They Came to Live, While We Long to Leave
മലയാളത്à´¤ിൽ à´µാà´¯ിà´•്à´•ാൻ
Philipose Vaidyar
Some lives
pass quietly, leaving behind little more than memory. Others pass just as
quietly, yet leave behind something that continues to speak long after they are
gone.
This is
not a story of fame, position, or public recognition. It is a story of
choices—small, steady, and costly. Choices made far from home, among unfamiliar
people, for reasons that the world may not fully understand. There was a time when people left everything
they knew, not to gain, but to give. They came to places they had never seen,
to serve people they had never met, carrying a message they believed was worth
a lifetime.
What did
they see that made them come?
What did they believe that made them stay?
And what do their lives quietly ask of us today?
This
account is not just about the past. It is a mirror—and perhaps, a question we
may not easily answer.
I. The
Junction and the Story of Karunalaya
In 1970,
the "School Junction" on the main road in Chokkad was a place of
quiet, rhythmic ritual. As a primary schooler, I remember a woman in a crisp,
starched white uniform who would emerge from the metal-bodied jeep. She wasn't
there for us; she was there for the "special" patients waiting by the
roadside. I watched as she administered injections with clinical precision.
Later, I realized these were people from the neighborhood of the school suffering
from Tuberculosis, meeting her for their scheduled treatments- follow-up
injections.
This was
the strategic outreach of Karunalaya Hospital, a name that once
commanded deep respect throughout the Malappuram and Calicut districts. Founded
in 1958 by the American missionary Rev. Henry Otten (fondly known as
"Otten Saip"), the hospital was the crown jewel of the India
Evangelical Lutheran Church (IELC) mission in Malabar. It was a beacon of
hope, famous for two things: its persistent war against TB and being the only
sanctuary in the region for those bitten by the deadly cobras and kraits of the
rubber plantations.
Today,
that vibrant history feels like a haunting dream. The hospital compound looks
like a set of ruins; buildings are crumbling, and the wild jungle has reclaimed
the stone. The mission that once buzzed with life-saving medicine has seemingly
vanished, leaving only a thriving school on one side and a renovated chapel
on the other. On Sundays, about 50 or 60 people, the descendants of the original
staff and a few "floating members"- still gather to sing. They are the
last living echoes of a mission that once defined the landscape.
II. The
Tall Saip and the Malayalam Song
My
connection to Karunalaya deepened seven years after those childhood mornings.
The hospital was a landmark in our family history; even though it was 18 km
away—further than our usual town—it was where my eldest sister delivered her third daughter. In those days, if you wanted the best care in Nilambur
or Wandoor, you went to Karunalaya, led by the Ottens.
In 1980, I
finally saw the people behind the legend. At a camp in Malabar Christian
College, I met the tall, imposing Henry Otten and his wife, Mary
Esther. They were visiting the camp, and that evening they were introduced
to the students. I remember them standing together, two Americans who had given
their lives to the soil of Kerala, singing a Malayalam hymn. It was a very old,
common song, but hearing it from them made the mission feel personal, local,
and incredibly humble.
By 1985,
after my post-graduation, I learned that Henry Otten had passed away, but his
wife, Mary Esther Otten, still lived in the stone-walled bungalow on the Wandoor
campus. Following a recommendation from another missionary named Mike, I
decided to visit her.
I enquired
at the admin office, and they told me she was at the chapel but would soon be
visiting the wards. As I turned, there she was, walking slowly with a stick
attached to her arm, still moving among the people they had come to serve
decades before.
III. I Would Mean What You Say
“Good
morning,” I said as she approached the veranda from a patient’s room.
“Good morning, Philipose!” she replied instantly.
I was
amazed. We were meeting for the first time, yet she called me by name. When I
asked how she knew me, she explained that she had seen a photograph of me with
Mike during his earlier visit to her.
Mike was
an itinerant missionary. We had met when his truck team visited our area. Since
we had electricity at home and there was no power where the team was staying,
the team leader asked if I could host Mike for the night. That one night became
a week-long stay, a few months before this meeting.
That was
the essence of the Ottens: they did not just run a hospital; they took a deep
and personal interest in people. They remembered faces, wrote letters, and
cared about every individual who crossed their path.
We walked together
slowly to her stone-walled bungalow. Inside, she introduced me to her maid,
Maggy, in excellent Malayalam and watched me—a new visitor—with keen curiosity.
When Mrs. Otten offered me a drink and asked for my preference, I gave the
usual polite and indirect “no.” She responded immediately.
“See, I am
an American. I would mean what you say, so let me know.”
I smiled
and admitted that I would like to have tea. As we sat with our chai, she showed
genuine interest in my life and plans.
In late
1985, I was seriously considering spending a year in ministry before pursuing
studies at UBS. Eventually, I joined the UESI team for a year to experience
firsthand what full-time ministry would be like.
During
that year (1986–87), I visited Mrs. Otten whenever I could. After completing
the year of service, during one such visit, I shared my doubts about my next
step. She gave me simple but steady advice:
“Philipose, when you are doubtful, continue where you are.”
