TESTIMONY 5

TESTIMONY 5

Name: Fr. Vincenzo
Surname: Pagano
Date & Place of Birth: Italy
Diocese / Congregation: PIME         
Profession / Occupation: Assistant Parish Priest, Avutapalli
Address: Avutapalli Post, Sacred Heart Church, Krishna District, Andhra Pradesh State
Relationship: Direct Witness, Assistant Parish Priest, Confessor

Date of Interview: 8 August 2009

 In the afternoon (1940-1944), the day of my transfer to Pedda Avutapalli (Avutapalli), I was reading something in the large room allotted to me, which is used at present as Sacristy, when the Church door slowly opened and I saw Brother Joseph Thamby for the first time. He was visibly in great pain, as his short hairs were straight up, the eyes blank, the body hunched, almost crushed and barely able to walk. I was wondering who he was and why he had come that way, when I noticed fresh blood stains in his hands, on his feet and on his heart…. Feigning surprise I asked him what that was: ‘Disease has come, Swami (priest). I beg you to let me wash here’ was the answer. ‘You should not be careless with razor blades or nails,’ I rebuked him while leading him to my bathroom, knowing very well that a mystery was there. I tried to apply water on his hands, but the pain grew and I stopped.  Suddenly, after a few minutes, Brother Joseph Thamby brightened up and smiling: ‘The disease has passed’ – said washing his hands and feet briskly. Not a sign of the inch-long wound appeared on his hands. It was Friday and the good Brother confided to me that the ‘Disease’ came every Friday at 3 p.m. and lasted for a full hour. Next time, not to fall prey to any delusion, I prepared some cotton and when he appeared again to wash his wounds, I applied cotton, which soon was soaked with fresh blood; and so remained after he washed.

As his Confessor, and because he asked me what to do to prevent these five wounds, I asked him back when exactly they appeared. ‘After I say the prayer of the Five Holy Wounds on Fridays’ – he admitted. ‘Well, stop saying that prayer and pray God to relieve you of this pain’.But the following Fridays the wounds appeared as usual, though he assured me of not saying that prayer. He was not pleased because those wounds, he told me, prevented him touring villages and he was terribly afraid of being discovered by people at large. After a few months I started noticing, beside the five wounds, even a score of red drops shining, rubin-like, all around his head. On Good Fridays he simply locked his room the whole day, and God only knows how he suffered along with our Saviour.

Brother Joseph Thamby was otherwise a very hearty, jolly, laughing man, who cooked his own tea and rice, very happy to share with any passing patient of the Dispensary run, in those days, by Fr. J. Calderaro himself. As he was not paid in any way by the Mission, I was sure that his rich disciples of the Kamma community (Boyapati family and others) were giving him rice and money, to make so many charities, but what was my surprise when, after his death, they assured me that he would never accept anything, except some cooked rice when he happened to be teaching them in their houses, and that grudgingly.

He spoke of the ASS of his body and made many penance, going without meals for days on end. Once in a while he came to ask me some half a Rupee on debt, but in a couple of days he came to drop a handful of change on my table, and ran away laughing when I shouted that it was ten times more his debt. He kept always calm and smiling, but before a wrong, a lie or an endured sinner he could scold, raise his voice and protest strongly, ready to fall down, after a few minutes, catch the feet and ask forgiveness for his anger. Usually he tendered advice by quoting verses of the Bible so apt and to the point that I was sure he could see the state of any soul.

After Mass on a first Friday he, who had been kneeling or, usually, bent face-down near the door, came to reprimand me for the many distractions I had during that celebration. I had to confess it was true because, new to Telugu, I had been all the time searching for key words like sword, pierce, knees, breaking etc. in order to preach before Holy Communion. I was simply astounded how he knew and from that day, I was very careful.

Then suddenly, one day, he came to ask me to come along to the Church and pray, because he was seeing awful things happening somewhere: many hundreds of boys were dropping from aero planes with huge ‘umbrellas’ while soldiers were shooting them in the air…Jesus, bleeding on His Cross-, told him: ‘I see how my children kill each other… Pray for peace and call also Father to pray for one hour’. It was wartime but news was scarce and the newspaper reported little fighting anywhere. I understood that something new had started. I prayed, but he, by my side was actually seeing the battle going on and was trembling and crying.  After the hour of prayers we came out and I asked him where was this happening!  He drew with his finger the shape of an island and pin-pointed the exact place on the northern tip of it. Next day the paper reported the German air-borne assault on the island of Crete and the raining of para-troupers on the airport on Malemi, the northern tip of it, defended by Australians and neo-Zelandese soldiers…While I was reading the paper sitting on my easy-chair he squatted down, asking for news.  Then, suddenly, he went blank into a trance. Though his eyes were open, they had no shine. He sat upright staring vacantly. I called, I shook him, but he did not change. I burned a match before his eyes, then under his hand. He did not move.  Then I waited. After some twenty minutes he came to life again and told me what he had seen the airport had been conquered and the fight moved now inland. I told him to tell me whatever he saw in future, as he was better than any newspaper or Radio. But the following days he came to ask news of the war as before, compelling me to buy the paper again…

On Wednesday of the Holy Week, Fr. Calderaro, he and myself were talking outside when Boyapati Francis, the first Kamma convert of Brother Joseph Thamby, came to say that the Swiss Sisters of the St. Anne’s Hospital had told him to take away his child, as he would die soon because he had vomited blood and they could not save him. The poor man started crying, while saying this. We fathers were very sorry for him, but Brother Joseph Thamby started laughing and said that the child would not die; it was a passing cloud…I could not help scolding him for this behaviour.  Did he know more than Sisters? And was this the way to comfort a very distressed man...’But I know that the baby will be all right, if only the Sisters keep him two days more’ was his smiling answer. Well, Francis could convince Sisters to keep the baby two days more. And it happened. On Saturday morning, while the Pascal bells were ringing, the baby opened his eyes and drank half a bottle of milk.  He was cured and was brought home safe and sound. These are the main experiences that I had personally with Brother Joseph Thamby, besides other things that I heard from other people.