by Ruskin Bond
'I find the enthusiasm quite unbridled. If I may say so, I find it on some occasions intemperate, and immature. Limitless growth, perfect fruition, I feel are tenets which violate some basic principle of nature. I feel disturbed when in an otherwise disciplined life such illusory objectives are entertained in earnest.'
Jnanadeva listened with attention. He remained quiet for some time, and then said, 'In that case, I am guilty as well. I feel that I understand what you are saying, but it is true that I did not think in that way before.'
Vidushuka again fell silent. Jnanadeva waited for a while and then asked, 'Why did you not say this before? In discussion gatherings?'
'I was waiting. In a way I am still waiting. I wanted it to be totally clear and definite in my mind before I expressed it.'
'I probably understand now. Here an elementary point needs consideration. In fact, this has the same basic premise as your thoughts, interestingly it leads to a result which you are unhappy about. Despite our constant effort to transcend common human emotions and weaknesses, we often fall prey to them; it would be untruth to deny this fact. But in the present case it involves noble emotions: joy and hope. This could very well be the world's first university, because we know of no other.'
Jnanadeva paused, and then continued, 'This has little to do with the fact that our monasteries are not physically well endowed and they lack facilities. And that it would be desirable to have improvements. Rather, we take this view: here we already have a sapling that has emerged from a seed; it now looks forward to a future of growth and fruition. Here is a dream, and out of that springs joy when there are indications that the dream may come out to be true.'
'Would you then admit that we nurture desires?'
'I can imagine where you may lead this line of argument to. If you argue that without desire there cannot be any action then I have to agree that we also nurture desires in certain domains of activities, however, not in all that the laity desire. But unbridled desire begets one's downfall. I agree with you that in a group, even among monks, as nature makes some to be less disciplined, we can go overboard with emotion. what you have felt unhappy about is this phenomenon. A proper attitude should be of understanding, not necessarily of accepting.'
Vidushaka felt pleased with his teacher's analysis, and an understanding of his own point of view. His tension relaxed to some extent finding someone who appreciated his thoughts. He also felt pleased to find some agreement with his teacher about his view about desire, because he had often thought that desire is the motive force behind all actions; as long there is some objective, there is no freedom from desire. While he was considering this he thought of asking Jnanadeva something which had passed through his mind many times.
'What was Buddha's view on desire?' Vidushaka asked.
Jnanadeva did not immediately respond. He pondered for a while. Then he said, 'In his sermons, he does not talk about it expressly. Also to my knowledge, as Buddha's views and interpretations of his sermons have been passed on from generation to generation, there is no elaborate discussion on this question. But the canon of eightfold path itself is a desire to follow a certain course, so it is unlikely that he did not recognise it.'
Vidushaka had now raised his head. He was looking at Jnanadeva as he spoke. When Jnanadeva was through, he remained silent for a while, then said, 'I am tempted to ask you another question. Did you ever wish that you lived during the time of Buddha?'
'Yes,' Jnanadeva said with a pleasant smile. Then after a pause he continued, 'Especially when I have lived in this Vihara, which Buddha is said to have visited several times. Somewhere along these paths he must have moved with his disciples, sat down, given his sermons, participated in discussions and debates, answered questions, and given his blessing.'
'You have been here now for many years. You must have heard about monks going to him in Rajagriha, and to Gridhrakuta Mountains where he lived and meditated for many years.'
'Yes. However, they are stories of incidents told over generations; unfortunately nothing has been written down. The elders in Vihara told these stories to young monks, and they in turn to the next generation. There are also stories among the villagers of Bargaon, but again nothing in writing. And with time, there is a tendency in the versions to get corrupted, so although all of them are substantially true, some details may not be correct.'
'Is there anything known about what he thought about our Vihara?'
'No. I have not heard any stories about that except that he visited here several times. So probably he did not have any extraordinary views about it, but certainly he would have been pleased about the congregations. He preferred Gridhrakuta, so either he did not like this relatively large crowd even though they were all his disciples, or he must have had a particular liking for Gridhrakuta and his isolation with only a few disciples. Have you been to Gridhrakuta?'
