A Little Jataka Tale

As I walked down that street and reached a crossroads, there stood a monk, his finger raised, scolding a man with fiery eyes – “Begone, you Tamil dog! Leave this land!”
He listened in deep silence, and over his waiting soul fell the gentle shadow of the Buddha.
Then came a group of pilgrims, dressed in white, making their way toward the vihara to perform some rite of peace.

I approached them and asked, “Can a Buddhist monk speak so?” – pointing toward the raging man.
“He is no monk,” they said. “But he claims to be,” I replied. “That is not our concern,” they murmured, and moved on.

When I turned back, the man was gone. Only the monk and I remained, for a few still moments.
Families passed by toward the vihara, bowing at the monk’s feet with their children beside them. And I walked the other way.

On that path, I saw a young boy selling flowers, telling his tale of poverty to those on pilgrimage.
The man who had been scolded was now buying lotus blossoms from him. When he saw me, he smiled.
I went to him and asked,

“Was it because you are a government servant that you stayed silent before the monk?”
He said, calmly, “Even if I were not, I would have done the same.”
I pressed on: “Because this state is, at its root, a Sinhalese Buddhist one – you kept quiet, knowing words are futile, isn’t that so?”
“The state is only the state,” he said. “How can a state embrace Buddhism? If it embraces Buddhism, it ceases to be a state. If it embraces governance, it ceases to be Buddhist.”
His voice was still luminous.

I asked, “Will you walk with me on the path of Dhamma – toward the direction of Nirvana?”
He handed me the lotus blossoms and said, “My heartfelt wishes for the success of your journey.” And he left.
In the heat of that parched earth, all paths before me wavered like mirages.
From the opposite direction came a young bhikkhuni, walking softly.
“Can you tell me,” I asked, “the direction of the Dhamma’s path that leads to Nirvana?”
She smiled faintly and said, “The moment you decide the direction of a path – that very moment, the path is lost”.
And she walked past me, disappearing into the stillness.