Here is what I told Suwat:
It was the summer of 1976. I was seated on our lawn reading What the Buddha Taught, by Walpola Rahula, when an unshaven, ragged, young man approached me.
“I am Todd,” he said, looking forlorn and almost gray. “I have a lot of problems—mental, physical, and personal. I lost my job, my wife is sick, and the Department of Social Services took away our children, as they believe we are not mentally stable enough to be parents. Is there any way you can help me?”
I felt sorry for him, and suddenly an idea came to me, which was to explain to him the benefits of chanting in our Buddhist tradition. I told him that there were two keys to make it work. First of all, he must have faith in my chanting, and secondly, I must exercise great compassion toward him. Otherwise, there would be no result. Todd said he was willing. I told him to visit me the next day between six and seven in the evening. I wasn’t sure if he would show up, but when he did, I was happy to see him.
I took him to the Shrine Room, where I had already made preparations to chant paritta. I had a pot of water covered with a white cloth, and a string around the pot. This string was attached to the Buddha statue. Together, we held this string, and I chanted paritta for one hour. I noticed during the hour that Todd was uncomfortable and restless, probably wishing he hadn’t come, but I could also see that he was determined to have faith in the results that I had told him would be produced. He was very desperate to find a cure for his plight.
I told Todd that we must continue this ritual for seven days. I knew that he needed time for the vibrations of the chanting to enter the center of his being and cause him to be healed. To my joy, when Todd came to the temple on the seventh day, he was a clean-shaven, well-dressed young man, who looked completely different from the depressed, ashen-colored person of a week before.
When our hour of chanting was over, I gave him the blessed water to drink and tied the blessed thread around his neck, rather than around his wrist, which is the usual custom. I felt that Todd still wasn’t completely stable and needed the additional boost of energy and protection. He thanked me profusely, told me he felt much better, and said that he was determined to pull his life back together.
A few days later he returned to the temple and reported to me that he was physically and mentally strong again. He had stopped taking the medications his doctor had prescribed for him and there were tears of gratitude for my help.
Having himself been cured, he asked me if I could help his wife, believing that she was possessed by evil spirits. He couldn’t talk her into coming to the temple, so he asked me to visit her with him at the couple’s apartment. I was shocked to see her condition. Barbara lay on the floor, eyes closed, hands clasped as if in a trance. Her body was emaciated, and there were horrible odors in the room. Todd told me that she didn’t open her eyes, because spirits troubled her. She was obviously delusional and paranoid.
I told her that the powers of the Buddha and his eternal truths would help her to recover. I further explained that the scientists who discovered atomic energy are no longer living, but that their knowledge of how to use it remains with us.
In the same manner, the Noble Teachings of the Buddha are most effective when chanted with feeling and compassion, bringing blessings to the believer.5 I said to her, “I will chant paritta to remove all evil forces that are hindering you and making you fearful. Please believe in what I am doing and listen closely to my chanting with a positive attitude. You will soon feel better.”
I chanted. Gradually, she seemed to relax. I visited her two more times and chanted paritta in her presence. On the third day I carried a statue of the Buddha with me, which I placed on a stool near her bed. I completed my chanting, lifted up the statue, and called to her.
I said, “Barbara, the suttas that I chanted were originally delivered by the Buddha. He was the embodiment of compassion, love, and all the virtues that he preached. Please open your eyes and look at the compassionate face of the Buddha.”
She slowly opened her eyes and gazed at the Perfected One. She screamed with joy, “I am free. I am released,” and stood up near her husband. They embraced one another shedding tears of happiness.
A few months later Todd and Barbara visited me. They were very happy to tell me that they had regained custody of their children. I was glad to hear that Todd had obtained a professorial position in a well-known university.
We have maintained our friendship over the years. Todd is now following the Buddha’s teachings, and remains faithful to me and our temple, never forgetting to support us whenever there is a need. Today, Todd has one of the highest positions in the world in his field and has written more than one hundred books.
Seevali, Suwat, Anando, and Vipa were amazed to hear this powerful story. I believe it made an impression on the young novices, because they seemed to be full of questions. Vipa started by saying, “How can you cure a physical ailment by chanting paritta?”
I replied, “According to the teachings of the Buddha, the mind is closely linked with the body. He taught that the mental state of an individual dramatically affects the physical well-being of that person. Modern psychologists support the Buddha’s view, having proved that the body slows down when the mind slows down. Psychologists and Buddhists agree that an optimistic person has better chances of recovery due to his or her positive attitude, and contrarily, a pessimistic person lessens the chances of recovery due to his or her negative attitude. Chanting contributes the additional benefits of providing emotional comfort to the individual and, at the same time, helps reduce stress. It goes without saying that one must develop the proper attitude of faith and virtue in order to obtain the best results from chanting. And of course, common sense must lead one to seek proper medical attention if one is injured or seriously ill.”
Seevali seemed to be restless, so I asked him what was bothering him.
“Bhante, I can’t sit still even for five minutes. How can I concentrate to listen to you?”