'Yes. Several times. And I am still drawn to it. Probably all of us are. Strange, even though the body tires, the mind does not feel the strains of climbing the hill; at the end there is a feeling of achievement, and a solemn communion. The view from there is majestic; beyond the hills there lies the expanse of the distant plains; towards the southwest one could see all the way to Gaya. It is an extraordinary feeling to realise that it was the same view Buddha had when he lived there. It is quiet; no trace of the tumult of the capital on the plain below reaches there. And I have read writings about what Buddha used to say, Vidushaka recited, 'delightful is Rajagriha; delightful is Gridhrakuta; delightful is the Gautama-nyagrodha; delightful is Chaura-prapata; delightful is the Saptaparni cave on the side of Vaibhara; delightful is Kalasila on the Rishigiri side; delightful is Sarpa-saundike-pragbhara in Sitavana; delightful is Tapodarama; delightful is Kalandaka lake in Venuvana; delightful is the mango grove of Jivaka; delightful is the deer park in Mardakukshi.'
'He lived the same unruffled life during Ajatasatru as he did during the reign of Ajatasatru's father, Emperor Bimbisara. While Ajatasatru imprisoned Bimbisara and bloodied the Magadh capital and its surroundings, destroying everything associated with Buddha, Buddha remained calm all along, preaching the same message of compassion and love. It was like divine justice that at the end Ajatasatru submitted to Buddha and begged for forgiveness and salvation.'
Vidushaka listened but he did not say anything. He looked up and viewed the southern horizon. The waves of distant hills of Rajagriha stood still as before. The Gridhrakuta peak was not visible from here but Vidushaka knew it lay behind those hills. That was where Buddha lived and preached; Vidushaka again had the old urge of living during Buddha's times and being close to him.
It was getting dark. There was no longer any blue visible in the sky; the colour was darkening to gray. Vidushaka looked towards the west past the silhouetted figure of Jnanadeva. There was more light in that sky and it had taken a salmon colour near the horizon. As the light was fading, the colour was darkening; soon it would be like the other horizons. He turned his head back and looked again towards the south. He remained silent. Jnanadeva also did not immediately say anything further. After some time Jnanadeva broke the silence.
'It is getting dark; I think I should go now. I hope you did not mind my intruding into your solitude. I meant well.'
Vidushaka looked towards Jnanadeva, although in the semidarkness he could no longer see Jnanadeva's face properly. 'No, I am grateful that you came to me and spoke. I think I too should return.'
Vidushaka waited until Jnanadeva rose. Then he also got up. Together they turned towards the monasteries and chaityas, and walked slowly side by side.
After some time they reached the monastery premises. when they reached there, both of them stopped at the gate of the second monastery. Here they would part.
'Perhaps we shall see each other tomorrow morning,' Jnanadeva said.
'Yes,' Vidushaka replied and bowed.
The two did not exchange any other word. Jnanadeva turned and faded away into the near darkness. Vidushaka did not immediately move; he kept standing t
hat way for a long time.
When Vidushaka entered the monastery premises he could see oil lamps already lit, and noticed the movement of young students and some monks. Vidushaka avoided the central assembly and prayer area and walked towards the rooms. At the threshold of the corridor an oil lamp was burning on a slab of stone and next to it lay a collection of unlit lamps filled with oil and ready for lighting. Virendra picked up one such lamp, lighted it and carried it along with him. He went past two rooms to his right, and entered the third room which was his. He placed the lamp in a niche in the wall, and sat down on the raised earthen platform at the centre of the room which served as his bed. In the dim light of the oil lamp he sat quietly for a long time, and then walked up to the wall to extinguish the lamp and go to bed. At some time he had decided to miss the meal. Soon he was asleep and had no further recollection of his thoughts.
