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Rude Awakenings - Forest Sangha Publications

Rude Awakenings - Forest Sangha Publications

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10The Treasure HouseA J A H N S U C I T T OOnward to Hajipur. “Hajipur, Hajipur!” Some crazy man was jabberingat us, and I threw the words at him as a desperate offering. He wasn’t theonly one accosting us of course. “Kaha ja ra hai?” they asked. “Hajipur!”That dumbfounded them for a while. My Hindi wasn’t that good, butprobably the next question meant “Why on earth are you going toHajipur?” We just grinned: that’s where the bridge over the Gangesbegan ... maybe. Nick couldn’t get the maps to tally.Onward our path narrowed in the darkness as it wriggled betweenbaked mud walls—the walls that defend the backyards of villagers’houses against thieves and wild animals. And still we crept onward, feelinglike fugitives because of those walls (beyond them evening oil lampsand smoky smells mingling with cooking and burning dung), looking forsomewhere to lie down in the darkness. Funny the details that stick: webothrememberthecycadswhereweunrolledourbedding:“Howdoyoucall them again, Nick?” “Cycads, Bhante. Cycads [pronounced sigh cads].A very primitive form of plant. Them, or something pretty like them,would have been around with the dinosaurs.” “Really! Cycads. Cycads.”I think I was starting to crack up. Fixing all these details in mymemory seemed important: it gave a brief mooring to an attention that1 7 1

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