THE LITTLEST DHARMA TEACHER
Original Vietnamese version, Pháp Sư Tí Hon, by Vĩnh Hảo
Translated into English by Cát Tường
In the Buddhist temple, at times people entered the monastic life not because they desired such a life, but because of circumstances: such as those who came to the temple because of extreme poverty - the parents just cannot afford another mouth to feed; or orphan kids whom no one wanted; abused and mal-treated children; or those forsaken by love; those avoiding a military draft; and also those who got fed up with this unfortunate life full of annoyance, inconvenience and troubles, who seeked a more peaceful environment, running away from misery. All temples are known to always have wide-opened doors to receive anyone and everyone, no matter whether they come with deceptive motives or truly genuine intentions. It is often thought that hundreds of dirty riverbeds cannot disturb the immensity of ocean water.
Little Hoa was one of those opportune arrival to the temple. A rather sad circumstance brought him and his mother to the monastery. The abbot accepted him immediately. Likewise, the young lad seemed to prefer the temple life than tagging along besides his mother in temporary accommodation with different friends and family members like they have been doing of late. He remembered his fairly comfortable home with a veranda and garden growing many fruit trees. They used to have a gardener named Hai, a lived-in helper called Mrs Tam, and uncle Can the chauffeur... His family estate was one of the more outstanding and large home in the neighborhood. He wasn't sure whether his father worked for the government or not, but each morning, he remembered uncle Can drove Father to work in the black shiny car, and they wouldn't return home until late. Now and then, a few soldiers or police officers stopped by their house and spoke seriously and very formally with Father.
Suddenly one night, he also remembered vividly, there were many shotgun sounds around the house that terryfyingly woke him up. Later many loud voices of strangers were heard downstairs, and Father was handcuffed and taken away to places no one knows. Mother cried hysterically on the floor. He wasn't sure what he needed to do, besides hugging her, staying close by her, and now and then comforting her like "Mother, please don't cry." Morning came, his mother still sat motionless on the floor looking out to the street in front of their house. Mrs Tam said that rice, food, and lots of reserved supply from the storage pantry were taken last night. All day long, lots of soldiers came by his house, they talked about trying to bring Father back. But Mother - and Hoa as well - finally realized that Father would never return to them. And then one night later, after that incidence with his father's disappearance, he woke up in the middle of the night to find that he was carried by his mother on her back, and she was laboriously running away. Many houses in the neighbor were inflamed, burning hot. Lots of people were scrambling as well, just like them. From that day on, Mother didn't take him back to their house anymore. And from then on, Mother didn't seem to wait for Father's return any longer. When he asked, Mother said Father left for good. Hoa hadn't any idea where his father could have gone, and for good, for ever.
The two of them walked, then rode in cars, many cars, to a far-away place that Mother said his grandmother lived. He was hungry and thirsty, and cried often. Mother begged for some food to feed him along the way. Once they arrived to the city, they found out that his grandmother has also departed somewhere sometimes ago, gone without anyone knowing her whereabouts. From then on, they wandered aimlessly here and there for many days, until the time when Mother brought him to the Temple and left him there.
The day he arrived at the Temple, after Mother left, he was introduced to some of the young novices about his age. Children adapted quickly to the fun and games and new friends, he almost forgot that his mother has left much earlier in the day. Not until after dinner, he finally thought about missing his mother, and started to whimper loudly in a corner. The abbot was in the Main Hall chanting, so no one came to comfort him. The young novices just sat and stared at him, not knowing what to do. Consequently he cried even louder and more lamenting. For once in his life, he sobbed all he cared to cry, and Mother was not there to comfort and give him solace only a mother could. That's when he realized that the presence of his mother right now far out-weightet anything else in this world. There shouldn't be a need for him to remain in the temple. He would much rather have his mother, going everywhere with her, even if he'd never known where they would live and what they would eat. The realization caused him to cry even more vehemently. Then getting too tired and worn out from crying, he finally stopped screaming and only sat there sobbing lightly. One of his new young friends approached him, held his hand, and repeated the single sentence over and over again and again, very matter-of-factly "please stop, don't cry." Well at least the repetitive words consoled him a little bit, better than not a word from anyone like earlier. When Master finished his chanting and appeared in the doorway, Hoa found himself wailing as loud as before. Master took off his chanting robe in his chamber then came back right away to him, saying:
"Oh my... why crying like the world is gonna end like that, eh?"
