The following testimony is of Narayan Gowda, former leader of a radical Hindu gang and persecutor of Christians, who became a servant to persecuted Christians. Please excuse any misspelled words or grammar errors, I had to type it out myself. (VOM, Oct. 07, pg 3-8)
I was taken to Hindutva training camps, where some teachers used to come to teach us. They encouraged us to use violence against anyone who did not subscribe to their ideal of the Hindu nation. As a young man, I attracted the attention o f the leadership of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), which is the fountainhead of all India’s radical Hindutva groups. (These identify Christian pastors, missionaries, and even leaders of orphanages as enemies.) We wore a type of uniform to identify ourselves. This was khaki knickers, a white shirt, and a black belt for group leaders and brown for senior leaders. Specially prepared long sticks were carried during parades and ceremonies of support the people gave us. We told our mentors in the RSS that we could do anything we wanted without fear at all because ‘We are behind you.’
Every time we did some ‘brave’ exploits like intimidating or beating up some unarmed Christian preacher or group of Muslims, we were treated like heroes, garlanded, given respect and provided with plenty of liquor to drink. I struggled with guilt because of the terrible things I was doing. I feared the God of the Christians would punish me for my acts against them. I became a heavy drug user. All of my personal expenses, including my liquor and drugs, were paid for by the RSS, or through crimes I committed, protected by my ‘political’ associations.
Once we walked into a small, poor home with very little furniture and paint peeling off the walls. We saw a middle-aged, thin man sitting on the floor on a red mat eating a dinner of ragi balls and dhal. We walked up to him, shouted curses at him and used sticks to strike him on the head and shoulders. He was a Christian pastor, Brother G.; his wife’s name was sister E. They used to work in and around Rejengunde and other neighboring villages. He returned to his home after praying for a sick person. We beat 52-year-old Brother G., tore his clothes and left him to die.
The gang I led had 14 members of young men from the ages of 20-35. We recruited gang members from the poor families who did not have any hope for their economic future. We carried out attacks by first by going to a bar and drinking. While the gang got drunk, I would teach them to hate Christians and prepare them to carry out the attacks. The RSS provided the funds for our alcohol. They covered all of our other expenses for executing the attacks.
We became tremendously unpopular with the local police officials because they were never able to make any charges stick. They paid me back by subjecting me to severe torture, including immersing my legs in ice while they beat me up. The injuries never showed when they produced me for the next magistrate the next day. My family was the only one to welcome me or speak to me.
One day, my RSS mentors showed me a small brick building roofed with asbestos sheets in Yeshwantpur, near Bangalore. This was where a pastor had constructed a place of worship with contributions painstakingly collected from his flock-mostly poor migrant workers living in the surrounding shanty town. They had saved for several years to build this basic facility. I was told to break it down and kill the pastor and his family.
My gang and I had often threatened the pastor as he worked among the poor in that place. We chose a dark night and went to this shed. To tear apart the building, we used hammers, pickaxes and other metal tools. We quickly and quietly pried open the portions of the building using the tools. Then we went to look for the pastor and his family. Providentially, the pastor had sent his family away on a family visit and he, himself, was at an all night prayer meeting he was conducting elsewhere. When he was informed of the demolition of their church, the pastor rushed to the ruins.
A police officer met with him and urged him to name anyone he suspected. The pastor knew we had done it, but the pastor refused to name us. He have a statement in writing that he did not charge anyone with the crime, and that he prayed for their forgiveness. His letter still exists in the files of the police. The police officer begged, pleaded and even threatened, but the pastor was unmoved.
The actions of these Christians and those of the others we attacked clearly showed me God’s grace and forgiveness in an entirely new way. I saw the same incredible actions of forgiveness from different Christians I attacked. The church decided to get together and pray for the gang, and they began a fasting and prayer meeting immediately. The names of me and the other gang members were circulated to prayer warriors all over the city and many prayed for our salvation.
My mother, a hindu, in her own way, had also been praying for a change in my life. She undertook Hindu ceremonies and fasting for this purpose. My mother decided to make what can be considered and ultimate sacrifice fir a married Hindu woman. She decided she would offer her mangalsutra as an offering in exchange for having her son changed. (A mangalsutra is a token of marriage, usually very valuable objects with a lot of gold, but also considered to have a great spiritual significance in a Hindu woman’s life.) The Hindu spiritual leaders took the mangalsutra and conducted the rituals, but there was no affect. Seeing there was no change, she began to get discouraged and took ill and was rushed to the hospital.
