The road to Varanasi was covered in fog. Not even a ray of sunlight could penetrate through. The air was colder than at Bodhgaya.

At dawn, the foot-traveling Sangha stopped at a majestic mountain. Atop it stood Asoka’s pillar, marking a vital site for more than 2,000 years of Buddhist history. Today, the people around the site of the pillar are mostly Muslims. Muslim mosques and Hindu temples have been built along the mountainside. We stopped for breakfast alongside simple graves. Each was raised and covered with green cloth; a few bricks were scattered here and there on the grave to hold it down. Alongside a rocky mountain, the air is even colder. At this moment, there’s nothing quite like a cup of steaming hot noodles in your hand.

We passed by a mausoleum of a Muslim General made from pink sandstone. Passing through villages, many fierce dogs attacked Sổ and Āloka, the two experiencing their horrors when entering the villages.

At noon, the group stopped at the Thai temple Wat Sararam, where the Abbott and devotees offered rice and noodles. Sitting at lunch, we shivered from the onrushing cold wind. The abbot brought out a bag of sweat-proof robes (Amasakuta) and beanies to offer to the Sangha. Even after putting on an extra layer, the cold still seeped through with chills piercing my bones. As I sat all bundled up, the monk overseeing cooking for the Sangha came to thank me for helping him walk straight today. It was because yesterday I observed that he could not walk upright with his back twisted; later in the evening, I massaged him haphazardly, making him scream out loud. Surprisingly, today his condition has improved and he is now able to walk straight. Or could it be that he was just afraid I’d try to inflict pain by massaging him again, so he thought it was probably safer to pretend to be fully recovered? Then when he asked me again for help, I finally felt comfortable with my moonlighting massage skills.

Wherever I massaged, he kept yelling, “Stop, Stop.” I stopped to allow him to breathe and then continued. Spotty was still lying motionless on the small carpet underneath the shawl I placed on him. He slept like a log. In the middle of the night, he wandered off somewhere before returning. The shawl had been dropped and was now lying on the ground. It must be too cold to sleep, so he kept fidgeting next to my head. I got out of the tent and covered him with a towel; only then could he sleep. He slept soundly until the group was ready to leave. I kept calling to wake him up, yet he was still sleeping like a baby.

Today was a full moon, but there was no moonlight anywhere. The foot-traveling Sangha continued on the road, guided by the light of their flashlights. We stopped at a market area to have breakfast, where people were still asleep. There were only three open stalls selling hot roti. Those who wanted noodles could eat them. Those who wanted to eat roti could have a small one for four rupees. People stood next to us as we sat down to eat, looked at us, and laughed. Some asked who we were, where we were going, or from where we had come. Others just shook their heads in response (in the Indian style) whenever we looked at them. After a quick morning snack, we continued on the road. When Sổ and Āloka spotted a stag, they ran towards it, trying to scare it. They were immediately met by a fierce attack from the deer, causing them to panic and flee. Accompanying the group today was another yellow dog like Sổ. The new fella had suffered a lot, as clearly shown by his body, which was covered in many old and new wounds. He had been waiting to follow the group since yesterday afternoon but only followed behind with the monks. He dared not to go toward the front because he was afraid of being bullied by Sổ and Āloka.

The group stopped by the roadside at noon for lunch and medical exams. We also set up tents to prepare for paṭimokkha recitation on the full-moon day. Today is the Uposatha (Observance) day, which is also the day devotees in Vietnam and the US make offerings together with Bhikkhu Thiện Niệm. After reciting the paṭimokkha, spreading lovingkindness, and sharing merits, everyone hid in the tent to escape the cold. I covered Āloka with a towel. Then, I got into the prepared nest and continued writing the rest of this journal.

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Source: Dhammacetiya
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