Baby Buddha

BABY BUDDHA

Statues of baby Buddha are found all over Lumbini.  There he is, standing erect with one finger pointing to the sky, though I don't know why.  His mother is depicted as standing under a tree, holding on to a branch while he is apparently taking seven-steps on lotus flowers.  Of course this is legend and unbelievable, as is the idea that he was born out of his mothers side rather than through the normal channel; think of the birth of Jesus to Virgin Mary.

Why do people believe this nonsense?  Is it a choice to pretend ignorance for fear of maybe being wrong?  The problem:  people have convictions and cannot conceive that this is most probably the only life we have.  No, we're not coming back or spendng trillions of years in some kind of hell. And we're not going to some mansion in the sky after death if we're good in this life. 

I can't argue against the notion that Buddhism is a philosophy that promotes peace in the world.  But followers should develop a more rational approach and admit that no one has been reborn and knows what it's like on the other side.

Hamlet understood this:

The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn
No Traveller returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.

And that's how it is.

LAST DAY IN LUMBINI

PAINTING IN THE KOREAN TEMPLE

LAST DAY IN THE KOREAN TEMPLE.  The temperature is a lot cooler with a gentle breeze cooling the metaled paths.  Crows in the courtyard caw caw, crazily fighting to get the last remnants of rice left over from the Sri Lankan's breakfast.

Wearing white with white caps, blouses, skirts, lungis and trousers, they all sit placidly looking at their luxury tourist bus - a row of early twentieth century cricketers waiting on their innings.

Suddenly, someone shouts something and en mass, they all scramble up with their belongings and then there's a bottleneck at the door of the bus as they push and shove each other.

I ask myself, "Are the seats not numbered and booked?  Or is it a competition where they all vie for a window seat each time they board?"

Ironically, they're left sitting on the immobile bus for nearly an hour while their priests sit around their bedroom and talk and drink tea.


[Turns out it might be my second last night.  Just heard there's a strike tomorrow in Kathmanu which means all transport in the capital may be canceled.]

[And again - another strike.  Two-extra nights here.  Will leave tomorrow.]

LEAVING POKHARA

OUTWARD BOUND

THE TINNY BUS

THERE IS NO DOUBT that Pokhara has left me with a positive memory of an organised city, one of the few to be found in the apparent chaos that is in most of the rest of Nepal.  Very few things have changed over the years, despite the arrival of democracy and the assassination of the whole of the royal family of Shahs – well, except that democracy has arrived in name and parties are vying for power.  Power means money: and the greed for money means corruption.

By the lakeside at Fewa Taal, we’re dilly-dallying along at a snail’s pace – sauntering by comparison would be break-neck in this case – stopping at every shop on the way to look at over-priced GENUINE PASHMINA KASHMIRI SHAWLS AND SCARVES and actually buying very little.  Fulmaya does buy a couple of scarves, one for daughter and one for daughter-in-law; I buy a couple of second-hand books; Dil Bahadur buys a kukri which probably reminds him of his days in the Ghurkha regiment of the British Army and he’ll use it to slaughter a goat or pig, no doubt, when he gets back to Edinburgh where he lives with his two-sons and daughter. He’s in Nepal for the engagement of Deepak, his third of four sons.

DIPAK

From the lakeside we catch a bus to Devi Falls.  There seems to be some confusion about the origin of the name for this narrow gorge.  I’ve been told several times by various people that the gorge is named after someone called David who accidentally slipped/committed suicide there.  This is unlikely.  Devi means goddess and there are shrines and statues all around dedicated to the goddess Devi.

Somehow, the gorge looks artificial, but it’s just the way the water has carved out the limestone.  Where the falls seem to disappear into a cave, the lushness of the greenery is spellbinding in its pristine beauty.  Glossy leaves cover the rocks and constantly absorb the spray from the falls.

WHERE THE FALLS GO UNDERGROUND

On to a restaurant for a meal and quite a few German beers.  There are six of us and the bill comes to Rs3,000 (£22).  I’m always surprised how cheap it is to eat out here.  I’m reminded of Singapore where it’s so much cheaper to eat at stalls than to stay at home and cook.  We very rarely spent more than £2 to eat a full meal there.

But I eat far too much and there is that pain in the chest I haven’t had for a long time, like at the end of Yom Kippur when you know you should stop after fasting all day but the food is so well-prepared and tasty that you just can’t stop guzzling plate after plate.

STANDING IN FRONT OF A MOCK-UP OF THE HIMALAYAN RANGE

The next morning we’re up at 5am getting ready to catch a bus to Bhairawa and from there to Lumbini, the birth place of Siddhartha or Gautama Buddha.  I wonder if perhaps we’ve left Pokhara too early.  Maybe we should have stayed on another week or so.  But staying with Druba, our friend from Edinburgh, was very comfortable and to have moved into a hotel would have been insulting for him and his wife. 

So we’re off the next morning in a taxi in the dark to the tourist bus station where we wait on a tinny bus for our 6-hour journey to Bhairawa.  Hard seats and broken suspension is the norm.  But the road is not too bad and the deeply crevassed valleys emit that mysteriousness of uninhabited and unfrequented places.

From the lakeside we catch a bus to Devi Falls.  There seems to be some confusion about the origin of the name for this narrow gorge.  I’ve been told several times by various people that the gorge is named after someone called David who accidently slipped/committed suicide there.  This is unlikely.  Devi means goddess and there are shrines and statues all around dedicated to the goddess Devi.

Somehow, the gorge looks artificial, but it’s just the way the water has carved out the limestone.  Where the falls seem to disappear into a cave, the lushness of the greenery is spellbinding in its pristine beauty.  Glossy leaves cover the rocks and constantly absorb the spray from the falls.

STANDING ON NEW ROAD DURING A NATIONAL STRIKE