While she was in the hospital, the chaplain in the hospital occasionally visited her bedside and gave her a book-The New Testament. But she refused to be prayed for, though she asked for prayers for her wayward son. The chaplain asked her what her son’s name was, and she told him my name was-Narayan Gawda. He recognized the name, but did not reveal he had been praying for my salvation as part of the prayer and fasting vigil connected with the church I had destroyed. My mother took the New Testament home with her when she was discharged, believing it to be a holy book, and carefully placed it on the bookshelf in the front room.
A few days later, I went home unexpectedly. Even as I was taking off my shoes by the door, my eyes fell on this strange black book with a cross in it! I yelled at my mother and demanded she explain why she had brought this book home. She rushed up to me and implored I should not show disrespect to the book as it was a holy book. But she, herself, had not read it nor did she have any faith in it, but had a superstitious fear that any harm to the book would bring bad luck.
During my visit, I picked up the book and read it a few times. I found a new kind of peace in my heart. I left home a few days after some good sleep, leaving a full drug syringe under my pillow. I had not had a proper night’s sleep in a long time. Often I woke up in the night and took a shot of drugs. I was never far from a syringe at any time. This was the first time in years I had slept soundly and even forgot about the drugs for any length of time!
I was profoundly shocked. I could not understand it. I slowly began to go home more often. My mother told me that the bible had been given to her by the people in the hospital. I went to the hospital one day and asked to see the chaplain. I introduced myself as Narayan Gowada, the son of the lady who had received the Bible from him. Upon seeing me, alarm jumped into his eyes. He had heard of my anti-Christian sentiments and thought I had come to pick a quarrel with him! I assured him it was not so and I wanted to learn more about this Bible. But he was not eager to talk to me.
He invited me to attend the service in the church at the hospital on Sunday morning. On Sunday morning, I left for the church at the hospital compound. It was a whole new experience and hard to put into words. The whole large gathering sang songs and praised God together, they prayed and worshiped. I sat alone in a corner, overwhelmed with this experience of worship of God by His people, with reverence and order. A message from the bible was preached, and I began to listen with my whole being. It was strangely fulfilling! A peace stole into my heart that morning.
That week I went back to my friends. We were all sitting at a roadside heating house. Drinks were served, but the glass in front of me remained untouched. Suddenly, one of my friends asked ‘You seem different, silent. And why are you not drinking?’ I replied, ‘I have no desire to drink or smoke. I don’t know why!’ Everybody began to talk of the change in me, how I had become quiet, silent, calm, and no longer violent.
One Sunday morning as I was leaving for church, my mother stopped me with a stern remark. ‘Where do you think you are going? I have been watching you. You seem to spend all your time reading that book and now you have started to go to church regularly. What is all this?’ I replied, ‘I find it very peaceful and pleasant to attend church. Why do you not come, too, and see?’ She was furious.
After that, things changed from me at home. The same mother who prayed to her gods to change me was not able to accept my changed life. She said that I had been brainwashed, that I had lost my mind. One afternoon, it was lunchtime, and everyone assembled to eat. She told me to wash my hands. I did and joined the rest of the family. But she said, ‘Not here. Your place is there!’ She pad put a plate and glass at the doorway near the entrance. I said, ‘So many people do not have their mother cook and serve meals. I don’t mind, please serve me, I will eat here!’ My mother spat in my face at there words. I said nothing. I quietly wiped her spit from my face and sat down to eat my meal.
The neighbors who lived on our street also showed their disapproval of my hobnobbing with the Christians. As I would walk past them, they said loud, critical comments about people who had given up their gods of their ancestors and now prayed to the gods of outcasts and untouchables. In spite of the persecution, I did not leave home, nor did I go back to my old friends. Then one day, I was thrown out of my house and had to take refuge in the homes of other Christians. I assisted a pastor with his evangelical work, and he took care of my needs. I was given a small shed to live in.
I went to the police station to meet the assistant commissioner of police in my area. The same man who had been an inspector of police when I was active as a local tough. As I walked in, he looked up to greet me. I was surprised, but introduced myself as Narayan Gowada. He was shocked. He could not believe I was the same person who had been such a headache to the entire police force of the city! He had, himself, many times given me third degree treatment in his police station and abused me.
He listened with incredulity as I related my life story and made several disclosures about crimes I had committed and asked to be charged for them. He looked at me for a moment. Then he sat down, called for my files, and made a note on them, stood up, and walked towards me, adjusting his belt. I thought he would now take the opportunity to pay me back for the numerous times I had harassed him and caused him trouble, by lashing me. But he came and stood in front of me, laid his hand on my shoulder and said ‘Mr. Narayan Gowda, your Yesu Christu (Jesus Christ) has done what an entire police force and the laws of this country could not do-He has changed you into a law abiding citizen. I have closed the files against you. You are a free man. You can go!’
