Spring Below the Temple Caves photo by Ippei Naoi

 

Although their secluded cave with its many passages made for a perfect monastery, the absence of a nearby spring was a drawback. The beautiful creek that provided the monks with their water was a long trek with their heavy water pots.  Instead of a chore, it was like everything else that consumed their daily life—an act of loving service. Suryavarman (Surya, as he was fondly called by his disciples) had taught them to live like that.

It was an especially nice morning. The light rain from the previous day had vanished. Greens were vivid, in varying hues, with patches of brown and yellow. Splashes of sun filtered down through the jungle canopy, playing hide and seek with a host of intricate shadows. The most beautiful times of day, early morning and evening, filtered the sun's overwhelming grandeur.   

Surya felt at peace. His fingers slowly rocked against his wooden beads.

The jungle permeated with the sound of birds. Incense from the morning offering floated through the air. The smell was wonderful. A bell was ringing. A piece of fruit was being offered to a small Deity of Lord Vishnu. If you were close enough, Surya’s prayers could be heard.  "Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare • Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare."

 

The assembled men, with their empty water jugs in hand, were not in a rush. They prayed as they walked, thanking God for all they had.  The monkeys were silent as the procession made its way to the spring.  Sometimes the men would pause. They realized the beauty around them was but a spark of God's splendor.  Wherever Surya looked, he saw God's handiwork.

Rama was the youngest member of this tribe of reclusive monks. Named after the great King, Lord Ramachandra, he was born in Cambodia.  His mother died a few months after his third birthday.

Rama had not gone with the other monks for water. He was needed in the monastery’s small infirmary. A brother monk, Nitai, had been bitten by a poisonous snake and was near death. The stone walls cooled the area where his semi-conscious friend was laboring to breathe. Rama adjusted a small pillow under his neck. He felt his forehead. Sensing the fever, Rama used a wet rag to cool his body. This seemed to help and Nitai drifted to sleep.

Removing wooden beads from a small sack, Rama sat with his back straight. Closing his eyes, he pictured his spiritual master, Suryavarman, and mentally paid his obeisances. His attention turned to God and Rama asked the Lord to save his friend. Rama felt at peace. His fingers pressed against his beads. He chanted clearly, hoping his unconscious friend could hear the sacred sounds.

An hour later Rama stood up and walked outside. He needed to pick some vegetables for the noon meal.  His small garden consisted of various kinds of squash with some peppers, carrots, potatoes and cabbage. These were things that blended easily with rice, which was the main staple at the monastery. Every month, rice from a distant village, below the mountains, was obtained.

 

Each of the monks worked in the garden, growing different things. Together they produced more than enough food for everyone’s needs. Reaching down to pull a weed, Rama thought of his father’s garden back in Cambodia. His mind brought to life the magical ruins where he played as a child.   

 

Angkor Wat was his ancestral home. His family had been there for centuries. Now it was a place where bullets had scarred their most sacred shrines. Just as shameful, the evidence of looting was visible. Many of the statues had their heads missing, sold years ago for their weight in salt.

Cambodia was once a much more civil place to live. Trade between China and the Funan, the inhabitants of early Cambodia, flourished for at least a thousand years. But it wasn’t the Chinese or even the Funan  who influenced Cambodia the most. Etched in stone, the builders of Angkor Wat left an undeniable mark.

Placing a few vegetables in a basket, Rama thought about his friend back at the infirmary. Rama had been right next to him when the small snake had attacked. They had been picking berries for the Suryavarman’s Deity.  

Since Nitai had always liked soup, Rama began gathering a few carrots. Hopefully his friend would be able to eat when he woke up. Rama’s mind drifted back to Cambodia.

He thought about his grandmother, Sita. She had raised him like her own after his mother had died. Although there were many wonderful things to remember about his childhood, the civil war made those thoughts more difficult.

So many innocent people suffered because of the war. During the struggle between the forces of Lon Nol and the Khmer Rouge, some of the inhabitants around Angkor Wat were killed. The Killing Fields was more than an appropriate way to describe the genocide that eventually swept through Cambodia. A one-legged guerilla leader by the name of Ta Mok, who later became know as "The Butcher," was one of many dangers that worried all parents. Fearing this very thing, one of the last things that Rama’s father did to protect his son was to send him to Laos. Rama was seventeen years old at the time.

 

Ajita: Rama's Father photo by: Marco del Rosario

Rama had not wanted to leave his home. His father, Ajita, had lovingly explained to his son the reason he had to go.  Ajita’s childhood teacher, Suryavarman, had established a small monastery in Laos.  There, one of the oldest from Deities of Angkor Wat could be worshiped without fearing the soldiers. Some of the locals claimed the Deity had come from Vrindavan, India. Others suggested the style seemed more Cambodian.  Either way, it was very old. Now the Deity was safe in Laos—worshipped and loved by all.

 

 

Ajita and Suryavarman were two of the few remaining men at Angkor Wat who still practiced the ancient traditions brought to Cambodia from India. By the middle of the fourteenth century, Buddhism had become more popular. But history is like that. Wars, upheaval, and religious changes have repeatedly swept over the world. And so it was at Angkor Wat in the 20th century—a few men and women still in touch with the original spirit that formed their religion heritage in the first place—a  religious movement that had been so instrumental in carving, out of stone, the wonders that have made Angkor Wat so special. 

