The Buddha and His Son

sariputta.and.rahula

There is a quite endearing discourse by the Buddha in the Majjhima Nikaya called Advice to Rahula at Ambalatthka (Ambalatthaka means “Mango Grove”). What makes it endearing isn’t so much the content as the context. Rahula was the Buddha’s son.

The Buddha left home on his spiritual quest when he was 26. His father – Suddhodana (soo-DOH-dah-nah) – was the raja, the leader, of the Indian republic of Shakya. Suddhodana wanted his son to follow in his footsteps, but there are indications that from the very beginning that Siddhartha – the future Buddha – was pretty unhappy about being coerced in this way. There is further speculation that Siddhartha made a deal with his father that he – Siddhartha – could leave on his spiritual journey after producing an heir.

Siddhartha was married to an attractive young woman named “Yasodhara” (yah-SHO-dah-rah). They had been married for some time without having any children. Finally Yasodhara got pregnant, gave birth to a son, and to much weeping and wailing – according to canonical sources – Siddhartha left the palace, donning the robes of samana – a renunciate. He didn’t exactly leave as the umbilical cord was being cut, but there wasn’t much lag time, either.

Siddhartha became enlightened after a 6-year effort, and after his enlightenment he eventually made his way back to Shakya. It must have been some scene. Siddhartha was now the Buddha, wearing the robes of a beggar, returning to the place where he was once on a par with royalty. His parents probably had a hard time knowing what to make of their son. Yasodhara was – not surprisingly – not all that happy with her husband. She rather testily told Rahula to go to the Buddha to “collect his inheritance.” The Buddha, of course, having taken a vow of poverty, didn’t have a material inheritance. However, Rahula became a monk, and that turned out to be a pretty good proxy.

So to set the scene for this discourse, Rahula is now seven years old. According to the sutta, the Buddha “arose from his seclusion in the late afternoon”, and sought out his son.

This is pretty unusual to begin with. The Buddha hardly ever sought out anyone to give them a teaching. He had plenty of people who came to him, and for the most part this is how he operated. But on this occasion he sought out Rahula.

Next, according to the discourse, Rahula, seeing his father coming, “set out a seat and water for washing his feet.” When the Buddha sat down, Rahula washed his father’s feet, and then sat down to his side, which was a way of showing respect.

This is really quite a scene. Rahula, of course, had not seen his father for the first six years of his life. He probably barely knew him at this point. And for crying out loud has dad returns and he’s the Buddha. That is pretty powerful stuff. So now this little boy is going to get a teaching from his Buddha-dad.

What follows is very typical of the Indian philosophical tradition. Discourses were given in a rather exhaustive way. All of the cases are broken down and itemized. Many of the Buddha’s discourses – rather famously – are lists, but many go one step further and are matrices. This discourse is like that.

The Buddha is giving a teaching about how to know if your conduct is proper. In Buddhist thinking, there are three kinds of actions: actions of the body, actions of speech, and actions of the mind. The latter can be a little hard to understand at first. It helps, I think, to remember that in the Buddha’s understanding, actions have karmic results. Take something simple, like speaking harshly to someone. You might feel guilty about that later. That is an example of a karmic result. An unskillful act of speech had a harmful karmic result. You felt bad about it.

Actions of the mind can also be that way. If you feel a lot of hatred, it doesn’t make you happy. It’s a negative feeling. Likewise, if you remember someone fondly it makes you happy. There is a positive result from a positive mental “action.”

So one side of the matrix is complete. We have a list of types of actions: body, speech and mind.

The other dimension of the matrix is whether the action a) has not yet happened, b) is currently happening, or c) has already happened. Thus there are bodily actions about to happen, that are currently happening, and that have already happened, etc. The Buddha walks through each one of these in turn. Here is his first case:

“Whenever you want to do a bodily action, you should reflect on it: ‘This bodily action I want to do — would it lead to self-affliction, to the affliction of others, or to both? Would it be an unskillful bodily action, with painful consequences, painful results?’ If, on reflection, you know that it would lead to self-affliction, to the affliction of others, or to both; it would be an unskillful bodily action with painful consequences, painful results, then any bodily action of that sort is absolutely unfit for you to do. But if on reflection you know that it would not cause affliction… it would be a skillful bodily action with pleasant consequences, pleasant results, then any bodily action of that sort is fit for you to do.”

