Editor's Note

As I sit here reflecting over the events of the past few years, I can truly see that this material world is empty, and characterized by suffering. Reflect upon this, all you poor souls that are caught up in the day to day struggle for existence. We are saddened by the knowledge that we cannot get all of those things that we desire: saddened to have to be separated from those persons and things that we love: saddened by being near to those persons and things that we dislike. If we have nothing, we are distressed; if we are rich we are saddened and worried over the possible loss of our riches, and in most cases burdened by the incessant urge to acquisition: we must ever search for new things, new experiences, even new companions. Our appetites become jaded, and we give no thought to the reasons for this dissatisfaction. This account is about a most singular man, the Venerable Doctor Anuruddha, who lived his life to the fullest: born in Germany before the second World War, he was involved in the struggle against the Hitler Youth, fled Germany and enlisted in the French Foreign Legion, was seriously wounded in their struggle against the Berbers in Morocco, was medically discharged and took up residence in France. He then returned to Germany, where he was imprisoned (by error) in the infamous Dachau Concentration Camp. After his release from that hell on earth, he was (through the efforts of his father) given a commission in the German Navy, whereupon he immediately became involved in the plot to assassinate Adolph Hitler. He escaped from Germany once more, taking up residence in Sweden, where he married. Happiness was still elusive, however, as his young wife died in childbirth before they had been married even one year.After this tragedy, he became a Buddhist Priest, a member of the Western Buddhist Order in England. He soon became disenchanted with the sedentary lifestyle that was his lot, and decided to travel to India, the Land of the Buddha. After many adventures in India, including crossing the border into Tibet, where he met the Chinese coming the other way, and barely escaped with his life, He met a most singular man, Lama Anagarika Govinda. He was ordained by Lama Govinda, and became a priest in the Arya Maitreya Mandala, the foremost European Buddhist Order. This, then, is his biography. I tell it in his own words as much as possible, only making corrections in his grammar and usage, which was in most cases stilted and Anglicized.
Taranatha

-CHAPTER ONE-
My experiences in South Vietnam

Actually, I had not intended to write about my experiences in South Vietnam, but am now doing so at the request of my many friends and disciples here and abroad. I have lived in the far east nearly twenty one years as a Buddhist Priest, including nine years in Vietnam. I have made many journeys from India and Japan, always ending up in that, in spite of the war, beautiful land. The natural beauty, the friendly people, and the Buddhist religion drew me to always return there, to that land that was so beautiful, in spite of the terrible war raging throughout the country. It is difficult to believe that this land is now in the hands of Communist barbarians, a victim of the : "red terror.:" There is nothing permanent in this world, however; all things change, and everything is subject to the cosmic law of cause and effect. The sage Nagasena said Bactrian King Milinda (the Greek Menander):"He, that is victor in battle, Should ponder the impermanence of All worldly things. His victory is not so great, (and) even if great, the Wheel of Life can turn again, and draw him down into the dust". Blinded by success, the world conquerors do not realize that one day the wheel of life will turn and cast them once again down into the dust. A true son of the Buddha shows no hatred towards his tormentors, rather he radiates a genuine equanimity: in other words, One does not love his tormentors, which is practically impossible, but, on the other hand, does not hate them. I know from personal experience that it is not easy to maintain equanimity in a Communist Concentration Camp: only by tremendous exertion was I able to maintain such a mental attitude, especially in the first days of my captivity. Later it became somewhat easier. I visited South Vietnam for the first time in 1963, during the oppression of Buddhists by the former dictator Ngo Dinh Diem. The Vietnamese monks in the Nalanda Pali Institute (in the Indian state of Behar) begged me to travel to their country and obtain first hand information regarding the conditions there.

-CHAPTER TWO-
Arrival in Saigon

We finally arrived in Saigon around noon. The city did not appear to have suffered in the slightest from the war, it appeared completely untouched by either bomb or sabotage. There were, however, many poor hovels and tar paper shacks, some sporting walls made of corrugated tin imprinted with soft drink labels. It seems that any material available was put to good use; I saw one shack made completely of tin imprinted with `Coca-Cola' logos. Saigon was very hot, and everything was covered by a thick coating of yellow dust, which hovered over the city like an immense, dirty cloud. People were everywhere; some squatting by the road side selling food and drinks; some hawking black market cigarettes, and other items; farmers from the countryside with their produce and animals heaped upon rickety carts. One farmer was pushing a small cart with two trussed-up pigs upon it, their grunts and unhappy squeals adding to the bedlam. I walked past a row of gaudily painted buses, and finally found a three-wheeled bicycle rickshaw. Now, where was I to go? Ah, yes; immediately upon my arrival I was to go to the Xa-loi (Za-loy) Pagoda, and deliver a message from the Vietnamese Monks in India to the Abbot of the Monastery. The driver of the Rickshaw was a man of ageless quality; skin burnt almost black by a lifetime of laboring in the hot sun. He wore a pair of tattered khaki shorts, a raggedy straw hat, and flashed a mouth full of gold teeth. I asked him in French if he knew where the Xa-Loi Pagoda was. He nodded vehemently, and invited me