Fish out of Water

It was a fine, sunny morning in mid-Autumn. People were streaming to the temple. The women were dressed in their best clothes, some of them in traditional Vietnamese costume. Some of the men looked like they had already adopted the casual Australian look, but a few wore khaki military hats. Unlike the slouch hat, this one had four sides which came to a peak in the centre, modelled, it seemed, on American military wear. Philemon could see the temple was filling fast when he arrived, without even looking in. Shoes and sandals of every size and shape, lined the veranda next to the wide-open doors. People were talking in groups outside, and children were running amongst the people, their laughter and shouting a reflection of the festive mood. He took off his shoes, which seemed oversized compared to the multitude lining the veranda, and stepped inside. He was struck first by the smell of incense, which was unlike any place of worship he had been before. Strong, but not overpowering and sweet, it seemed to invite one to meditation. The interior of the temple was a large open space, well lit by natural light and shining with gilt paint. The columns were bright red, and on the walls were wooden red plaques, framed in gold, with four Chinese characters embossed in gold. The floor of the temple was carpeted, and people were seated cross-legged on the carpet in rows on either side of a central aisle. Philemon found a place and was offered a thick red cushion to sit on, in recognition of his long, ungainly Western legs, unused to squatting. Once seated, his eyes were drawn to the altar before him. It was covered in flowers, and offerings of fruit were arranged carefully in tiers on bowls. Above the altar was the image that had drawn all these people on Buddha’s birthday and now drew all eyes to it. A statue of a young child stood there, dressed in gilt robes, with elongated earlobes denoting wisdom and a horizontal swastika on his chest. This was an ancient Aryan symbol, not the modern Nazi swastika on the diagonal. To his eyes, the statue looked remarkably tacky, like a gilded shopfront dummy. The right forearm of the statue was raised and the forefinger was pointed to the sky. Likewise, the left arm was by its side, with the forefinger pointed to the ground. There was a painted backdrop to the statue, depicting a noble woman dressed in ancient Indian costume, standing behind the image. Other women were depicted kneeling by in homage. A trail of seven lotuses tailed behind the image. The whole scene depicted Sakyamuni, the Buddha-to-be and his mother, Queen Maya, who gave birth in a forest clearing. It was told in legend that the newborn child took seven steps and spoke, ‘For enlightenment I have descended from the sky. This is the last time that I will be born into this world of becoming.’ The rhythmic beating of a large gong announced the arrival of a procession of monks and nuns, headed by the abbot of the temple. He was wearing a richly embroidered red gown over his orange monk’s robes and on his head was a black peaked crown that looked like a bishop’s mitre turned sideways. He spoke quietly in a gentle voice, and the words of his tonal language sounded like notes played on a guitar. For his address, he spoke briefly about the meaning of Buddha’s birthday. He had visited Lumbini in Nepal last year and seen Ashoka’s stone pillar there which proclaimed this the site of the birthplace of Shakyamuni, ‘the sage from the clan of the Shakyas’. This stone, erected about 2,300 years ago, proved that the Buddha was no myth, he said. But the most important aspect of Buddha’s teaching was that of the impermanence of all things. We cling to things and people and our own ego, as if these were timeless entities that would never change. No wonder we are disappointed and experience suffering! Philemon wondered about the durability of that stone in Nepal, which so solidly proclaimed the reality of the teacher of impermanence. But the abbot had finished and, turning to the altar, now praised the Buddha for his venerable teachings. A group of eight girls, dressed in bright satin costumes – pink tops, white pants, and white aprons decorated with embroidered lotus flowers – now appeared. They performed a dance before the altar in which they offered flowers to the newborn Buddha. The congregation then stood, and the abbot faced the image. The monks and nuns made an offering of incense to the image while the congregation chanted to the regular beat of a drum and a gong. The chanting continued for some time till they reached the threefold prayer of refuge: Om namo Buddhaya Om namo Dharmaya Om namo Sanghaya At this point, the whole congregation, led by the abbot, made prostrations to the three jewels, the Buddha, the teaching, and the community. Philemon, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, placed his hands in an attitude of prayer beneath his chin and bowed stiffly thrice. The drum and the gong then competed with each other, beating faster and faster and rising to a crescendo before falling silent. The ceremony was now closed. People streamed out of the temple while smaller groups began paying homage to the ancestors in the shrines in the side chapels, bowing before the gold-framed photos and images with handfuls of burning incense. The majority of the people moved to the large hall behind the temple, where the smell of huge bowls of noodle soup attracted the hungry worshippers. The people sat in family groups at long trestle tables in the hall, and the sounds and smells were irresistible. Spring rolls were offered to all along with a vegetarian main course of dumplings, cabbage, bamboo shoots, and a dozen other ingredients which Philemon could not identify but which tasted delicious. A fork was offered him, but he ate it with chopsticks like the other participants, although not with as much skill as they did. Children eyed him curiously, but their elders welcomed him heartily. There were a sprinkling of other European Australians amongst the crowd, and Philemon was reassured that he was not a solitary misfit. He left the temple with a feeling of contentment, much impressed with the generosity and hospitality of the Vietnamese congregation to a stranger like him.