The entire next day from morning till afternoon he spent in the library studying Atharva-veda. In the morning he felt strange because it seemed that overnight he had grown nearly ten years older into the middle age. About the environment also he had a strange feeling. In the morning, at times it seemed to him that he was familiar with it; yet at times he could not recognise it, but by the afternoon that feeling had disappeared. As he was coming out of the library he found that elderly Mokshadeva also was coming out through another door. Mokshadeva had already seen him, so was coming towards him with a smiling face. They met and bowed to each other.
'It is very good to see you here Padmasambhava. Otherwise I would have gone to your monastery. I wanted particularly to see you before I left for home. I am leaving the Vihara early morning the day after tomorrow,' Mokshadeva said.
Virendra felt momentarily strange at being addressed as Padmasambhava; but in the next moment he recovered and felt nothing unnatural about it. He warmly responded to Mokshadeva. 'I knew that you would be leaving soon, but I was not aware that it was so close,' he said.
'Do you have some time now?' Mokshadeva asked. 'In that case we can go together to my monastery and sit down there for a while.'
'Yes, very much so. I would be very glad to come with you,' Padmasambhava said.
'Fine then, let us go. I am ready.'
The two then came out of the library gate and walked along the mall towards Mokshadeva's monastery, which was near the northern end of the long line of monasteries. The spacious mall separated the monasteries and the chaityas and ran all along in front of the monasteries. It was green with grass, shrubs, and small trees, and there were places to sit all along its length and breadth. This was just after the afternoon discussion group meetings, so then mall was active with groups of students and monks going from one place to another. The atmosphere was one of brisk activity, but it was not tense; students and monks talked and discussed in a relaxed way as they walked.
Mokshadeva was of medium height, Padmasambhava was taller than he; both walked side by side along one of the pathways on the mall. They walked rather slowly; they could not walk fast because of the throng of students around. They talked while they walked.
'These twelve years just passed like a short moment, or more precisely, a short bright moment,' Mokshadeva said. 'This was also, I believe, a very significant time in the history of this Vihara.'
'This is also the time when the number of scholars coming to the Vihara increased severalfold,' Padmasambhava said.
'Yes. But perhaps the most important thing is Emperor Harsha's overwhelming patronage. This is the time when he donated the revenue of as many as a hundred villages for the needs of the Vihara. Two hundred householders of the villages contribute regularly the required amount of rice, butter, and milk. As a result, the students do not have to go out seeking alms for their daily needs. And this helps the scholarly activities significantly.'
'And this is also the time when there is a fair number of foreign scholars in residence at the Vihara. This brings in knowledge from faraway countries, something that did not happen earlier.'
'Yes; and I am an insignificant representative of that,' Mokshadeva said and laughed good-humouredly as he spoke.
Padmasambhava also laughed in company. 'No, quite to the contrary, you are the crown jewel among them.'
'No, no,' Mokshadeva objected. 'But I foresee a time when there will be many more foreign scholars in the Vihara than there are at present.'
Padmasambhava did not comment further on that. Mokshadeva also did not say anything more immediately. Both walked quietly for a distance. Those students and priests who were coming from the opposite directions and had noticed Mokshadeva, bowed briefly as they walked past – the entire Vihara held him in great reverence. He had been here now for about twelve years, and had made many friends and followers. He brought with him the wisdom of the far north, and would take back with him the wisdom of this country, particularly the teaching of Buddha, and stories from this country and this Vihara. As his scholarship was pure, his manners amiable and charming, the entire Vihara was as much full of affection for him as they were full of admiration and pride.
They were about to walk past the residence of the head of the monastery, Shilabhadra, a renowned scholar, when they found Shilabhadra standing outside the house and speaking to a priest. Seeing Mokshadeva and Padmasambhava, Shilabhadra came forward with a smile to meet them, and made a slight bow to Mokshadeva. Mokshadeva and Padmasambhava bowed deeply in return. Mokshadeva had, in the beginning, studied under Shilabhadra, and therefore was among his disciples.