to sit in his rickshaw. I sat down, and he pedaled away at a furious pace, nearly running over the farmer with the pigs, who screamed imprecations and shook his fist at us. Perhaps it was well that I didn't understand much Vietnamese. The street was full of people; autos, rickshaws, bicycles, motorcycles, and various hybrid vehicles that could be either. There were many women, and pretty girls in their national dress, called the Ao-dai (Pr. Ow-yai), perhaps the most beautiful and graceful dress in the world. Some wore, or carried, conical straw hats that had wide brims to shelter them from the sun. We passed a bevy of school girls clad in sparkling white Ao-dais, carrying their books and papers, all giggling prettily over some private joke as they tipped gracefully down the street. On the other hand, I noticed peddlers and beggars everywhere; even a poor leper laying near the roadside with his mutilated hands outstretched for alms. And, of course, there were soldiers everywhere. Soldiers of all nations, Vietnamese, American, Korean, etc. I even saw a beautiful Japanese girl dressed in a brightly colored Kimono tipping along on her tiny feet. She walked in an entirely different manner from the elegant, self-assured Vietnamese girls. I also saw ragged children, the poor victims of the war, scavenging in the gutters and trash piles from the restaurants and snack stands along the street. Some appeared as if they hadn't known a full stomach in many months. A group of waifs were clustered around an American soldier shouting `Ong my, Kayo, Kayo' ( Mr. American, candy, candy). The soldier tossed a handful of something into the street causing instant bedlam, as the waifs scrabbled and fought after the candy, the soldier taking the opportunity to duck into the door of a nearby bar, and thus escape the crowd. At length, we finally arrived at the Pagoda. The entire narrow street in front of the temple was packed with Soldiers and National Police, all carrying weapons and truncheons. From inside the Pagoda I could hear the voice of a monk over a loudspeaker announcing the goals and demands of the Vietnamese Sangha (Community of monks). The soldiers and police were aghast to find a European Monk in their midst. Evidently they had never encountered such a situation, and did not know what to do: should they let me in, or block the entrance to the Pagoda? Finally an Officer barked something, and two soldiers pushed back the barbed wire barricade out of the way. With beaming smiles, they motioned me into the Pagoda. I gave the rickshaw driver five Piasters, which he refused to take, evidently being also a Buddhist. I put the money in his pocket and clapped him on the back. With a bright gold smile, he got back on his rickshaw and pedaled away as fast as he could from that dangerous area. The Xa-loi Pagoda (Temple of the Buddha's Relic) was built by a devout Buddhist Lay man about twenty years ago. Though it was of completely modern (at the time) construction, it retains the classical lines of a traditional Vietnamese temple; gracefully curving roof eaves, classical Chinese style gates echoing the thousand year occupation of the land by the Chinese. It was (and is) a most beautiful, serene Pagoda, with lush landscaping and an air of utmost tranquility that now, unfortunately, was shattered by the political events that follow. The Pagoda was full of people, all milling around in confusion. A pair of monks in purple robes with long sleeves helped me through the crowd and up the stairs to the office on the first floor. There I was met by an English speaking monk (who, so help me, reminded me of Goebbles). He identified himself as the secretary of the Pagoda, and one of the main opponents of the anti-Buddhist Government. I will not reveal his name, as I am uncertain about whether or not he is still in Vietnam; Similarly, I have changed the names of others who figure in this narration, as I do not want to put them in danger. The secretary introduced me to the director of the Pagoda, and Mr. Mai Tho Truyen (Later Vietnamese Minister of Culture, who died in 1973). I was to stay with Mr. Truyen. I could converse with him in French. Most of the older educated Vietnamese spoke fluent French, while the young, in contrast, mostly speak English, although French is still taught in the schools. The next day many monks, nuns and lay people (most of the latter were women) came to visit me, and speak with me if possible. The congestion was so great that we had to set up a table in the main hall of the temple, where I sat and gave my blessing to a seemingly never ending line of people. I held a lily stem in my hand that I dipped in holy water, and placed on the head of each person as they knelt before me, and recited the Pali formula: `Hotu te jayamangalam' ( May Victorious Blessings be upon you). I sat there the entire morning, giving blessings uninterruptedly. I actually noticed some people come through three and four times; evidently they thought: `Double blessing is more effective.' The next day I was visited by a female college student from Saigon. She was a very pretty girl, but her face was swollen and bloody, both eyes blackened. She tearfully told me that she had fallen into the hands of the National Police during a demonstration in the middle of the city. They had taken her to the main police station, beaten her with fists and rubber hoses, then raped her repeatedly. She was fortunate, however, that they had let her go. Evidently, they had sent her to the Pagoda as an example to the monks and nuns as to what they could expect if they continued their agitation. That afternoon the heart of the monk Thich Quang Duc was brought into the Pagoda. This Saintly monk, 72 years old, had burned himself in front of the Cambodian Embassy a few days earlier. Witnesses, among them an American Journalist, told me that the monk had calmly stepped out of the auto he was riding in, and sat in the middle of the street in the lotus posture. Another monk had poured gasoline on him, saturating his robe and body. The Venerable monk had struck a match and burst into flame. Around him stood a vast throng of monks and