PART VII On the 10th of April I left for Lampang to help with the ceremonial marking of the boundaries of the ordination hall at Wat Samraan Nivasa, which lasted for several days. When the ceremonies were over I went to stay in Phra Sabai Cave. My old stomach problems began to flare up: I had a bad case of diarrhea and fierce pains in my stomach. Word reached the city of Lampang that I was in bad shape. One day I went to rest in the inner cave. I saw a rock stuck in the mouth of the cave, 20 meters off the ground. The thought occurred to me that I'd like to build a chedi there in the cave. I called to the lay people staying with me to help push the rock out of the cave, which they were able to do. We then dug a hole and cut away at the rock floor until about 1 p.m., when a car arrived. The people in the car said that they had come to take me to the hospital, but I had already recovered from my illness without realizing it. I told them that we were going to build a chedi. Before leaving the cave, I stood at its mouth and looked out to the southwest, to a range of deep green forested mountains. Seeing the fresh green of the trees, I thought of the Bodhi tree, and that it would be good to plant three Bodhi trees there at the mouth of the cave. I mentioned this to the monks and novices, and then returned to Lampang. From there I went on to Uttaradit, because a lay person had come up looking for me, asking me to return to Uttaradit because an old woman -- a student of mine -- had started babbling incoherently for several days. I went to stay in Uttaradit a fair while, helping the woman, and then went on to Phitsanuloke, where I stayed at Wat Raadburana, near the home of a woman who was an "adopted child" of mine. The story of this adopted child is worth telling, although it dates back to the year I spent the rains with the hilltribes people at Baan Phaa Daen Saen Kandaan (The Cliff Village in the Land of Really Primitive Hardship) in Chieng Mai. The woman's name was Fyyn; her husband's was MahaNawm. One day I had gone to teach meditation at Wat Aranyik, located in a forest six kilometers outside of Phitsanuloke. A lot of government officials, shopkeepers and people in general had come to practice //samadhi//, including the chief of police, Luang Samrit; Luang Chyyn, Khun Kasem, Captain Phaew -- all of them people really earnest about practicing meditation. We were sitting, discussing the Dhamma, when someone came and said to me, "Please come and visit a sick person in my home." I agreed to go. The chief of police then drove us there in his car. When we arrived they told me that a //dhutanga// monk had come down from the north, made some lustral water for them, and then told them, "I'm afraid I can't cure you, but a monk who can will be coming soon." He had then left and continued on his wanderings. As soon as MahaNawm had heard that I was in the area, he had come looking for me. Talking with him, I learned that his wife, Mae Fyyn, had been ill for three years now, ever since she had lain by the fire after childbirth. They had spent more than 8,000 baht on injections, but nothing had cured her. All she could do for the last three years was simply lie there: She couldn't get up at all. For the past year she hadn't been able to speak. She couldn't even move. Hearing this, I told MahaNawm that I'd go have a look As soon as I set foot in the door, I saw the woman raise her hands feebly in a //wai//. I didn't give a thought to her condition, but simply sat in //samadhi//. Mae Fyyn said two or three words, moved herself a little, raised her hands in another //wai//, sat up and then kneeled down by her pillow. "Get well," I told her. "Be done with your old karma." That day I ordered her to pick up a match and light me a cigarette, and she was able to do it. I told the people in the house not to feed her the following day, simply to place some rice and curry down next to her. She'd be able to feed herself. The next day, her husband came to the temple to present food to me. When he returned home, he found that she had finished her breakfast, washed the dishes and was able to get up and crawl around. I went to see her that afternoon, but found that the neighbors had all brought jugs and pots to get some of "that fantastic lustral water." Seeing this, I felt ill at ease, and so hurried back to Bangkok. We kept in touch by letter, though. A month afterwards, Mae Fyyn was able to get up and walk. The second year she was able to go to the nearby temple and donate food to the monks. The third year she came down to stay at Wat Boromnivasa -- walking all the way from HuaLampong train station to Wat Borom, and walking every day from where she was staying to hear sermons at the meditation hall, perfectly normal in every way. Altogether, it was an amazing affair. From Phitsanuloke I went on to Phetchabun to visit a student who had set