-CHAPTER SIXTEEN-

The Fall of Vietnam

The Viet Cong maintained that all the accords signed in Paris were disregarded and out of date. The Northern Provinces of Vietnam were evacuated at the order of President Thieu and left to the reds. Thousands of civilians fled deeper into the south, most of them ending up in Saigon, which was already overflowing with refugees. Here they lived in barracks, huts or tents. Whole Army Regiments threw their weapons away and fled to Saigon; I was a witness to this as I went to Saigon on the 9th of April, 1975, to visit the German Embassy. The Embassy had written me three times ordering me to leave the country because of the increasing danger. I answered their letters, but refused to leave my rather lost post. I have never in my life been a coward. I would remain no matter what the consequences. I had by now burned all my bridges behind me, and we all must die sooner or later, although I had always hoped for a good and painless death, without long suffering. Perhaps now the exact opposite of my wishes would take place when and if I fell into the hands of the Viet Cong butchers.

I had been recently been visited by a delegation of Buddhists from Saigon, Friends of the Arya Maitreya Mandala, whose Guru I was. They set my chair outside on the flat surface of the water tank, and laid a large mat in front of it, in the oriental style. I put on my yellow robe, stola, and red hat; then all the delegation kneeled before me three times and begged me not to leave them, but to stay and give them moral support during the coming tribulations. They repeated their request three times. I knew that after the third request I must make my decision; what to do? Suddenly the English translation from the Sanskrit of "The Way of the Bodhisattva", which I had included in my book "An Introduction Into Lamaism, the Mystical Buddhism of Tibet", came to mind:

The Way of the Bodhisattva

How shall I seek the goal to gain

While others live in fear and pain?

Should I this self of mine preserve

And fail those other selves to serve?

O thou that wouldst that goal attain

And find for all the end of pain.

Make firm the root of faith within

Set thine own mind the light to win

"Myself how shall I best attend?"

By cleaving to the Supreme Friend

When once thy frame is wholly clean

And pure as rice from speck or taint,

It will produce enjoyment keen

For other beings, selfless saint.

Was I not already on the eighth step of the Bodhisattva Path since quite some time? There is no falling back from this stage. Had I not taken the Bodhisattva vow that day in London, as any other Mahayana Priest or monk? I must stay, this was very clear to me, and I remembered another Bodhisattva poem which was translated by Miss Lee of China, and also included in my book. Here is a fragment:

The Vows of Samantabhadra

I take my solemn oath that I will save

All sentient beings that know life's cruel pain

And, by Dharma teaching, for them pave

A road by which the Buddhahood to gain.

I take my solemn oath that I will strive

Among the Bodhisattvas to enrol,

Nor shall I ever rest till I contrive

To reach the Tathagata's highest goal.

As they asked me the third time, I remained silent, which is an old Indian custom, signifying that I would remain in Vung Tau, no matter what the consequences. The throng bowed again on the mat to show their appreciation. For them I was now a Bodhisattva, I thought, now only remains my ordeal by fire!

One city and Province after another fell to the Reds. The attitude of the Vietnamese Army was "everyman for himself." President Thieu was about to flee the country with his family and riches. But, before all this, as I have said, I was about to visit the German Embassy building on Vo Than Street, where I was received, as usual, with the utmost courtesy and friendship. As soon as I entered the building I was immediately rushed to the Ambassador's office, The Ambassador greeted me cordially, bidding me to take a seat in a comfortable chair in front of his desk. After the customary small talk, he suggested that I leave Vietnam immediately, for my own safety, I, of course, politely refused, and made my position as a Buddhist monk quite clear. The Ambassador said he did not agree with my obstinacy, but understood my viewpoint, He made an official notation on my passport to the effect that I would stay. I said goodbye, and made my way to the bank, where I still had a half million Piastres in my account. I closed the account, taking the money in cash, hoping to redeposit it in the bank in Vung Tau, as I was certain it would be a long time before I would be able to go to Saigon again.

I spent the night in a small hotel on one of the side streets running off Tu-do street. In a temple I would certainly have no rest, and I had to catch the return bus to Vung Tau early the next morning. Bus travel always tires me out.

