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Walking with agitated steps, Monk Ananta strode deep into the forest. Anger and distress boiling up deep in his chest, he yearned for a stream of fresh water to cleanse him off his turmoil and take him back to his old usual life. The battle within his soul ended in a futile attempt to win over his own self. The question haunted him over and over again. How could this happen? And why?
The unruly tears refused to stop and sneaked down to soak his Kasaya in patches. In a desperate move to clear his sight, he wiped his tears and looked up towards the sky. A canopy of the tall trees hid the sky behind them. Slowly Ananta lowered his eyes to the ground and somewhere in between a face appeared out of his memory. The face of a woman. His mother. The face took him back to a small house on the foothills of the Himalayas. He could see a small Ananta walking behind his mother into the forest to collect firewood. Every now and then his mother would look behind and urge him to come along,
“Hey Ananta! Don’t be afraid. Just keep following me.”
Ananta was always scared of the deep dark forest. He would never look up while walking for he believed what the village folks said about the jungle. As soon as someone steps into the forest, all the animals, birds, insects, bugs, ghosts and every jungle-dweller stares at the intruder from the high branches.
It would be late afternoon by the time they finish collecting enough firewood for the day. On their way back home, his mother would always insist on walking behind him.
“Mother! Why do you let me walk ahead of you while coming back?” asked a bewildered Ananta.
“If I tell you everything now, what will you learn when you go to the monastery? Let the wise teacher teach you everything you need to know. In three months you are going to join Bodha Vihaar for your schooling.”
His mother’s words froze Ananta and brought him to a standstill.
“Why do you want to send me away? Why can’t I live with you and father? Am I so bad that you don’t want me with you?”
Ananta’s eyes welled up in tears.
That night his father told him the story of Bodha Vihaar at bedtime.
“Do not feel bad about yourself Ananta. You are blessed to be the eldest son of this house. The eldest child of a family is the chosen one. He is blessed to follow the path shown by Buddha, away from the woes of worldly affairs. You will be a monk in the monastery and it is my fortune as a father to send you on the road to nirvana.”
Ananta was awed by what his father said. The native stories of the chosen ones were no less than fairytales lulling him to the beautiful and cheerful land of sleep.
“Have you seen the robin? The orange-chested bird? You in your orange robe remind me of the robin, Ananta. The same handsome orange hued body, melodious voice. I often relish in the striking resemblance of your reverberating voice when I hear you recite the shlokas with your students.”
“I may not have seen the robin Linda. But you must have seen the grapefruit. The color of the pulp can easily merge with your beautiful skin tone.”
Their intense gaze met and the next thing they knew, they were in each other’s arms. Unleashing emotions he could no longer control, Ananta gathered her delicate quivering body into his strong embrace. Burning in the heat of desire, their bodies clasped as if two thirsty rivers had finally met after a long wait.
Ananta woke up startled in his bed with beads of sweat covering his entire body. How can this be possible? Why couldn’t he control his subconscious thoughts? He is not some new young monk of this monastery. With great dedication, perseverance and patience, he had achieved the “Geshe” degree long time ago establishing himself as a revered senior monk of this association. Recognizing his credentials, the management has decided to hand over the responsibility of teaching the novice admitted to the monastery. Then? Then how did he fail his hard-earned wisdom? These riotous dreams bare his soul to the core and ridicule him for his pretense. Afraid of closing his eyes again, Ananta kept tossing and turning restless on his bed. The morning bell to wake up the monks would ring at half-past four. He laid there waiting for the alarm of the dawn.
The wait was no less than a war within himself. Drowning in his own uncertainties, he was desperate to find a stability. Adding to his despair, a long forgotten nightmarish episode came haunting back from the past. It was the time when Ananta and fifteen other members were promoted from s?ma?era to Vinaya Pi?aka. They must have been in their early twenties then. An age when the hormones of the human body tends to overpower and dominate every decision of the brain. But Ananta and his peers were fortunate. The ritual practice of meditation, physical labor and moral education imparted in the Bodha Vihaar trained them to calm down the chaos of that age. But then, how did that awful incident happen? Ananta wondered.
“This afternoon there will be a separate class for us by the Abbot.”
It was announced during their lunchtime. Accordingly the fifteen of them assembled in the classroom. They sat on mats with their books open, ardently waiting for the Abbot to speak.
“Zen, will you come to the fore and sit in front of me?”
Zen obeyed his order and stood up from his place. All eyes in the room followed him as he took his seat in front of the Abbot. Zen, who left his family in the far away land of Sikkim to join the monastery. Did Zen know something? But, he was the most silent among them the whole day.
“Who can tell me the meaning of ‘Zen’?”
The question met pin drop silence in the room. Nobody uttered a word even if they knew the answer. After twelve years in Bodha Vihaar, they were well aware of the seriousness when Abbot calls for a separate class.