up a monastery at Lom Kao district with the help of District Official Pin. After staying in seclusion for a fair while, I went with some others into the forest. We crossed mountains and streams for several days and then stopped to rest on the slopes of a hill. From there we followed the lower slopes of the hills until we reached a tall mountain covered with a bright open forest. Off in the distance I could see a towering peak called Haw Mountain. My companions had gone on ahead; I was following behind. Thinking of Haw Mountain, my mind was at peace. I thought of a treasure that was beyond my powers: "I'd like to be able to levitate to the peak of Haw Mountain." I stood still there for a moment, my bowl hanging on a strap from my shoulder, and dreamed that a cloud came down out of the sky while a faint voice said to me, "Don't think about it. When the time comes, it will happen on its own." The vision then disappeared. During this trip I was really thirsty. On all sides of the trail were nothing but packs of foxes, due to the fact that we were so far from human habitation. We kept on going and stopped off at Baan Wang Naam Sai (ClearWater Village). We then cut across the forests and streams, and when we came out of the forest, we arrived at the Phaa Bing Range, a place where Ajaan Mun had once stayed. This was an area of caves and small hills. We spent quite a few days there. Late one night, when it was quiet and still, I was sitting in meditation until I felt like I was going to doze off, and suddenly there was an incident. I saw a mountain peak covered with trees to the west of Phuu Kradyng. A gigantic man, wearing a dark yellow cloth tied around his waist, was standing on the mountain and holding up the sky with his hands. I was standing under his arm. He said, "In the future, life will be hard for humanity. They will die from poisonous water. This water will be of two kinds: 1. Fog and dew that will hurt the crops wherever it forms. People who eat the crops may become sick. 2. Rain. If you come across strange rain water, i.e., a. reddish rain water or b. yellowish rain water with a peculiar taste, don't drink it. If you do, you'll come down with diarrhea and a rash. If you drink a great deal, you may die." This was the first point he had to say. The second point: He gestured off to the northeast. I saw a giant spring of water shooting out of the ground. Wherever its waters flowed, people became ill. If they used this water to irrigate fruit trees, the trees would become diseased. The life-span of people would become shorter and shorter. The third point: Something strange began to happen on the mountain top. In whatever direction he spread out his hand, the trees would be leveled in rows. "What does this mean?" I asked. "Adults with no sense of morality will suffer in the future." "Can any of this be prevented?" "The diseases caused by water, if caught in time, aren't serious. Otherwise they'll cause death within three, five or nine days." "Will I be affected?" "No, because you appreciate the virtues of your elders. I'll give you the formula for the cure. If you hear that any of these diseases have appeared, go quickly to help." I asked him, "Can't you tell them the cure yourself?" "I could," he said, "but it wouldn't do any good. You have to make the medicine yourself. Take tamarind fruits, remove the shells and soak them in a salt solution. Then pour off the water and give it to the diseased people -- or have them drink the brine from pickled garlic. The disease will go away -- but you have to make the medicine yourself." He went on to say that his name was Sancicco Devaputta. This happened in 1956. After we left Phaa Bing Range and had gone to stay in a nearby township, the people there came with a strange story to tell. The night before, a cloud of mist had passed through a tobacco field, and the leaves of the tobacco plants had all fallen off. Another time, I heard that in Thoen district, Lampang province, villagers had drunk rain water the color of tea, and more than ten of them had died. Both of these stories seemed uncanny because they were in line with my dream. After that we went on to Wang Saphung district and then climbed the great Phuu Kradyng Plateau, after spending a night at the foot of the plateau. Altogether there were five of us, two boys and three monks. We climbed the plateau, reaching the edge of the top at about 7 p.m. From there the walk to our campsite was a little more than three miles. The air on the plateau was chilly, and the whole area was covered with pines. As soon as we reached the top, it rained, so we all looked for places to stay. I spotted a pine log that had fallen into a patch of tall grass and so I climbed up to lie on the log. The others had run off to find shelter elsewhere. That night there was both wind and rain, which meant that I didn't get any sleep all night