Duong Huong - The Zenith

Or could it be that the sounds of the temple bells and the chanting of Buddhist prayers are a balm to soothe the never-ending dark and difficult incarnations of humanity?

For whatever reason, he thinks of himself as guilty because since his arrival, the government, to ensure his safety, had forbidden the local people to come up to Lan Vu. They had thus confiscated a little joyfulness from those people, robbed them of something unique: romantic and sacred moments in the isolated lives unfolding in this place.

Lan Vu used to have twelve monks and nuns. The government ordered all of them to move down to two minor temples in the bamboo forest. He had to protest vehemently before the resident head nun and an assistant were allowed to stay. These two women, one young, one old, tended the garden all day, cleaned the temple, and prayed. It seemed as if they never took a break, except for sleep and two quick meals a day. A reluctance kept him from ever crossing over the paved courtyard, which became the boundary between his world and that of those who had taken vows of faith. From time to time, from his isolated world, he would discreetly glance over to see the two nuns sitting face-to-face on two old bamboo benches. Between them was a tray of food aligned exactly on a table, also made of bamboo. Even from afar he could guess how meager were those meals.

An unwieldly curiosity obsesses him: Is it possible that they don’t feel pain and fear? Is it possible that they are completely detached from the feelings and needs of a normal person? That they hold no desire or anger; feel neither affection nor hatred, elation nor discouragement? No wishful anxiety; neither happy nor hopeless. Their lives flow like water in a canal — no falls or storms. If their lives really are that bland, he thinks, it would be an unimaginably heavy burden.

Every time he looked at the faces, as calm as still water, of the two women in the temple, this question returns like a refrain — a math problem without a solution.

“Mr. President, you should not stand in the wind too long,” says the chubby soldier who has just finished cleaning the two rooms and now stands behind him.

“Don’t worry. I want to get some fresh air.”

Then he looks at the bucket full of dead ephemera in his hands, and says: “Oh, there are so many night butterflies…”

“Yes. Because it’s warm.”

Suddenly the wind stops, then, as if by some coincidence, the sounds of the wooden bells and the praying stop as well. The branches of the plum trees are no longer moved by the wind, staying still as if fixed by a curse. After a split second, the old nun walks out of the temple, followed by her assistant.

The president asks: “Your Reverence, today you pray past noon?”

Each time he sees the abbess, he speaks first to greet her. When he was a young child, his mother had taught him to respect those older than he. The nun is possibly in her eighties, so she must be at least seven years older. Though she is small and slight, she is still quite strong and thoroughly alert.

The nun turns to the president and replies, “Sir, this morning we cast the I Ching and learned that a misfortune would befall the people in the area, so we had to pray sufficiently for their protection.”

“Then, Your Reverence, those with unlucky fortunes will be saved?”

“Sir, we cannot answer that. Whether those marked for danger will live or not depends totally on their inherited karma and their preordained destiny. We pray to ask that the Buddhas alleviate their bad fortune somewhat. If their destiny is still weighted down with this world, then we ask for them a quick recovery so they may return to their families and share this life with their wives and children. If their current destiny has reached its end, we ask for them a quick liberation, so that they can leave this worldly existence without too much pain and suffering, allowing their families and loved ones to feel some relief, and they themselves to benefit from the good karma that will bring them to a quick reincarnation into their next lives.”

The president remains quiet, but thinks, “If it is so, then the praying does not really help humanity that much.”

As if she guesses his secret thought, the old nun continues: “Mr. President, you are a country-saving hero, the great father of the land, the one whom we Vietnamese completely respect and to whom we are grateful. From another perspective, we are cloistered: we live in a world in which leaders like you don’t live; we believe in things you neither know nor trust. That’s why, with your permission, I would like not to reply to questions that we cannot answer.”

“Your Reverence, please don’t take offense. My concerns don’t merit any attention, I only wish to fully understand the Buddhist scriptures.”

“You will if you are so destined.”

“But if I am not…” He lets out a question he cannot stop: “If I don’t have such a destiny?”

The old nun smiles, not offended by the question, which is a bit provocative: “Sir, if you are not destined, you will never understand, even if you read a thousand sutras in ten thousand volumes, or if you sit a thousand times to hear erudite sermons.”

After speaking, the nun points her hand toward the western part of the valley, where a mountain ridge runs straight in front of their view. “Do look at that mountain in front of us: the people here call it Sword Mountain, because of its shape. Now, please focus on the beaten paths running along the sides of the mountain — those paths that run parallel to each other and can never meet. This image is similar to the paths taken by those who are in the world. Without a different destiny, we will forever walk on only one side of the mountain.”

With no more to say on the point, the nun steps back, bows, and apologizes: “Merciful Buddha, we humble ones should not so disturb you.”

The attendant who stands behind, who always stands behind, also bows. Then the two turn back to the temple on the other side of the yard.

The president looks after them in a casual manner: two women wearing brown cloth; neither particularly pretty nor charming. To be fair, during their youth they might have been girls who deserved stares, but one could not say that they were beauties. If a majority of people believe that beauty gives strength, then in their cases, they probably could not have had much confidence in having any impact. Intelligence gives another kind of power, but also one with which they would not have bested very many others. But there was a kind of strength firmly lodged in them that made them unflinching in the face of great authority.

He knows keenly that there are very many people of great learning, those carefully trained abroad, who have real ability and are considered the brains of scientific studies, yet they are ever ready to do all that is bad and they never feel shame. Worldly power crushes their conscience as well as their self-respect. Under orders from the Party, these PhDs can easily demonstrate that it’s better for pigs to eat water buffalo manure than bran, that water spinach is more nutritious than beef, or that children should not eat more than 200 grams of meat in a month to avoid risks of getting ill. Their writings made his face turn red but he could not dissuade them. Once the wheel starts to turn…Doesn’t this wheel carry his very own imprint?

He sighs deeply, a habit he had acquired in the last few years. Many times he had tried to get rid of it but without success.

The young soldier comes right up before him and clicks his heels in greeting. “Mr. President, I report to ask your permission to go down the mountain.”

He asks, “It’s already time to change the guard?”

“Yes, sir, in three minutes and ten seconds, but the other team is already up here,” the soldier replies, lifting his wristwatch to check the time in an attentive and proud manner. For sure, this is his most valuable possession, an article the government provided for his professional use.