Before Rama left his home, Ajita was able to teach his son many of the great mysteries of Angkor Wat. Not only had Ajita been blessed with a handsome boy, Rama was eager to learn. He had a curious mind and sharp attention.

Back at the monastery, Rama sat still in front of the Deity. There was a lot on Rama’s mind. Seeing Nitai, on the brink of death brought a certain gravity to the morning that Rama could not escape. Again he thought about his father, grandmother, and the rest of his family back in Cambodia. He wondered if they were still alive. It had been a number of years since he had seen them. His mind drifted back to the ruins of Angkor Wat.

Angkor was the greatest place on earth for a young boy to explore: an archaeological wonderland. Nearby villagers boasted it was the largest religious monument in existence. Besides its most famous temple (Angkor Wat, with its 215 foot central tower), other temples such as Ta Keo (which was dedicated to Lord Shiva), Bayon, Phnom Bakhend, Prasat Kravanh and more than sixty other major structures dot the countryside.

 

 

One of Rama’s favorite places to play was near the southern entrance of the Angkor Thom temple, not far from the village where he lived. There, among the stone statues, Rama’s young mind would try to comprehend the meaning of the Hindu gods carved in stone. To make it even more confusing for him, some of the more fanatical Buddhists even doubted India’s role in building of Angkor Wat, in the first place. But the evidence against such folly is overwhelming.

Most obvious, there are the statues and wall reliefs of the demons and demigods churning an ocean of milk. Unfortunately, for tourist who visit Angkor Wat today, the official story is just a crude sketch of what the ancient builders were actually immortalizing in stone. Some visitors even ask if they were attempting to make butter.

 

 

Although the passing of time has obscured the true meaning of the statues, fortunately there are the Holy Scriptures. The world has been blessed by many such Scriptures and one of the oldest is found in India. This great classic is called, The Shrimad-Bhagavatam and is translated to mean, "The Beautiful Stories of the Lord."  Written in a series of cantos—located in the first part of the eight canto—this great Indian classic describes in detail the story of, The Churning of the Ocean of Milk. So how can anyone refute the origin of Angkor Wat’s history?

Granted, this story has been lost for most of the world, but Rama knew it well. His thoughts pierced back into time—sitting as a small boy overlooking the ruins of Angkor Wat, listening to his father. He enjoyed those memories. He remembered being captivated for hours as his father taught him about Lord Vishnu and the great struggles and triumphs between the demigods and the demons.

The sudden shrill from a jungle parrot brought Rama to his senses.

Rama had an entire lifetime ahead of him to reminisce about his childhood. Indeed, the ruins of Angkor Wat would always be etched in his mind. Still, the separation he felt for his family back in Cambodia was difficult to dismiss, even for an aspiring monk who was well aware of the virtue of detachment.

Pouring some water, Rama placed a blackened pot over a small flame, adding the vegetables he had just picked. He also added some white beans. In a few hours he would try to coax his friend into eating. Suryavarman had suggested this earlier and had given Rama some special herbs to simmer in with the vegetables. Turmeric was known to purify the blood. Sitting next to the small flame, Rama’s fingers slowly rocked against his wooden beads.

 

 

Approaching the trickling spring, Surya and his followers couldn’t help but notice a couple of vultures circling overhead. Understanding God’s ways, Surya guessed that probably a tiger had killed something earlier and now these scavengers of the air were gathering for their share.   

Looking toward the other end, where the water became very shallow and the vultures could be seen, one of the monks spotted whatever it was that they had found so interesting.  Surya motioned to take a closer look.  Their drinking water had to be kept fresh and the monks worked hard to remove anything that would contaminate it.  Their very survival demanded their constant vigilance.

 

The body was found on this small sandbar photo by Ippei Naoi

 

But what the young monk discovered when he went to investigate was not what he had expected to find—obviously a soldier of some sort by the clothing and boots. Surya’s group of startled monks gathered around the lifeless form. Even though Vietnam was not that far away, this remote part of Laos was not an area often visited by soldiers—if ever. One of the men reached down and turned the man over. An American! How odd. Not dead. But almost. How did he get there? Quickly assessing the man’s condition, Surya could tell that time was of the essence. Looking at the bank extending upward from where the man lay, the monk’s could understand the great fall he had taken from up above.

Estimating that it would take four of the stronger monks to carry the unconscious American back to the monastery, Surya instructed some of the other men to fill their water jugs and immediately head back. Then he told them to return for the other jugs, which now had to be left by the stream. Everyone could understand their spiritual master’s deep concern for this poor fellow, who was close to death. Besides a cut on his forehead, his leg may have been broken. After a difficult journey back to the monastery, the American soldier was gently placed on a straw mat. Next to him, Nitai was still drifting in and out of consciousness. The American was completely unconscious.

Life at the monastery suddenly took on a different mood. Life and death situations always focuses one’s attention and this was no different for the monks who now had two gravely-ill men to care for.

Nor could Rama and the other disciples help but notice how their spiritual master did everything in his power to save the life of this young man. Surya’s personal concern and attention for both men was clear to everyone. Rama felt proud to be Surya’s disciple.

Nick spent most of the next several days unconscious. Lying next to him, Nitai quickly regained both his health and wit. By week’s end he was well enough to leave the infirmary. As for Rama, caring for the injured American now became something that occupied his every deed. Of course, he was thankful for Nitai’s recovery and whenever he prayed, Rama thanked God for sparing his friend's life.  Now he asked God to do the same for the American.