Can there be a better example of God’s grace in operation? Hallelujah! Eventually my pastor also arranged my wedding with a poor but committed Christian girl, and we are blessed with two young children. We serve the Lord as a family, and sometimes I share the same pulpit as the dear pastor whose life and family I had threatened and whose church I had demolished. The joy that fills my life cannot be explained in words as I share my testimony and give the gospel. All praise and glory be to God, who saved me from darkness and brought me into His marvelous light!”
Narayan Gowda. Former persecutor of Christians, is now suffering persecution from Hindu radicals. On June 8, 2007, at 6:30 pm, a crowd of about 150 radical Hindu activists were bussed in from different parts of the city to gather outside pastor Narayan Gowda’s house in Hessarghatta, near Bangalore. The leaders of the mob were from the Bajring Dal, the youth wing of the Vishwa Hindu Parishad. The radicals brought cans of fuel and threatened to burn him alive. The crowd’s complaint against him was that he has been converting Hindus to Christianity. The crowd grabbed Narayan Gowda and beat him severely in front of his wife and children as police looked on.
Attackers poured fuel on his house, furniture, and Bibles and lit them on fire. One of the attackers dumped fuel on Pastor Gowda and then threw a burning Bible at him. Thankfully, Pastor Gowda did not catch fire. The radicals tore his some of his clothes and hung a sign around his neck that said, “I am the one who is converting people.” Pastor Gowda had cuts and bruises and was nearly unconscious when he was arrested under the charges of forced conversion. He was taken to the clinic and then the Devanahalli police station.
VOM workers were able to secure his release from jail at 2 am the morning following his attack. He remained in jail for a few more days because of the internal bleeding he suffering during the beating. Pastor Gowda and his congregation decided not to press charges: instead, they extended forgiveness. Pastor Gowda recently told a VOM field worker, “I forgive them because Jesus has shed his blood for me.” The attackers intended to make them an example to other Christians.
Pastor Gowda has been working in this area for the last 12 years. His faith and desire to minister in the area have not wavered as a result in this attack, but rather he has become even bolder in evangelism and speaking out against evils done to Christians in India.
I was taken to Hindutva training camps, where some teachers used to come to teach us. They encouraged us to use violence against anyone who did not subscribe to their ideal of the Hindu nation. As a young man, I attracted the attention o f the leadership of the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), which is the fountainhead of all India’s radical Hindutva groups. (These identify Christian pastors, missionaries, and even leaders of orphanages as enemies.) We wore a type of uniform to identify ourselves. This was khaki knickers, a white shirt, and a black belt for group leaders and brown for senior leaders. Specially prepared long sticks were carried during parades and ceremonies of support the people gave us. We told our mentors in the RSS that we could do anything we wanted without fear at all because ‘We are behind you.’
Every time we did some ‘brave’ exploits like intimidating or beating up some unarmed Christian preacher or group of Muslims, we were treated like heroes, garlanded, given respect and provided with plenty of liquor to drink. I struggled with guilt because of the terrible things I was doing. I feared the God of the Christians would punish me for my acts against them. I became a heavy drug user. All of my personal expenses, including my liquor and drugs, were paid for by the RSS, or through crimes I committed, protected by my ‘political’ associations.
Once we walked into a small, poor home with very little furniture and paint peeling off the walls. We saw a middle-aged, thin man sitting on the floor on a red mat eating a dinner of ragi balls and dhal. We walked up to him, shouted curses at him and used sticks to strike him on the head and shoulders. He was a Christian pastor, Brother G.; his wife’s name was sister E. They used to work in and around Rejengunde and other neighboring villages. He returned to his home after praying for a sick person. We beat 52-year-old Brother G., tore his clothes and left him to die.
The gang I led had 14 members of young men from the ages of 20-35. We recruited gang members from the poor families who did not have any hope for their economic future. We carried out attacks by first by going to a bar and drinking. While the gang got drunk, I would teach them to hate Christians and prepare them to carry out the attacks. The RSS provided the funds for our alcohol. They covered all of our other expenses for executing the attacks.
We became tremendously unpopular with the local police officials because they were never able to make any charges stick. They paid me back by subjecting me to severe torture, including immersing my legs in ice while they beat me up. The injuries never showed when they produced me for the next magistrate the next day. My family was the only one to welcome me or speak to me.