Hoa remained silent. Just knowing that Master worried about him, made him cry harder, his tear streaming down unstoppable, his nose running and red. Master put a caring hand on his head, stroking his hair:
"Now, now... You don't have to cry like that, your mother will soon return for you."
That was exactly what he wanted to hear. He immediately stopped crying, wiped his nose with the shirt sleeve and asked:
"Really Master, my mommy said that...?"
"Yes, she will return. Don't cry, the young novices here will laugh at you. Just like you, they have no mom or dad nearby, but did you see any of them cry like you. You got to be more brave, right... especially because you are a boy, you can't be crying like girls, okay dear."
Master hasn't even finished the sentence, Hoa already furtively looked around at all the young novices. What a shame, such a simple thing like that, why hasn't he thought of it, now he felt a little embarrased. For real, he shouldn't carry on like that, he thought to himself - not hero-like at all. No way he should let himself be a laughing stock, and be thought of less than any of the other lads. With one swift motion, he raised the corner of his shirt, wiped his face clean, and stpped crying for good. From then on, he carried himself proudly - tough, undaunted, confident, not acting like a child whimpering for his own selfish need, no more tears, not worrying when his mother was coming, etc... He learned to chant, to study the dharma, to sweep and care for the Buddha statues in the Main Hall, to rake leaves... all the small jobs assigned to the young novices of the temple. Nonetheless, deep down, he still wanted his mother to come soon, not to take him away anymore, but because he missed her so much.
*
Little Hoa was such an intelligent child, and maybe he has the "monastic potential" like the adults thought and said so, especially some of the lay Buddhist members who often came to the temple for services. Master was very pleased with his proficient and fast learning capability. Master also praised him often to his followers. He was the newest addition but he seemed to excel and surpass other novices who have been there longer. Only within a month, Hoa was allowed to be inducted - his hair was shaved off leaving just a small patch in the front (Translator's note: it is tradition that a novice's hair be shaved short, leaving a small portion on the top of the head called "chỏm" in Vietnamese). Until the day he officially became a novice, Mother still has not come back to visit. Anyway, he has accustomed to the serene life at the temple, and could accommodate well with the enjoyment, work, play and games suitable for his age group. He no longer felt miserable like when he first arrived. Just now and then, he missed his mother, thought of her, and wished she would come - of course he wanted her here, not for 'rescuing' him away from this monastery life, but just so that he could hug her, and make her proud that he has become a young novice, and a very good one at it.
And yes, indeed, Hoa was such a well-behaved, mild-mannered, amiable little lad, who was very studious and intelligent. Master was extremely pleased and paid special attention to his education. Moreover, he possessed another unequivocal talent. He could memorize all of the lectures and dharma talks given by Master to the general public who gathered up at the temple twice a month, on the first and the full-moon days. You can say that his mind works like a tape recorder which selectively recorded everything exactly as it was said if he has a mind to pay attention to it. And then, after intently listening to Master, he could repeated it word by word, just like Master had spoken. The lay Buddhists knew of this, and often requested Hoa to 'duplicate' the abbot's dharma lecture for them instead of having to bother the monk to repeat his teaching. One day, Master happened to walk by, and heard the exact words that he just lectured earlier coming out of the little boy's mouth - Master was joyously startled.
Whatever Master taught, Hoa contemplated and constientiously applied into his daily life; whichever he did not immediately understand, he asked Master to explain and elaborate. Hoa was quite smart, very eager to learn, and being such a well mannered kid, he earned the love and admiration of his master, as well as all others in the monastery. Even the young novices, with lesser knowledge, proficiency and ability, would not despise, nor be in contempt of him, because Hoa was never one to be supercilious and arrogant. He spent plenty of time patiently explaining and trying to help his little friends to understand what he comprehended quite easily.
Once Master was away for three days on some Buddhist Congregation Business in Saigon. The followers who came to the temple asked Hoa to give a dharma talk to them. They kept begging until at last he succumbed to their request and went up to the podium in the Main Hall to give them a teaching, just as Master had done. A very profound subject that no one could believe that at such a tender age of 10, no little lad could remember let alone understand it completely and relate by rote memory for everyone to hear. They all clapped loudly and commented him gratefully afterwards. Some of them even took pictures and recorded the event as proof to show the master upon his return. When Master heard of the incident, he was very happy, but also worried much for this small student. For the very first time Hoa was called to Master's office for a private friendly chat with just the two of them. Master gently pat him on the head, asking:
"Do you still miss your mother?"