Like many of the Buddha’s teachings, this one is remarkably simple. It’s pretty practical and it certainly isn’t rocket science. Don’t do something that will cause harm; do things that will be of benefit. Here is the after case:

“Having done a bodily action, you should reflect on it: ‘This bodily action I have done — did it lead to self-affliction, to the affliction of others, or to both? Was it an unskillful bodily action, with painful consequences, painful results?’ If, on reflection, you know that it led to self-affliction, to the affliction of others, or to both; it was an unskillful bodily action with painful consequences, painful results, then you should confess it, reveal it, lay it open to the Teacher or to a knowledgeable companion in the holy life. Having confessed it… you should exercise restraint in the future. But if on reflection you know that it did not lead to affliction… it was a skillful bodily action with pleasant consequences, pleasant results, then you should stay mentally refreshed & joyful, training day & night in skillful mental qualities.”

Simple to understand, but like so much of the Buddhadhama, not necessarily so easy to do.

The Buddha walks through all nine cases in turn. You can probably figure them out. The full sutta is at http://www.accesstoinsight.org/tipitaka/mn/mn.061.than.html.

Sometimes the Buddha’s teachings can feel quite complicated and overwhelming. However, there are plenty of cases – and this is one of them – where he teaches something in such a simple way. It is very beautiful, and not that hard to remember, and sometimes in the midst of confusion on how to act, a very simple teaching like this can be a lot easier to remember than the intricacies of the law of karma or dependent origination. And all the while we can enjoy the fact that this discourse is so lovely and simple because the Buddha was trying to explain his teachings to his very own son, who was just a little boy at the time.

(As a postscript, Rahula eventually became enlightened. Yosodhara and the Buddha’s step-mother – Mahapajapati – lobbied the Buddha to ordain women, thus beginning the first order of nuns in the world. They, too, both became enlightened, as did the Buddha’s father Suddhodana.)

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Zen and (the sad art of) Sex Abuse

When I went to the New York Times web site on February 11, 2013, the lead article was Zen Groups Distressed by Accusations Against Teacher. It isn’t often that the Times lead article is about something Buddhist, and sadly the topic was sex abuse. The article describes a Zen community founded by Joshu Sazaki who has been “groping and sexually harassing female students for decades”. Sazaki even tried to break up the marriage of one of his students, and encouraged him to have an affair.

This is not the first time something like this has happened, and it is an occurrence that seems particularly prone to happening in Zen communities. The San Francisco Zen Center, one of the first and most prominent Zen centers in the U.S. (started by the famous author of “Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind”, Shunryu Suzuki), had a similar scandal when Suzuki’s successor, Richard Baker, forced female students to have sex with him, and coerced his students into turning over all their money to the Zen center. While Baker lived in luxury, his students were relegated to a life of poverty and manipulation.

These incidents all have three things in common:

  1. The trust in and reliance on a “guru”, who is given almost complete, unquestioned authority.
  2. The closed and somewhat secretive nature of these communities.
  3. A misunderstanding of some of the more subtle teachings of the Buddha.
  4. A disregard for the Buddha’s foundational teachings on morality.

Those Pesky Gurus

The Buddha famously did not appoint a successor before he died. He was very wary of unchallenged, religious authority. It is one reason why his monastics were forced to gather alms on a daily basis. Misbehaving monks and nuns could then be held in check by the lay community on whom they were dependent. Even during the Buddha’s life badly behaving monks were held in order by lay communities that were disgusted by their poor behavior.

When a monk or nun was ordained – in a practice that continues in some lineages to this day – the monastic was assigned a “preceptor” to help them learn the nuts and bolts of how to behave in the monastic “Sangha” (community), and a meditation instructor. Neither of these people were gurus, and neither one of them were given unquestioned authority. In fact, questioning is a vital part of the tradition. Even on his deathbed the Buddha asked several times if anyone there had any questions for him. He even went so far as to say that if anyone had a question but was too shy to ask, they should have someone ask it for them. He tried in every way he knew how to encourage them. The Buddha himself never asked for unquestioned authority.