“Dhyan (meditation)! The word ‘Zen’ originated from the word ‘Dhyan’. Travelling from India through China to Japan, the pronunciation transformed from ‘Dhyan’ to ‘Zen’. However, the altered word did not alter in meaning. We all know, that as monks, our prime responsibility is to learn how to dominate and control the call and madness of this human body with meditation.”
The Abbot’s words hung in the stillness of the classroom.
“Let me tell you a story today. Especially for you Zen!”
Nobody but the Abbot was witness to the tears rolling down Zen’s cheeks seeking refuge in his chest only to shine as dark damp blotches on his orange robe.
“This incident took place during the lifetime of Buddha. The Buddhist monks were prohibited to stay in a place for more than two days in a row to ward of unwanted inconveniences. The monk might develop an attachment to the place if he spent more time there. Moreover, prolonged stay of guests might be bothersome for the host. The exception to this rule was the monsoon season when monks were permitted to live in a place for two continuous months. Unforeseen dangers of travelling during the rains mandated such an arrangement. Many monks faced severe calamities in their journey including death during the rainy season.”
“During such a monsoon, Gautam Buddha along with few monks reached a city and went around door-to-door requesting for shelter. The news that monks were looking for shelter spread far and wide in the city reaching even to the brothels. Now, a prostitute approached Buddha’s elder brother Ananda Tirtha who was also his most dedicated student.
‘Monk Ananda! Kindly accept my invitation and grace my home as guest for this monsoon.’
This request from a prostitute left Ananda Tirtha is a deep dilemma. Unable to come to a decision, he went to Gautam Buddha for a solution.
‘This is a sincere invitation offered whole-heartedly by the lady. You should accept it,’ said Buddha.
Keeping his faith on Buddha’s decision, monk Ananda went to the prostitute’s place and stayed for that rainy season. The people of the city were shocked to know about this. Gossips started doing the rounds and they started questioning the sanctity of the monks. What kind of dharma is this? How can a monk stay under the same roof with a prostitute? This is not dharma. This is adultery.”
Everybody in the room was curious to know what happened next. Although nobody dared to voice their query.
“At the end of two months, all the Buddhist monks gathered to begin their journey again. But Monk Ananda Tirtha was nowhere to be seen. Anxious about him, the monks eagerly waited for his safe arrival. After a long wait the monks saw him at a distance coming towards them. They then saw a figure following Monk Ananta. A lady, a nun. On coming closer, the monks recognized the lady and were in for a shock. The nun was none other than the prostitute Monk Ananda Tirtha stayed with for the whole month. That is the strength of a monk’s true dedication and meditation.”
That day after the end of the class, Ananta and others came to know that Monk Zen was caught masturbating in his room by a senior monk and reported it to the Abbot. Having taken the vow of celibacy, this violation ascertained severe punishment. Monk Zen was contrite and accepted his punishment without another word. The next day when everybody went out in the city for alms, Monk Zen walked a few steps behind the last row of monks. This was a part of his penance. Every eye on the street was on Zen, shooting looks of hatred and anger. Ridiculed by the outsiders, it was sheer faith which helped Ananta and others to tolerate the insult towards the integrity of the monastery. Embarrassed by such a situation, there was no sympathy for monk Zen in their hearts. All they felt for him was hatred for stooping so low.
Ananta turned to go back to Bodha Vihaar in hurried steps. It was time for the afternoon class. The students must have already gathered. He speeded up only to stop for a moment near a mountain spring. He splashed cold water on his bloodshot eyes in an effort to veil his tumultuous thoughts. He washed his feet and reached the classroom to find the students waiting for him. Brushing aside all other thoughts, Monk Ananta began the class.
At the end of the class, all the pupils gathered their books and left the room in a queue. Ananta was left alone. Bathed in the golden rays emanating from thousands of Buddha standing behind him, he himself stood like a lifeless statue, rooted on his spot. The sunrays escaped the thick curtains of the windows to fill the entire hall in brazen hues. A welcoming environment to inspire spiritual meditation. But nothing could bring relief to Ananta’s disturbed mind today. After what seemed like eternity, he was brought back to the present by the ringing of the afternoon tea bell. It took him great effort to find strength in his legs to move and climb down the staircase. A few monks were weeding the monastery’s flower garden. The light wind swept through the high branches of the tall trees, lulling the leaves to a soft sway. The serenity of the sight would have cleansed his mind of any turmoil had he been the man he was a few days ago. But today, no one could console him.
He was a few steps down the staircase when somebody called him from behind.
“Monk Ananta! Please wait.”
He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. This voice was disturbingly familiar to him by now. He continued to walk down as if he didn’t hear anything.
“Monk Ananta! I forgot to take your signature the other day.”
From the gasps between words it was evident that the person was speeding towards Ananta. Without looking back, he quickened his pace.
“If I go back tomorrow without your signature the purpose of my visit here will not be fruitful. My return flight is tomorrow, Monk Ananta.”
