Adieu, Father Frank

I first met Father Frank after he came to St Joseph's Church in Sreemangal as the new parish priest in 1994, dedicating his life and knowledge to the disadvantaged groups including the Punjee and tea garden people for the next decade.

I can still picture him approaching me in his pale white t-shirt, loose trousers, a pair of sandals and a cross hanging from his neck, the shine of which was only dimmed by his radiant smile.

The thing that struck me the most about our first meeting was the clarity with which he spoke in Bangla. At that time, I was still unaware that he would turn out to be my guardian angel.

Father Frank Quinlivan, a Holy Cross seminarian, arrived in Bangladesh in 1979, from his hometown in Chicago. He had been ordained as a priest in 1970.

I was born into a family of tea workers. We were struggling when this American missionary entered my life. My younger brother Raju had just been born and I had to go to the tea estates to work, covering for my mother.

With four persons to feed, education was a luxury I never thought I would be able to afford until Father Frank set up a boarding facility for children.

As my father left me there, I found 16 others like me, most belonging to tea worker families, while a handful hailed from the Garo and Khasi communities. Father Frank ensured we were all fed and taught. He even visited the tea estates at least once a month.

At that time, spotting a foreigner in the estates was a rare sight. Most visitors would be accompanied by someone from the owners' side, while most foreigners never visited the workers' colonies.

However, Father Frank visited us often, making himself comfortable on a small stool as we had no chairs to offer. He soon won over the Punjee dwellers, who would run to him in times of need.

During our conversations, he always stressed how education was the only hope, as its light can ward off all darkness from our lives.

Even though he was a kind-hearted scholar, one day he surprised me with his strong will. It was perhaps the only day I had seen anger on his face and desperation in his eyes.

The incident occurred when he tried to take 10 sick female tea workers to Dhaka for treatment on a bus.

Unable to find seats for them, he fought with the driver and helper to accommodate the women inside the bus, until they finally complied.

With time, Father Frank grew old, but his magic wand kept helping hundreds, especially orphans, who wished to pursue higher studies.

Take my case for instance -- I would not be where I am today if he had not taken me off the meadows, where I grazed cows, and had me admitted to his school first, then at Notre Dame College.

I remember leaving home with only a torn blanket from my mother, which Father Frank had asked me to save while I used a new one that he bought for me before I departed for Dhaka.

He told me to have courage and have an honest heart. It was because of him that I did not lose my way, as his letters never stopped coming my way till I graduated and returned to my family.

However, with time, we lost touch, only to be reunited during his final days.

His eyes had become weaker and his arms were frail. But his heart was still strong, filled with hope and love for the poor and needy.

Despite battling old-age complications, Father Frank did not wish to be admitted to a famous hospital, nor did he board his flight to Thailand, where a wheelchair was waiting at the airport in Bangkok to take him to some of the best doctors.

Father Frank's last wishes were that we promise not to host any programme after he bids his final farewell. Then, he passed away silently on January 28, in a hospital bed in the capital, at the age of 81.

Now he rests at Holy Cross priest's cemetery in Bhadun, Gazipur, while students like me live on to narrate his legacy.