Even today in many traditions it is considered bad form for a teacher to give a Dharma talk and then not answer questions. It is actually considered something of a failure if students don’t have anything to ask. The second factor of enlightenment is “taking an interest”, probing into a topic or issue.

There is a Pali term that is used in “Southern Buddhism”, and that is “kalyana mitta”. It means something like “spiritual friend.” Your preceptor and meditation instructor are to guide, point the way, provide encouragement, answer questions, and to help you along the way. But it was never the idea to give over unquestioned authority to a “guru”. This is something that came much later – during the 1st millennium – and is an example of what I call “creeping Hinduism”. And while it is true that guruism is more a mark of the Mahayana traditions – like Zen and Tibetan Buddhism – to be fair many teachers in both of those traditions teach more like kalyana mittas than gurus.

The Buddha created a decentralized community, and when he died he told his monks and nuns to rely on the Dharma and the Vinaya (the monastic code) as their guides. So his final advice was not to follow a person or persons, but to trust in the path – the Vinaya – and the “reality of the way things are” – the Dharma:

And the Lord said to Ānanda: ‘Ānanda, it may be that you will think: “The Teacher’s instruction has ceased, now we have no teacher!” It should not be seen like this, Ānanda, for what I have taught and explained to you as Dhamma and discipline will, at my passing, be your teacher. [Mahaparinibbana Sutta, DN 16]

Larry Rosenberg, a co-founder of the Cambridge Insight Meditation Society, says that he is always amazed to see how otherwise intelligent, educated, successful people check their common sense at the door when it comes to their spiritual practice.

Misunderstanding the Dharma

Of course, certain aspects of Buddhism add to this problem. There are some very subtle teachings. This is a mystical tradition, and unfortunately the subtlety and counter-intuitive nature of some of the teachings can be used to manipulate students. If you don’t understand something, the implication is just that you are not spiritually advanced enough. (It’s sort of how the computer industry makes people feel like it is the user’s fault if they can’t make something work. The idea that maybe it’s bad engineering never occurs to most people.)

A prime example is those elusive notions of emptiness, nothingness, and non-self.

I have heard some very prominent teachers make the following statements:

There is a difference between conventional reality and ultimate reality.

Ultimately, nothing exists.

I challenge anyone to show me where the Buddha said either of these things. You can throw non-duality into the mix as well. Then there is that slippery issue of non-self.

The first statement does not make any sense. How can there be more than one reality? Things either are as they are or they aren’t. The word Dharma itself can be translated as reality. The Buddha did not teach Dharmas, he taught Dharma (or, more precisely, Buddhadharma).

Because I am typing on a keyboard that is made up of ever-changing quarks doesn’t mean there are two realities. It is still the same reality. I am typing on a keyboard that exists, and the causes and conditions that cause it to be are based on probabilities that make those quarks form into a keyboard. It is the way things are. The fact that quantum physics gives me a more sophisticated way of understanding the universe doesn’t mean there is more than one reality. It just means that I have a deeper understanding of that reality.

And to say that nothing ultimately exists is equally foolish. Now to say that ultimately nothing exists in the way in which we normally perceive it, that is quite a different thing. The keyboard exists, but not – as the Buddha famously said – in any permanent way. That is true for beings as well, and our minds. We exist as an ever-changing process, one that is different moment-to-moment. There is no soul or permanent essence. But that doesn’t mean that we don’t exist, it simply means that we don’t exist in any permanent unchanging way. Those are two very different things.

Take some conventional realities: rocks and the weather. A rock is pretty solid. It doesn’t change much. But a weather system changes every moment. But no one would say that the weather doesn’t exist. If you believe that I invite you to shovel the non-existing snow the next time we have a storm here in Vermont.

As to non-duality, as Bhikkhu Bodhi points out (http://www.accesstoinsight.org/lib/authors/bodhi/bps-essay_27.html), the Buddha never taught a non-dual universe. First of all, how can you become one with everything (something else he never taught and another example of creeping Hinduism), if in the first place you claim that nothing ultimately exists? But more importantly, this notion that Samsara (conventional reality) and Nirvana is the same is specifically not a teaching of the Buddha’s. The Buddha was quite clear that Samsara is Samsara and Nirvana is outside of Samsara. When the mind, free from clinging, becomes unbound, when the body dies, the stream of consciousness is free from the Samsaric world.