The last words were enough to stop him on his track. With his head almost bowed down, he stretched out his hand. Handing him the pen, two trembling hands fumbled through the pages of a file to find the paper to be signed. Ananta signed the paper and immediately strode down the stairs without a second’s pause.
Set on the foothills of the Himalayas, winter was yet to loosen its grip on the Bodha Vihaar. Chilling wind still sent quivers through the body. On one such cold afternoon the Abbot called for a private meeting with Ananta and three of his colleagues. Monk Ananta reached the meeting place on scheduled time to see that all others were already there. Seated with the members of the monastery, was a lady. A foreigner lady.
“This is Ms. Linda Harris from Emory university of Georgia. Her long journey from such a faraway land to our monastery is for a very noble cause. Emory University has decided to provide scholarships for a few potential students of our monastery to study about science and technology. It will enable them to improve their knowledge and understanding about these subjects. The students can then come back here and teach the others. The permission has been granted by the authorities. Ms. Linda is here to select the prospective students and you three will help her in this mission. If necessary, let her be in the class to examine the students closely and facilitate her in the selection.
The Abbot introduced the three of them with her and discussed a few more things about the assignment. At the end the meeting all of them got up to leave the room.
“Monk Ananta! I would like to discuss in detail about this with you tomorrow. How about meeting you in your class?”
Since the request was addressed to him, he looked up and for the first time his eyes met hers.
Without a single word, he nodded in an affirmative reply to her query and left the place to attend to his own work.
From the next day onwards, every afternoon Linda met Monk Ananta at the end of his class. They discussed about the various subjects he taught. With time, two completely different people belonging to two diverse worlds became comfortable with each other. Ananta was pleasantly surprised to find Linda quite fluent in Tibetan language, although with an accent. She mentioned that her mother was of Tibetan origin and that she learnt the language from her mom. Eventually, their discussions sometimes moved from professional to personal life too.
“I lost my husband just after three months of my marriage Monk Ananta. It has been seven years now. He did not die of any ailment. It was all of a sudden. He left home with a smiling face for his office only to return home as a body in the coffin. He always hugged me on the doorstep before leaving home. That day too, he did the same. Years later, even now when I enter my desolate home, I can feel his arms around me. The memory shatters me to the core. At all other times, my work keeps me busy and I tend to ignore the void his death left in me. Buddhism shows the way to raise ourselves above the earthly sufferings and attain nirv?na. I have grown up hearing stories about Buddha and his teachings from my mother. Having brought up in such an environment, it was natural for me to voluntarily join the project proposed by Emory University to offer advanced studies for the Buddhist monks. I was fortunate to additionally know the Tibetan language and the university found me appropriate for the task of selecting the monks from India for this study.”
Far from the nuances of worldly affairs, Monk Ananta didn’t know how to offer consolation whenever Linda talked about her life. All he could do was listen to her in silence. One day during one such conversation, Ananta sensed a strange desire seeding in him. He looked at Linda. Always dressed in white, her delicate fingers played with the blue pen she often scribbles with in her notebook. All of a sudden he wanted to clutch her hands and entangle his strong fingers with hers. He yearned to grasp her lean body in a tight embrace against his strong chest. He wanted to know what it feels like to hide her in him and lose himself in her.
This desire was threatening to break his years of dedication and perseverance into pieces. This was not an easy delusion to overcome. Instead, he became strict with Linda and sternly prohibited her from entering his classroom. Tears rolled down Linda’s deep blue eyes only to be ignored by his tough stance. It was as if he transformed into a rude person in an attempt to keep her away from him and his mind.
Monk Ananta was pacing up and down the elaborate forest-like garden behind the monastery. Five potential students had already been selected for Emory University. They were scheduled to depart for Georgia that day. Linda had come in the morning to oversee the arrangement about their luggage and requirements. For the past one month she had been staying in a rented room near the monastery. With her mission successfully accomplished, she was ready to return to her motherland. In her heart she knew she will never set her foot on this soil again. She informed the students that she will pick them up by six in the evening. Monk Ananta tried to keep his distance since morning and spent most of his time in the garden. A few minutes ago the five students met him there to say goodbye. After they left, Ananta stared at the flag fluttering on the top of the monastery’s st?pa. His gaze shifted to the snow-clad Himalayan mountain peaks in the background. As he stood there, he sensed the weight of memory gradually settling down in his heart. The hollowness within finally broke him down and he fell down in a heap crying below a tree.
“I am aware of your inner turmoil Monk Ananta.”
The voice of a woman startled him. He could barely lift his head to see Linda, standing at a distance. There was no way he could hide his tears and he locked his welled-up eyes with hers.
“We are never going to win a race against a shadow moving in front of us. No matter how much we speed up, the shadow will still be ahead.
But if we change the course of our path to the opposite direction, in a moment the shadow will be behind us.
I deeply regret being the cause of your distress Monk Ananta. Please forgive me.”
With these words Linda went down on her knees offering her respect with folded hands. And from a distance rising slowly up to his feet, Monk Ananta’s quivering hands blessed her.
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