"Yes... Master!" He responded sadly.
"Maybe your mother has not found your grandmother yet. Maybe she is working to save up money to take care of you. Don't blame your mother, okay. All mothers love their children very much. Especially your mother, because she only has you, so she must loves you very much. I think she is busy with work, she cannot take time off to come for a visit."
The tears were ready to roll down his cheeks:
"I miss her a lot, but I put myself to study the dharma and the chanting to think of her less. I also pray for her health so that she soon comes to visit me."
"Yes, she will come, no doubt about it. And if she knows that you have been such a good novice, she'd probably be very proud as well. Can I ask you something very seriously?"
Hoa looked up at the abbot:
"Of course, Master."
The elder monk remained silent just for a short moment, then he posed the question:
"If your mother decide to take you with her when she comes, what will be your decision?"
He really hesitated. In the last few months at the temple, he has had friends to play with and Master to be a great teacher to learn from; he's gotten used to the early morning chanting and vegeterian meals, simple and tasty; he liked the simplistic and serene life here among those people he learned to love. He has not thought much of the fact that his mother would come back for him, and that she would want to take him back with her, to that previous secular life. No more temple gongs and bells, no more chanting morning and night, no more peaceful meditation, no Buddha-name recitation, and no more times when even Master would work out in the garden with them, weeding, growing flowers, watering the flowers and shrubs... Just a few months here, but he already knew that he wouldn't want any other way of living, even with his mother's love and care. He loved Mother very much, and knew that she suffered a lot since Father was taken away. Mother needed him as much as he needed her. But this magical life at the temple attracted him so. It really got something so very nice and peaceful and calm; and it tugged at his own little heart. He told Master in a sensitive voice, indecicively:
"I don't know what I should do Master... Of course I love my mother very much..." The tears were now rolling on down his chubby cheeks. It took quite a time before he continued:
"But I also like to live hear at the temple. I don't want to leave you. I don't want to go away."
Master was quite moved, he put a caring hand on Hoa's shoulder:
"The first hardest thing that a person entering a monastic life is to eliminate his sentimental attachments to family members. But then actually all throughout his monkhood, he continues dealing with the battle to overcome emotions that bind him to this worldly life. Indeed it's a tough decision for you to make. I think the temple life is suitable to you. But if it is your mother's wish to have you back with her, then you need to obey. When she allows you to go back to the temple, you can still come to me. It will never be too late."
"Perhaps my mother can live somewhere near the temple. I will stay here, and when I miss her I can come home to visit."
Master laughed out loud:
"Oh no, you can't do that, Son. You got to choose. It is a great decision in life to choose the monkhood. The highly revered life of a monk requires him to abolish all personal wants and needs so that he can dedicate entirely to the ultimate goal. He cannot have both: temple and home, going back and forth from one place to the other like scuttering 'bird-mouse'. Do you know the meaning of living like birds and mice?"
"No, Master."
"In the monastic meaning, the terms 'living like a bird-mouse' refer to individuals who are living the half-way life, wanting whichever is more fun and profitable at the time; he would leave either life if dealt with hardship, or want to participate when the fun is abundant. Like bats, which are 'bird-mouse' creatures. When people catch flying birds, they claimed they are mice even though they have wings and can fly. But when people trap mice, they surely deny being in the same category, because they can fly with their wings."
"Thank you, Master, I understood now."
"I want you to think very hard, and decide before your mother returns one of these days. By then, you should know exactly what you need to do."
He bowed reverently to his master, and took a step to leave. At the door, Master called out to him again.
"Yes, Master, you have more to instruct me?"
The abbot slightly smiled, asking him:
"You really like to live in the temple?"
"Yes, I do, Master."
"But your mother only temporarily leave you here for difficult times, not to let you become a monk."
"I understand Master. But I like it. And besides... my head has already been shaved."
"Growing your hair back is not difficult."
"When Mother sees that I'm already a novice with shaved head, perhaps she would let me stay."
"I would surely hope so. However, it is more important whether you want it or not."
"Yes, Master. I really do want to be a monk."
"Being a monk is a challenge. It is a tough road to travel. When you are just a novice, you don't yet see the hardship and difficulties monks have to face. It is not simple like just raking leaves, or sweeping the sidewalk, or learning the sutras, etc... When you get a little older, plenty of adversaries defy you every step of the way, disturb you, trouble you; no monk has an easy ride. Only those with a steadfast determination, devout ambition, and powerful will can overcome them and succeed."
