After two decades of studying Buddhism, I have finally arrived in Bodh
Gaya—the place where the Buddha achieved enlightenment. Today this
small city has become the pre-eminent pilgrimage center for Buddhists
from around the world. That is to say, Bodh Gaya is pretty much like
any other small Indian city, except the beggars all speak Japanese and
the cows subsist almost entirely on discarded flower garlands.
I arrived in Bodh Gaya yesterday. I booked a 3rd floor room with a
balcony. When I first arrived, I stood on the balcony looking across
the dusty streets to the Thai, Bhutanese, Japanese, and Bangladeshi
monasteries across the road. In the late 1950s, the Thai Government
built a large temple with stacked, gabled roofs, red tile, and
elaborate eaves with golden finials rising into the Indian sun. Soon
after, other Buddhist countries came to Bodh Gaya—Sri Lanka, Burma,
The Tibet Government in Exile, Bhutan—each building their own temples,
in their own national styles. In the end they created a Buddhist
Epcot Center, with a smorgasbord of Buddhist temple styles from across
the world.
The Bhutanese temple displays the Himalayan love of eye assaulting
color and pattern—with every surface covered in detailed patterns of
bright red, green, blue, yellow. Demons and other multi-armed beasts
stare from the walls in every direction. In the midst of all of this
sits a large, placid Buddha—demonstrating his ability to remain
focused in even the most disorienting contexts.
In the Thai temple murals depict roiling seas, foundering boats, and
hundreds of iridescent Koi. This isn’t just any Koi pond, these Koi
have teeth—swarms of Piranha Koi poking their heads out of frothing
seas and circling the boats like sharks. But as, in Bhutanese
monastery, the Buddha sits calmly in the center of everything.
"Pirannha Koi?" he seems to say, "Please don’t trouble me unless it’s
something serious."
In contrast to its neighbors, the dark wooden panels and sparse
furnishing of Japanese temple fails to inspire. It looks like the
atrium to a prestigious New York law firm, with a bored Buddha serving
as the doorman. Recognizing this, the Japanese included a school and
clinic for the poor in their compound, making up for their lack of
flair with practical, meritorious acts. The same practicality led the
Japanese to build an airport on the outskirts of town. Today pilgrims
from Thailand, Bhutan and Japan can fly directly to Bodh Gaya, where
together they avoid the Japanese temple like the plague.
All of the national monasteries are intended to show their nation’s
devotion to the Lord Buddha, with sincere testaments toward the
promotion of world peace. It is not a competition—though the Thais,
Bhutanese and almost everybody else have totally kicked Japan’s ass.
The real losers, however, are the Bangladeshis. This might be because
Bangladesh is not a majority Buddhist country. It might be because
they are so desperately poor that their meager resources are best
spent protecting themselves from cyclones. Whatever the case, the
Bangladeshi temple is a tent in front of a derelict hotel. The
Bangladeshis make up for the sorry state of their temple through
enthusiasm and the use of extreme amplification. The entire compound
is rigged with nests of bullhorns, broadcasting to the city (and
perhaps even neighboring cities) the festivities going on within.
Since my arrival in Bodh Gaya I had been listening to the final day of
a "FOUR DAY CHANT FOR WORLD PEACE."
By the time it got dark, the festivities at the Bangladeshi temple
were clearly switching into high gear. Rather than the low rumble of
Buddhist chants, the temple was beginning to broadcast speeches and
traditional music. I stepped out onto the balcony just in time to
watch the Bangladeshis carry three giant drums onto the stage, place
microphones next to them, and begin performing. The effect was more
physical than auditory.
Meanwhile, in the Thai compound I could see they were having an event
for younger monks. The novitiates were dancing. Dimly, through the
gaps between the percussion grenades emanating from the Bangladeshi
compound, I could hear techno/dance beats overlaid by nasal singing.
The Japanese compound seemed empty.
Over in the Bangladeshi temple, the drumming stopped, and chanting
restarted. There also seemed to be a new sort of activity. Eight
paper balloons, maybe ten feet tall appeared on stage. As the
chanting appeared to reach some kind of crescendo, small fires were
lit in the base of the balloons—both illuminating the balloons and
causing them to rise out of the compound. As they passed in front of
me toward the Thai temple, I could see that prayers had been written
on them.
As the chanting from the Bangladeshi temple stopped, I realized the
dance music from the Thai monastery had also ended. The young Thai
novitiates were gathered in the courtyard, pausing their dance while
the glowing orbs quietly passed over their heads. The balloons were
truly a beautiful sight—they looked like luminescent jellyfish
floating above the gables of the Thai temple.
Then came the first explosion followed by a giant starburst above the
roof of the Thai temple. Several more followed. The Thai novitiates
had not stopped their dance to watch glowing balloons, they were
gathered for a fireworks show. Over and over fireworks exploded next
to the balloons. Red and green starbursts were followed by orange
flairs, leaving trails of sparks as they passed within feet of the
paper balloons. It began to feel like a scene from the blitz.
Eventually, one of the balloons was hit, then several more. The paper
caught fire. The balloons became little flaming Hindenburgs rapidly
losing altitude. They were headed for the Japanese compound.
The first flaming balloon landed on the lawn in front of the Japanese
temple. Soon another balloon’s brazier started dropping flaming
briquettes—leaving trails of sparks as they rapidly fell across the
compound. Almost immediately, several Japanese monks came running
from their monastery, stripped off their robes, and began smothering
the fires. The fireworks from the Thai monastery continued, creating
red and white flashes illuminating mostly-naked monks swatting burning
balloons with their saffron robes. Finally, a few monks appeared with
buckets of water, and extinguished the remaining fires.
In the end, only one of the balloons survived the bombardment. I
expect it silently slipped out of the city, where it eventually
descended and set some poor schlub’s wheat field on fire.