nuns. Some of the nuns fainted when they saw the burning Saint, who, however, sat undisturbed in the midst of the roaring flames, not moving or crying out. I acquired six or seven large photos of the incident, which I later hung on the wall of my temple. My Disciple, Venerable Taranatha, has one such picture on the wall of his temple in America to this day. Venerable Thich Quan Duc was later canonized, and is now a Bodhisattva (Buddhist Saint). Remarkably, his body was burned to ashes, but his heart was not touched by the flames. It is now enshrined in the Xa-loi Pagoda, or was at last report. Many journalists came to the Pagoda each day, attracted by the sensationalism of the ongoing events, and eager for ever new and vivid stories. They even pestered me, and I was pressured to give interviews, whether I wanted to or not. Their reports were published the next day in Saigon, and perhaps also in the west. I was concerned that the Vietnamese Government would read some of their exaggerated accounts of my mission. I stayed in the Pagoda for ten days. I had the opportunity to visit the spot where the monk had immolated himself. It was in the center of an intersection; I could see the very spot where he had sat, the pavement was all melted. This spot was later made into a Buddhist shrine. As I stood there contemplating the monk's noble act, a Vietnamese policeman in plain clothes approached me and my accompanying monks: he ordered me to get into his car. I refused, knowing quite well what would await me at the police station. The monks and I hurried back into our car, which was waiting nearby, and sped off as the policeman watched. When we returned to the Pagoda we told the head monk of the incident. He feared greatly for my safety, and urged me to return to India as soon as possible, and on the way to tell all that I met of the horrible persecution of Buddhists that was taking place in Vietnam. I accepted the mission eagerly, being ready to do my utmost to accomplish the difficult task I had been given; I realized that I was risking arrest and torture at the hands of the Secret Police. Documents and affidavits from the Sangharaja (Church Head) Thich Thin Khiet were sewn inside my belt by the nuns, so that in the event of a search at the airport they would not be found. If the documents were found by the government, I could expect imprisonment and torture, and even execution. Mr. Truyen, with great difficulty, managed to get an airline ticket for me, paying for it in Vietnamese money. If I had purchased the ticket, I would have had to pay in American Dollars: the government demanded that all foreigners pay for their tickets in American currency if they had been in the country less than five months.

-CHAPTER THREE-
My mission in South East Asia

My mission in South East Asia for the Buddhists of Vietnam Shortly said, after ten days in Saigon I flew to Singapore to visit Miss Pitt Chin Hui, a very active Buddhist and Director of a High School called the Maha Bodhi School. I had met Miss Pitt earlier in Katmandu (Nepal) during the Fourth World Conference of the World Fellowship of Buddhists. Miss Pitt immediately arranged for an official meeting in a Chinese temple, and there I reported about the terrible conditions in Vietnam. Afterward, they brought me to a somewhat remote temple, Pho Kark See. I stayed there only one night, however, and then flew on to Bangkok. The Theravada Monks there, however, would not arrange any lectures for me, as they feared political reprisals from their Government, which was friendly with the Vietnamese. Two days later I was in Rangoon and visited the Minister of Justice for Burma, U Cham Thoon, who was also the Director of the World Fellowship of Buddhists. He also apologized that he was unable to do anything for the South Vietnamese Buddhists, as the situation in Burma was the same as in Thailand. Meanwhile, I had the opportunity to visit the famous Shwe Dagon Pagoda, which is visited daily by hundreds of worshipers. In a wooden bungalow in the vicinity of this huge Pagoda I met the Latvian Mahayana Monk Friederich Lustig. He was a Mahayana Monk, but wore the yellow robe of the Theravada sect, and sported a full beard! We had first met in Nepal, while his first Guru the Most Right Reverend Tennyson of Estonia was still living. Reverend Tennyson was over eighty years old at the time, and died soon after our meeting; after his death his corpse did not decay, which Suggested to his followers that he had reached Sainthood. For weeks Reverend Lustig tried to prevent the government from cremating his teacher, but, finally, the somewhat envious Minister of Justice ordered the cremation. The ashes of the teacher were placed in a Chinese Stupa. Reverend Lustig said that the Justice Minister had handled things badly, and thus would soon fall upon evil times for his deed. He was right; soon after he lost his post, and was placed under house arrest. Later I visited a Vihara built by the same Minister, and there met two German monks: Bhikkhu Dhammiko (now Manuel Kulbare) and Bhikkhu Vimalo, who, after a long stay in Asia, lived in the `House of Stillness' in Rosenburg (Germany). I had a short meeting with the two monks, and I stayed the night in the Vihara's guest room. The next morning I left before breakfast, and flew on to India, arriving in Calcutta that night. There I met a Sinhalese monk who lived at the Maha Bodhi Society, and I stayed the night in their Vihara. On the following day I had a conversation with the Secretary General of the Society, Mr. Devapriya Valisinha of Sri lanka. He immediately arranged a press conference for the same afternoon, in which the well-known English Buddhist Publisher and Author Francis Story also took part. I needed to inform the journalists of the true nature of the persecution of Buddhists in South Vietnam, also to show the aims and demands of the Sangha in proper perspective. Seen from the Buddhist side, the battle against the government was strictly non political; they didn't want to overthrow the Government, but merely wanted their rights as a major religion. Among these were; to be able to fly the Buddhist flag over