The Mahaparinirvan Express

From the very first it seemed a trip that dreams are made of. A full week traveling with two fine companions. My fellow teacher at the American School of Bombay, KC. And Eric, who I've had so many adventures with over the past ten years - now teaching in New Delhi! A full week traveling in India. By train. And not just any train. The Maha Parinirvan Express! This was a pilgrimage - to the places that marked Prince Siddhartha as he became the Gautama Buddha. This was a pilgrimage - to the sites that had been indelibly marked as the Buddha passed through them. This pilgrimage, through time and through the spectacle of India as she gently rolls by the windows of the passing train, was the ultimate expression of devotion for the Buddhist pilgrims who came from Thailand to join the Maha Parinirvan Express. And for me, this pilgrimage was a trip through a fabled holy land. A land where one of the world's great religions was born. All aboard!

Day one and we are warmly greeted in traditional Indian style, garlands of marigolds hung round our necks as a traditional Hindustani music is played by two Shennai (oboes), Tabla and a Harmonium. The festive atmosphere has us all is the best of spirits, meeting other travelers and anticipating the coming adventure. The late day sun smiles warmly through the chill winter air. The air is thick with smoke from the many fires lit for heat and for cooking near this suburban New Delhi train station, Safdurjung Station. The train rolls out - almost on time - and the Indian suburbs slowly recede from view. By the time the sun sets, we're marveling at the rural landscape - field after field, village after village - and the people of the countryside who often look so untouched by the marvels of the last century. Except for motorcycles. That's one modern convenience that's made its headway in even the most remote corners of Mother India!

We feast on a magnificent three course Indian meal as the gentle swaying of the train and the rhythmic song of the rails puts us in a gentle and mellow mode. Sleep comes quickly and easily - which is good when one considers the 5 am wake up that awaits us for day, a day in Bodgaya!

Bodgaya lies in Bihar state, one of the poorest of India's states, a state that recently saw catastrophic destruction due to a failed dam near the end of the last monsoon season. But for us it is the place that more than 2500 years ago found the wandering Prince Siddhartha taking a bowl of kheer (thickened sweet milk) from Sujata, the daughter of the Senani village chief. As he looked across the Niranjana River at what is today Bodgaya, it is said that he knew his quest was soon to end. After crossing the river, he found his repose under a massive Bodhi tree - also known as the Pipal or Bo tree (ficus religiosia) with a vow that he would not stir until he attained supreme knowledge. Seven weeks later Prince Siddhartha was no more - he had attained the desired knowledge and was now 'enlightened', a Buddha.

On the day of our visit, I was able to sit in the shade of a descendant of that same Bodhi tree, its leaves murmuring gently in the morning breeze, as I take my time in meditation. The impact of being in such a historic place in the history of man's spiritual growth is incredible. Eyes closed, I listen to so many gentle voices in so many languages as they chant quietly. Ears closed, I breath deeply, each breath a conscious decision to embrace a peaceful and gentle way. Mind open, I respectfully leave, touched deeply.

On day three we visit Rajgir, where a beautiful walk up to a hill top takes us past several ancient caves where hermits and spiritual teachers once found refuge. As we reach the top of the hill we find a spot where Gautama Buddha often taught during the 12 years he spent in this village. From the hilltop, the view over the dry and rocky Indian countryside is stark. And it is beautifully contrasted by the worship that the Thai pilgrims are performing at the hilltop altar. They chant in Thai, a particularly beautiful and flowing language to my ears, as they kneel before the altar. Sweet offerings of flowers and incense mark their devotion.

Then afternoon takes us to the Nalanda ruins - the site of a world renowned university established in the 5th century AD. Scholars from China, Japan, Korea, Java and Sumatra all studied here so many centuries ago. For us, the massive ruins spread out still and quiet. Row after row of ancient temples, libraries, monasteries and dormitories lie in ruins. Hidden corners of the ancient university are graced by magnificent Bodhi trees. At one time the art of debate, mathematics and medicine were taught her side by side with Buddhist doctrinal and spiritual studies. But the University crumbled before the onslaught of the Mogul invaders, already weakened by doctrinal differences that had began to splinter the Buddhist faith and by the resurgence of devotional Hinduism.

