That the Lord offers protection to His surrendered souls is a tenet of all theistic religions and accounts for the fearlessness of His devotees. “Ye though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil for Thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me; Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou anointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over”. In the words of the twenty-third psalm, the Lord is accepted as a shepherd who protects his flock from harm, and this is the reason for their peace of mind despite all danger being present.

Becoming aware of the Lord’s protection is a blessing and a cause of indefatigable optimism in the face of all adversity, and it puts an end to complacency. This I can attest to. Being in many ways profoundly disqualified to be an overland driver, there had to be, apart from the imagined need, other reasons for persevering in such demanding work.

Some people wander the world with impunity, while others meet with calamity backing out of their driveways. Is there any guarantee that we shall accomplish today any small goal of endeavor? For peace of mind, it is propitious to envision the hand of the Lord in all things. However, is such elevated faith so easily earned that, in either joy or sorrow, we can experience the consolation of a loving father? Fortunate are simpletons so blessed with happenings that require no conjecture for their explanations and which, in their sheer incredibility, demand acknowledgment of divine will.

A minor miracle did occur beside the Grand Trunk Road somewhere between Amritsar and Delhi.

At that time, the Grand Trunk Road, which ran through Punjab and Haryana, was one of the fastest and best-maintained roads in India. The countryside was vibrant with agrarian industriousness, its fertile soils supporting wheat, cotton, and rice. Its highways and byways were pervasively trodden by man and beast, traversed by bicycle, bullock cart, and every means of simple conveyance imaginable. The presence of fast and furious heavily laden trucks, as much as anything, caused the driving to be hazardous and nerves to become ragged.

With relief, I exited the Grand Trunk Road and stemmed the flow of adrenaline. All the passengers had disappeared hungry and disheveled from the long drive, and I alone remained. The camping area, a makeshift arrangement of the local police authority, was an irregularly shaped field separated from the highway by an embankment and a sparse line of trees. That was enough to quell the clamor from beyond and create a sanctuary. There was no indication that camping had or would be going on there. However, as no objections were raised from any quarter, I proceeded to unload the gear from the roof rack of the Transit.

Morning and evening found me there, come hail or shine, pulling at ropes and offloading or stowing this and that. In central Afghanistan, in the Hindu Kush, I had prided myself on clambering around up there in the early morning, with a thin layer of ice covering everything and hands sore from the cold; an act of bravado that was far from providential. I shudder now at the thought of it, but the job had to be done, and schedules had to be maintained.

In this particular incident, there was no one around to witness the bravado and the result of yanking on a rope a tad too imprudently. We have all experienced the dramatic effects when the taut and the tangled suddenly and without warning become untaut and untangled, but perhaps not while balanced above six feet in the air on the top of a Ford Transit.

The natural inclination would have been some kind of impromptu back somersault, concluding with a flailing freefall and a thud that does not bode well. What actually happened was a minor miracle of acrobatics: I flew up over the roof rack rail, back, then perpendicularly down, landing perfectly flat on both feet. Overawed, I stood stock still, barely two feet away from the Transit. I remained, legs apart, feet anchored to the ground exactly where they had landed, body bent slightly forward, arms akimbo. I relished the moment and then looked around to see if there were any witnesses.

Ahead, only the tops of vehicles could be seen as they passed along the Grand Trunk Road below the embankment. Obliquely to my left at a distance of about one hundred and fifty feet, there was a single-story building, likely a police barracks. Outside it, their turbans already removed, two stout Punjabis were commencing their ablutions beside a hand pump. Behind and to my right lay nothing of note. Nobody in any direction had noticed, so there was nobody to make of it a random or chance bit of good fortune.