their temples; for the Government to recognize the sanctity of these temples, i.e., to cease `raiding' such temples and conscripting young monks to serve in the army, and to respect the Sangha. Unfortunately, the friction between the Buddhists and the Government was a great opportunity for the Viet Cong to sneak in and `fish in troubled waters', so to speak. Fortunately this plan of the Communists did not work, as their enmity toward all forms of religion was widely known. The Reds, however, were so depraved that they even put on yellow robes and went through the villages preaching Communist propaganda. Ho Chi Minh himself was one of the first to pursue this line of action, although he professed to be a Buddhist and have a deep respect for the Buddha's teaching. I have seen a photo of him standing next to a black Buddha statue in the entrance way of his house. Francis Story gave his lecture the same evening, using my presentation and oral account of the events in Vietnam. His lecture in the auditorium of the Maha Bodhi Society had been planned before my arrival, so I let him give the presentation. Meanwhile, I went to the Dharmakur Vihara and met with a group of Bengali monks. They invited me to stay in their Vihara permanently, but I had my mission to fulfill, so I had to decline their kind offer. The next day, all of the newspapers in Calcutta reported on my arrival from Vietnam. Some of the stories were objective, others, to the contrary, tendentious. It seemed that some Journalists were continually seeking sensationalism, and manipulated the truth as they saw fit. Because of this, I was not particularly keen to grant interviews, being fearful that I wouldn't recognize the interview when it was finally published. This time, however, with the exception of one English language Newspaper, my interviews were all correctly printed. Mr. Valisinha wondered about this, and he said jokingly: "We've had luck! Usually everything written about Buddhism is either ignored or distorted." I left Calcutta the next morning, again traveling by third class rail coach. I made a stop in Gaya, however, as I wanted to go to Bodh Gaya (historically, the place of the Buddha's Enlightenment). From Gaya, I was forced to travel by `Tonga' (horse cart), that being the only means of conveyance at hand. As we jolted along on the unpaved road, I could see that the driver was no animal lover. I had heard many stories about the Tonga drivers, how they sometimes drove their horses to death, now I was seeing this at first hand. The horse was a walking skeleton, it seemed that he had gotten little food, but many blows of the whip from his master. The driver carried a long bamboo pole with a leather lash at the end, with which he frequently struck the poor horse in the testicles to make him run faster. The horse kicked at each lash, striking his legs against the cart. I seldom use the Tonga carts, as I have seen many horses dead at the road side. Being an ex-cavalry soldier, this was exceptionally painful for me. I wonder why the Indian Government does nothing to protect the poor animals; such cruelty in the land of Gandhi! From afar I saw the gleaming tower of the Maha Bodhi Temple; a symbol of peace in a world filled with hatred and cruelty. In the Buddha's day Bodh Gaya was called Uruvela; today it is a small village on the Nevanjana River. The river, however, only exists in the monsoon season; during the rest of the year it dries up to a trickle that can be easily stepped across. I found quarters in the Maha Bodhi rest house. The only other occupant was a Bhikkhu who was also in charge of the premises. The next day I visited the Maha Bodhi Temple, saw the Bodhi tree, visited the Tibetan Monastery, and then departed by bus for Nalanda, which is some six kilometers from Bodh Gaya. The bus ride to Nalanda was a harrowing experience. We were accompanied by an immense cloud of thick red dust, through which burned the incandescent sun. The dust poured through the open windows of the overloaded bus, covering everything inside. Some foolhardy passengers hung out of the open doors, others sat on top with the baggage as the speed-happy driver raced down the dirt road at top speed. I feared he would lose half of the passengers, as he raced along, twisting and turning to avoid boulders and logs in the road, the bus swaying to the left and right like a ship in a storm. Holy cows and water buffalo constantly impeded our progress, running and bellowing in fright and anger to the driver's curses. Once he pushed a white cow so hard that she fell into a ditch. The driver laughed in insane glee; it was evident that he was a Moslem, and had no respect for India's Sacred cows. He looked back at me for approval of his deed. I gave him a look that would have done the Greek Stoics proud. A portly Shrimati (Indian lady) bedecked in a blue and gold sari hissed at the driver, and called him a `Bura admi' (bad man). At once other, bolder Indian ladies joined in and berated him verbally. The driver cringed, as he was only one, and the ladies a multitude. One of the Shrimatis asked him why he had not gone to Pakistan when India was partitioned. The driver did not answer, but stepped on the gas, and, with a hefty jerk, shot the vehicle forward, causing the ladies to crash to the rear of the bus. The babies in their arms screamed, adding to the din. At last we arrived in Nalanda, and I once again found myself in the Pali Institute. That evening I gave a lecture for the Bhikkhus, explaining the situation in Vietnam, and advised the Vietnamese monks not to return to their homeland, as the government was bent upon the destruction of Buddhism. The heat at Nalanda was atrocious; it was so hot, in fact, that some of the monks flooded there rooms with water to cool them down. A few had electric fans, but these only served to push the hot air around. A pair of Tibetan Lamas were studying at the Institute, and they suffered terribly from the heat, being used to the cool arid climate of their homeland. Many of the Tibetan refugees that escaped Tibet after the Chinese invasion resettled in India, and many died in the first years of their