long. At dawn we came out looking for one another, and then searched for a place to stay. We found a small cave with a fine rock ledge and a tiny well filled with rainwater from the night before. There we stayed in solitude. The plateau was a great broad plain, seven kilometers square. Once you were up there, you felt as if you were on level ground. The whole plateau was covered with pines and tall grasses -- but with no other kinds of trees, although there were many kinds of trees on the lower slopes. This, I would gather, was because the top of the plateau was solid rock. You could tell from the fallen pines: Their roots had crept along the crevices in the rock. This was a really restful, quiet place to stay. Every day at 5 p.m. when it didn't rain, we'd get together to sit in meditation on the rock ledge. I'd think to myself, "I don't want to return to the world of human beings. I'd like to live on in the woods and the wilds like this. If possible, I'd like to attain supranatural powers or, if I don't attain them, may I die within seven days, entering //nibbana// on the seventh. Otherwise, may the deities take me off to live in solitude, far from the congregating spots of humanity for at least three years." Every time I'd start thinking like this, though, the rain would start to fall, and we'd have to go back into the cave. One of the other monks with us, named Phra Palat Sri, had never gone out into the wilds before. All along the way he had talked like a salesman, which had me annoyed. In other words, he liked to talk about worldly matters. Whenever we reached a village that looked poor, he'd bring out his "Lopburi has loads of fish" story for the villagers to hear. He'd tell them that pickled fish from Lopburi was sold as far away as Chaiyaphum province. This annoyed me. We had come out for solitude, not to sell pickled fish. I'd have to keep after him about this, but he had more years in the monkhood than I. When we'd go to stay on a mountaintop, he'd like to build a fire to warm himself -- when I was asleep. He wouldn't dare do it when I was awake. [*] While warming himself, he'd get the two boys, Man and Manu, to join him and talk. * [Lighting a fire to warm oneself -- except for reasons of health -- is forbidden by the monastic discipline, because fires of this sort are often an invitation to sit around talking rather than meditating.] After we had stayed for a few days, the group started getting less and less quiet. The first day had been fine: No one dared talk because they were afraid of the tigers and elephants that were plentiful on the plateau. After the fifth day our rice ran out, so we got ready to go down the plateau. When we reached level ground, we stopped to rest for a while. A person who worked for some Westerners saw us and came to spread out a mat for me to sit on. I didn't accept the offer, so he invited Phra Palat Sri to sit on the mat, which he did. A moment later we heard thunder, even though the sky was sunny, and in that very instant a branch from a nearby tree came crashing down less than a foot from Phra Palat Sri's head. Phra Palat Sri, his face pale, jumped up from where he had been sitting. "That," I told him, "is what happens to people who don't have any self-restraint." From that point on, Phra Palat Sri became a very quiet person. After that we went on and stopped to spend the night at a school near Phaa Nok Khao (Owl Cliff). My followers were all tired out. Late that night, when it was quiet, I could hear the sounds of people sneaking out into the forest, so the next morning I asked one of the monks what they had been up to the night before, and was told, "We took your palm sugar. We've been carrying it for days now, but haven't had any, so last night we boiled it in water and drank it all up." When we had finished our meal that morning, we left to cross through a large forest. Before setting out, I made up my mind: "I'm going to ride my own car all the way to Chumphae district," which was 80 kilometers away. "I won't accept any offers to ride in a car or truck. I'm going to look for solitude in the forest." A few minutes later, after we had gone about a kilometer along the road, a car went whizzing past and then stopped about 200 meters ahead of us. A woman came running in our direction and said, "Please accept a ride in our car. We've just bought it." I looked at the faces of the others: They all wanted to accept the ride, but I didn't agree to it. The woman pleaded with us for a long time, but I still didn't accept the offer. We walked along -- our umbrella tents and bowls slung over our shoulders -- through the heat and the sun. After about four kilometers I spotted a hill with a spirit shrine ahead, and so stopped to rest and explore the caves there. A woman came along with a child in her arms and three dead lizards slung over her shoulder, which she placed near the spot