Kushinagar

081212.2049



"Gone, gone, gone beyond, gone utterly beyond enlightenment, hail!" Heart Sutta

The Buddha in the Nirvana Stupa is in an unusual reclining position. On his face is a smile, a serene smile with eyes softly, softy closed. Buddha's head is resting on his right hand, while the left is placed on his thigh. There is no trace of fear or regret from things unsaid or undone. At the ripe old age of eighty, the Buddha knew his time had come, and he faced it with wisdom and equanimity. In contrast, the front of the 6 metre long statue of the Buddha carved out of sandstone, are carvings of three figures. Two are kneeling and weeping, and the one in the middle is sitting in a calm, collected meditation pose.

The story goes the Buddha ate his last meal on the outskirts of a village known as Pawa. In a field, a smith who heard of the Buddha's presence brought him some "pork's delight". The meat was already rancid, and despite knowing this, the Buddha still ate the offering by the devout follower so as not to disappoint him.

“However, [the Buddha's] own stamina was now considerably reduced by age and a recent severe illness, and soon the bad food brought on a violent attack of dysentery".

There were piles of dried cow dung all around, and as I approached flies buzzed and fled. The place where the Buddha had his last meal is marked with a white rectangular block. There were a number of burnt-out incense sticks, and scattering grains of rice, around which giant black ants busily scurried. Except for a small sign that marked the site as a protected monument, where the Buddha had his last meal today lies on the side of a dirt path almost hidden in obscurity by overgrown weed and the passage of two and a half millennia.

The Buddha and Ananda, his most loyal attendant, managed to walk for another twenty kilometer or so to the banks of the Hiranyawati River by Kushinagar. There, lying on his side in between two sal trees, The Enlightened One peacefully passed into Final Nirvana. Just before passing peacefully, the Buddha consoled Ananda:

“Enough [...] do not weep and wail. Have I not already told you that all things that are pleasant and delightful are changeable, subject to separation and becoming other? So how could it be [...]—since whatever is born, become, compounded is subject to decay — how could it be that it should not pass away?” (Excerpt From: Ajahn Sucitto & Nick Scott. “Rude Awakenings.” )

The Buddha's final words reminded the monks and laity who had gathered: "...all conditioned things are subject to decay; strive on with diligence!" For true freedom, true happiness and true peace can only be discovered within when one strives to lower the self, lower one's desires, and strives to cultivate kindness and compassion.

I sat in the Nirvana Stupa next to the reclining Buddha for some time. Groups of pilgrims led by monks came in and out, chanting, praying, some even weeping. It was an emotional scenery, and the culminating aura of sadness, combined with the fatigue of traveling and side effects, manifested in nausea hallucinations, of malaria medicine I took in preparation to enter the lower regions of the Himalayas, made me cry. I got out the picture of my mum, which after hundreds of kilometers of traveling looks a little worn and crumbled, and placed it on the glass railing an arm's length from the Buddha's feet. The feet and parts of Buddha's head is shiny and smooth from the touch of millions of pilgrims who have come in search of peace, in the hope of blessings.

The picture of mum was taken by me on the day of my brother's engagement. From her rosy complexion and beautiful smile, it is impossible to tell that just the day before, she had been in hospital for chemotherapy. That was my mother, ever so brave, ever so dear to me. This is my mother, who will always be with me, be a part of me, for as long as I live and breathe... With closed eyes, I wished:

"Mama, may you be free, truly free from suffering..."

Almost six months after mum passed away peacefully in my arms, I can't say for sure whether she reached "nirvana". But I remember on her face was a serenity almost as gentle and beautiful as the one of the face of the Lord Buddha lying before me. And I did not weep, did not feel sadness or much pain, at least not at that very moment when mum left this world. She knew, and I understood well, that her life, her life well lived, was coming to an end. The body had decayed, grown frail and wrinkled, grown weak and tired from age and illness. She knew, and I understood well, that death would be a liberation from this world, from this body of pain and suffering. With the knowledge and understanding came a strange calm and peace, a calm and collected composure that carried me for days and weeks after mum was gone...