exile, unable to adapt to the torrid climate. A few days later I traveled again to Delhi to meet with Jawaharlal Nehru, the President of India. I had met Mr. Nehru and his daughter Indira Gandhi in 1957 and 1962 in the city of Punna (150 kilometers from Bombay), and in Allahabad. Indira Gandhi was then very young, very beautiful and very intelligent. She was a Kashmiri, and a Brahman of the highest caste. I rented a Kuti (stone hut) in the garden of the Buddha Vihara in New Delhi. Bhikkhu Aryavamsa of Sri lanka invited me to lunch, and at the same time arranged a meeting on the lawn of the Vihara. Some seventy people took part, including one English Lady and her son. I spoke on my Mission to Vietnam, and the plight of the Buddhists there. Much was news to those present, in spite of the many radio and press reports. No outsider could have managed such an insight into the inner problems of Vietnam as I did as a Buddhist Monk. Two days later I received an invitation from President Nehru to visit him in his office. His secretary had reserved fifteen minutes for the visit. I traveled by taxi to the Government Offices, which lay quite a distance from the city limits. The taxi pulled up in front of a massive red building that reminded me of the historic Red Forts of Old Delhi. A hot, dusty breeze brushed over the asphalt streets; here there was little traffic, the streets were almost empty. I entered the massive building, and was conducted to the receptionist's office. I was told to have a seat, until Mr. Nehru summoned me. Shortly the world famous Indian President appeared. He was dressed in white, and wore the `Gandhi Cap', the trademark of the ruling Congress Party. Numerous officials appeared, and all greeted me with folded hands, as is the custom in India. Mr. Nehru disappeared into his office, and I was summoned shortly after that. I first had to pass through another reception room where the President's Secretary, a very friendly man, sat. He asked me many questions about my mission; why, wherefore, etc. Then I was ushered into the President's office. Mr. Nehru sat behind his desk beside an open window. He stood as I entered, greeted me with folded hands, and said `Namaste' (be greeted), smiling all the while. Then he shook my hand vigorously in the European fashion, and invited me to be seated. The office was spartan; one table, two chairs, a wash basin behind Nehru's chair, and a picture of Gandhi on the wall. To begin the interview, I wanted to show him my affidavits from the Sangharaj of Vietnam, but he said it was not necessary, as he had photo copies of everything. We conversed in English, and I found him to be an interested, sympathetic listener. Mr. Nehru had a great sympathy for Buddhism, but declined to officially become a Buddhist, as he thought it would hurt his political future. I asked Mr. Nehru, in the name of the Vietnamese Sangha, for his support against the persecution of Buddhists by the Diem Government. Mr. Nehru shrugged his shoulders and patted me with both hands, embracing me left and right as was his typical gesture when faced with a situation he wanted to resolve favorably, but could not. He said: `Venerable, please, I can do practically nothing in this circumstance, but give our moral support. I have protested for years against the persecution of Buddhists, but all has been to no avail. I have never even received a reply from the Diem Government. Mr. Nehru further stated: When, after the partition of India in 1947, the Moslems and Hindus were cutting each other's throats we received a telegram of protest from Mr. Diem, in which he berated us for persecuting the Moslems, and accused us, the Hindus, of perpetrating atrocities.' Mr. Nehru and I conversed, not for the planned fifteen minutes, but for over an hour, so interested was he in my story. At last, however, I had to go. He wished me good luck in my unselfish mission, and again shook my hand vigorously. This was to be my last meeting with India's great man...he died eight months later. The next day, the newspapers were full of accounts of my meeting with India's president, and, this time, most of the stories were accurate. Next, though I had absolutely no sympathy with either the Viet Cong or the North Vietnamese, I visited the North Vietnamese General Consulate to, so to speak, `take the pulse' of these people. They were astounded, and honestly enthusiastic over my mission, as the so-called : "Liberation Army:" would profit from my anti-Diem activity. I asked them for financial support for the long trip to Sri lanka to apprise the Government there about the situation. They gave me 200 Rupees; not much, but enough for the trip. The next day I spoke in the auditorium of the Afro-Asian Solidarity Society. Madam L. Nehru, the Aunt of the President, was chairwoman of the Society, and was present, as was the Vietnamese General Consul. Also present were a multitude of Ambedkar Buddhists, and a sprinkling of Europeans; the hall was packed. In the morning, after a frugal breakfast in the Buddha Vihara, I made my way to the train depot, boarded the train, and traveled for two and a half days clear across the continent of India to Madras. The trip was uninteresting; nothing special was seen on the way. Everything was as flat as a table, and I saw only villages of mud huts, palm plantations, banana groves and so forth. I noticed that every village had a square pond in front of it. I saw women in Saris bedecked with gold jewelry drawing water from the ponds in huge iron kettles; a few meters away naked children bathed, farmers washed their huge black water buffaloes, and others even washed cars . . . all in the same pond. The people drank the dirty water. No wonder so many people are sick, and die at an early age. At every stop peddlers besieged the train, hawking their wares: cakes, rice cookies, fruit, etc. There were even mobile dentists, who practiced their trade right in the coach. I have seen myself how they can pull a tooth with the most primitive instruments, and without causing any apparent pain. Many beggars also entered the coach, and pestered the passengers until they gave up a coin in order to