where I was resting. I thought of asking her for one of the lizards, but didn't dare say anything. After I had rested for a moment, a parcel post truck from Loei came past, with Nai Man and Phra Palat Sri sitting in it. The driver stopped, jumped down from the truck and came running towards me. "I've seen you walking along the road for several days now," he said. "Please accept a ride from me." He pleaded with me for several minutes, saying "I won't ask for any fare, not even from the boys." One of my followers had gone on ahead; one was trailing behind. "Thank you," I told him "but we can't accept your offer." So my followers who were in the truck had to get out. We walked into the Laan Wilds, an area of virgin forest. At about five in the afternoon, Phra Palat Sri had an attack of dysentery, so I gave him permission to ride on ahead and wait for us at Chumphae. Nai Man couldn't walk any further -- he was barely able to drag himself along -- so I gave him permission to take the ride to Chumphae and wait for us there too. So that left three of us: myself, Phra Juum and Nai Manu, a boy from Uttaradit. We reached our resting place -- a village called Baan Krathum -- after dark, at about 8 p.m. We had trouble finding a place to stay, and ended up camping in the woods near a stretch of water. Up the next morning, we went for alms in the village and then, after our meal, traveled on. After we had walked for about a kilometer the sun became so fierce that we stopped for a while to rest in the shade. At around five in the evening the sky became dark and ominous. It looked like rain. Nai Manu wasn't willing to spend the night in the forest, and so asked permission to ride on ahead to Khon Kaen, but when he went to wave down a ride, no one would stop for him. After a short while a storm blew up, with heavy winds and rain. The boy went for shelter to a house nearby. Later that night the roof of the house blew off in the wind. Meanwhile, Phra Juum and I had walked on, looking for shelter along the roadside. I spotted a shack, a meter by two and a half meters wide, and thatched with grass. The rain was pouring down and the wind was blowing branches off the trees, so I called to Phra Juum and we went to stay in the shack. Phra Juum opened his umbrella tent and rested under one half of the roof. I stood resting under the other half. A gust of wind came, tore off the half of the roof under which Phra Juum was resting, and carried it away into the middle of the fields. A moment later a tree came crashing down. Phra Juum came running to my half of the shack. Seeing that we couldn't stay there any longer, we went running for a clump of bushes that gave us enough space to crouch, shivering and cold, for about an hour until the rain stopped and the wind died down. Our robes and things were soaking wet. We went and found another shack, lit a fire and spent the night there. During the night, it rained again. The next day the boy wasn't able to walk on any further, so we had him ride on ahead to wait for us at Chumphae, leaving just the two of us, Phra Juum and myself, to walk on by ourselves. At about five that evening we reached Chumphae. Phra Palat Sri's dysentery still hadn't cleared up -- his face was pale and sickly -- so we stayed on at Chumphae until he had recovered somewhat. I received news that the date for the Somdet's cremation had been set, and that it was to take place fairly soon, so I took the express train from Khon Kaen to Bangkok. This was in June, 1956. * * * Reaching Wat Boromnivasa, I learned that the ecclesiastical authorities had met for consultation concerning the Somdet's cremation. That very day there had been a meeting of eleven senior monks to appoint a committee to run the cremation, after which they had gone to meet with the Isaan Society in the Green Hall. About 100 members of the society were present at the meeting, which was chaired by Nai Lyan Buasuwan. When I reached the Green Hall, I could see Chao Khun Dhammapitok and Chao Khun Dhammatilok sitting in on the meeting, but they weren't saying anything at all. All I could hear was the voice of Doctor Fon Saengsingkaew. I stood and listened outside, but didn't like what I heard. They were making plans to collect money in the name of the Somdet to build a mental hospital for Doctor Fon in Ubon. So I entered the meeting, sat down, excused myself and then said, "The matter you're discussing makes me really sad. I helped take care of the Somdet for three years, and now he's been dead for over 100 days, and yet with all the ajaans and members of the society sitting here, I haven't heard anyone make any mention of plans for the cremation. I understand you've budgeted 700,000 baht for the hospital, but I haven't heard anyone set a budget for the Somdet. This makes me really sad, which is why I've asked your permission to speak." As soon as I had finished, Doctor