One day, my RSS mentors showed me a small brick building roofed with asbestos sheets in Yeshwantpur, near Bangalore. This was where a pastor had constructed a place of worship with contributions painstakingly collected from his flock-mostly poor migrant workers living in the surrounding shanty town. They had saved for several years to build this basic facility. I was told to break it down and kill the pastor and his family.
My gang and I had often threatened the pastor as he worked among the poor in that place. We chose a dark night and went to this shed. To tear apart the building, we used hammers, pickaxes and other metal tools. We quickly and quietly pried open the portions of the building using the tools. Then we went to look for the pastor and his family. Providentially, the pastor had sent his family away on a family visit and he, himself, was at an all night prayer meeting he was conducting elsewhere. When he was informed of the demolition of their church, the pastor rushed to the ruins.
A police officer met with him and urged him to name anyone he suspected. The pastor knew we had done it, but the pastor refused to name us. He have a statement in writing that he did not charge anyone with the crime, and that he prayed for their forgiveness. His letter still exists in the files of the police. The police officer begged, pleaded and even threatened, but the pastor was unmoved.
The actions of these Christians and those of the others we attacked clearly showed me God’s grace and forgiveness in an entirely new way. I saw the same incredible actions of forgiveness from different Christians I attacked. The church decided to get together and pray for the gang, and they began a fasting and prayer meeting immediately. The names of me and the other gang members were circulated to prayer warriors all over the city and many prayed for our salvation.
My mother, a hindu, in her own way, had also been praying for a change in my life. She undertook Hindu ceremonies and fasting for this purpose. My mother decided to make what can be considered and ultimate sacrifice fir a married Hindu woman. She decided she would offer her mangalsutra as an offering in exchange for having her son changed. (A mangalsutra is a token of marriage, usually very valuable objects with a lot of gold, but also considered to have a great spiritual significance in a Hindu woman’s life.) The Hindu spiritual leaders took the mangalsutra and conducted the rituals, but there was no affect. Seeing there was no change, she began to get discouraged and took ill and was rushed to the hospital.
While she was in the hospital, the chaplain in the hospital occasionally visited her bedside and gave her a book-The New Testament. But she refused to be prayed for, though she asked for prayers for her wayward son. The chaplain asked her what her son’s name was, and she told him my name was-Narayan Gawda. He recognized the name, but did not reveal he had been praying for my salvation as part of the prayer and fasting vigil connected with the church I had destroyed. My mother took the New Testament home with her when she was discharged, believing it to be a holy book, and carefully placed it on the bookshelf in the front room.
A few days later, I went home unexpectedly. Even as I was taking off my shoes by the door, my eyes fell on this strange black book with a cross in it! I yelled at my mother and demanded she explain why she had brought this book home. She rushed up to me and implored I should not show disrespect to the book as it was a holy book. But she, herself, had not read it nor did she have any faith in it, but had a superstitious fear that any harm to the book would bring bad luck.
During my visit, I picked up the book and read it a few times. I found a new kind of peace in my heart. I left home a few days after some good sleep, leaving a full drug syringe under my pillow. I had not had a proper night’s sleep in a long time. Often I woke up in the night and took a shot of drugs. I was never far from a syringe at any time. This was the first time in years I had slept soundly and even forgot about the drugs for any length of time!
I was profoundly shocked. I could not understand it. I slowly began to go home more often. My mother told me that the bible had been given to her by the people in the hospital. I went to the hospital one day and asked to see the chaplain. I introduced myself as Narayan Gowada, the son of the lady who had received the Bible from him. Upon seeing me, alarm jumped into his eyes. He had heard of my anti-Christian sentiments and thought I had come to pick a quarrel with him! I assured him it was not so and I wanted to learn more about this Bible. But he was not eager to talk to me.
He invited me to attend the service in the church at the hospital on Sunday morning. On Sunday morning, I left for the church at the hospital compound. It was a whole new experience and hard to put into words. The whole large gathering sang songs and praised God together, they prayed and worshiped. I sat alone in a corner, overwhelmed with this experience of worship of God by His people, with reverence and order. A message from the bible was preached, and I began to listen with my whole being. It was strangely fulfilling! A peace stole into my heart that morning.
That week I went back to my friends. We were all sitting at a roadside heating house. Drinks were served, but the glass in front of me remained untouched. Suddenly, one of my friends asked ‘You seem different, silent. And why are you not drinking?’ I replied, ‘I have no desire to drink or smoke. I don’t know why!’ Everybody began to talk of the change in me, how I had become quiet, silent, calm, and no longer violent.