be left in peace. Here in the third class there was no caste difference; Hindus, Moslems, Christians and Sikhs all sat together perched on the hard wooden benches. I was again forced to find a baggage area in the overhead. This time it was not a net, but a hard shelf. I was safe until Madras, though the heat and dust form outside made breathing difficult, and sleep impossible. Upon arrival in Madras I immediately went to the offices of the Everest Line and bought a steamer ticket to Sri lanka. I sailed the same day, and arrived that evening in Sri lanka. I had the address of the German Dharmaduta Society, and went there. At that time there were no German Bhikkhus in residence, only some Sinhalese. I was given a large room, which, however, I couldn't lock as the latch was broken. The entire evening, until around midnight, there was a steady procession of monks traversing the hallway to use the telephone at the end, being not at all concerned with those who wanted to sleep or meditate. It was clear that I must find more suitable quarters in the morning. After a sleepless night I went to the International Meditation Center on McCarthy Street. It was a long stone building, seemingly new. The interior was very modern; a long hall, with a Buddha statue at the end, and places for the monks to meditate. I saw two orange robed monks in Padma-asana (Lotus Seat) sitting before the Buddha statue. The noise of passing traffic appeared not to disturb them in the slightest. The Abbot of the center, a jovial and corpulent man, greeted me with friendliness, and said that I could stay in the Vihara for as long as I wished. He gave me a nice room on the first floor. Next door to me was an educated monk from Cambodia; he spoke fluent English, and had studied in India. I conversed with him at length, with the result that he invited me to visit his homeland, and his Vihara. Unfortunately I was never able to. On another day two famous Theras from the south of the island came to visit. One was named Metteyananda, and in his company was a young Sramanera (novice) named Sariputta, from Berlin. The Sramanera was a colleague of mine from years past in the Buddha Temple in Berlin, Frohnau. Two Doctors also visited me, thinking I was a medical Doctor rather than a Doctor of Philosophy. They were glad to meet me, though, and invited me to their house for lunch. When I returned to the meditation center after lunch, I found an official letter on my table. It was an invitation from the President, Mrs. S. Bandaranaike. I was to be at her office at ten the next morning! The next morning I went to Temple Tree, as the President's residence is called, in a car provided by my Doctor friends. The residence was a one story villa of British Colonial style, not very large, but very neat and elegant. The door was opened by a servant, and my passport and invitation were inspected by a secretary. They were expecting me; I was immediately conveyed to the Office of the President, without even having a chance to catch my breath. Madame Bandaranaike was a stately, regal seeming lady. She wore a plain white silk Sari, and appeared very elegant in spite of this plainness. As I entered the room, she rose and greeted me with folded hands, bidding me to be seated. A chair was offered by a servant, who draped a white cloth over it, which is a custom of Sri Lanka: invited clergy are always seated in a chair covered with a white cloth so that they will not come in contact with the dirt of the common laity. Madame Bandaranaike wanted to remain standing out of respect for me, but I asked her to be seated near me. She cautiously complied, after I informed her that my hearing was not good. Her secretary sat on a low stool, as in Sri Lanka no layman must sit on a higher seat than a visiting monk. I talked with Madame Bandaranaike for half an hour, explaining the terrible situation in Vietnam. She said that Sri Lanka did not have either diplomatic or consular relations with Vietnam, so meddling with the internal affairs of that country was impossible. She had, however, written to the dictator, Ngo Dinh Diem, at the request of the Buddhist Clergy of Sri Lanka. She had asked him to halt the discrimination against the Buddhists in his country, and to restore full religious freedom. The result, as one can imagine, was completely negative. Diem was very arrogant, and blinded by fanaticism. Above all, he found himself in the hands of the charming, but totally evil, Madam Nhu, who was the wife of his brother, the Police Chief of Vietnam. The President listened attentively to my story, but I could see that her eyes were tired. I found later that a certain Maha Thera living in Vietnam had visited her, and told her that there was no oppression of Buddhists in the country. Madame Bandaranaike asked me how such a well known monk could tell such a story. I laughed, and replied that the Venerable perhaps had plans to get his visa renewed for that country, and would have been denied one if he had told the true story. I mentioned also that I knew the Mahathera very well; he was the same monk that had stated that Buddhism was not a religion, but a : "way of life." Such opinions could hurt Buddhism, not only in Vietnam, but throughout the world. I said goodbye to Madame Bandaranaike, and returned to the meditation center. The press and radio were full of accounts of my interview with the President in the following weeks. Later a young man, journalist by profession, cornered me in a book store one afternoon, and begged me for an interview. I refused at first, but he followed me through the streets and into the Vihara. I felt sorry for him, and finally granted the interview, even though I knew it would be published in the English Language newspaper, the "Ceylon Observer," and would be hopelessly garbled. It turned out that my suspicions were correct: the interview was garbled, and contained many assertions that I had not stated. I went to the publisher and demanded that he print a retraction. This was done the following day, but the notice was hidden in the middle of the paper, and printed in fine print.

-CHAPTER FOUR-
Kidnapping or Attempted Murder?

