WHISTLE BLOWER: Sister Jesme

What inspired me to write my autobiography? The decision was taken while I was travelling by the Mangala Express from Delhi to Ernakulam, from the start to the last station of the train. It was not the usual travel, for I was passing from one significant phase of my life to another, after a long period of 33 years in the convent. There were friends to help me but the decision to leave is mine. Of course, the guidance is from my beloved Lord Jesus.

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The time for my promotion arrives when it is noticed that I am to urgently attend a Refresher Course. Sister Susie gives me a notification from Dharwar University in Karnataka which offers a course in English. Ringing up Directory I reserve a seat for me. From the Directory I get the address of a convent nearby and send a letter to them asking for accommodation for three weeks. Next is my duty to book tickets to and fro.…

Accordingly the ticket to Bangalore is reserved and that evening to Dharwar by the Rani Chennamma Express train. My idea is to spend the day in the Waiting Room for Ladies in Bangalore and then resume my journey. But the sisters in the convent suggest a Father’s place to take rest. I am given the address of a priest who is well known and is noted for his celibacy and holiness; he rarely looks at women. I write a letter to which a prompt reply from the Father assuring me of a “royal welcome” is received. The day of departure is nearing; some uneasiness is sprouting within me. As usual I tell Jesus: “If you don’t want me to go for the course please show me a distinct sign.”

Jesus shows the sign in the form of a viral fever. I am bedridden, shivering with fever, intense body pain, and lack of appetite. My appointment to be the judge for the Poet/Artist Day at Amala College is cancelled. Travel on the next day by train to Dharwar is unthinkable. My desire is to tell the Principal that I am unable to travel and to cancel the ticket. But she dashes to the sick room: “Are you planning to waste the money of the college? Get up and prepare for the journey. The promotion is very urgent.”

“Sister, I still have fever. Besides I haven’t got a letter from the convent there regarding my accommodation.”

“These are your silly excuses. You should go at any cost.”

That is final. The Superior looks at me sympathetically. I can’t expect my mom’s concern from anyone here.

With fever I take a bath, get ready and reach the railway station. I know my will power is doing a miracle. When I board the train I am as healthy as I can be. But the question lingers within. “Why did Jesus give the signal to tell me not to go?’ I get the answer only later.

Reaching Bangalore station early morning, I step down and see the Priest impatiently waiting for me. He is much excited and hugs me, quite unusual for his reticent nature. As promised, “royally” I am taken to his residing place. After breakfast he takes me to the Lalbagh Park, despite my reluctance. He has a hidden agenda in taking me there, I realise soon. Pointing to each pair of boy and girl underneath the trees he gives an oration on the need for physical love. Then he narrates the cases of priests and bishops who have illicit relationships with women. He also quotes the example of a bishop who regularly sleeps with a woman, has a child from her and makes arrangements for the maintenance of the child. I find his strange behaviour and manner of talking a little awkward. Later I am taken to his room for coffee prepared by him. While I am drinking my coffee sitting on the cot, the only available place to sit, he sits beside me and embraces me hard, almost suffocating me.

When I struggle to escape from his clutches he asks me to show my breasts to him. Refusing angrily I get up but he forces me to sit down asking: “Have you seen a man?”

I shake my head. In no time he undresses himself; now I am curious enough to watch. I have read in the novels about it but have never seen it with my naked eyes. The moment I see I remember Sylvia Plath’s novel, The Bell Jar, where she describes it as “the head of a tortoise.”

After a while he shows me a milky liquid and gives a sermon on the “thousands of lives” it has. Although I resist undressing myself, after repeated persuasion I oblige and show him “a female” on the condition that it would be for the twinkle of an eye. I am then taken to the railway station for my onward journey. I regret the event later because I never wanted this to happen. In a convent life we least expect molestation of this type. Are we safe even within or without the Four Walls of Seclusion? Somehow my tendency is to blame the Principal who forced me to go, despite the warning of Jesus.

An extract from the Malayalam book
Amen: The Autobiography of a Nun by Sister Jesme
Publishers: DC Books, Kottayam, Kerala;
Price: Rs 100