“Seevali, you obviously need to develop your powers of concentration. To do that you must believe in what you are doing, knowing that it is correct. The chanting of suttas can bring material blessings if the listeners maintain the appropriate wholesome state of mind combined with confidence in the outcome. According to the Buddha, right effort is a necessary factor in overcoming suffering. Seevali, while you are here at the Vihara this week, I challenge you to make the effort to learn to sit still. Only then can you begin to increase your ability to concentrate.”
I continued by telling the young men that all suttas have intrinsic powers because the Buddha’s teachings, as well as his paritta chantings, are assertions or affirmations of truth. At the end of the recital of each sutta, the chanters bless the listeners with the words, “Etena saccha vacchena sothi te hotu sabbada,” which means, “By the power of the truth of these words, may you ever be well.”
When our talk was over and I was getting ready to leave, Anando stopped me.
“Bhante, I doubt whether I could memorize all those words. Could you teach me a short verse to overcome my dreadful dreams?” Anando had more than once during the week he was at the Vihara awakened in the middle of the night choking and screaming. Each time, one of the monks would rush to his side and comfort him.
“Anando, I am glad you asked me that question. When I was a novice, I had bad dreams, too. My teacher taught me to recite verse 183 from the Dhammapada seven times. It really worked for me. Why don’t you try to learn it and see if it helps you:
Sabba-papassa akaranam,
Kusalassa upasampada,
Sacitta-pariyodapanam.
Etam buddhana-sasanam.6
Which means:
The non-doing of all evil,
The performance of what is good,
The cleansing of one’s own mind:
This is the Buddha’s teaching.
Anando was disturbed by his nighttime episodes and promised me that he would never sleep without reciting this sutta. I s
aw him earlier this year and he told me that he has never missed a night, and his bad dreams have never returned.
The week’s training period went fast. I noticed that the novices’ stay at the Vihara, and the training in mindfulness that they had undergone, seemed to have matured them to some extent. It was evident to me that they had made progress in the development of a positive mental attitude as well as a desire to cultivate wholesome, productive thoughts. Occasionally they still visit me at the Vihara accompanied by their parents. Their parents believe that the training was truly beneficial to their sons and have noticed a remarkable change in attitude, which they feel makes them more trustworthy and responsible, no longer in danger of going out of control.
FOURTEEN
The London Doctor
It was late in the night. I was in my room when the telephone rang. When I answered, I heard a woman sobbing hysterically and talking in Bengali. I could not understand clearly what she was saying. I asked her to stop crying and to tell me her troubles. She calmed down and spoke to me in English. At that moment I knew it was Gita, Dr. Barua’s daughter, whom I’d known in Calcutta.
Gita and her husband Ravi’s parents had the same surname, Barua, which in Bengali means “Buddhist.” They were all close associates of mine years before when I was living in Calcutta. Dr. Ravi Barua and Gita had since taken up residence in Los Angeles and were frequent visitors to my temple.
Gita had often complained that her husband believed everything his mother said as though it were written in stone. That night on the phone she said that her life was miserable and that she couldn’t live with Ravi anymore. I did my best to calm her down, told her to be a little patient, and to visit me the following morning with her husband.
The next morning Gita arrived with Ravi and related her side of the story in his presence.
Before she began, Gita shifted her weight in the chair. She seemed nervous, but anxious to speak. “Bhante,” she said. “May I speak freely?”
I asked Ravi how he felt. He nodded, Yes. I indicated to Gita that she could continue.
“Well, Bhante, in the early 1970s Ravi graduated from medical college in Calcutta and married me. We were very excited about making a life together. He was accepted for a residency in England, so shortly after the wedding we moved to London to make a new life. There were some difficulties in the beginning of our life together, but many newlyweds have these same problems. My husband tried, but couldn’t acquire a scholarship, and the Indian government at that time didn’t allow anyone to take money out of the country.”
“How did you manage?” I asked.
“We arrived in London with a limited amount of funds. We had budgeted our meager resources well enough to acquire a tiny apartment near the hospital.”
“That sounds convenient,” I said. “Please continue.”
“I managed to find a clerical job to make ends meet. My mother-in-law was naturally worried, and she constantly phoned to see how things were going. Why did she have to phone all the time? She knew that her son was not eating properly, because he did not know how to cook like the typical Indian man. She also knew that I was working outside the home full-time as the breadwinner. These ideas kept building up in her mind until she could no longer stand the pressure of her own thoughts.”
“Every mother feels that way, Gita. What is wrong with that?” I asked.
“Well, one day she flew to London. She moved into our tiny apartment immediately. She believed that her presence would be of great benefit to her son, and she justified it by saying that I obviously needed her help.”
“How did you take her being there?”
“I took it in good faith. I never complained that there was not enough room, or that I felt cramped at all by my husband’s mom. But the tension was most certainly there, in that tiny apartment. Each morning his mom would fix a cup of tea for him, but not for me. Yet I said nothing. Mom would fix breakfast, because, of course, I had to leave for work. When I managed to squeeze in cooking a meal after my long day, she always complained. It was too salty, too fatty, my mother had not taught me how to cook, and I should learn from her how to cook the way her son liked it. She went on and on. She kept nagging, but I never complained.”