Soon after the incident with the newspaper, I received an anonymous letter in English. The writer accused me of being a Communist, and threatened me with death if I did not leave Sri Lanka immediately. I showed the letter to the Mahathera of the Vihara, and my Doctor friends: they opined that the letter was written by a Christian fanatic, and not by a Buddhist as the writer claimed he was. In the morning I went to the Government Offices to meet with the Secretary of State. I showed him the letter: he read it, and asked if he could keep it to try and find out who had written it. I remember thinking: "Hopefully you have a Sherlock Holmes in this country!" Naturally I did not immediately pack up and leave the Island in a panic, rather, I stayed another eight days in Colombo; this nearly cost me my life! After a visit to a Buddhist book store near the harbor, I turned down a deserted street on my way back to the Vihara. The street was wide and tree lined, with walled compounds along either side, their ornate gates tightly shut. As I walked down the street, I suddenly had a sixth sense of someone watching me; that itchy feeling on the back of my head that always proved to be a warning. I glanced over my shoulder; sure enough, there was a burly, tough looking man following me. Then I noticed two hard looking men standing in the gateway of the compound on the left, an entrance way that led deep into the interior of the compound. They were staring at me intently. At the other end of the street, the burly fellow stopped, and watched me from the middle of the road, with his hands on his hips. The two at the gate laughed as I attempted to get by them, and said: " Come inside, there are people here who would be very glad to see a German monk; come meet them! " I wasn't having any of this, as I knew what would await me in that compound. I tried to get past them, but they grabbed me by both arms, and tried to drag me into the gate. I reacted immediately by kicking the one on the left in the groin, and at the same time slamming my doubled fists into the other's face. Before they could react, or even cry out, I was gone. I dodged to the left of the burly character as he ran up, and raced down the street. There was a sudden crack, and bullet sprang off of the pavement near my feet. I raced around a corner, and disappeared into a crowd of people; safe! Hail to the Buddha! I ran back to the book store, and called my Doctor friends, who arrived a short time later and drove me back to the Vihara. Later, I felt bad about using violence on the two men, but, monk or not, one must protect oneself. It was for this reason that the Chinese monks had developed the Martial Arts, and continue to teach them to this day. I have no doubts that if the thugs had succeeded in getting me into the compound, they would have murdered me. The Mahathera and the other monks listened to my tale of the attempted kidnapping (or was it attempted murder?) with anxious interest they declared that it would have been very unfortunate for me to be murdered in this so-called Dharma land, and said that I should leave the island as soon as possible. I agreed, but informed them that I had never been a coward in my life, and never would be. I believed in the power of the Buddha and the Buddhist Protective Deities: therefore, nothing serious could ever happen to me. The monks looked at me in amazement and awe, folded their hands and said: "You are right, with such great faith, nothing bad can happen to you." Next day I traveled by train to Kandy, the former Sinhalese Royal Capitol. The train had a separate compartment for Bhikkhus, but I was the sole occupant for the entire journey. The landscape here was far prettier than India; fresher and greener, and not so dusty. Everywhere I saw neatly kept bungalows, villas, huts, and small shops, the most of which sold fruit. The entire area was full of banana groves, pineapples, coconut palms, orange trees, etc. Dark skinned village beauties carried whole bunches of bananas or pineapples on their heads. During the entire trip I saw no dirt or poor hovels, as in India. The train route to Kandy was a good advertisement for Sri Lanka. In Kandy, a medium sized city, I visited the famous Temple of the Tooth, where a tooth of the Buddha is enshrined. Whether it is actually the Buddha's tooth or not, I can't honestly say, and, as the caretaker of the Temple only shows it on special occasions, I didn't' get a chance to see it. I also saw many round Stupas (Relic Towers), where worshipers knelt in their devotions. After a few minutes I left the temple again, and proceeded to the Forest Hermitage of Nyanaponika Mahathera, a student of the famous German monk and Pali scholar Nyantiloka Mahathera, who was over eighty years old in 1957. Nyanaponika Mahathera is co-founder of the Buddhist Publication Society, Kandy, which has published and disseminated a whole series of worthwhile English language pamphlets over the whole world. It is, today, the largest Buddhist operation of its kind. About halfway to the Hermitage, a few kilometers from Kandy, I met two young men dressed in white drill suits. They greeted me pleasantly, and said that the Mahathera was not in residence at the Hermitage, but had gone to Colombo for a few weeks. Such bad luck! I had to fly to Madras the next morning. So, I returned to Colombo. Meanwhile, the two Doctors had arranged my return to India, even paying my fare.

