Rude Awakenings - Forest Sangha Publications

^0 S E C O N D M O O N 06Sangha, aspirations for the welfare of all beings, reflections of gratitudeand caring for all those who had helped or hindered us. This would befollowed by a half an hour or so of silent meditation. The preliminariesover, the day would begin, generally with a man on a bicycle stoppingto question us or a bullock cart squeaking by. Subsequent days presentedthe same scenario.Trudging along the roads of India, you quickly get a feeling for theperspective of the renunciant traditions: the world is endless, it is awearisome procession of illusory events that are repeated until one seesthrough them. Through non-involvement in this web of samsara, theheart is liberated from this mundane plane of sorrow and attains thesublime, nirvana. The landscape supported that mood. The flat Gangesplain, paddy field after paddy field, is almost hypnotic in its monotony:after a few days the mountains to the left faded away, and with no boundariesto move against, we could almost have been walking on the spot.Everyone was dressed the same: men in white dhotis with long shirts orjackets, women in plain saris; the men rode the same kind of black bike,which travels at the same dreamlike speed and jangles the same bell; thewomen are walking a flowing walk, a huge pitcher of water or a vastbundle of rice straw balanced on the head. Trucks clatter by, blastingtheir horns; and almost all the trucks are the same model, coloured redand travelling at thirty miles per hour. Villages put on the same scenarioof tea stalls, tiny kiosks with the vendor squatting over his cigarettes,betel nut, and pan-leaf concoctions, sweets, and oddments. People aresquatting, knees against their chests, talking, mending things, weavingbaskets, fixing shoes, or threshing grain. The expressions are generallyimpassive, the tempo slow. Buffalos plod along forever, as dull as themind in the afternoon heat.Flowing into consciousness were not only the banshee howl oftrucks and the shriller jangle of bicycle bells—but also the rhythmicstabs that denoted blisters, dull ringing in the head, memories andmoods whispering of tea. I’d try to concentrate to find some degree of6 4