There have been better
journeys and there have been worse.
Pokhara to Bhairawa found us on a bus, having left the former at
6.30. The road wound and wound through
deep valleys with narrow river-beds that would be filled with gushing water in
the monsoon, broadening out into flood plains and enriching the earth for the
winter crops. A last glimpse of Machapuchere
was the final image I had, pointing proudly to the sky above darker, brooding
foothills.
Winding on, we pass
Sangye and Palpa, untidy little towns with a variety of weathered dwellings,
rickety and sloping under rusting corrugated roofing pinned down against the
sudden gales by large stones, tyres, and other discarded paraphernalia that
Asians are loathe to discard in order to be cannibalised for whatever use in
future time of need. Then, the
inevitable sight of the huddles of women in doorways outside shops and houses,
young and old; and in their midst, the toddlers fawning and being preened by
the women.
Then lastly on to
Tansen, that hybridised sounding name, not quite Nepalese or Tibetan, standing
on a hill and seeming to look unaware and distant at the snaking road and the
travellers below. The hospital dominates
the skyline above. Mabel Maclean, now
lumbering behind a Zimmer, remembers her time as a midwife there in the 60s,
long ago, long before she moved to Edinburgh.
Suddenly we’re in the
plains in Bhairawa, a largish Terai town bustling with people crowding the
shops and stalls. The passengers stand
there in a group, looking and feeling a bit dazed and uncentred as if we've stepped off a boat having weathered rough seas.
Slowly, amoeba-like, the group splits and we find ourselves with a tall
Australian girl and who I take to be a German couple but I find out the next
day when meeting them in the bazaar are actually father and daughter. We hire a multi-seater micro to take us to
Lumbini. Our bags are hoisted on to the
rack at the top and we start our dusty journey along the highway to Lumbini,
the birthplace of Gautama Buddha.
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| BUDDHA'S BIRTH PLACE |
We make for the Korean
Monastery as they have rooms to let within the vastness that is the home of Buddhism for pilgrims from all
over the world. We are exactly
300-kilometers away from Kathmandu, not that a measurement like that means very
much here; 8-hours including stops would be more suggestive of the long,
curving Prithvi Narayan pass up to
Kathmandu from the Terai. But more than
distance and time, the two-places are separated by culture and climate. Here, in the market place, Bhojpuri and Hindi
are heard more than Nepali. There are
fewer faces with the Mongol flatness and slanted eyes, more of the Aryan,
darker features of a taller race who have lived, not in the forests, but on the
plains.
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KOREAN MONASTERY
When we approach the
office boy, he tells us, There are no
double rooms available, only dormitories with eight to a room.
|
The flocks flock to
the central temple, The exact spot where
Buddha was born, I’m told by a security guard standing at the door. Within the building, you get a feeling you’re
walking into a large area of meticulous preservation where even the dust must
be kept in its place. There are low
walls and enclosed areas, some of it dating back to the fifth century BC. Barricades surround the vestigial remains and
from a distance, the gold leaf on a wall glitters. This has been placed there by devotees. The leaf is extremely thin and can be bought
in little packets, not unlike sticky notes.
Around the inside of the perimeter wall, a few monks and laypeople sit
in meditation.
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| FULMAYA IN THE GROUNDS OF MAHA BHODI |
I guess this is the
point at which questions arise in my mind about the need for religion. Under a tree, a distinguished looking man in
brown kurta and pyjamas is regaling a crowd of westerners with words of wisdom,
but I’m sure he’s not saying anything that I don’t know. Other groups sit about on the grass absorbing
(by some kind of osmosis?) the atmosphere of the place. They will leave feeling holier than when they
first came here, though for how long?
Altogether, it’s a
worthwhile place to be and the weather is warm, there is an atmosphere of peace:
and finally, if true, then I am at the place where Gautama Buddha was born and
lived to become one of the most influential figures in the history of human
ideas and thought.
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| THE ONLY ARMOUR YOU NEED IS SUNCREAM |
