These photos were all taken on my pilgrimage to the main sites of Gotama the Buddha's life:
Mahabodhi Temple- Bodh Gaya where the descendant of the Bodhi tree where Buddha achieved enlightenment stands outside the temple door. In the mornings at about 5, you can hear chanting of the sutras from all around the town. Monks from many different traditions meditate in the grounds, some of them in little mesh tents to keep from being annihilated by mosquitoes.
Dungeshwari Caves- Gotama spent 6 years meditating here before descending to Bodh Gaya. I went early in the morning, at the beginning of my 2-day road trip, and was able to climb the hill to the rough, rock stupa at the top before it got too hot. Outside the cave, up the stairs from the 'Keep Noble Silence' sign, was a group of about 20 Indian tourists, listening intently to their guide as he bellowed out facts. As usual in wonderful India (I mean that sincerely) all my plans were brought into question: I had planned to show my respect and gratitude to this incredible human being (he sat down under that tree announcing that he wouldn't move, even if his flesh dissolved and his bones broke, until he understood the truth of existence. Sitting for a couple of hours I've found to be agony enough!)by practicing what he taught i.e. meditation. I had expected (dangerous!) these places to be serene and conducive to meditation. I even thought I might find others doing the same. In every single place I visited these 2 days, I was the only person I saw crazy enough to want to sit in silence. I was quite torn between what I've been taught of Buddha's wishes for his followers (he told people not to worship him or even to believe what he said and to seek the truth within themselves by observing reality within the framework of their own body-mind. Sadly most Buddhists simply do what's known as impure puja- offering incense and flowers and hoping that Buddha will solve their problems for them rather than doing the work of meditation) and seeing all the groups of Indian tourists enjoying themselves on their day trips, proud to be from a country that contains so much important history and really living but making a LOT of noise in the process. This juxtaposition has followed me ever since and I'll explain more in later posts. I was wise enough to realise how ironic it would be to get angry at the lack of silence and seeming disrespect that it could suggest!
Rajgir where Gotama lived and taught. It's now home to a big Japanese Peace Pagoda which I took a rickety chair lift to see. The meditation practice has removed my fear of heights to such an extent that I positively enjoyed this trip my main worry being adding one of my flipflops to the growing number on the rocks below.
Nalanda- ancient university, where many important sages taught and where monks meditation cells sit side by side with university buildings we are more familiar with today (e.g. library).
Vaishali- where Buddha gave his last sermon before donating his alms bowl at Kesaria and dying at Kushinagar, finally moving out of the cycle of life and death. My equanimity was spectacularly tested in Vaishali at the only 'hotel' in town by the manager with paan- stained teeth who tried to charge me a fortune for a bed covered in other peoples' body fluids and then, after promising to feed my hungry driver and I at 7, didn't give us a meal until 9.30. In the morning he charged me another fortune for the meal and demanded I gave his lacky a tip. Hard cheese for the poor lackey, it was my only means of protest to bellow 'No thank you' and make a hasty retreat. God only knows when the last saintly person visited Vaishali but it hasn't rubbed off on the staff at the inn there!
Northern Bihar, around Vaishali, is a bit of a god forsaken place of horrendously pot-holed roads and dusty intersections where lorry after lorry announces itself with ear-drum splitting horns. How the people there survive these constant onslaughts to the senses is beyond me. I stopped for breakfast at one of these junctions, where children stopped in front of my table and watched me without blinking for all the time it took me, praying for escape from amoebic dysentery, to consume a plate of fly-infested puri. I felt like a princess or a courtesan from 2500 years ago, passing through a land of small farms and settlements that probably haven't changed much in all that time, save for the introduction of mobile phones. It was a little disconcerting too to realise at one point that my driver was probably the person within a 200 km radius (at least) who understood and was understood by me the most (his English a few phrases better than my hindi). It was with relief that I arrived at the border town of Raxual and my next adventure into Nepal. That's until I'd been in Raxual for more than 5 minutes. I will dedicate an entire post to the hell that is and will probably always be Raxual. It deserves it.
Until then, May all beings (especially those in Bihar and particularly Raxual) be happy and liberated.