Fon said, "I went to see Field Marshal Phin to tell him that we didn't have enough money to build the hospital, and that I'd like to collect money in connection with the cremation in order to augment our funds. He agreed that it would be a good idea, and contributed 10,000 baht of his own, which is why I brought up the matter." So I responded, "Phin, schmin, I don't know anything about that. All I know is that we haven't met here to discuss a hospital. We've met to discuss a corpse." Hearing this, Doctor Fon got up and walked out of the meeting. Nai Lyan sat still for a moment, and then said, "In that case, what do the ajaans have to say?" Chao Khun Dhammatilok, Chao Khun Nyanarakkhit and the others all sat absolutely still. Nai Lyan asked again, "What would the ajaans have us do?" So I answered, "It's not that I'm against the hospital, but I feel that it should be brought up afterwards, because the Somdet's body is still lying around smelling up the place, and so should be taken care of first." When I finished speaking, Khun Nai Tun raised her hand in agreement from the back of the room. In the end we had the secretary record the following three points as the consensus of the meeting: 1. However the money is to be collected, have it go towards the cremation until the committee in charge feels that it has enough. 2. If there is any money left over, appoint a committee to consider handing the excess over to the hospital. 3. If the committee doesn't see fit, the money needn't go to the hospital. When these three points had been recorded, someone asked, "Who's going to run the cremation?" None of the monks responded, so I answered for them, "The monks of Wat Borom." MahaWichien, who worked with the Culture Ministry, spoke up. "You're monks. If you run the cremation, how will you handle the money?" I answered, "I have lots of hands. I'm just afraid there won't be any money for them to collect. I don't know how to handle money myself, but I have followers who do." That silenced MahaWichien. In the end we decided to do away with the old committee and set up a new one headed by Chao Khun Dhammapitok. The meeting was then adjourned. The next morning I passed by the quarters of Chao Khun Dhammapitok and he called me into his room. "There are some things I'd like to tell you concerning the Somdet," he said. "I've kept them secret and haven't told anyone else at all." He then went on to say, "Right before he died the Somdet 1) told me to be in charge of his funeral after he died; 2) turned over all of his belongings to me; and 3) told me to help take charge of the monks and novices in Wat Borom." "That's good to hear," I told him. Afterwards we held a meeting of the monks in Wat Borom, at which the Somdet's orders were made public. Chao Khun Dhammapitok was then given responsibility for running both the funeral and the temple as a whole. Before leaving the meeting, I spoke up. "I'd like to beg your pardon, but I was so disgusted yesterday I couldn't stand it. When the Somdet was alive no one ever spoke of his hospital; after he died no one spoke of his cremation -- but started speaking about the hospital instead. If what I said was improper or wrong or caused any hard feelings, then I'll take my leave of the temple and ask not to be involved in the funeral." Chao Khun Dhammapitok then pleaded with me not to leave, and told me, "There was nothing wrong with what you said." I thus joined in and helped with the funeral until it was over. Not long afterwards, the cremation was held at Wat Phra Sri Mahadhatu in the Bang Khen district of Bangkok. The Somdet had been the first abbot of this temple when it was built by the government. After the cremation, I went to spend the rains at Naa Mae Khao (WhiteMother's Field) at what is now called Wat Asokaram. * * * Where Wat Asokaram stands today was originally called WhiteMother's Field. The owners, Sumet and Kimhong Kraikaan, donated about 22 acres over a period of two years -- 1954 and 55 -- for the purpose of building a monastery. We then set up quarters and had one of my followers, Phra Khru Baitika That, go to look after the place in my absence along with five other monks. Thus when the monastery was first founded we had six monks staying there. In 1956, after the Somdet's cremation, I went there to spend the rains. During this period I began making plans for the festival celebrating 25 centuries of Buddhism in 1957 (2500 B.E.). Actually, I had already been thinking about the matter for a long time, ever since the year I left the forest at Baan Phaa Daen Saen Kandaan in Chieng Mai. During the years that I was contemplating holding a festival to celebrate 25 centuries of Buddhism, I had gone off wandering to a number of places. One night, while staying at Phra Sabai Cave in Mae Tha district, Lampang, I went into a deep cave behind Phra Sabai Cave and lit a series of kerosene