I took her
words seriously and stayed at home for another year, taking time to reflect and
decide, even though I had stepped out of work after the one-year commitment I
had made.
After a
year of waiting and reflection, I joined UBS in Pune with a growing clarity
toward missions. I began to see communication as a possible area of service
among the unreached. During my visits home during the vacations, I would discuss
these thoughts with Mrs. Otten. She also wrote to me several times while I was
at UBS.
Mrs.
Otten—affectionately called “Madaamma” in Malayalam—had several health
issues. She told me about her arthritis and the surgeries she had undergone,
including procedures on her knees and fingers. Some of her fingers were fixed
with screws, making it difficult for her to hold things or write. She could not
bend down to pick up anything that fell to the floor and used a long, lightweight wooden tool, in the shape of a pair of scissors, to lift things.
Yet, in
spite of all these limitations, she would take the time to write personal
letters to me. Knowing my interests, she would also send carefully selected
paper cuttings from magazines, about a workshop or a course on communication or
media.
Her life
quietly taught me that sincerity in words and consistency in action is what
gives true meaning to relationships.
.jpeg)
IV. Their
Life, Their Calling, Their Quiet Legacy
There was
a time when Wandoor was quieter and more distant, a place where sickness
lingered, and help was not easily found. Homes carried their burdens silently,
and trust did not come quickly to strangers. It was into this setting that Rev.
Henry Otten and Mary Esther Otten arrived, carrying a calling that did not seek
attention. They came not with a plan to speak first, but with a willingness to
remain.
They began
by seeing what others overlooked. Illness, isolation, and quiet suffering
shaped their response. In time, that response took form in Karunalaya Hospital.
It started small, yet it became a place where the sick were received without
hesitation and the poor without fear. People came as they were and were treated
with dignity, not questioned about belief or background.
Mary
Esther worked with steady hands, tending to the sick through long days that
often went unnoticed. Henry moved among the people, listening more than
speaking, allowing relationships to grow at their own pace. Trust was built
slowly, often beside a bed, within a home, or through repeated acts of care
that asked for nothing in return. Their lives spoke before their words did.
The ground
was not easy. Faith in this region was deeply rooted, and boundaries were
carefully held. The Ottens did not attempt to break through by force. They
stayed, they visited, and they spoke when invited. Reading rooms opened quiet
spaces for thought. Conversations unfolded naturally. Change did not come in
crowds, but in hearts shaped over time.
Their work
soon extended beyond their own hands. Local men and women stepped into the
story, carrying it forward in ways that belonged to the place itself.
Appukkuttan stood among those who bridged the early work with what would
follow, rooted in the community and trusted by its people. Others, pastors,
helpers, and unnamed workers, became part of a movement that no longer depended
on its founders.
Healing
led to a deeper vision. Education emerged as a natural extension, opening doors
for children and families who needed more than relief for the moment.
Institutions like Otten Memorial School grew from this vision, shaping lives
across communities. Many who entered those classrooms carried forward something
they could not fully name, yet it remained with them.
Time has
changed the landscape. Buildings have aged, and silence now rests where there
was once steady movement. Paths may be overgrown, yet the memory of what took
place still lingers. The place was never empty. It was filled with lives
touched, prayers whispered, and stories that continue far beyond Wandoor and
Nilambur.
Their
legacy was never built on visibility or speed. It was formed through staying,
through serving, and through a faith that trusted its work would endure. What
began quietly continues to echo, carried in people, in memory, and in the
unseen ways that outlast a lifetime.
V. A
Place Waiting for Renewal
Now, as I
stand among what remains of Karunalaya, with bushes, creepers, and climbers
wrapping themselves around the spreading trees, I am filled with a quiet sense
of awe. God once used this place to bring healing to many, to witness countless
births, and to restore lives, even saving those struck by poison.
Many who
first saw the light of day here now live across Wandoor, Nilambur, and far
beyond—families, workers, parents, and leaders whose lives began within these
walls. The life that once filled this place has not disappeared; it has simply
moved outward into the world.
What once
echoed with life now stands still. Yet it does not feel forgotten.
The Ottens
no longer live here, but their memory is etched into this soil. Every wall,
every path, seems to hold a story of care, sacrifice, and service.
Karunalaya
is not just a place of the past—it is a place waiting. Waiting for renewal.
Waiting for a fresh vision. Waiting to be shaped again for this generation, in
ways that can continue its legacy of healing and hope.
Perhaps
what we see as ruins today may yet become the foundation for something new.
.jpeg)
VI. A
Living Legacy
Rev. Henry
Otten finished his earthly journey in India. He did not return; he remained
among the people he had come to serve. His tomb, near the chapel cum the
Lutheran Church, is still well maintained—a quiet testimony of a life poured
out in obedience.
Adjacent
to the hospital compound, a well-established English medium school now stands, Otten Memorial, shaping young lives and
equipping students to face their future with dignity and hope. What began as a
mission has become a movement of transformation.
Mary
Esther Otten returned to her home country along with her son, Joel Otten, and
completed her race there. Yet their work did not end with their departure.
