In the summer of 2018, while posted in the clamorous city of Gorakhpur, I decided to take a day off and visit Nepal. Accessible through the road crossing at Sonauli, it was barely an hour’s drive from the city.
My destination was Lumbini, the birthplace of the Buddha. I had heard many tales about how wonderfully the sacred place had been preserved by the government. A number of Buddhist countries, whether rich or poor, had built monasteries around the shrine in a bid to claim the religious space. Enticed by the promise of serenity, I booked a cab without a second thought.
The driver arrived 15 minutes before the designated time. He was a tall and plump fellow, who appeared to be a little too talkative for his own good. As we began our journey, he started telling me stories about how he’d driven to Nepal on multiple occasions and how thoroughly he knew the length and breadth of that country.
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His narrative kept me hooked for a little while, but I soon lost interest and began to enjoy the beauty around me instead. He continued to talk incessantly, but with an open window on one hand and a view of the Himalayan foothills on the other, his voice was relegated to being just background noise. Before long, we had crossed over to the Nepal side.
Lumbini was more incredible than I’d thought it would be. The massive compound of the shrine was divided into an eastern wing and a western wing, separated by an artificial pond.
From my limited understanding of the religion, I’d gathered that the beliefs and consequently the symbols of all three of its branches — Mahayana, Theravada and Vajrayana — varied. However, there was a set of multi-coloured flags that graced almost all the monasteries, irrespective of the sect they belonged to. This left me confused. The driver, sensing my ignorance, spoke up.
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“These flags are like a connecting string, sir,” he said, “They unite all forms of Buddhism into one. It is said that the colours of these flags reflect the colours of the Buddha’s aura. They stand for peace, compassion, strength and wisdom.”
“Are you a Buddhist?” I asked impulsively. “Aren’t we all, sir?” he replied with a smile. “The Buddha stands for enlightenment. And that enlightenment can come only through happiness. In one way or the other, aren’t we all striving for happiness? Some find it in their jobs, others in their families. Ultimately, we are all treading the path which leads to the Buddha.”
For a moment, I was rendered speechless. His understanding of a religion that he did not even follow was immense. In a world plagued by superficiality, how many people arm themselves with such knowledge?
Most of the remaining part of my trip was loaded with conversations. As it turns out, the driver had developed a keen interest in religion since childhood. Over the years he had picked up a couple of sacred books belonging to different faiths. He’d read the Bhagvad Gita, the Koran, translations of the Tripitaka and bits and parts of the Avesta, too.
He had picked up all these books from stalls at railway stations, which had but rather crude copies of the actual texts. He hadn’t yet been able to lay his hands on the Bible but he wanted to read it soon. Whether it was out of curiosity or admiration, suddenly he didn’t seem to be so talkative anymore.
As he dropped me off at my place, I asked him where I could reach him. Quickly, he pulled out a paper and scribbled something on it. Abbas Hashmi, it read, followed by his address and phone number. The next day I purchased a copy of the Bible and sent it to him. He gave me a ring that very evening and thanked me profusely for the gift. But the truth was that it was he who had given me the gift of understanding.
It had taken me a trip to Nepal to understand the strength and power of the beautiful thread that binds the country. Maybe this was what the oft-repeated ‘secularism’ was truly all about: a Muslim driver, ferrying a Hindu passenger to a Buddhist shrine. Maybe this was the true essence of India.
akilbakhshi@yahoo.co.in