"I will overcome them."
"Excellent, you have high aspiration. Remember what you told me today, Son. I surely hope one day you will be a big asset to Buddhism. What would you like to do when you grow up? You want to be Buddha, or a Patriarch?"
Hoa just laughed and said:
"Just a dharma teacher, Master."
That brought a loud chuckle from Master:
"A dharma teacher, indeed! But when I was gone away, you were already practicing giving the dharma to the followers... Yes, of course, you can be a good dharma teacher, but you have to research, and learn a whole lot more. Rote knowledge from books does not necessarily make you an excellent preacher. You also need to practice. And having talent and a gift for public speaking is definitely an advantage."
*
One day, after a trip to the City for meetings, Master came back and called all of them into his study and announced:
"The Buddhist Congregation in our region has decided to start a Primary Buddhist Institution for young novices just entering the monasteries like you guys. I want to send all of you there for a formal education. But each one of you have to pass an entrance exam on basic knowledge in order to qualify to enter the school. Therefore, in the next three months, we will have to study very hard, and cover what is necessary for that important exam. Now is the time to register for the test."
Tam asked excitedly:
"Is the Institution also a temple, Master?"
The abbot patiently explained:
"Yes and no, the Buddhist Institution will of course have a main hall with Buddha just like any other temple, but it is also a school for developing student-monks - these students learn to become monks. It's a special school that generates and teaches monks. The Institution also has different levels just like the Public School System: the Primary School is equivalent to grade school, the Secondary I school is the same as middle school, and the Secondary II school is like high school. Besides there are also Higher Education levels that are equivalent to colleges and universities. From 6 to 11 years old like you guys, you would be put in the Primary system. In order to succeed and become someone well-educated and leader in Buddhism, you have to attend these formal Buddhist Institution, and acquire a formal education."
Tuan asked thoughtfully:
"But Master, if all of us go away to school, who will stay here with you?"
Master reassured them:
"Your education is more important. You don't learn very much just sticking around here. I can only teach you the very basics. But there, the school employs great wise men, erudite teachers to educate you on many many subjects. Your master doesn't have the time, nor the knowledge to do so. Now do you understand? Besides, just because you are here at this temple with me, I am the master who shave your head, it doesn't mean that you are only my students, but you have to be Buddha's students and followers as well, and to readily serve Buddhism when the time comes. When you are older, you will understand more your own responsibilities towards the faith, as well as to the country and society at large. Hoa, you've been so quiet, what do you think? Do you want to go to school?"
His head still bent for a little longer, then Hoa looked up at his master:
"Is the school very far away, Master?"
"It is in the city, pretty far away. When you are there for school, you probably will only come back to the temple at summer break in July, and perhaps during Tet."
"I like the idea of going to school very much, but Master, I think you just let Tam and Tuan go, I will be here with you to help you around."
The abbot was very moved at his little student's sincerity. But he also realized psychologically that Hoa wasn't ready to go anywhere because his mother has not come back to see him. He kept silent at the keen observation. He only addressed matter-of-factly on the subject:
"You can certainly go to school with your brothers. If you want to become great dharma teachers or just good monks, you have to go to school. Otherwise you're just a plain country monk like myself. If you love and respect me as your master, I hope all of you will do good with your study and make me proud. Once a month, I will come to the school to visit you. And if your parents want to visit, I will also lead them there and show them how. Tam and Tuan, what do you think?"
Both of them replied excitedly:
"Yes we want to, Master."
Master then looked directly at Hoa with his gentle eyes:
"You don't want to go with your brothers? Okay I will let you think about it for three days then let me know so I can sign up all of your names at the same time, okay?"
*
The parents of Tam and Tuan got news that their sons would be sent to school, they were exhilarated and came to the temple to inquire more information from the abbot. They were glad and proud to have their children attending formal Buddhist Institution. Master told them:
"Going to school is a privilege. When I was young, whatever my master taught was all I absorbed. All other things I have to self-study, because formal schooling was not even available then. Now with the opening of our highly needed Institution, these young monks would have better opportunities, and brighter future to serve. However, they have to prepare rigorously for entrance testings."