So what does this have to do with sex abuse? Well, if you believe that people don’t really exist, and you believe that nothing ultimately exists, then morally you have given yourself a way to justify anything. The Samurai famously gravitated towards Zen because of this – misunderstanding – that no one really exists. You could kill someone, for example, but since that person didn’t exist to begin with, it was a moral loophole of sorts.

(The issue of whether the Buddha understood a self to exist is also a little thornier to me than is often taught. The Buddha was clear that the khandas – the body, feelings, perceptions, mental formations and consciousness – are not self. But in the Ananda Sutta [SN 44.10] the Buddha famously refuses to answer the direct question of whether there is a self. To me this leaves open the question of whether there is some other way of thinking about a “self” that perhaps is beyond the scope of conventional thinking, like the proverbial problem of explaining what an elephant is like to a blind person.)

If you believe that our suffering comes from attachment to an ego – a very Western word, by the way – then you can do whatever you want to someone, because it is their attachment to ego that is the problem, not the fact that you are inappropriately groping their breasts or trying to ruin their marriage. The fact that you are causing suffering is their problem, not yours. You are just trying to free them from their attachment.

The Buddha did not teach nihilism. He taught causality (sometimes called phenomenology in modern terms). A set of causes and conditions gives rise to a set of results, which then become the causes and conditions for the next set of results, and so on. This is true in the physical world, and it is true in the psychological world, the world of the mind. Unskillful acts precipitated by unskillful intentions cause suffering. If I am acting out of anger, hatred, greed, fear, etc,. I have already lost the karmic battle.

Causality is quite a different thing from nothing. Causality describes a universe – and a mind and a consciousness – in constant motion. It’s a universe of verbs, not nouns. But that is not to say that it doesn’t exist. It is to say that it is not static in the way that it – conventionally – appears to us, and in fact our attempts to make it static are one of the main reasons that we suffer.

(At the risk of getting too obtuse, those familiar with the meditative absorptions – a.k.a. the jhanas – know that the 7th Jhana is the base of nothingness, which might make the case for nothing ultimately exists. The word nothingness is also sometimes translated as no-thingness, meaning that there are no permanently existing things. Many people who practice the jhanas experience the 7th jhana as a sense of motion. That, I believe, argues more for the case of the universe as fluidity, rather than nothing.)

Morality and Ethics

This brings us to the issue of sila, the Buddha’s teachings on morality. And now that I have seemingly pointed the finger at the Zen community, let me say that one of the very best teachers on this topic is a Zen teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh.

Around the world the vast majority of Buddhists do not meditate, but they do practice sila. If Buddhism were a pyramid, the ground would be generosity, and the first layer of stone would be sila. This is a teaching that goes back to the time of the Buddha.

There are four fundamental precepts, and a somewhat elusive fifth one that changes a little from sutra to sutra. These are:

  1. Do not kill – harm – living beings.
  2. Do not take that which has not been freely offered.
  3. Refrain from sexual misconduct.
  4. Refrain from false speech, which has four aspects: do not deceive, do not speak abusively, do not “cause discord in the community” (i.e., talk behind people’s backs”, and refrain from idle speech (gossip).

The fifth one usually shows up as refraining from the use of intoxicants. (In another sutra the fifth precept is about killing rice seeds and plants, but that was to a community of “wanderers”, or “recluses”, who presumably would not be using intoxicants.) The understanding is that the use of intoxicants is not, in itself “immoral”, but that it tends to make one more susceptible to unskillful behavior, a.k.a, causing suffering.

Since the topic at hand is mainly sex abuse, precept three has particular relevance.

Sharon Salzberg explains the precept in this way. She says that it is about “not using your sexual energy in a way that does harm to yourself or others.” I think it is particularly interesting to note the cases where sexual intercourse may harm you but not someone else. I think that some – probably most – prostitution falls into this category. It doesn’t hurt the customer, but may be harmful to the prostitute even though the sex may be consensual. That kind of sex may be quite humiliating.