-CHAPTER FIVE-
Sea Voyage to Malaysia

Early the following morning I said good-bye to my friends, promising to visit Sri Lanka again in the future, and boarded an ancient aircraft for the short flight to Madras. In Madras I immediately boarded a ship bound for Penang, in Malaysia. This time I traveled tourist class (thanks to the generosity of the two Doctors), and shared a cabin with a very interesting Hungarian gentleman. He was a former Government Official during the Horthy regime, who had lived for years in America, retired there, and now was traveling through Asia and other parts of the world. He claimed that it was cheaper to travel like this than to live in America. He spoke fluent English, and told me that he had once accompanied Admiral Horthy on a state visit to Germany. where he had met Hitler and Goering. He said that at the time he was inspired by Hitler, but soon lost that attitude when the Nazis invaded Hungary. Then he fled to Switzerland, and from there to America. Now it was his plan to sail the world until it was his time to die. He was sixty years old, but still very spry and fit. One of our fellow passengers was a very beautiful Indian girl. She was tall and dark skinned, and had an elegant demeanor about her. She had the most beautiful eyes; dark and deep, with a most disturbing sadness in them, as if she carried the burden of the world's sorrow on her shoulders. She changed her Saris' two or three times a day, each one being more beautiful and costly than the last. One I remember was a deep red, trimmed with the richest gold; and she wore it like a regal robe. I once tried to speak to her, complimenting her on her exquisite beauty, but only received a shy smile in return. On the second day of our journey she committed suicide! We found her tiny gold embroidered slippers and her silk scarf folded neatly and placed by the rail. There was no doubt of its being suicide. What a terrible tragedy and waste! She shared a cabin with another Indian lady, who wore European clothing and was a Christian. She could not tell us much about the poor girl, other than to say that she was always sad, and seemed to be suffering from some problem, probably to do with her family. The Hungarian also seemed to think that the girl had family problems. He said that he had spoken to her shortly before her death, and believed she was suffering from an unhappy marriage. We had all been at the movie when she had jumped, and all on the ship mourned the death of this gentle, beautiful creature. We reached Penang at last. I went immediately to the Burmese Theravada Vihara, but the Mahathera was gone to Rangoon, so, after spending the night there, I went by taxi to Singapore. My fellow passengers were two Chinese gentlemen, and two exquisitely beautiful Malaysian singers. The singers were not a bit shy, and were extremely interested in me, as they had never seen a European monk before. They questioned me incessantly, wanting to know why I had chosen the yellow robe and left the worldly life. To pass the time, I told them my life's story. When I reached the part concerning the death of my Swedish wife, whom I had loved dearly, they became emotional, their eyes brimming with tears. What a beautiful pair of goddesses! If I were not a monk.....Ah well, such are the temptations of the material world. I liked to think I had left all such temptations behind, but? We drove over Ipoh, where steep limestone cliffs line the road on the left and right. I saw Buddhist caves in the cliffs, with ornate Chinese Temples in front of some of them. They say that there are still monks living in the caves: Chinese monks that love absolute solitude and peace. The landscape looked like a Chinese silk painting; tall limestone spires, with morning mist rising around them. One almost expected to see a sleepy dragon peering through the mist at the modern world, probably in scorn. I would have liked to stop for a while, and admire the landscape; perhaps even meditating in one of the caves. But, alas, I had to hurry on my mission for the Buddhists of Vietnam. We rested in Kuala Lumpur, the Capitol of Malaysia. Pity! The two beautiful singers had to get off. They had an engagement in Kuala Lumpur, but they invited me to visit them in Penang when I returned there. I promised that I would and wrote down their address (which I later lost....such is life!). The journey went at a faster pace now, the roads being better and newer. We reached Singapore that evening. A causeway reaches over an arm of the sea to that island city, which is mainly occupied by Chinese, Indians and Europeans; Malaysians being in the minority. Along with Japan and Hong Kong, Singapore is one of the richest, and cleanest, cities in the far east. The otherwise messy Chinese are persuaded by summons and heavy fines to keep the city clean. When someone is caught littering, throwing paper, or even a match on the street, they are assessed a fine of five dollars. Repeat offenders are fined even more. The presence of the British has caused the westernization of the city. The only things that remain Asian are the natural features, and, of course, the native people. I traveled five kilometers by bus to Thompson Road, and from there walked to the Phor Kark See Temple, which had been built fifteen years earlier by Chinese immigrants. The temple was in the traditional Chinese style, with curving eaves and prancing dragons. It appeared to be the largest temple in Singapore, and one of the richest. All of the local Buddhists brought their dead here for cremation. The many open ovens smoked incessantly. The ashes of the dead were strewn on the cement floor, while family members picked them over with long chopsticks, looking for small bone splinters to take home as relics. The remainder of the ashes are interned in large urns, often decorated with pictures of the deceased and painted with flowers, etc. The urns are finally placed in the mausoleum; row after row of them standing in simple wooden cabinets. The monks hold daily funeral masses in front of the mausoleum, offering incense, flowers, etc. to the dead. The family members, usually a vast troop, take more or less an active part in the ceremonies. One seldom sees mourners crying, though, and the color of mourning is white, not black as in western countries, though this is not really noteworthy in a region where most of the population wears white tropical clothing the year around. The mourners travel from the city in huge busses and trucks, all painted in riotous colors. On one lies the coffin, and on the left and right sit howling children. They make loud, ear-splitting music with trumpets, drums, cymbals, flutes, etc. Especially printed paper money is thrown from the vehicles as they go along, in order to appease the spirits which always follow a funeral. The Chinese consider ghosts to be just as greedy as the living. The paper money is supposedly exchanged in a heavenly bank for items of value. The mourners also burn the paper money, believing that it thus rises directly to heaven. Naturally, these are not Buddhist teachings, but superstitious folk beliefs. As I neared the temple, just such a funeral mass was starting, and before the temple stood palaces, autos, etc., all constructed of paper glued to light wooden frames so that they would burn easily. The English influence was always apparent in Singapore. One saw blonde men, women and children, particularly on the High street, and in the many beautiful parks. With the exception of the Chinese-Malaysian conflict, there are no racial conflicts or discrimination in Singapore: it is a democratic state, perhaps the best in South East Asia. But there is also a shadowy side: for instance, the death penalty is still carried out by hanging, and there is still punishment by flogging. A contrast between democracy and cruelty.