Rushil, 55, sat at the marketplace, hoping his begging would earn enough to take care of his and his wife's needs. He'd stretch out his arms to passersby, showing them his hands and fingers that had been eaten away by leprosy. All that remained were the parts nearest to his palms.
People hurried past him. Some, out of pity and maybe a sense of religious duty, put a few coins in his hands.
Then Rushil heard his name. Four women clothed in white saris walked toward him, their faces beaming to see him. One, named Prashanthi, led the way.
"They help us in many ways," Rushil says. "They don't hate us... [Other people] don't like us; they don't want to come near us. But Sister Prashanthi and the team come, and they love us."
Something inside his heart leapt.
These women weren't embarrassed to be seen with him. They didn't say a quick hello and rush off. They stayed near, touched him, asked about his well-being.
"I was so much encouraged and glad that [Prashanthi] not only comes here and serves us and helps us in dressing our wounds … but she also, in public, in the marketplace, she wants to help us, she wants to be a source of encouragement, joy and happiness to us," Rushil says.
Prashanthi and her team of specialized women missionaries, Sisters of Compassion, love and serve the least of the least in their society. They consecrate at least three years of their lives to specifically minister to the downtrodden, offering them hope in Jesus' name.
A Prayer Coming to Life
In 2010, when Prashanthi was 17 years old, she said a prayer:
"Lord, you have given me life. You have given me hands. You have given me legs. All my body members are given by You, and I want to use it for Your glory. … You have given me two legs, and I want to walk for you. You have given me a mouth, and I want to say Your words to people."
Two years after she spoke that prayer, she was training to don the uniform of a humble servant who would live among widows and orphans, slum dwellers and leprosy patients. Her feet would tread the dusty roads of a leprosy colony. Her hands would feed those who had no fingers or hands. Her mouth would speak Christ's love, grace and hope to hurting souls starving for human kindness.
When Prashanthi and her fellow Sisters of Compassion arrived in Rushil's leprosy colony, people automatically knew they were there to help them. Their white saris and head coverings with gray trim, reminiscent of the Missionaries of Charity, opened doors for them that would have otherwise been shut. Instead of meeting them with hostility and skepticism, people willingly embraced them and opened their hearts to them. And people received love and grace in return.