Watching Tam and Tuan's parents gathered up with them, Hoa felt left out. He slipped out to the back grove with a large shady bodhi tree; its trunk so huge it probably took ten pairs of arms to surround it. Sitting alone under the tree, he thought of his mother. He wondered why Mother left him here for so long. He worried that she might have faced grave difficulties. Didn't his mother remember that she has a little son she left at the temple for a short time? He, himself, missed her a lot, every single day. Though he wanted to be a monk, and possibly a good dharma teacher in the future when he grew up, but he cannot - especially now at this very lonesome moment - think of not having his mother around. He thought of that day when Mother was so shocked and sat bewildered all day after they took Father away. He remembered when Mother burdenly carried him on her back, evacuating from their home. He couldn't forget those times his mother begged for food to feed him, and people refused, even chased her away. Mother just cried. His heart ached with longings. Then he cried, blatantly. It has been a long time since he cried out loud like this.
Realizing that Hoa was gone. The abbot excused himself from the happy families of Tam and Tuan, letting them visiting with their sons. He went out looking for his little student. He spotted Hoa under the bodhi tree. He silently approached and took a seat beside the young lad. He placed a caring hand on Hoa's shaved head and caressed his patch of novice hair:
"Now, now, stop crying, Son. Sakyamuni Buddha sat under the bodhi tree to attain enlightenment thousand of years ago. Why then, should you sit under the bodhi tree for crying?"
Hoa bent his head lower, still sobbering. Master continued:
"In order to become a great dharma teacher, right now you gotta practice great virtue. Be determined to overcome all personal misery and difficulty. Of course it's not unsual to miss your mother since she's been gone so long. But crying wouldn't help, would it? When you're sad and miss her the most, you just go to the Main Hall, or anywhere quiet, and recite the Buddha's name. To do that, you show that you are a good son to your mother. And a good Buddhist, student of the Buddha, right?
He stopped crying. Master pulled him up, holding his little hand, and leading him inside. While walking together, Master said:
"Your mother will come in the next day or so."
His eyes lit up brilliantly to Master:
"For real, Master. How do you know?"
His master just smiled gracefully:
"Sometimes... I just know it, Son."
And sure enough the next day, while he was sweeping the leaves outside, he saw his mother walked through the gate. Staring at each other for a very brief moment, then, throwing the broom harshly away, he ran as fast as he could toward her, and hugged her tightly with tears rolling down:
"Oh, mommy, mommy, I miss you, I miss you so very much."
His mother also fought back the tears streaming unstoppably. She was silent, just hugging him tightly to her. After a long moment in a fierce embrace, she whispered so lowly for just him to hear:
"Stop crying now, baby. I am here, I've come for you."
Then she pulled away, looking at him in his brown novice outfit.
"Who told you to shave your head to become a little monk like that."
"I like it, Mother, and Master allowed it as well."
The mother remained silent, thinking.
Then they slowly walked to the stone bench in the front garden, and sat down. Hoa rattled on nonstop to his mother about many things that have been happened to him: from the love and comfort Master gave him, to the other young novices at the temple, Tam and Tuan, who were his friends, and he liked them very much. He told her how he excelled in learning the chanting, the sutra, and that how he got to 'give the dharma talk' just like Master did. He related to her the type of food, the activities, the work, the schedule he has gotten used too, and how Master agreed to shave his head. He also told her bashfully of the times when he missed her so much, he cried so loud. After a while, he realized he hadn't even think to inquire about her at all. Hesitating a little bit, then she told him that grandmother already moved to the West, but she wasn't sure exactly what city. It took a long time inquiring everyone, from family members, to friends. Finally she learned Grandmother now lived in Can Tho. After struggling through many weeks locating her, when Mother arrived in Can Tho, Grandmother was dying in a hospital bed. Her stepfather (Hoa's step-grandfather) also passed away just barely a month before that. So Grandmother was so sad and lonely, and she became ill as well. Then at last Mother was there to take care of her in her last moments of life, Now grandmother's little house, with a small garden, was left to them. After taking care of the funeral, Mother was able to get away to come for him, and taking him back with her to Can Tho where they would be living. Hoa was startled:
"You said you were gonna take me with you, right, Mother?"
"Yes honey. I only have you. Who would I take with me if not you?"
His tears were again full in his eyes and ready to roll down.
"You don't want me to stay in the temple and be a monk?"
"I brought you here then with the understanding that you just stay temporarily so that I can go searching for your grandmother. I didn't say you can become a monk."
"Master said that I have the "monk potential", and that I would do well becoming a dharma teacher later."
The mother smiled:
"Probably because Master didn't see me coming back for so long, he thought and said that. But now, I'm here to pick you up and take you home. You're not living a monastic life anymore, how will you become a dharma teacher?"
