In July 1998, during Guru-pournima, I traveled to Sai Baba's ashram in India with a group of nine young adult women and three chaperons from the North Central Region. While there, we volunteered at a medical camp, where I worked mostly in the makeshift pharmacy, which had the latest drugs as well as simple necessities such as multi-vitamin pills—all donated. The days I spent at this free clinic would alter my life forever.

The camp was located on the upper floor of the small general hospital attached to the ashram. Patients began lining up at 5 a.m. for the camp, which opened at 6 a.m. We were joining 108 other volunteers, including doctors, nurses, and pharmacists, as well as a few people with no medical background, like myself.

The first morning we arrived at the clinic, eager to begin our service. We soon were busy clearing a place for the patients' shoes, because in India people usually remove their shoes as they enter a building. Later in the day, when we went out to run errands, we were puzzled to find that no shoes had been left there— until we realized that the patients had none. Many of them had walked as much as 30 days on bare feet, hoping to see the "miracle" doctors and be cured.

In all. we saw 2,160 patients over the span of five days. But we were not able to help medically the two patients who ultimately had the greatest impact on my heart.

One of these patients was an elderly man with severe arthritis. According to camp medical director Dr. Prasad, the attending physician told the old man nothing could be done for him. The old man said that he had come from far away and had walked many days to get to the camp. He pleaded with the doctor to do something. The doctor said he was sorry, but medical science had no cure for him. The man was simply getting old and suffering from arthritis. The elderly man was crushed and asked how the doctor could let him down so. The doctor apologized again and turned to leave, but hesitated, turned back, and lovingly told the elderly man to wait in the hallway, because his prescription would be ready shortly.

What did the doctor prescribe? Multivitamin tablets—the little orange pills that I had counted thousands of times at the pharmacy to fill the hundreds of multivitamin prescriptions needed by the many severely malnourished patients. Filling all these prescriptions became dull at times. But knowing the story of the elderly man, I realized that every little orange pill I put into the envelopes was going to make a difference in someone's life. Although the multivitamins probably had a small effect on the elderly man's health, it was the sweetness and love with which the pills were given by the kind doctor that was the real medicine.

I picked up the next multivitamin prescription in the pile and went to fill it as I had filled at least 30 other such prescriptions that day. It called for drops, not tablets, so I knew that the patient was very young. When I looked for the age on the form, I found a question mark. I then looked at the space for the name, which also had a question mark. "That's odd," I thought. "How could someone not name their child or know how old it was?" To solve the mystery, I went down the hallway, crowded with patients, to the table where the pediatrician was seeing children, but I was completely unprepared for what I would find.

"This sheet doesn't have a name or age," I said. "Do you know how old the child is?"

"This is the prescription for the baby that was found ten days ago," she replied. "The baby is probably about two weeks old." I was shocked.

I went back up the hallway, searching for the woman who had discovered the baby. When I found her, she was clad in a simple sari, holding the tiniest infant I have ever seen. The baby's arms were skeleton-like, and when I reached down and touched the baby's head of soft black curls, I could easily feel the bony skull beneath them. The woman was cooing to the baby, who was looking back at her with large, beautiful, brown eyes—smiling, which is unusual for babies so young.

As I watched the woman talk to the tiny infant, I was overcome with the love that was pouring from the woman to the baby. I knelt down and let the infant grab my finger. Although weak and extremely malnourished, she had a strong grip. Then the infant turned her head and smiled at me. Soon I was lost in the depths of her big brown eyes and the sweet smile on her tiny lips.

The woman told me that she had been taking care of the infant and planned to continue doing so even though she had other children. Without being found, cared for, and accepted by this kind woman, the helpless infant would never have had a chance to live.

I will carry with me always the vivid, haunting picture of the little orphan, so malnourished I wondered how she could be alive, gazing up at me with a smile on her lips.

Perhaps, Swami was teaching me that I had to trust in him, just like the baby, who Baba had already provided for. This infant who could not speak, or even hold up her own head, taught me the greatest lesson of all—trust and acceptance. I know there will be other situations in the future where all I can do is smile, encourage, pray, and love, and then leave the rest to God. Sometimes all we can do is cling to our faith and trust in the Lord, because He is the Master Planner.

But now I had to leave this event so full of meaning for me. Reluctantly, I pulled my finger free of the little hand, stroked the tiny cheek, and returned to my duties at the pharmacy.

Volunteering at the medical camp had a tremendous impact on me. Toward the end of my trip, I realized I had gained as much from the experience as the patients had from the excellent care they received. I discovered I had more self-discipline and patience than I thought. I developed a strong sense of teamwork, as well as a new set of pharmaceutical skills. But most of all, I learned how very fortunate and blessed I was. Simple things like clean water, shoes, and decent medical care, which I take for granted in America, are not always available in India. Living, working, and interacting with all kinds of people allowed me not only to experience the rich tapestry of humanity but to see how very much we are all alike.

It is up to all of us to do everything we can to make this world a better place. Our contribution does not have to be grand. The simple act of putting a multivitamin tablet in an envelope can have great meaning for another person—especially if done with love.

— MJIH
Young Adult, North Central Region
Adapted from Flowers at His Feet,
Spring 1999