The Buddha was quite aware of the power of sexual energy. In the Vinaya there are a number of rules to prevent even the appearance of sexual impropriety. A monk was never allowed to be in the company of a woman without at least one other person present. Monks were never allowed to touch or be touched by a woman. Even if the woman was the monk’s sister or mother, touching is not allowed. One of the purposes of the Vinaya is to earn and keep the respect of the lay community, and there are a number of rules in place to make sure that what may seem like innocent acts are not misinterpreted.

You can already see what a far cry the Buddha’s instructions on sexual misconduct are from a Buddhist teacher having sex with his students. It is about as far away as you can get. Likewise, with the second and fourth precepts in the case of Richard Baker. He used “false speech” to deceive students into giving up their wealth which was not – certainly – freely given. The Vinaya also has a number of rules in place to prevent even the most subtle suggestion that something be given to a monk or a nun. Monastics are not allowed in any way to indicate that they want anything. (I believe the one exception is water, for which they are allowed to ask.)

I read many years ago – I believe in the book “Foundations of Buddhism”, by Rupert Gethin – that Buddhism is interesting in that when it reforms, it reforms back in the direction of orthodoxy. In other words, over time people stray from the original teachings of the Buddha, and then they get into trouble, so they go back to being more like the way the Buddha taught. Usually we think of reform as a process of moving away from an outdated norm into a more progressive one, like the abolition of slavery or gender equality. It is quite a monument to the Buddha that we don’t progress away from his teaching so much as we stray from it, get into trouble, and find our way out of trouble by reverting to his original instructions.

(It is worth noting that some might make the argument that the rather hideous treatment of women in Buddhism is an exception. But there is a considerable amount of debate over whether the treatment of women – particularly the problem of their full ordination – goes back to the Buddha or was added later by societies with extremely sexist norms. Since there is good scholarship arguing for the latter, and the way in which women came to be treated is so inconsistent with the whole of the Buddha’s teachings, I think the latter to be more likely.)

An enlightened human acts naturally in an ethical and moral way. The rest of us need some help. As Thich Nhat Hanh points out, the precepts are our guardians. They help prevent us from causing suffering to ourselves and others until we are enlightened and no longer need them. Further, the Buddha’s training helps to cultivate a mind that is altruistic, kind, generous, loving, compassionate. Further training helps cultivate wisdom, so that we can behave in skillful ways, causing less suffering. This is the cyclical, iterative, holographic nature of the practice, as each aspect in turn strengthens all the other aspects.

(As a side note, I was once told by a Shambala member that it was all right to be having sex with more than one woman because, as he put it, “There are no precepts.” This was his way of justifying behavior that would inevitably create suffering by forcing it through the veil of “nothingness”. It is probably no accident that the first thing the Buddha taught was sila, to prevent just this sort of thing. Get the moral house in order before we start creating all sorts of new kinds of suffering through delusion about the teachings.)

Final Word

When I first started to practice, I was told that the Buddha’s discourses were repetitive and boring, and that I should not bother with them. For years I followed that advice, but eventually I got frustrated at being told what the Buddha said. I really didn’t want to hear about it second hand. One year I bought a copy of the Majjhima Nikaya, the Middle Length Discourses of the Buddha. Life has never been the same since. What I found was that a great deal of what I was being told was wrong, and a great deal was being omitted.

Curiously, I was in a Buddhist Studies program some years ago where a student derisively referred to what he called “Nikaya Buddhists”. I always thought that was a funny term. It is like saying “Bible Christian” or “Torah Jew” or  “Koran Muslim”. I’m still not sure what he was thinking.

I admit that the canonical literature is not exactly a quick read. But I strongly suggest to anyone who is interested in the Buddha’s teachings that they take the time and effort and read it for themselves. It is the closest thing we have to the true words of the Buddha, and whatever its faults the canon has been quite carefully preserved for over 2400 years. And personally I think that any genuine attempt to understand the Buddha’s teachings will help prevent the more egregious acts in the modern Buddhist world. Sometimes you just have to go back to the original source.

Nowhere does the Buddha say that you are to be groped, humiliated, abused, or forced to give all your money away. And if you don’t want to read the Middle Length Discourses, you can just take my word for it.