lanterns that I placed in a row in front of the Buddha image there. Directly in front of the image was a floor of wooden planks. As for myself, I went to sit on a large rock and faced the wall of the cave. I kept the lanterns lit bright all night long. I made a vow: "This will have to be a big festival, but I don't have any resources. Should I go ahead with it or not? May the Dhamma inspire the answer to appear in my heart. Or may the deities who watch over the nation, the religion and the King, and the deity who guards the Emerald Buddha -- which lies at the heart of the nation's spirit -- help show me the way." That night at about 2 a.m., while my mind was rested and at ease, there was an incident: a sudden clatter from in front of the Buddha image. It was the sound, not of falling rock, but of shattering glass. I waited for a moment and then got up to have a look. I walked around about three to four meters from where I had been sitting. The entire cave was lit -- a small circular cave, no more than eight to nine meters wide, ten to fifteen meters tall, and with an opening leading to the open air overhead. After walking around inspecting the area and not seeing anything, I returned to my original spot and continued sitting in meditation. While sitting, I dozed off and dreamed. A deity came to me and said, "You don't have to worry about the festival, but you'll have to hold it. Whenever you do it, it will be a success." After that I didn't give much thought to the matter. I stayed on there in seclusion for a fair while. Then, before I left, I mentioned to the monks there that I'd like to find three Bodhi trees to plant in front of the cave. Afterwards I returned to Lopburi and stayed at Wat Khao Phra Ngaam (BeautifulBuddha Mountain Monastery). I had arrived there in time for Magha Puja, and so led a group of lay people from Bangkok and Lopburi in a three-day ceremony. I taught the Dhamma to a contingent of about 300 soldiers, led a candle procession around the great Buddha image, and then we all sat in meditation. I made a vow: "Concerning the festival celebrating 25 centuries of Buddhism: I don't know why, but my mind seems to keep dwelling on the matter." I then vowed to donate my life on the day of the full moon -- i.e., to go without food; and to donate my eyes -- i.e., to go without sleep. But in spite of my efforts, nothing happened until it was about to grow light. At about 5 a.m. I dozed off for a moment and dreamed: The earth opened wide beneath me, revealing a scattered heap of broken red bricks deep underground. Something inside me said, "This is a spot where relics of the Buddha were once enshrined, but the shrine is now nothing but a rubble of bricks underground. Therefore, you will have to help build a chedi to enshrine relics of the Buddha after the festival celebrating 25 centuries of Buddhism. Otherwise your old karma won't be done with." This was followed by another dream: Once, in the distant past, the Sangha was planning an important meeting in India, but after we had all agreed to the date, I hadn't joined in the meeting. The meeting concerned plans for a celebration of the Buddha's relics. It was to be a very important celebration, but I didn't join in. So my friends placed a penalty on me: "In the future you will have to gather relics of the Buddha and enshrine them in a chedi at one place or another, for the sake of Buddhists yet to come." With this dream in mind, my thoughts about going ahead with the festival celebrating 25 centuries of Buddhism grew more and more earnest. The next day, in the dim light before dawn, I made a vow: "If my holding the festival celebrating 25 centuries of Buddhism will be a success, may the number of Buddha's relics I have with me reach a total of 80, equal to the years of the Lord Buddha's life." (When I made the vow I had just over 60 relics.) When I finished my vow, it was dawn. After my meal I took out my pouch and counted: exactly 80. The following night I climbed to sit in meditation at the base of the great Buddha image on the slope of the mountain. I stayed up all night, sitting in //samadhi// and doing walking meditation around the image. I set out a tray, along with flowers, candles and incense, and made a vow: "If the festival celebrating 25 centuries of Buddhism is to be a success, may more of the Buddha's relics come -- from anywhere at all." At dawn, about ten tiny relics had come, mixed together with red gemstones. Quickly I put them into a container. I didn't tell anyone, but thought to myself that the festival would probably be a success. That year -- 1956 -- I returned to spend the rainy season at Wat Asokaram. After the rains were over I received news that three Bodhi trees had sprouted in front of Phra Sabai Cave in Lampang. At present the trees are four meters tall and very striking -- growing out of the jutting rock. * * * * * * * *