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N. Nagaraj

On a cold and rainy evening in Coonoor, the All Saints Church emerges as a bit of heaven in the middle of a rainy town.

It was cold and raining. As we walked up the narrow, winding lane, a jeep backing up too fast generously splattered us with mud. As though this was not enough, we walked up the steep curve only to find the gate locked.

Approaching the small house in Coonoor from the other side, one screamed, "Sir! Is anyone there?" Silence. Absolute silence. I could hear the pitter-patter of raindrops falling on my balding head and Bijoy's heavy and laboured breathing. We suddenly noticed a huge, shaggy dog staring at us, and backed off in unseemly haste to find ourselves stuck seemingly in the middle of nowhere unable to run or hide. Then we heard the door open and a woman's voice called out "Yaaru (who is it?)?"

We heaved a sigh of relief and walked back up the crooked and broken steps. She was the sexton's wife, told us he wasn't at home and asked us to come back after half-an-hour. We trudged back wearily to the main road and looked around for a decent restaurant to have breakfast.

This done, we returned to the sexton's house and found the dog glaring balefully at us again. The sexton's daughter told us that he'd gone off to the chaplain's. She then showed us the way to the chaplain's place and there we were met by the Reverend, who was happy to receive us. We told him about having some trouble finding the church and he said that we should just have asked for the "English Church".

As the sexton, Philip, unlocked the gates of the small, lovely, rain-drenched All Saints Church in Coonoor, we saw the already faded walls greying as the sky darkened with black, wet clouds. We walked slowly around the church while the sexton went to open the doors and fix up things for us inside. We found some beautiful epitaphs, and the atmosphere of quiet melancholy was deepened by water dripping from the crosses, the grey spires, the drooping flowers and the wet grass.

Once inside, Philip started a conversation with us about a few friends and their families. It was dark and cool inside the church. He was just asking us about something when he suddenly broke off. It must have been the look on our faces and I am sure our jaws dropped.

It was the lovely vision of faint light streaming through the beautiful stained glass window behind the altar. The composition was beautiful: The Crucifixion in the central panel, with The Good Samaritan to the left and The Good Shepherd to the right.

While we were just recovering from the simple beauty of the stained glass when we turned around looking for more, we were startled to see a bellows powered pipe organ in all its military beauty: standing tall, looking broad, and conveying a sense of quiet capability.

We found that there was only one old lady in the parish who could still play it, and the sexton plieed the bellows for her to play. We drank in the rest of the beautiful stained glass, and then gaped at the beautiful, well-organised and well-maintained furniture.

Just then, the clouds finished delivering their heavy load and the skies brightened. We walked out of the church in silence but happy at having found a bit of heaven in the middle of a rainy little town.

Picture by Bijoy Ghosh

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