of money, time, and most of all my love.