Lumbini: Birthplace of the Buddha

To steal a line from Patrick Kavanagh, the bicycles go by in threes and fours here in Lumbini. Well, in fact, they go by in all manner of multiples. Biking is THE way of getting around in these parts.

Yesterday I hired rickety bike of ancient Chinese origin for myself and went to see the spot where Buddha is said to have been born, at the Maya Devi Temple in the Sacred Garden. I sat for a long time listening to the chanting of some Tibetan monks and watched as pilgrims prostrated themselves towards the temple. Later, I visited some of the many Buddhist monasteries in the area, each one built by a Buddhist community from a different country. The Chinese monastery was particularly elegant.

This morning, in an effort to beat the 42 degree heat, I set off early and visited the Peace Pagoda and Crane Sanctuary. The cranes were in hiding, but the Pagoda, brilliant white and glinting gold under a clear blue sky, was imposing. I had seen a similar one in Pokhara. Both were built in the 1990s by the Japanese, at a cost of 1 million dollars each. Their purpose is to promote world peace and it is expected that in all, 100 of these Pagodas will be built all over the world.

It struck me both today and yesterday, that despite the Buddha’s rejection of divinity and materialism, this site has become a place of pilgrimage, where the local people rely on tourists for their livelihood, and where Buddha is worshipped as a deity.  Having learned so much about the Buddha’s teachings on the Vipassana course last month, this materialism and worshipping of idols feels very out of synch. The idea also of spending over a million dollars on a white and gold structure set in the middle of a field, whose purpose is idealistic, but not an enhancement of the lives of the local community in any way (besides perhaps being a minor tourist attraction), especially in a country with such obvious poverty as Nepal, also gives me a sense of unease. Would that money not have been better spent providing better roads or sanitation or improving healthcare or education systems?

But there once again is the paradox which so frequently arises in developing countries. The huge disparity between those with wealth and therefore the power to decide how finances will be allocated in a country, and those who live hand to mouth and have little or no say. The Buddha may not wanted to be revered as a deity, and much of what is happening here in Lumbini as regards construction work especially, flies in the face of his original ‘dhamma’ or teachings, but it is not so different to other places of pilgrimage that I would be familiar with: Knock, Lourdes, Bethlehem.

And so I’ll rest my judgement hat there and maybe continue my bicycle visit now that a breeze has come up. Perhaps there’ll be some cranes fishing by the river,  and all going well, there will be a train ticket to Delhi ready for me at the travel agent. Tomorrow I’m back on the road.

The family whose house fell down

The house with the hole in its side

There’s a house right beside the one I used to live in which has a large gaping hole in its side. Nobody has ever been able to shed any light on as to why the side wall of this house had been knocked in, just that at some point last year, the wall was no longer there. From over the wall at Ocean Side, it’s possible to see right into the kitchen of this house; the little electric light on the family alter flickering. 

When I lived at the yellow house, I used to see the family who own the house come and go. The kids would brush their teeth on the porch before going to school and we would nod and say good morning. I wondered what it might be like to live in a house that was so open to the elements, even with the warm climate here. Then one day something happened. The father of the house passed away. I found out when the eldest girl stopped me on my way to teach a class and asked if I would like to have some sweets with them. ‘Oh, is it a festival today?” I asked innocently, remembering that I had seen her mother cleaning the house the day before with bucketfuls of cow dung diluted in water. “No” she replied “my father expired”. I was taken aback and began to express my condolences to her and her mother. But they both smiled broadly and the daughter said it was OK: her father had not been a good man; he had drunk too much and had been ill for some time. Their smiles confused me and I began to doubt whether I had heard correctly. Somehow my brain could not compute her body language as to what she was telling me. 

Bit by bit, the family moved out of the house with the hole in the side. They travelled back to the place where the mother was from to be closer to family there. They are gone and the alter light continues to flicker, the abandoned house still open to the elements. 

Quirky things you see in India – Part 4

Catholic Shrine at our rented house with Jesus and lots of saints

I love how religions meld in India. Here in Goa, Catholicism has a very strong presence, co-existing happily with Hinduism and Islam. It’s common to see a picture of Jesus being honoured with incense and flower garlands, in the same way that these would be offered to Ganesha, Shiva, or any of the other Hindu gods.

Catholics here take their faith seriously and adhere to many traditions which have been lost to us Ireland over the years. One  example is how the local women gather each evening to say the rosary at the little white chapel down the road from where I live. Another is how the convention of having the “Stations” at each of the houses in the village is still alive – this is when the local priest comes to say mass at the house. The Stations happened back in November here in Mandrem, and the family from whom we rent our house asked if they could come use the house while we were out at dinner in order to have the mass. At first it seemed a strange request..could they not perhaps do it in the house they are currently residing in?..but then it seemed even stranger to refuse. So off to dinner we went, and when we came back we found that extra garlands had been put on the the family alter, while the scents of incense, candles and cigarette smoke lingered in the air.