"But, Mother, I can do a really good job, everyone praises me."
"But that shouldn't be a reason you're forsaken me... Now we have a stable home, you have to come with me, you're my son."
Hoa got a little agitated. He asked:
"Is Grandmother's house close by here, Mother?"
"No, honey. Very far, I have to ride the bus all day long to get here. Why?"
"I want to stay at the temple. When you're free, you come to see me."
The mother signed and sadly asked:
"You don't love me anymore"
"Yes, yes, of course, I love you very much, Mother. But I kind of really want to become a monk, and later a dharma teacher as well. Please, Mother, can I?"
His mother cried again, blaming herself for leaving her son here too long.
"Are you mad at me?"
"No, Mother. I love you and I miss you very much. I'm not mad at you."
"Well, then, you'll come home with me."
Hoa hasn't had time to respond when his mother stood up and bowed down in greeting. Turning around to look, he saw his master approaching from behind them. Master smiled gently at him:
"So Hoa, are you satisfied now? You have been praying hard, now your wish comes through." Then he spoke to the mother:
"Will you please come into the living room, we will discuss his situation."
"Yes, Sir!" Replied the mother softly, proceeding behind Master with his hand in hers.
Master sat cross-legged on the flat divan. Both mother and son fitted into a decorated back chair on the opposite side. Master prepared the tea silently and offered it to the guest.
"Did you find your mother?"
"Yes, I have found her, but then she just passed away recently."
"Oh really? I am so sorry for your loss, I will add her name for prayers on our deceased slate."
Then looking tenderly at Hoa, he instructed:
"You go on outside with Tam and Tuan, let me speak to your mother."
He hesitated just for a very brief moment then put his hands together, to respectfully bow to his master, and left the room. Tam and Tuan waited for him outside on the sidewalk. They seemed visibly happy for their little friend. Tam said:
"So now your mother will come visit often, no need to be sad anymore."
Tuan asked:
"Did your mother bring you any goodies?"
Hoa didn't answer. Tam snapped at his other friend:
"Terrible, Tuan... Why did you ask that? It's good enough that she came."
It was then that Hoa realized his mother didn't bring him anything, like his friends' mothers did each time they came to see their sons. Perhaps his mother was still very poor and can't aford any gifts for him. Or maybe she were just thinking she came to bring him back with her, why bothered with more stuff to burden the load on the way home. He said to his friends with an emotional voice:
"I'm afraid she comes to take me back with her, I won't be staying here at the temple anymore."
After saying so, he felt his tears falling down again. Tam came besides his friend, put a soft hand stroking his back and shoulders, saying the same sentence he consoled his friend the first day Hoa arrived: "Please stop, please don't cry!"
Meanwhile in the livingroom the abbot explained:
"Your son has what we often refer to as "the monastic potential" (translater's note: meaning he has the capability and inner desire to become a monk). He is an excellent child, very smart from such an early age. If he enters the monastic life, he will become such an asset to Buddhism on a later date, and certainly you would be proud and earn lots of merits from it. However, to enter the monastery, a child has to have the consent of his parents; you have to grant the decision. Under the monastic rules, if either parent does not acknowledge, then the child will be return to the family. I have not seen any kid as intelligent and special as him. So truly I will be saddened if today you come to pick him up and take him away. You probably wonder why I allow his head to be shaved like that of other novices. It wasn't that I want to 'place the hoe in front of the buffalo' so to speak, so that you have to accept a done deal. In the temple tradition, the representative image of a young novice with shaven head is only symbolic, nothing permanent, nothing official, nothing definite. Hair will grow back. Therefore he can certainly return with you to a secular life without any interference with regulation or his childish desire. In Buddhism, there are no forceful decisions making a person accept or deny his faith. At all the temples, novices are just trying out the monastic life; if they like it, they can continue, if they don't care for it, or because of any other circumstance that interrupts it, then it is okay for him to leave the temple without being scolded or reprimanded. You don't have to worry at all. The most important thing as a mother is you have to make a decision regarding your child's future. I only explain things, you will make the choice. I repeat again as I did earlier, if he becomes a monk, both him and you will get great merits. He himself will be a backbone to the religion later in life. Otherwise, there will be nothing... What I want to say is that it won't be as good if he doesn't live the monastic life."
Hoa's mother was emotionally moved when she answered:
"Master, I truly appreciate all the help raising and educating my son during the most difficult time that I have to go through, and now you have suggested a very bright future for him in the religious way which to your excellent observation, would benefit him greatly in life. I never never could forget this great favor...."