Since then, the pain of loss and images of events over the past few years have appeared to haunt my waking and sleeping mind. Tears would just come unexpectedly, even at the office, in front of friends, or most often alone in bed at night. Tears triggered by the memory of mum's hand holding onto mine when I was young, or set off by the memory of the sound of her voice whenever she used to tell me off for not dressing warm enough. But the strength of the pain and sadness is growing ever weaker with time, and this trip to the Middle Land has helped to bring closure and helped me to learn to let go.

Let go, for mum is already gone, so what or who am I clinging onto? Let go, for only be letting go and freeing the mind from grief and pain can there an unexpected freedom to pursue the dreams and goals I've wanted to follow. Let go of sadness, and let the love and kindness of the world guide me to further places...

This long, long journey following the footsteps of the Enlightened One marks a new beginning. Hopefully, it will give mum's soul even greater peace and sense of bliss in the hereafter. It is the one last thing I can offer her: the blessings of the sacred places where the wisdom and serenity of the Buddha can still be felt... This trip also marks a new beginning in the sense that personally it has been spiritually and emotionally cleansing.

Sadhu, sadhu, sadhu...

I've been feeling unwell for almost an entire day. The feeling was not made better sitting in a car that shook and swirled badly due to attempts to avoid massive craters on the roads (at places calling them such would be an overstatement...). The stuffy heat during the day and dry, dusty air has also made me cough and generally very uncomfortable.

I was lucky to be out of the car, having traveled over five hours in one to cover a total distance of a little over two hundred kilometers.  Dinner, though at a restaurant that came highly recommended, was good, but it was yet another heavy masala-type dish. Walking back to the hotel did not really ease the discomforts.

While showering, I coughed, and then it started. Vomit poured out of my mouth and I kept on regurgitating my dinner for around a minute. Cows are blessed four stomachs for digestion so they can regurgitate food and chew it again later on, but we human beings only one.

I felt a little better. After seven days in India, after not having fallen sick, I believe I now know I am not, but have just been lucky.

Black buddha
061212.1704


The Black Buddha is located outside the walls of the collection of ruins which was incesite of Nalanda University. Perhaps the greatest place of learning by the 7th Century CE, it is hard to imagine that the crumbling brick walls overgrown with wild weed and fallen pillars seen today once formed part of an institution that housed over ten thousands resident students and teachers hailing from all over India, Sri Lanka, Tibet, China and even as far away as Java and Korea.

I followed a path that led me past fields of lush green grass and yellow flowers, grazing cows and children  playing (and one or two running after me, begging...). Three uniformed soldiers each wielding long guns stood by the gates of the little shrine I intended to visit.

"Black Buddha? Come!" one soldier shouted and gestured me to follow him. Two others shouted something at a crowd of a dozen or so men who loitered around the little shrine, and the crowd soon dispersed. Dozens of pairs of eyes  watched my every move before they seemed to just disappear.

"One visitor?" The soldier who till now accompanied me to the shrine asked. I replied with a nod. He did not (have to) see the two bears and a sapcemokey hiding in my backpack.

I paid respects to the Buddha, who sat in a meditation pose. His body was black as charcoal, which contrasted greatly with the garlands of brightly coloured flowers. As it was the Thai people who sponsored this shrine, parts of the Buddha's body were covered with gold. Thais believe it is auspicious to stick pieces of gold leaf onto statues of the Lord Buddha or of highly revered monks. I bowed three times, three times signifying showing reverence to the Buddha, the Dhamma (Buddha's teachings), and the Sangha (the community of monks and nuns who strive to live the life and example of The Enlightened One). The gesture of bowing is in and of itself humbling, for you are (literally) lowering yourself, kneeling and bowing with your head and hands completely
on the ground. It is not merely a sign of respect, but also, I was once told, a means to rid yourself of ego and lower the "self". On this trip so far, I have lowered myself countless times before statues of the Buddha, stupas, which (once) contain(ed) parts of his remains or belongings, and before crumbling monuments, where once great monasteries or temples stood.

A few candles flickered in the breeze. With closed eyes, I kneeled before the Black Buddha, I mentally thought of loved ones, friends and all beings in the world. "May they be happy, may they be free from suffering..."

