En Route: Buddha’s Bodhi Tree by Foot

Share on

Photo by Zipporah Lomax.

A man went and sat underneath a tree, one that looked just as gnarled and ancient, as the Buddha’s Bodhi tree. The legendary tree itself was barred off from the countless pilgrims that go there everyday, so he chose one nearby.

About twenty minutes in, red ants swarmed his legs, and he got up and went to the Niranjana, a river nearby. He imagined the Buddha had walked down that very riverbank many times, and thought he should as well. Like most rivers in India, the water flowed brown, smooth as a sheet below rolling green hills on the opposite side.

Just off the near bank at Bodh Gaya, four small Indian boys washed cows. They scrubbed and splashed, and white smiles shone in the wash of brown skin and brown water, which every now and then consumed them before belching them back up, the sun flashing off their black hair.

They were so much smaller than the cows, yet when they climbed onto the bank leading with their thin, frayed ropes, they were somehow able to coax the cows out of the cool water, back into the heat.

hd_43014_3

Farther down the edge of the Buddha’s river, a tree stood on the edge of the bank. Its branches hung over the river, and it called to mind childhood summers, swinging from trees into rivers. The man sat down with these pleasant thoughts, until he was overwhelmed by a noxious odor.

Shit. He looked around him and realized he was surrounded by shit. He’d sat down right next to a popular relief spot. Luckily, he had avoided stepping in or sitting on any, and he went about his way.

On the walk back to town, the sky turned dark and thunder rumbled. Set back from the road, five men in an open hut waved him over. They didn’t say a word, just smiled, and one of them handed over a plastic cup full of black liquid with a thin, brownish foam.

“Beer,” he said, showing his crooked, red-stained teeth. All the men were drinking it, though none of them seemed drunk. Nearly in unison, they raised their beers to their mouths and drank, encouraging their visitor.

First, underneath the shitting tree and now on a wobbly, splintered wooden stool, the man sat down, taking the drink. Bitter, but somehow good. The men smiled and laughed, and then the rains came.

Share on