Their son, Joel Otten, continues to remain actively involved in supporting the
ministries of the Lutheran mission in India.
May the
name of the Lord be glorified. May the seeds sown by this couple, and by many
others like them in our land, continue to bear fruit—fruit that reaches into
eternity.
Beside his tomb stands a memorial stone bearing the following inscription:
(transcribed below)
.jpeg)
REV. HENRY J. OTTEN – MILESTONE
FOUNDER/ADMINISTRATOR: KARUNALAYA HOSPITAL, WANDOOR
(1924–1985)
"Born on 23rd
June 1924 in Davenport, Iowa, U.S.A., as the son of a couple, Rev. Henry and
Amanda Otten (Lutheran Minister & Founder of Redeemer Lutheran Church,
U.S.A).
Henry J.
Otten began his primary education in 1929 at the Sioux City Public School,
Iowa. He pursued his High School Education and graduated from Missouri Synod
Lutheran Boarding School in 1941. Thenceforth was accredited with a Bachelors
Divinity Degree from the Concordia Seminary in 1948 and ultimately received his
Masters of Arts Degree in May 18, 1949. During his period of schooling Henry J.
Otten was an outstanding, articulate, gifted and a humble student. While in
Hartford, Rev. Henry met Mary Esther Briggs (A missionary candidate at the
Kennedy Mission School) and was married on June 26, 1949.
“For I was
hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me
something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes
and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you
came to visit me (Matthew 25:35–40).” Filled with an inner call of God he was
inspired to do mission/social work among Christians and Non-Christians. Accordingly,
Rev. Henry and Mary Esther travelled to India in 1950. They stayed at Kozhikode
and studied the local language Malayalam. Dr. Henry Naa assisted them to find
the best place to begin their work and hence moved from Kozhikode to Wandoor
town in Nilambur Taluk, Malappuram District on October 1951.
Wandoor then
was one of the least developed villages in the district thickly populated. Low
literacy rate, crowded living, superstitious beliefs and practices were the
serious complications of the community. The poor socio-economic backgrounds,
lack of health care facilities, problems of malnutrition were the vital factors
that troubled the minds of the Ottens. They started praying and decided to
provide help to the furthest extent.
At the outset
a small dispensary was established at the Wandoor Bazaar on 3rd April, 1952 to
lend a hand for the sick and suffering. Since Muslim women were reluctant to
come out of their homes, the Ottens served through house visits, home care and
with supplies of milk, food and clothing were also initiated. This turned out
to be a very helpful program for the society. Rev. Otten carried the sick in
his arms to the hospital.
In 1954 the
dispensary work grew into a full-fledged Hospital – KARUNALAYA HOSPITAL
(Meaning: Home of Compassion) with a facility of 70 inpatient beds and 15
special ward rooms. The hospital services included General Medicine, Obstetrics
Gynaecology, Paediatrics, and General Surgery. Specialised care for patients
with Tuberculosis was effectuated. Karunalaya was the first Medical centre in
the district that administered Anti-Venom to Snakebite victims. Added to,
community care activities of peripheral clinics, village camps and health
programmes were accomplished with well qualified post graduate doctors under
the guidance of Rev. Henry J. Otten.
The present
church: Christ Lutheran Church was constructed and dedicated on 12th February
1961.
Rev. Henry J
Otten was called to Eternal rest by our Lord and Saviour at Chennai (Madras) on
his official duty on 22nd February 1985 and as his aspiration and desire he was
entombed at Karunalaya Hospital Campus close by the church".
NOTE: “May the peace which passes all understanding fill our hearts and minds, and may the resurrection victory of our Lord Jesus Christ confirm to each on the promise that all those “in Christ” will experience the same victory! Henry Otten is just one step ahead of us!”
– MARY ESTHER OTTEN
VII. A
Final Word
Missionaries
came to India not for comfort, but with conviction. They came so that people in
this land would hear the gospel, receive it, and grow toward eternity. They
gave themselves to medical work, to education, to translation, and to literacy.
Through these, they brought not just relief, but transformation, within
individuals, within communities, and across the nation.
Their
lives raise a question for us.
Are any of
us willing to spend our lives for the transformation of a people or a nation in
need?
It is
worth asking, especially in a time when many from our generation move toward
the very lands these missionaries once left behind—often not to serve, but to
settle and enjoy the comforts and opportunities of this world.
The call
of the gospel, however, still remains the same: not toward comfort, but toward
commitment; not toward ease, but toward eternal purpose.
They
crossed oceans to give their lives away; we cross the same oceans. Will we do
the same, or only build lives for ourselves? Will we live for comfort on this
side of eternity, or for a purpose that outlives us?
മലയാളത്à´¤ിൽ à´µാà´¯ിà´•്à´•ാൻ
Pictures from memory lane: (Courtesy: Joel Otten)
Henry, Mary, David, Miriam & New Bungalow, 1954
Mary Esther & Dr. Sarah Thomas, 1980s
See the New Release, Trekking the Tribal Trail Click Here
My Focus on People Groups
.jpg)