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The Art of Bus Maintenance, India Style

Bus

March, 2004

We are on a Buddhist pilgrimage in India, traveling by bus on the road from Varanasi (Benares) to Sarnath. The roads in Bihar Province have to be experienced to be believed. The terrain is flat, but you would never know it from the bone-rattling rides that we have been getting. The roads are like washer boards.  Most of us abandon the idea of reading; it is as if the book is mounted on a paint-mixing machine. At one point I ask if a new pair of kidneys is included in the price of the trip.

Fortunately, the Indian countryside is a source of never-ending fascination. The fields are lush and green. Mustard plants with their delicate yellow flowers stretch to the endless horizon. All manner of vehicles crowd the road: pony carts, bicycles, jeeps, motorcycles, three-wheeled mini-vans, white Ambassador sedans – descendents of a long-deceased MG – bicycle rickshaws, pedestrians, brightly-painted trucks, and other buses. Groves of trees dot the landscape, and provide places for roadside lunch stops. At regular intervals we see tiny Indian villages with brick and mud walled houses and thatched roofs. People are busy everywhere, working in the fields, tending the open-air shops, threshing rice, cooking, bathing at water pumps, herding water buffalo, and going about the business of life. Everything in India, good or bad, is in your face. It is life at its most vibrant.

I am busy being mesmerized by the countryside when my dull contemplation is interrupted by a loud crack, like a medium sized explosion. That is quickly followed by a slightly smaller bang. My camera and bags leap into the air. I snag them mid-leap, but don’t have time to appreciate the quick response. After a fashion the bus comes to a halt. I assume that we have blown a tire.

Fortunately the injuries are minor and few, keeping in mind that “minor” is defined as something that happens to someone else. I look around for something constructive to do. The injured people are being cared for, so I start to clean up some broken glass. Perry, one of my fellow pilgrims, gets a little upset about that. He is concerned that I will cut myself. I assure him that this is safety glass, and I show him that it is not sharp, but he is unconvinced. Out of respect for Perry’s state of mind, I stop picking it up.

Once things have settled down a little bit, I go outside. I am startled to see that the entire rear axle is missing. The bus is bowed down in a rearward prostration. There is a slight buckle in the body of the bus about 2/3 of the way back from the front of the bus. We have driven about an hour outside of Varanasi. It is clear that we are going to be here a while, so I take out my mat, my cushion and my book, and settle down on the side of the road. I cannot be of any help, so I may as well stay out of the way. At least the book has stopped vibrating.

After a short time, our charming helper on the bus brings me a cup of Chai. As he hands it to me he says warmly, “Some tea for my friend.” I have long ago learned that the people in India can be so disarmingly charming that it makes no sense to try and give back to them as much as they always seem to be able to give you. A little while later he graciously brings me a banana. Where else can you get care and attention like this?

Meanwhile, the rear axle, it turns out, has landed more or less in tact on the other side of the road, about 75 feet behind the bus. One of the tires is shredded. Whatever was holding it on to the bus – it had to be either welded or clamped on – has given way, and it and the bus have parted ways. Good fortune has prevented the bouncing rear axle assembly from hurting anyone. There is a school across the road, and I am grateful that no one is seriously injured.

BusWheels

From my modest experience in auto mechanics, I guess that this bus is at least 2 weeks away from any useful service. If the frame is bent, it may be a complete loss. Many years ago I had a Volkswagen that broke a rocker arm in Maine. It took a week to get the parts and fix it. This is a relatively simple repair. I can only imagine what must happen to get parts and fix a broken bus in the middle of the poorest province in India. I look around me and think that this might be a good place to start a monastery.

Shantum, our fearless leader, goes off to have an animated conversation with the bus company. He tells them – as any rational person would – that the bus is a complete loss. The bus company insists that it can be fixed. We are firmly dubious. A number of people in our group announce that they will refuse to get on that bus ever again, no matter what. I say nothing. What you will do in any given circumstance depends on the options. As George Schultz, Ronald Reagan’s Secretary of State, once said, “Sometimes you don’t have good options.”

Jagdish

At the same time our helper Jagdish is out doing his magic. You just cannot believe how things happen in India. When something needs to happen, it does. Jagdish goes down the road and finds a guy with a small propane stove and a wok. They also scrounge up some vegetables, and some dough for chapattis, the Indian national bread. Some of the people in our group begin chopping vegetables and making lunch. I’m convinced that there must be a space warp in India so that every time that you need something, the warp opens up and whoever you need just pops through.

