Читать книгу India Journal - Mark McGinnis - Страница 8

sketch of a tree on the Mahabodhi Temple grounds

I sleep well again and wake at 5:30 a.m. I wash up and feel I’m getting better at the balancing needed on the toilet. I begin my meditation and prayers but then things get too noisy and I abandon them. I was quite cold all night and into the morning. Heating seems to be entirely unheard of here. I breakfast at Pole to Pole. It is excellent but I have so much steam rising from the food that I can’t keep my glasses from being constantly fogged. The Buddha Hippies are there, of course. They are such a kick to watch, so cool. Nearly all smoke cigarettes and it seems they all have colds.

I return to my room and review the books I purchased yesterday – what a find. Losang, the kind monk who befriended me when I came, is at the door with more hot buttered and salted Tibetan tea. I invite him in. He has purchased a New Year’s card for me showing the mountains of Tibet and lovingly inscribed it in his best English. We have a very nice talk. He is the attendant of an ex-abbot from a southern monastery. The abbot’s health became bad and he needed to come north in the summers when it is so hot and humid in the south. Losang’s family agreed to take the abbot in and Losang became a monk to take care of him. I don’t think I have ever met a gentler, kinder, more sensitive soul in my life. Simply to look at him makes me feel better. As a New Year’s card, I give him one of the sketches I have done of Mahabodhi Temple.

I decide it would be a good morning to visit the other temples in Bodh Gaya. Most Buddhist countries have built temples here. I begin my walk into town. The road has been barricaded by the army and soldiers are checking all vehicles coming into town. This is the main road. They let me pass. Everywhere along the road men are standing urinating. Some men seem to do so whenever and wherever the urge strikes them. Spitting also is constant, often the red juicy substance that many chew but also the frequent clearing of the nasal and throat areas and depositing the results on the road. Belching and passing gas also seems quite unrestrained and many men seem to be in frequent need to reposition their genitals in their pants. It is a bit difficult for a Westerner to get used to. There is also the much more serious sound of what I assume is tubercular hacking, a cough that has the ominous sound of coming from deep in diseased lungs.

The temples I visit are interesting, but none really grab me. I am truly mesmerized by Mahabodhi. I take quite a few photos and I feel quite touristy for the first time. To my surprise several groups of Indian tourists want their picture taken with me. One even does an audio tape interview for a school project he is working on. I’m not quite sure why I am of interest to them as there are many Westerners in Bodh Gaya. At the huge Japanese Buddha statue I forget to take my shoes off before I go up on the platform as it apparently has the same sacred standing as a temple. It causes quite a scene and I’m very embarrassed.

On my way back to the room I pick up the photocopying from the library and the librarian asks me to write a testimonial for him. It seems a common thing in India for service people to have books in which they ask satisfied customers to write favorable comments in. I’m glad to do so as he was fine help in the research. I try to get a rickshaw back to the room but the driver tries to gouge me and I walk. I have my knee brace on today so I’m not in pain, but I am getting tired.

At my room I have fruit and nuts for lunch, pack my day bag and head out for Mahabodhi. I thought the temple would be quieter today after the all-night puja. I was wrong it is even busier. I discern they are getting ready for another huge puja involving the devotees of a living Buddhist teacher. I return to same spot I sat in last night. The chanting is still going on. I set up and begin some sketching. The monks around me seem very interested. I hope I am not distracting them from their prayers and chanting. Children again surround me. They block my view and get into my stuff a bit but they are well intentioned. One Indian family watches me paint for quite a while and then one of the daughters wants my autograph. I tell her I’m not famous. She doesn’t care; she wants it anyway. I have a difficult time writing her name as when she spells, it sounds like different letters than what she wants me to write. I finally get it right and go back to my painting. I do a total of four sketches during the afternoon. Two paintings I am very pleased with, the other two are just OK. There is a little Indian street girl in a dirty yellow dress that has been watching me most of the afternoon. She wants my pencil. I give her an extra pen I have in my bag. She follows me out of the temple as I head back to the room but not all the way to my lodging. My knee is really quite painful after sitting all afternoon on my cushion. I can’t wear my knee brace when I sit.

I reach the room and collapse in my plastic chair. There is a knock at the door and there is Losang with a cup of hot buttered tea for me. It seems he is becoming my attendant also. The guest house is even louder than usual. Many children are running and yelling in the hallway. I make my way to Pole to Pole for another good meal. When I leave it is almost impossible to move in the streets. Huge buses bulging with people are coming into town. It must be some kind of festival. Things are getting very wild and loud. I decide it would be a good evening to spend in my room reading. It is unbelievably loud all around at the guest house. I put my ear plugs in at 6:30 p.m. just to try to lower the din of sound. I then notice my door moving. The hallway is absolutely jammed with people and they seem to be looking for space. I bolt the top of my door. The bottom bolt doesn’t work. Things start to get out of hand. Now people are banging on the door and pushing hard against it. It’s getting quite frightening. I see a large bent rusty nail at the bottom of the door jam and I bend it over the bottom of the door for more support. It helps some but the onslaught continues for some time. Maybe they feel my room is under utilized as most of these little rooms have four to eight people staying in them. I am basically am under siege and captive in my room. I find that you can actually bathe with “Wet Ones” and an empty water bottle can be a multi-functional vessel. Out of complete exhaustion, even amongst the chaos, I go to sleep.