We return to the train, drained by the day's activities, eagerly anticipating the dinner we know awaits us. And the gentle night's sleep that train travel so beautifully grants. As we sleep, the train takes us on to Varanasi and nearby Sarnath, where Gautama Buddha found a beautiful setting in a deer park and first taught the Dharma (Dharmachakrapravartana) or Turning of the Wheel of Law. The Dharma includes the Four Noble Truths, the Eightfold Path and the Middle Way.

Our serene time at Sarnath was in marked contrast to nearby busy and bustling Varanasi (also known as Benares). Mark Twain, following his travels in India, said that "Benares is older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend, and it looks twice as old as all of them put together". Well, he may be right to a certain extent, but I also found Varanasi to be a vibrant and pulsing city. It is a holy city to the Hindus, the place to come to die, be cremated and set free as your cremains float down the Ganga (Ganges River). The vibrant river front teemed with life, even as the funeral pyres burned non stop. Hawkers enticed you with river trips, special views from above the funeral ghats and post cards. The air was thick with smoke, a particularly pungent aroma prevailed. But life ebbed and flowed, fast and furious. India, a land used up and depleted even as it reinvents itself, vibrant and alive. Over and over I am struck by that thought!

After another restful night on the train, we awaken in Kushinagar, the location that the Buddha chose for his Mahaparinirvana - final exit from the earth. It's a misty morning, cloaking the Mahaparinirvana Temple in a gentle shroud. A massive reclining Buddha statue is housed the temple. The statue is of black stone, yet you could not tell that anymore after so many generations of gold leaf, gently and lovingly applied by the visiting pilgrims. The faithful pay their respects as the local monks tend to their needs. Families picnic on the grounds - grandfather carefully hiding his bottle of whiskey as we foreigners walk by.

Our sixth day is a long one. On a bus. Across the Nepalese border to Lumbini, the birthplace of Prince Siddhart - the Buddha to be. Following his birth, Asita, an aged sage, prophesied that the young prince would renounce the world and his princely appointment if ever he experienced suffering. Despite his father's best efforts to raise his son in the cloaked luxury of the palace, the young prince saw the suffering around him - questioned it - and indeed did renounce his position and begin his pilgrimage. A pilgrimage that would eventually lead him to his Mahaparinirvana. Despite the long bus ride on poorly maintained roads, Lumbini is gentle and captivating. And the long ride back across the border to our waiting train seems to take forever.

The final day of our pilgrimage. The place where the Buddha spent more than 25 monsoon seasons on his annual vassavasa, rain retreat. It is a gentle place, in the morning mists once again. The trees are thick and mysterious as the mists weave in and out of their branches. The sense of peace is powerful and allows for a deep breath as the Buddhist pilgrimage comes to an end.

But the train still has one more stop to make - somewhat incongruously - at the Taj Mahal! An incredible spectacle, an homage to love, a mark of the splendors of India's Moghul age. But finally, all those gentle morning fogs catch up with us. The train is delayed - repeatedly. Until we finally arrive and have a chance for only a brief visit at the Taj Mahal. I'm thankful I've visited before and know just where I want to go to find the feeling and experience I want. I approach the Taj, awed once again. But turn to the left as I approach the Taj and spend my time in the red rock mosque immediately to the left of the massive Taj. Intricate stone inlay and the huge covered worship area provide a quiet place for introspection as the Taj Mahal crowd swirls around outside my sanctuary.

Introspection. On an amazing experience. To have traveled through that same land as one of the world's great spiritual figures. To have been present where one of the world's great religions was born. I still shake my head in amazement. I think of the Thai pilgrims who accompanied us and the spiritual experience that they had. I think of the gentle monks everywhere we went, leading the simple monastic life. And I see all of this surrounded by ancient modern India, pressing upon you with her traffic, her overwhelming din and her crushing swell of humanity. With the smells of rich Indian cooking wafting about - mixed with the aromas of the squalor of a slum. What a dichotomy. And yet here, somehow, there is a peace between these two extremes. Somehow . . . . . .

A reminder that I've now started sharing photos on the Flickr website. These are photos from trips that really don't have a whole lot of story to be told, just some images to share! You can check those out at http://www.flickr.com/photos/mikesperry/

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