Respite reflections

As the smell of burning cow dung that fuels so many of the fires of rural India enters my nostrils, I know that I've arrived in Bodh Gaya. A far cry from Bombay, it is a small town with three or four roads, scores of monks and pilgrims, handfuls of monasteries and a solitary tree under which one of the most historically relevant existential realizations occurred.

An organization-wide break lasting a couple of weeks in honor of the Hindu festival of Dewali, a holiday of lights, allows me the opportunity to visit the religious studies program I participated in last year in India's northeast state of Bihar. I spend my time here reflecting and gaining perspective on my experiences so far in Bombay, as well as on the history of this country.

The work I'm involved in here requires me to understand the nature of the inter-religious conflict that has plagued the region for so long. I read and research on the roots of strife, and work my way forward to see how it's manifesting in the present.

As I sit in the library of the Burmese monastery where not one year ago I was studying a religion that holds nonharming as one if its highest ideals, I read of a conflict fueled by religious tensions that resulted in an estimated one million deaths at a time that should have been a great joy; the independence of one nation and the birth of another.

I read about people who had been neighbors all their lives, coworkers that had been eating lunch together for decades, turn on each other in a frenzy of hate and violence for the sole reason that one was a Hindu, one a Muslim, one a Sikh. I read about the Mahatma, the great soul that kept the city of Calcutta, known then as the most violent city in Asia, from tearing itself apart during the days following partition, and feel inspired. I read on, though, about the religious fundamentalists that assassinated that kind old man who cared so much about the people of the South Asian subcontinent, regardless of their religious persuasion, and feel disheartened.

Siddhartha Gautama gained enlightenment under a tree that's only a long stone's throw from where I sit, and believed that it was possible to end the suffering that plagues humanity. As I read, contemplate and meditate, I experience a jumble of emotions, of hope and of despair, of great compassion and of deep sadness. I wonder what, if anything, I can do during my short time here in this country, and in this world, to contribute to that vision of liberated minds and peaceful hearts. I find that itis essential simply to remain hopeful, to believe that change for the better, though difficult, is possible. I can see that without some belief, or even faith, that there exists some essential goodness to human nature I will have a lot of difficulty doing this work.