As she said this, she went down on her knees bowing and crying. The abbot reassured her:
"Oh please don't do that. During wartime, families have suffered, loved ones lost, home displaced. Everyone has certain difficulties, people who are luckier try to help as much as they can. At the temple, we're no exception, we welcome all everyone who came through the doors. So having Hoa here as well as helping you is a responsibility for us. I just need to know what your decision as far as Hoa is concerned. Is he going with you, or can he stay with us. What do you think? If you cannot decide now, perhaps he can just go home with you today, you guys can think it through, and come to a decision at a later date. Anytime he wants to come back or you want him return here, the temple's doors are always open to gladly welcome him."
"Dear Master. On my husband side of the family, he is the only grandson. If he becomes a monk and does good for the religion and for society, of course I would be extremely proud, but... to think that there will be no one else to carry on on my husband's side, I am not quite settled with the idea. Therefore the only choice I have is to take him back with me for good."
The abbot sighed:
"Of course... But such a shame, I regret it. Okay, you can fetch him and prepare to have him leave with you then."
The mother stood up, bowed down as a farewell to the abbot then left the room. Hoa was right outside with his two friends waiting. Seeing his mother wiping away her tears, he hurrily questioned:
"Mother, what did Master say?"
His mother replied with a little hesitation: "Master wants me to decide."
"And what have you decided, Mother?"
The mother silently watch the two friends, then looked at him again. She đin't know hơ to begin. Hoa asked again, eagerly.
"What was your decision, Mother?"
"Do you love me?"
"Yes I love you, Mother."
"Then you're gonna be with me whereever I am, right?"
"Yes... oh but... no..."
"Why not?"
"I still love you when I am at the temple."
"You would have the heart to leave me at home by myself?"
"But Mother, please, I want to be a monk, please let me stay here." He held on to his mother's legs, begging and crying, "Please Mother, please."
The mother also cried. She could not believe that just within two months her son can decidedly chose to leave her to enter the monkhood. She wondered what the temple life got that attracted a sentimental boy like her son. A young boy who once hung on and never wanted to be separated from her, now would adamantly opt for this boring life of misery, poverty, and hardship. But anyhow, she got to decide definitively. Her husband was taken away one night, presumed to be dead already. She only had a son, and he has to carry on the family's tradition and good name. She decided that it would be her only choice to make her dead husband happy on the other side. She determined firmly:
"You have to come with me. I only have you now, do you know that? I cannot live without you, Son."
Then she held his hand and pulled him away. He suddenly bolted away toward the living room where his master still sit cross-legged on the large divan. He knelt down by him crying out loud:
"Please, Master, please don't make me go home with my mother. Please tell my mother to let me stay, I want to be a monk, I want to become a dharma teacher."
The abbot just shook his head silently. His mother entered:
"Dear Master, what should I do, I cannot...."
Master held out a hand, signaling her to stay calm. Then he spoke to Hoa very gently:
"You want to become a monk, that is very noble, everyone is happy for you. But your responsibility as a son to your mother, you have to perform satisfactorily before thinking of just yourself. Buddha taught that when He is no longer with us, we have to consider our parents as Buddhas themselves, right here with us on this earth. You have to remember that always. I will testify to your wish to become a monk. While you are not near me, but whatever you do, always do the best, do the good deeds; obey your mother; take care and love her and make her proud; study hard; be a good person; do no evils, etc... then you are always my student, my disciple, just like you live right here with me. I will always remember and honor your endeavor to become a monk and a dharma teacher. During the time I was away from the temple, you already acted as if you are a young dharma teacher already, correct? You are very good, but it is time you go with your mother. Later if conditions permit and you want to return to the temple, you will be welcomed anytime."
He remained silent and absorbed every single word the master spoke. But he still didn't want to go home with his mother, eventhough he loved her so very much. He looked toward her with appealing expressions, begging her. The abbot signaled his mother to just leave. The young lady hesitated just a bit, then bowed to the master and walked out. As she left the room she spoke gently but with heartfelt agony to him:
"If you really want to become a monk, then stay with Master. I am leaving. You have to be good and study hard so Master can be proud, and I and our entire family will also take great pride in you."
