Chasing the sadness in his eyes, we followed him as he directed.
He welcomed us with a cup of warm herbal tea. We chatted for a while before he
showed us through different rooms of the monastery.
More than I heard the guided tour, I heard his silence. He was
polite in his manners. So poised and composed, that normally anyone could miss
out on the emptiness he carried with in.
Draped in a mono-color costume there were many monks roaming the
premises. One could see a variety of boys and men, ranging from age as young as
three years to as old as sixty years, staying under one roof. The attire was
not clean, as if one set of clothes was used over and over, for days at a
stretch. Some of the monks, the young ones especially, were wearing torn
clothes.
I wondered...what kind of parents have a heart so stoned to send
their little ones away from their nest, to grow in an unfamiliar environment
among strangers.
A glimpse of their face was enough to tell their stories of
sadness and loneliness. Many of them did seem homesick. They were allowed to
visit their families only once or twice a year. They had no access to the world
outside except for a few visitors like us. In winters even this interaction
became impossible as the monastery and the roads to reach there gets covered in
deep snow.
Unlike the life a few of them must have desired, they lived a life
so disciplined that it not only took colors out of their life but also seemed
to lock them in a no-smile zone. I hardly remember seeing the older ones
smiling. For a fact, they understood the seriousness of the life they entered
as a child's play in tender years.
Now sitting in my car, on our way to the next stop of our journey,
his words kept playing in loop in my head; when he said, 'My parents sent me
here when I was quite young. I had no choice'. He definitely missed his family
I thought to myself. But would he still feel the same love for them that he
felt years before! I doubt! For now he realizes the depth of betrayal from his
own blood. Denying him the chance to choose his own destiny was too much for
him to handle at the moment.
To me, as a parent, the whole incident dawned as an eye-opener.
Since the day the baby is born, we become the remote control of her life. We
get addicted to drive her crazy by deciding everything for her. Beginning from
what to wear to what to eat to what subjects she should study in high school to
even choosing her friends. We become so obsessed by living our dreams through
our children that we forget they are individuals on their own journey. They
seek our guidance not decisions!
It is hard to say how much time it will take for us, as parents,
to unlearn the controlling patterns we have embedded deep in our flesh.
Meanwhile, I can bet that the monk we met today, had built some
dream castles. Quite aware that his dreams may never be able to see the face of
reality. He lived in a hope of tomorrow that may never come!
Out of the hundreds of monks who inhabited the monastery,
meeting this one in particular, was truly fate.
Without saying much he taught me one of the greatest lessons of
life - 'We cease to exist the day we stop dreaming!' How else could he stay so
calm in a place he had never wanted to be in!
Happy Dreaming!
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