Rude Awakenings - Forest Sangha Publications

^0 S E C O N D M O O N 06she bestowed upon us. This morning it was sand, pasted on our sleepinggear by the heavy dew, that we packed away and carried in our bags.We struggled east across the dunes and into a harsh sunrise. Throughsquinting eyes a new land eventually appeared—a village, cultivation,and a road—and that feeling of returning to more welcoming ways. Soit seemed at first, as we stood on the road from the river and people camerushing toward us ... but no, they were following two cantering horsesdragging a cart our way, to the riverbank. Drums were pounding—themen running behind the cart were beating drums—and as the cart rattledby, we were greeted by a pale thin hand hanging out from beneaththe white cloth bundle on the back of the cart. Welcome to Bihar. Theheavy odour of the corpse was unmistakable. I gently put my hands inanjali and bowed my head. Our pilgrimage had arrived at Death, one ofthe principle gateways to the realm of Dhamma.N I C KThe road we were now on led to Bettiah, the local big town, but we werelooking out for Udaipur Nature Reserve. The road was quiet, with justa few bicycles and the occasional vehicle. We walked along it till teno’clock, the time we usually stopped for food, and then turned off at thenext huddle of houses.We found ourselves in a comparatively large and prosperous-lookingvillage, and as we walked slowly through, an old man called us over tosit on rope beds on the veranda of his house. Small and slightly stooped,he was a quiet and gentle soul who smiled at Ajahn Sucitto’s attemptsat Hindi. Instead of replying, he went off and returned with a muchyounger man who spoke good English. The old man had him find outif we would take food and what we could eat and then withdrew to leaveus to talk.The young man was a very different character. Robust and confident,he was the old man’s nephew and home on leave from the army.1 1 6