Our little group has created quite a stir. Shantum once told us that a bunch of American tourists in India is better than television. We have settled down into one of those roadside groves. Lunch is being prepared, and the rest of us are reading, talking, or just enjoy the typically perfect Indian weather. A crowd begins to gather. At some point a large group of policemen shows up to protect us. The police in India are very intimidating. They dress in combat gear and carry semi-automatic rifles. There are still bandits (bandits?!) in this part of India, and they have been known to stop buses and shake down the tourists. A good tour guide like Santum makes sure that the local police chief gets some financial encouragement for protection. It’s included in the price of the tour.

BusPicnic

The crowd continues to grow and finally a band (a band?!) shows up. They are dressed in red uniforms that look like they are left over from the British colonial era. At this point the police have had enough and start to disperse the crowd, although what they end up doing is simply “crowd reduction”. Once the crowd gets down to a certain size, they slacken their efforts. Apparently there is a maximum allowable crowd size when American tourists are stranded by the side of the road.

Some time later several cars show up and a bunch of men pile out. It is hard to tell who is who, but one of them is the chief mechanic from the bus company. In India it is always hard to tell who – if anyone – is in charge. I suspect that Indians grow up in such close quarters that they learn to communicate with a minimum of words. There is very little discussion among the group. They go across the road to the orphaned rear axle. I don’t see any tools anywhere. Several of the men find pieces of wood along the side of the road and use them as levers to begin moving the axle. I lose interest. I assume that their efforts are futile. I’m not really sure what they think they will accomplish.

BusAndTools

After a while I look up and see that the axle is now on the road, just behind the bus. The back of the bus has been jacked up and placed onto jack stands that are supported by several layers of bricks that have been scavenged from the side of the road. It is the kind of thing that I might have done when I was in college and fought the constant battle to keep my ageing VW on the road.

I am slightly puzzled and amused by what I am seeing. They cannot possibly be thinking about re-attaching the rear axle. First of all, the differential – the joint between the two wheels – is leaking oil. This will have to be fixed. Second, whatever held the axle onto the bus has to be fixed. If that is a weld, they will need a welding machine. No matter what, they will need some parts. You can’t fix something with nothing. Then there is the matter of the shredded tire. I think of my VW in Maine, remember that I am more or less in the middle of nowhere in India, and know that this will never happen.

The Indian mechanics seem – nonetheless – determined to carry out the charade. They move the rear axle assembly into position under the bus. I notice that the differential is no longer leaking. Next to me on the road a can of oil for the differential has magically appeared. I don’t understand how this has happened. No delivery has been made. I still don’t see any tools. Perry laughs that all they have is a screwdriver and a wrench. I’m not sure if he is kidding, but I don’t see any tools anywhere.

Just as the rear axle is properly positioned, an Ambassador drives up and a man pops out. He is carrying 4 u-shaped bolts about as long as your forearm. Parts have arrived. Now I see the old broken and twisted u-bolts on the road. They are the culprits in our mishap. I do a double take and see that the shredded tire has been replaced. I’m not sure how that managed to happen. I smile a little to myself. I can’t believe what I am seeing. I’m still not sure if I will get back on the bus again, but I have a new and deep appreciation for the mechanical miracle that I am witnessing. Other people in my group remain insistent that they will not get on the bus again. I’m not so sure. If the frame isn’t bent – the one remaining concern – the bus may be – gulp! – eminently road-worthy. I finally see an adjustable wrench as the chief mechanic attaches the u-bolts. In the U.S. a mechanic wouldn’t tackle a job like this without a garage with a lift and $10,000 worth of Snap-On tools. I haven’t heard seven words uttered by the mechanics in the 4 hours that they have been here. Like so many things in India, I am witnessing a dance that is a magical piece of choreography. If I had not been watching it for myself, I would not have believed it. I did see it, and I still do not completely believe it.

A van and a couple of Ambassadors arrive to take us on our journey, so I don’t get to see the final chapter in the bus fixing saga. I would have liked to know if the frame was OK, out of professional curiosity. However, bent frame or not, I know that I have witnessed a miracle, the kind of thing that seems to happen routinely in India. Fortunately I know that it’s not real… it’s only a dream.

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