There was the sweet smell of incense in the air, and the light of dusk cast a calming glow on all around me. But I felt uneasy, for the solider stood just metres away from me, and I felt my every move observed and scrutinised. So I stood up to leave.

The soldier followed me and escorted me to the gate. Two of his companions joined the escort.
The first soldier said something in Hindi, which I of course did not understand. But I did catch the word "rupee", and I immediately understood what he wanted.

Money. Isn't that what most people circling around a foreigner wants? Being a member of the armed forces, wearing an uniform that looks dignified and commands respect did not change the fact he wanted money. Shameless, for he was no better than the truly impoverish and desperate I've encountered over the past few days.

I played dumb, as a friend suggested me to do. And having tried it a couple of times, especially by pretending not to understand English, the annoying touts and swindlers automatically do go away. "No understand..." I said, and cocked my head to one side, trying to look confused.

"Das rupee [...] Das rupee" he said between long unintelligible sentences, meaning ten rupees.

I screwed up my face, shook my head and looked him right in the eye. "Heh? Heh? No understand..."

It was then that I was reminded he had a big gun under his arm. I don't recall being scared, at least not at that moment, but felt more insulted than anything else. This shrine is a public place, open to people to come and worship. The Dhamma cannot be sold or bought at any price. Was I being foolhardy, not fully aware what danger I was getting myself into in order not to part with a meagre ten rupees ($0.20)?

It really came down to principles. The idea of giving in to corruption sickens me and makes my furious. But I am aware that corruption is endemic and widespread in India (and much of the developing world...) Corruption, as a matter of fact, sad fact, often is what makes the bureaucratic machinery function. Even a supposedly developed place like Quebec is rampant with corruption, especially when dealing with the construction of public works. In India, however, it is the everyday individual who has to encounter corrupt officials who have little regard for dignity of the public office they hold, and more regard for filling their own pockets. Mentally, I replayed a conversation I had with a local who said corruption is "killing" India. It also gets him infuriated, and just the other day, he made a whole scene at the train station because he had been queuing almost an hour at the train station to refund his ticket. When it was his turn, the counter agent said he couldn't cancel and refund the ticket, even though moments earlier he did just that for another customer. When asked why he couldn't refund the ticket, the counter agent said he didn't "know" my friend. The scene seemed to have set which implied the agent wanted to "know" Mahatma Ghandi, whose face is on all Indian bills.

Was I being too full of myself and thinking I could change something by resisting to be part of an endemic problem that for decades has been systematic and engrained in society and politics? At that moment, I was literally looking at barrel of the gun, but I did not flinch. Was it worth it to make a stand here, in the middle of an isolated village, being completely alone and surrounded by strange men (there were, as is case I imagine in the rest of the country, only men around...), when my life could potentially be at stake?

"No understand..." I said, screwing up my face again. One of the soldier's companions smiled, said something and shook his head. Then he gestured for me to leave. I took that as a sign the attempt at squeezing money out of a lone traveller failed.

I walked out the gates, past the crowd of people who suddenly appeared and swarmed around me. Vendors hawking their tacky souvenirs, postcards and Buddha statues, beggars with dirty and outstretched hands or clanking metal bowls, children who like to say: "Hello! Hello, sir!" I walked through the crowd, looked down at the ground, and pretended not to hear the random words throw at me in Japanese or English some have managed to learn, which I suppose are meant to attract more attention, if not sympathy. Do not look back, do not respond, I realised after several days and countless encounters, or otherwise there will be no end, and the swarm will only grow ever bigger.

My footsteps quickened. Suddenly out of nowhere, an image, as if from a badly scripted Bollyhood movie, flashed across my mind and sent shivers down my spine. The visor of the gun aimed at a tall boy carrying a black rucksack hurrying on a path across the field... Gunshots... News headlines of a foreigner killed because he refused to give in to demands for a few rupees...