'Budhaditya and Sanghalayana will accompany you all the way to the pilgrims' trail in your journey starting the day after tomorrow,' Shilabhadra said addressing Mokshadeva. 'They will carry with them the affection and admiration of the entire Vihara for you.'
Mokshadeva appeared visibly overwhelmed and a bit embarrassed. 'It was not necessary to ask anyone to accompany me. Even when I am physically alone, I feel I am surrounded by all your good wishes. But it will be delightful if they are coming; I know both of them well.'
'Tomorrow morning after the prayers I will come to your monastery to sit down with you for a while. Later some students will see you for any help that you may need to arrange your books and provide any other assistance.'
'I thank you for all your kindness,' Mokshadeva said.
'In the evening the entire Vihara will congregate at the mall to bid you farewell.'
'I am overwhelmed.' Mokshadeva's eyes appeared moist. He looked down towards the ground, paused for a moment, then looked up. 'well then, I will wait for you tomorrow morning.' Then he made a deep bow again and took a step forward past Shilabhadra. Padmasambhava also made the same gesture and accompanied Mokshadeva.
When they reached Mokshadeva's monastery at the end of the mall, they stopped near the entrance. Mokshadeva said, 'Perhaps I should go in and leave my books and notes here and come back. Then we could sit down there under that young golmohur tree. There is not much sun left now; it should be pleasant.' Padmasambhava agreed with a polite nod. Mokshadeva went in; Padmasambhava waited and looked towards the southern end of the mall from where they had walked. There were still small streams of students and monks moving on the mall; beyond them at the far southern end stood the pyramidal Sariputta stupa as the backdrop. The sky was blue and clear except in the northern and western parts where there were some striated clouds.
Mokshadeva returned after a while; together they walked to the centre of the mall where the golmohur tree was. There was a stone slab under the tree; both sat down on it facing the south.
'Padmasambhava, here we are now; we have been twelve years together; now the time is so near for us to part,' Mokshadeva said.
'In many ways it is so natural. Nature does not permit indefinite association of any two objects,' Padmasambhava said. 'It is painful; but pain is so intrinsic to life. That is Buddha's teaching.'
'I travelled from my own country with a dream. A dream to see this country that lay beyond the highest of the mountains. I travelled with utmost hardship; I did not have any ho
pe of crossing that highest pass where snow never melts and it permits passage to only a fortunate few. I was one of them. I have found more than I sought. This land has given me some wisdom that I hold most precious. I have lived in a milieu of scholarship, a university, one of the first universities in the world, like which nothing ever existed. An experience of a lifetime for me, and for all of us who have been here. I am not sure whether I shall be able to reach home crossing again those impassable mountains, but if I do, then this experience is the treasure that I would be taking home.'
'Have you thought about what you will do when you reach home?' Padmasambhava asked.
'First and foremost in my mind is to write down neatly and accurately, with the best of my ability, my experience in this country and in this Vihara, for the benefit of those who will not have the opportunity to visit this country in person and have the experience of the Vihara. It is a difficult task, and I do not know whether I would be able to complete it.'
'You are dedicated and competent; you will surely be able to accomplish the task. Everyone in this Vihara, students and teachers, will miss you. Personally I have learnt so much from you that my gratitude knows no bounds, so does my feeling of loss. But I will try to bear it.'
'This Vihara has become so dear to me, it is most difficult for me to leave. But Padmasambhava, a few thoughts and anxieties return to me over and over again—this has to do with the future of this Vihara—that at this juncture I must tell you.'
'Are your thoughts about whether this present glorious time of the Vihara will last forever?' Padmasambhava asked.
'Yes. But that means you too have thought about it! What are your perceptions?'
'My perceptions would not be popular with those who head the monastery. But my deep feeling is that we have become too rigid in our discipline, that it is becoming stifling and difficult to breathe. Also, we are losing touch with the common people outside our Vihara. They are still listening to us; but eventually, unless we become sensible, they will not.'