One Sunday morning as I was leaving for church, my mother stopped me with a stern remark. ‘Where do you think you are going? I have been watching you. You seem to spend all your time reading that book and now you have started to go to church regularly. What is all this?’ I replied, ‘I find it very peaceful and pleasant to attend church. Why do you not come, too, and see?’ She was furious.
After that, things changed from me at home. The same mother who prayed to her gods to change me was not able to accept my changed life. She said that I had been brainwashed, that I had lost my mind. One afternoon, it was lunchtime, and everyone assembled to eat. She told me to wash my hands. I did and joined the rest of the family. But she said, ‘Not here. Your place is there!’ She pad put a plate and glass at the doorway near the entrance. I said, ‘So many people do not have their mother cook and serve meals. I don’t mind, please serve me, I will eat here!’ My mother spat in my face at there words. I said nothing. I quietly wiped her spit from my face and sat down to eat my meal.
The neighbors who lived on our street also showed their disapproval of my hobnobbing with the Christians. As I would walk past them, they said loud, critical comments about people who had given up their gods of their ancestors and now prayed to the gods of outcasts and untouchables. In spite of the persecution, I did not leave home, nor did I go back to my old friends. Then one day, I was thrown out of my house and had to take refuge in the homes of other Christians. I assisted a pastor with his evangelical work, and he took care of my needs. I was given a small shed to live in.
I went to the police station to meet the assistant commissioner of police in my area. The same man who had been an inspector of police when I was active as a local tough. As I walked in, he looked up to greet me. I was surprised, but introduced myself as Narayan Gowada. He was shocked. He could not believe I was the same person who had been such a headache to the entire police force of the city! He had, himself, many times given me third degree treatment in his police station and abused me.
He listened with incredulity as I related my life story and made several disclosures about crimes I had committed and asked to be charged for them. He looked at me for a moment. Then he sat down, called for my files, and made a note on them, stood up, and walked towards me, adjusting his belt. I thought he would now take the opportunity to pay me back for the numerous times I had harassed him and caused him trouble, by lashing me. But he came and stood in front of me, laid his hand on my shoulder and said ‘Mr. Narayan Gowda, your Yesu Christu (Jesus Christ) has done what an entire police force and the laws of this country could not do-He has changed you into a law abiding citizen. I have closed the files against you. You are a free man. You can go!’
Can there be a better example of God’s grace in operation? Hallelujah! Eventually my pastor also arranged my wedding with a poor but committed Christian girl, and we are blessed with two young children. We serve the Lord as a family, and sometimes I share the same pulpit as the dear pastor whose life and family I had threatened and whose church I had demolished. The joy that fills my life cannot be explained in words as I share my testimony and give the gospel. All praise and glory be to God, who saved me from darkness and brought me into His marvelous light!”
Narayan Gowda. Former persecutor of Christians, is now suffering persecution from Hindu radicals. On June 8, 2007, at 6:30 pm, a crowd of about 150 radical Hindu activists were bussed in from different parts of the city to gather outside pastor Narayan Gowda’s house in Hessarghatta, near Bangalore. The leaders of the mob were from the Bajring Dal, the youth wing of the Vishwa Hindu Parishad. The radicals brought cans of fuel and threatened to burn him alive. The crowd’s complaint against him was that he has been converting Hindus to Christianity. The crowd grabbed Narayan Gowda and beat him severely in front of his wife and children as police looked on.
Attackers poured fuel on his house, furniture, and Bibles and lit them on fire. One of the attackers dumped fuel on Pastor Gowda and then threw a burning Bible at him. Thankfully, Pastor Gowda did not catch fire. The radicals tore his some of his clothes and hung a sign around his neck that said, “I am the one who is converting people.” Pastor Gowda had cuts and bruises and was nearly unconscious when he was arrested under the charges of forced conversion. He was taken to the clinic and then the Devanahalli police station.
VOM workers were able to secure his release from jail at 2 am the morning following his attack. He remained in jail for a few more days because of the internal bleeding he suffering during the beating. Pastor Gowda and his congregation decided not to press charges: instead, they extended forgiveness. Pastor Gowda recently told a VOM field worker, “I forgive them because Jesus has shed his blood for me.” The attackers intended to make them an example to other Christians.
Pastor Gowda has been working in this area for the last 12 years. His faith and desire to minister in the area have not wavered as a result in this attack, but rather he has become even bolder in evangelism and speaking out against evils done to Christians in India.
Comments