I did not look back to see where the soldiers were or what they were doing. A cow stood by the side of the road and kept its head down until it heard my approaching footsteps. Gracefully the cow eyed me with a bemused look. Perhaps the cow, in India a highly revered creature, has seen it all far too often. In its dark eyes I found traces of wisdom both amusing and profound. Why is it that human beings resort to extortion and intentionally want to harm others? Why are we so driven by our feelings and desires, and yet believe we are superior over all other creatures? Why are we always besieged by thoughts and imaginations, fears and memories?

I smiled at the and bowed slightly as I walked past.

The traveler

We met the first time a few days ago. I was at a restaurant, and he came in a bit later and sat across the room from me. We glanced at one another a few times, I think we both wanted to approach one another, but neither knew how. There were a few exchanges o smiles, and then we went our separate ways after our meals...

As I was leaving for my afternoon stroll, I saw him sitting at the cafe of our hotel. Yes, it was him, and he recognised me too. We smiled and got chatting. The sunset and beautiful scenery of the temple were postponed, and the more we got chatting eventually the afternoon plans were cancelled.

A Czech guy, tall, sweet and soft spoken with soft eyes, and a very relaxed vibe about him. He's been traveling around for almost a month now, and Bodh Gaya happens to be his last stop. Happens to be my stop too, and our dates overlapped and our paths crossed, if only by a few hours.

On the road, you meet the kindest and most interesting people. He's my age, works at a nice restaurant in Prague. He just wanted to get away for a while, find himself and discover more of the world. More or less my story too, in a way. And so here he is, here I am. Here we are...

We exchanged travel stories, quaint little things about India and Indians, about travelers' belly, about the crowded state of the train and annoying people who like to pester foreigners by asking tonnes of questions or asking for money. We talked about our lives, ambitions, perspectives on life, about Buddhism and meditation... It was refreshing to meet someone new and with so many similar interests. I now understand that movie Lost in Translation better: when two foreigners (at least in the eyes of the local population...) are thrown together in foreign country (at least in the eyes of the supposed foreigners...), there develops a common sense of shared anxiety, a way to compare and contrast notes, and a feeling that finally you've found someone who can understand you, and literally, speak your language.

We walked home together, we shook hands. He held it so tightly, as if he were savouring the touch. I did the same. The gates to my  hotel (or "guest house" as it is called here...) were already locked, though it was barely past ten.

"If you can't get in, I'm just next door, you can come by..." He said, smiling. Earlier he asked what I had planned for the evening. And this seemed to be another invitation (or maybe I'm reading too much into it...)

He let go of my hand, and stood there under the street light. He watched me as I walked into the courtyard of my "guest house", or so I felt.

I smiled. It's been so long I've been on a "date" with another guy, for over a year since the ex abruptly dumped me. And this evening felt like a refreshing beginning. I, if I may say so, am attentive, smart, and perhaps sweet, and I deserve to be loved and cared for in the simplest and most passionate way, with baggage, without complications, without holding back or hesitations. I deserve that. I need that. I can and am willing to give that to someone who can make me feel young and appreciated, feel like I mean something, like I am someone who matters, and not like I'm someone on the side.

  And tonight I was a step closer to knowing that I can have all that, if I were to let go of the past and an unhealthy relationship with my ex that is not just  friendship and not quiet a relationship. 

At Mahabodhi

Here I am, right here, right now, at the very place where the Buddha himself achieved enlightenment some 2500 years ago.

I cannot hold back the tears or emotions. I have mum and dad's pictures in my hand, and two teddies bears in my backpack. So many pilgrims and monks surround me. It is crowded yet still serene. I'm sitting on floor at the base if the main temple of Mahabodhi...

Mum, dad... I am here... I am alive, I am well. I am pursuing a dream, I am fulfilling a promise I made to mum. Here I am, alone, but not feeling lonely, tearing yet there is a sense of calm and closure.

Mum, dad... I hope you are both well...
People call me an orphan now, but I will be strong, I will be strong and love myself, even if I am by myself now. I will try to be kind and compassionate, I will try to harbour less impure thoughts and hatred and anger... I will try to do more good and see goodness in everyone, in everything.

I will leave a picture of you two here, let you listen to the chanting and prayers, let you experience the spirituality and strong positive energy flowing in this beautiful temple complex and garden...

And I will walk away. Let go and walk away.