A sole yellow lemon among basketful of oranges

 

Bhola Rikiyasan is the sole Buddhist monk among hundreds of Hindu mendicants at the pilgrimage town. He stands out quite naturally with his separate religious identity. The other day he said to the group of saffron-clad sadhus around him that all of you are not at peace and that’s why you people are wandering around. An argument started, turned into a brawl and soon it would have changed to a fist fight, from the side of Hindu friars of course who looked very spirited to defend their dharma. A Hindu mauni baba negotiated peace with his loving presence.

Rikiyasan is from Gaya. He was a Shiva devotee for 26 years, felt stuck up on the path and converted to Buddhism six years back. Maybe that’s the reason the Hindu babas dislike him. Religious conversion is a serious issue in India. But look at the great syncretic tradition of India, he still has Bhola, Shiva’s name, in his official name. Well, he is 75 years old—I have to check his ID to confirm it because he doesn’t look three-quarters of a century old from any angle.

‘One meal a day and meditation to calm the mind are the reasons for it,’ he says. He looks at peace and joyful about life. I see a thick wad of money in his wallet as he stuffs ten rupees just offered to him by a man. ‘Just ten rupee notes. Won’t count for much!’ he laughs. ‘I’m collecting money for making a little Buddha shrine at my village,’ he justifies his collection. Well, all of us are after money for our reasons and I have talked to hundreds of sadhus in this regard. Most of them are after money to make ashrams and temples. The householders are after it for building houses and buying cars. I hardly see any qualitative difference between the two.

A couple of days ago he was bitten by a dog in the wee hours as he was walking in the street after taking a bath in Ma Ganga. A few hours after the painful bite I found him standing desolate at his corner with his brass begging bowl. He had tied a strip of cloth on the wound. The cloth was all bloody. It was a big bite. I hope his Hindu baba adversaries didn’t set a dog after him. I go to the small charity hospital run by a prominent ashram to seek help for him. They inform me that there is no anti-rabies vaccination available at their place. To get it one has to go to the government hospital a few kilometers away on the opposite bank.

I come back and tell him to walk to Ram Jhoola—it’s just 50 meters from where he is sitting—and take an auto to go to the hospital. He says he will prefer to walk towards the other bridge, Janaki bridge, almost a kilometer down the stream because if he goes from here the auto would charge 50 rupees and from there it will be only 10 rupees. But he can hardly walk. I understand that he would delay his treatment because he is in pain and can barely walk. And one needs vaccination at the earliest after the bite.

I wonder, why would he still bother so much about money even in such a situation. Well, I think baba or no baba, money is a big issue in the world. And like ordinary householders, the babas have every right to think that it’s their hard-earned money because they have to stand throughout the day to get alms.

Since he needs vaccination so I hire a scooty to take him to the government hospital, requesting the scooty guy to take him to the concerned block and guide him through the process. By this time he is in much pain and looks all ready to shed this miserable body. ‘I would be good if I die. It seems this poor body needs to be shed!’ he looks depressed, sad and sullen. I say an encouraging bye as the rental scooty takes him away through the crowd.

The next day I find him all freshened up with three anti-rabies injections, one on his left chuttar (as he puts it with a feeling of insult and pain) and one each on both arms. But the urge to live and be joyful and meditate has returned. He looks contended and at peace with life. I advise him to carry a stick. Maybe that can help him in religious debates and brawls with Hindu babas as well.