The “Fakir”

The other day he told me that the prisoner had been stripped naked, with only his boots on his feet, and placed on a table with his hands tied. Those who beat him with long rubber batons from the side crushed his back, buttocks and leg muscles. Another legionnaire before him, Ursu, an engineer from Vrancea, had 100 iron spears implanted in his feet.

But Constantine, because he did not speak, was beaten inumerable. “I counted up to 200, then I lost count. But I didn’t even whimper. But unlike Father Dimitrie Bejan, who was a priest and who was covered by the grace, and who felt no pain from the blows, I felt them all up to the top of my head. But I did not say a word, because I was very careful then and afterwards not to snitch on anyone. That’s what I was most afraid of: not saying a word about anyone. They beat me so badly that even though each of them had drunk a bottle of vodka before torturing me, they became tired and fell down helplessly. God’s gift held me up. From then on I was nicknamed ‘The Fakir’.

Another confessor from those years told me later that it was not this torture that gave him the nickname “Fachir”, but another, more terrible one: “Seeing that he said nothing, they thought there must be some way to hurt him so that he would talk. So they took a knife with a very sharp point and, holding it by the blade, began to stab him all over, on his belly, on his chest, on his hands, on his legs, with the point of the knife, just, just, just to make him make a sound. And as they couldn’t, they compared him to the Indian fakir.

“Some time passed in Ploiești and I was allowed to change my clothes. They gave me a new coat and made me shave. In a few days (almost a week) I had recovered so much from the torture that they took me back to Bucharest. They kept coming: “Let’s go see the Fakir! Look at him! Like a newborn baby!” This was the power and effect of prayer, as we can see in the lives of the holy martyrs, who were often healed by Christ after tortures and mutilations, so that the pagans who saw them would turn to the truth, repent and receive baptism.

Nothing kept him there but unceasing prayer. And his prayer was heard by Christ the Saviour, who also answered the needy man: “While I was there, I had a dream – a vision. I found myself with my hands in a barbed wire fence so thick and sharp that I could not hold on to it. It was the moment when I was ready to fall through it into the endless darkness. And I realised then and there that the darkness was so great that it had no end, no height, no width, no edges. And I was so frightened that I didn’t know what to do. I could not hold on to the barbed wire fence, and as the terror grew, someone took me by the hand and led me out to the north. He had one hand covered with a black robe, like a monk’s. And as I looked, I saw that it was the hand of a true monk, and that the monk was Jesus Christ Himself. When He took me out, He took me through the bars of the fence, and I saw that on the ground there was green grass, strand by strand, just clean grass, in a room like a house, that is to say about 40 metres to the north and about as much to the east. And in the middle there was a path about 60 centimetres – 1 metre wide, paved. And when I was about halfway across the field, the path went to the east, still paved and still through grass. And beyond the grass there was nothing but clean wheat, stalk by stalk, green, about as big as a crow could get into it, all around, as far as the eye could see. And He carried me eastwards from the fence to the middle. There, to the east, was a little house, about the size of a little church, like the one at Sihla. The Saviour placed me there in the little church (for it was a little church), holding my hand all the time. I went in and there was a nun or a nuness arranging lanterns and candles. I entered the little church on the right, as I used to sit in the church of the Sihăstria Chapel. There was a very pleasant light, and I looked to see where the windows were where the light came in. But when I looked closely, I saw no windows, only walls. And I went outside to see where the light came in. And still looking to see where the sun was, I saw no sun, but a very pleasant light in the atmosphere, but not from the sun, but a Taboric light. And so I woke up. This was at the time of the first arrest.

(Confession of a Christian. Father Mark of Sihăstria, edited by the monk Filoteu Bălan, Petru Vodă Publishing House, 2007, pp. 27-32)