CASTE AWAY : Touched by the untouchable.

Last week the entire staff of the school I work with here in India went river rafting. With the exception of me and the principal, none of the others had ever done it before. Most could not swim and all of them were very nervous. For three or four weeks, Paula, the principal, and I bullied and cajoled them into submission, and though they did try to stage a midnight-hour cancellation, everyone turned up on the appointed day, excited to be going.

When we reached the starting point on the banks of the Ganges River, we found that the organizers of the tour had miscalculated and because there were not enough helmets and life jackets to go around, two people would have to drop out. Paula and I conferred and decided that since we had already done it once and would certainly have other opportunities, we would give up our places. There was general outrage at this suggestion, with an unspoken but clearly implied consensus that two of the lower-level staff should be the ones to drop out.

Indeed, they themselves seemed to feel this was the only appropriate option and they had made no move to don the protective gear. With difficulty, Paula and I prevailed. We waved the boats off and drove on in the provided jeep to wait for them at the agreed-upon lunch site.

While we waited, we talked about the difficulties of working in a democratic way in such a hierarchical and stratified country. It has been a problem for us since the very beginning of the school. While we have made some progress (the watchman no longer leaps up to salute when we arrive in the morning, and occasionally, if we look very fierce, we are allowed to carry a package from one room to another), it is still far from ideal. The caste system, the lack of education among people from poor families, and five thousand years of tradition make even a pretense of equality difficult to pull off. The river rafting trip was in part an attempt to break down some of the barriers that keep the professional staff separate from the blue-collar workers, and it was ironic that it had almost fallen apart before it even began.

After two hours, we saw the boats come into view. There was a great deal of laughter and shouting and they all looked as if they were having a fabulous time. But by the time they had climbed out and clambered up the beach to where we were waiting, the old reserve had come upon the nonprofessionals. The rest, all of whom were in high spirits, teasing one another and vying to tell Paula and me all the stories, were in one large group while the helpers stood awkwardly to the side waiting to be told what to do. I went over and asked them how they had enjoyed themselves and they nodded gravely and said it had been good. Any further attempts at small talk fell flat and I drifted off to have lunch.

After the meal, two of the teachers decided to stay back and Paula and I got in the boat for the second, far more difficult section of the river. We were in the same boat as most of the helpers, and though I could see they were feeling embarrassed at our being there (in shorts and bathing suits, too!), I was looking forward to the excitement.

On a scale of one to five, the first rapid we encountered was a four. The boat pitched backward and then dangerously to one side, while the water gushed in from every direction. All of us were shouting and paddling furiously, and screaming with laughter at the same time. Ganga Ram, one of the helpers, was just in front of me and when I caught a glimpse of his face, I almost didn't recognize him, he was so animated and delighted. Maya, our cleaning lady, sat beside me, clearly terrified. As the water flooded in, soaking us to the skin and engulfing the bottom of the boat, she grabbed my arm and clung so tightly I could barely move. It was over in seconds, but the change that had come over the boat was astonishing. We were like a small band of survivors, with all pretense of rank and privilege gone. All of us had confronted the same forces in the same fragile boat and everyone looked the same: wet.

Of course, it didn't last. By the end of the day, when we boarded the bus to return home, we were back in our own little boxes, relating to each other in the same formal, prescribed ways. But I overheard Maya telling Deepa, another of the cleaning crew, that she had been frightened until she held on to me, and I thought maybe some little chink in her armor had opened up a bit more.

It is difficult, if not impossible, to convey just how strictly the lines are drawn here between castes and classes. Any work involving bathrooms, for example, is done only by "untouchables," and it is simply unthinkable that a high-caste person would ever stoop so low. The attitude to the work is extended to the person who does it, so that the untouchable is literally that. Maya's reaching out to hold on to me in the boat marked a profound transition in our relationship, and perhaps her sense of herself.

At our next staff meeting, Paula and I plan to reveal the fact that both of us have been untouchables in our own countries: Paula worked for many years as an aide in a special school, taking children to the bathroom and washing their bottoms; I worked as a cleaning lady in a retreat house, scouring a minimum of twenty-six toilets every day. We are hoping our announcement will be greeted first with astonishment and then with reappraisal. Whether it brings us down or them up is irrelevant. The point is to start thinking.