After a month, it was time to introduce me to penance also.
Every nun possesses two implements of penance.
One is called the discipline or flagellation, it is made of hemp with five hard rods, designed to hurt striking on bare flesh.
The other is a metallic cilice, a metal mesh with multiple metal endings which dig into the flesh, and worn around the thigh.
Three times a week, after the evening prayers, we would go silently to our cell.
There, we would pull down our inner pants, pull up the habit and bunch it around our waist, holding it in place with one hand.
The first time I did it, I felt very embarrassed until I reminded myself, all the nuns were doing the same.
The mother prioress would intone the psalm, miserere mei, Deus.
We join in, chanting or singing it while hitting ourselves in a left right left right hand motion, each stroke hitting at the bare flesh behind.
It is very hard to hurt oneself. I invariably felt guilty not hitting harder.
"Sister Immaculate, she hits so hard, her rods are bloodied," one young nun told me.
I tried it and succeeded only a couple of times, even then there were mere traces of blood.
The chain was easier to apply. I would close my eyes and tie it tightly at my upper thigh.
That done, one has to only endure the pain, instead of having to administer it with each stroke like the discipline.
However, the chain, tied tightly was very hard to endure.
It left me on edge, every step or movement I took was pure agony.
For some reason, the pain pulled at some nerve endings of my abdomen, adding to the discomfort.
Apart from physical penance, we were taught mortification of the senses.
I started applying it at the refectory.
Looking back, I wished I was not such an extremist.
Life was hard enough as it is, yet I seldom allow myself the pleasure of eating.
It was very easy to ruin a good meal because we always have a bowl of soup.
Often it was a very difficult to eat soup of mung beans.
All I had to do was pour that over my plate of vegetable and fish,
and the plate was rendered rather tasteless.
I craved cream crackers and would love to eat those served to us instead of bread.
Yet I seldom allowed myself to eat it.
Those days, I only had to be told something was not right, not good and I would not engage in it.
The same goes for whatever I was told would lead to attaining to God.
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