She then wiped her tears and walked out the door. Hoa stood up, a little bafflled. He could not believe that his mother suddenly agreed to let him stay at the temple afterall; so simply and easily, just like that, she left without dragging him along. He wasn't sure what to do, he just looked longingly as his mother stepped away towards the gate. Master nudged him:
"Go say goodbye to your mother, walk her out, don't just stand there, Son!"
He said yes then left the room, went after his mother.
"Wait for me, Mother!"
The young mother turned around, thinking he had changed his mind, but when she spoke, her voice was full of sarcasm and hurt:
"Oh, you go back in with Master, since you want to be a monk, you shouldn't be too sentimental."
"Master told me to go say goodbye to you."
"Say goodbye? Oh no, I don't need it. I can just leave by myself. You don't care anymore, it's okay, I'll go home by myself, live by myself. You stay with Master and your little friends."
Hoa didn't reply, just silently followed behind his mother to the gate. She kept walking without looking back at him:
"Ok, I'm leaving now. You just go back in."
Then she left.
Hoa stood still at the gate watching his mother walking further away from him. Her narrow shoulders once had carried him on her back... he remembered vividly. She walked without ever turning around to look at him. He wanted it so bad that she would look back, so he can wave at her. But she kept going. She almost reached the curb where he cannot see her anymore, but she still would not look back. His heart raced, he yelled:
"Mother, Mother!"
At that same moment, she turned around, stopped, waited. Then she raised one hand waving at him, beckoning to him. He waved back, emotionally crying out loud. He loved his mother so very much; he worried for her; she has no one else; grandpa and grandma passed away already; his father was gone missing for good; now if he stayed at the temple to become a monk, she would be all by her lonesome self. He realized then and there, he could not let her go home alone. Taking a deep breath, he ran as fast as he could toward her. His mother stood at the end of the road waiting with arms widely stretched out. They hugged each other in happy tears. Then they walked away, together, never bother to return to the temple for his stuff.
*
Twelve years later, the abbot was much older now. He left the day-to-day running of the temple to his student Tam to take care of. Tam was now a young monk, bright and dedicated, efficient and able in all matters concerned. His other student, Tuan, was also doing well at a nearby temple. The abbot took time now to have his own deep meditative retreats, not concerned much with worldly works, nor seeing people or teaching.
One day a young soldier showed up at the temple, asking to see the abbot. Tam came out to meet him. The soldier politely said:
"Excuse me, Sir. I need to see the... uhm... older abbot."
Tam understood that he wanted to see his master.
"My master is in a retreat, and not seeing visitors at the moment. Perhaps you can leave him a message."
The soldier hesitated lightly then spoke:
"I have a very dear friend in the same combat unit with me. He was severely injured in a recent battle, and was taken to a military hospital. When I got back to visit him, he was near the end. His last wish was for me to take his picture to this temple to be placed here forever. And his final message was that he missed the temple, the master, and all his friends very much."
The soldier stopped, apparently too emotionally disturbed to continue. Then he got out a large, carefully wrapped picture frame from his sack, and gave to the monk. Tam looked at the familiar face. He asked the soldier:
"You are a good friend with this person? What is his name?"
"His name was Nguyen Duc Hoa."
Tam held his breath with perceptible emotions. Then he dearly embraced the picture frame, holding it close to his heart.
The soldier seemed a little baffled. Tam whispered softly:
"What happened to his mother?"
"She passed away while he was still at war. You know my friend?"
"Yes... indeed... He was a young novice at this temple. Will you wait here, I will go tell my master."
Tam took the picture to the private chamber of his master. Just a glance at the face, Master knew it was little Hoa of many years ago—that brilliant but very sensitive child, who once was adamantly determined to be a monk, but who also impetuously ran after his mother without ever looking back. Master watched intently at the face in the picture for a long moment, then he sighed:
"I knew that it wasn't the wise choice when you left, but I never could prevent it. Each one of us has a destiny, sometimes one knows it but cannot avoid it. Oh my little dharma teacher! I have been waiting for you, why did it take this long to return here to me, Son?"
Tam exited the master's room. He placed the picture frame reverently on the altar together with other deceased members of the sangha. He burned some incense for his old friend. In the picture, the eyes looked as though they were ready to cry. Tam remembered his young friend in those days when they were both novices. Hoa cried easily. His eyes were always wet with tears. That little boy was now a soldier just succumbed in battles, with darkened skin, muscular build... but the eyes were the same: full of emotions, very intelligent, and vividly bright as those of an angel. Tam whispered gently to the picture:
"Please stop, please don't cry, my little dharma teacher."
California 3/1992