“Gita, you sound like you tried to be patient with her in a difficult situation. What happened next?” I asked.
“His mother often warned me not to get pregnant. She said her son was almost finished with his first year of residency, and that she was glad I was helping. But she said it would ruin everything if I got pregnant and couldn’t work. ‘You’d both have to go back to India!’ she said. Yet I remained silent, never showing disrespect. But his mother was definitely in my space! His mother became so worried about the potential disaster of a pregnancy that she moved from the couch and began to sleep in our bed, between us.”
Ravi began to look very uncomfortable. Pretty soon he stood up and began to walk out of the room.
“Ravi,” I called to him. “I am your family counselor. Please come back and let’s work this out. You don’t have to be embarrassed.” I held his hand as he sat down again next to Gita.
Ravi spoke. “Bhante,” he explained, “this was for our own good; a pregnancy would have hurt us badly.”
Gita spoke up. “Bhante, I complained to Ravi that the situation with his mother was getting out of hand. I told him that although I respected and loved his mother and knew that she meant well, married couples simply should not have their in-laws sleeping with them. But it was to no avail. Mom was there to stay.”
“Gita, please tell me more about how you feel,” I said calmly.
“Okay, Bhante,” she replied, and then, after a pause, she continued. “I was hoping that the situation would solve itself in due course. I thought in time my husband would graduate and we would get a bigger apartment. And eventually, his mother would have to go back to India. But the situation got worse as time went on. Somehow my cooking, even with my best efforts, did not improve in her opinion. My husband started to agree, even though everyone else seemed to love my cooking. And I received no recognition for anything I did. Ravi’s mother didn’t ‘believe’ in celebrating events such as birthdays or anniversaries. She thought that with our limited income, a card or flowers was a waste of money and precious time. And she convinced her son of that, too. I didn’t want to make trouble, but I felt hurt on each birthday or anniversary. Ravi never said a word about my birthday! I would say, ‘Do you know what day it is?’ always to be greeted with the reply that I shouldn’t be so silly, that every day was special.
“Ravi eventually passed his examinations and became an M.D. Seeking greater opportunities, he and I moved to the United States. To my delight, within a year I conceived and gave birth to a baby girl, and the following year a baby boy. No sooner had we gotten settled than his mother joined us. Now our troubles are multiplying because of her interference in our lives.” Gita burst out crying.
“Ravi, what have you to say?” I asked.
Ravi replied, “Bhante, Gita fails to think about the fact that my mother is a widow. She struggled to bring up her children and was determined to see that I became a medical doctor. I recall the sleepless nights she had when I was studying for my exams. She was the last to sleep and the first to get up to prepare our breakfast, which was usually very frugal. She washed and ironed our clothes. She made our lives comfortable by making many sacrifices.
“One day I noticed that my mother was not eating, though she had served us our food. When I walked into the kitchen, I noticed that there was no food for her to eat except the roasted rice at the bottom of the pan.” Tears rolled down Ravi’s cheeks, and there was a moment of silence.
Finally he continued as I listened patiently. “Bhante, you know that there is no one more important than one’s mother. I have only one mother and no one can replace her; but a wife can always be replaced.”
Gita just stared at him, not believing that her husband could say something so cruel.
An uncomfortable moment passed, and Ravi spoke again. “In Sunday school we learn that Brahma, our Hindu Creator God, is equal to our parents. We also learn that Brahma has four sublime states: the first is loving kindness, the second is compassion, the third is appreciative joy, and the fourth is equanimity. All of these qualities are embodied in every parent.1 Don’t you agree?”
“Well,” I replied, taking a pause, knowing I had to advise and console both parties. “Ravi, let us discuss the sublime states that you just mentioned.” Ravi and Gita both looked at me with interest. “The love of the sublime states can be experienced in our daily life. Parents project loving kindness toward their children. They wish for their children to enjoy good health, have good friends, be intelligent, and be successful in all of their endeavors. In the same manner, a practicing Buddhist should show his or her love to all living beings. Ravi, I am sorry to say, your mother is a wonderful lady, yet her loving kindness is mixed up with personal affections.”
“What do you mean by that?” questioned Ravi.
“Your mother thinks that she has to love only you. Not also your wife. Pure universal love, which we call metta, is different. It is firm, but not grasping. It is unshakable, but not tied down. It is gentle and not hard. It is helpful, but not interfering. It is dignified, but not proud. It is active, not passive. Universal love is released without any restrictions. It gives calm, peace, and unity. It also gives us right understanding, right thought, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right mindfulness, and right concentration. Furthermore, universal love teaches us to be hospitable and charitable to one another. It teaches us to speak pleasantly and agreeably to one another. It teaches us not to quarrel among ourselves, but to work for each other’s welfare.”
Ravi and Gita remained silent, but occasionally glanced toward one another.
“In the same manner, compassion, or karuna, must be cultivated. When parents see their children seriously ill, they will naturally be moved by compassion and an earnest wish that the child be free from the suffering brought on by illness. In the same way, we have to experience feelings of compassion when witnessing the suffering of all living beings.
Saffron Days in L.A. Page 11