The next morning, as I was leaving the hotel, I heard an airplane flying low over the rooftops, and a series of explosions followed by a string of machine gun fire, either from the ground or the aircraft, I couldn't tell which. The fire continued for a second, then all was still. The hotel porter turned his radio on, and we heard that a disloyal pilot had tried to bomb the presidential palace, but had not caused any major damage. President Thieu was unharmed, as he was no doubt deep in his bomb shelter. All of the roads into of Saigon were closed for twenty four hours, no one was allowed to enter the city. There was, however, no prohibition for those leaving, and I had no difficulty finding a bus going to Vung Tau.

The bus was jam-packed with a miserably uncomfortable mass of humanity; business men with their briefcases jammed along side elderly betel nut chewing mama-sans carrying their produce home from the market, squalling babies astride their mother's hips..all looking for a place to either sit or at least hang on to. I was fortunate in finding a clear spot on the running board, barely enough room, although i was in danger of falling to the pavement at any time.

It took us a good hour to reach the Phan Thanh Gian bridge, there where my first Vihara had stood (it was destroyed by the Viet Cong in 1968, while I was in Japan). After we passed over the bridge the traffic thinned out, and conditions got better. A giant convoy of autos, busses and trucks waited in the other lane for the city to open. I heard that the officials let them in around noon.

During the trip to Vung Tau Vietcong rockets flew over the bus many times, but exploded in the swamps many kilometers away. As we were nearing the outskirts of the city, however, one struck the road a short distance in front of us, and the blast blew me from my perch on the running board to the pavement. I was carrying my shoulder bag which was stuffed full of books, around 20 kilos worth, and that, plus my full body weight, all smashed onto my right ankle when I struck the pavement. A hellish pain shot through my body, and I passed out. When I came to and tried to get up, my right ankle would not support my weight. I lay there in the road and watched as the bus sped away in a panic. As often is the case, however, I was in luck, for another bus came along. The driver saw me and stopped. He ran over to me and greeted me in the Buddhist fashion with folded hands, then gripped me under the arms and tried to help me into the bus. I was too heavy for the small Vietnamese; he yelled fiercely at the other men in the bus, and several of them came to his aid. It took three young men to get me into the bus; someone immediately stood up and gave me their seat, then we sped away toward Vung Tau. I was not even asked to pay the fare. During the rest of the trip I kept passing out, and my fellow passengers had to hold me in my seat.

When we finally arrived in Vung Tau, a young man that had been sitting next to me offered to carry my bag and see me to the Vihara. I didn't like his looks, though, so I was on guard and cautious. I was certain that the young man was a thief. When we got off of the bus he spoke to a Lambretta driver, and we got aboard the miniature three-wheeled bus. I noticed that the driver was making a large circle, and was not going in the direction of the Vihara. I was certain that he only wanted to get me to some deserted spot where they could rob me. I was surprised, though; the driver did not go along with him. Soon a group of women boarded the bus, and the thief's plans were foiled. He tried to make me pay the fare, however, which he claimed was 500 Piastres (about 50 cents US), but should have been only 200. As I did not have any change, I gave the driver 500, and he gave the thief my change. He glowered at me, and asked me for more money. Perhaps he was a Vietcong. In spite of my weakness, I grabbed the thief and tried to throw him from the bus. He had not expected this; he evidently was of the opinion that all monks were weaklings and cowards. He got up from the pavement and ran back towards the city at full tilt.

On the way I saw a Cambodian Nurse that I knew; I told the driver to stop, and asked her to help me back to the Vihara, which she readily agreed to.

When we reached the foot of the mountain the driver left, and the sturdy woman half carried me up the hill and into the Vihara. I could only limp, and was in great pain; most likely I had pulled the Achilles tendon in my foot. I sank into my cot, and the nurse examined my foot and agreed with me. Unfortunately, all of the doctors in Vung Tau had fled, and there were only nurses and medics available. My foot and leg started to swell. The nurse went to the hospital, which was over two kilometers away, to find help for me. That evening two medics and a nurse came. They put a salve on my foot and bandaged it; more they could not do. The Cambodian nurse that had helped me was, I heard later, imprisoned by the Vietcong, and, as far as I know, is still in a concentration camp.

Now I lay alone in my cot. What shall I do now? Hopefully someone will come and bring me some food, though I had no appetite. I spent a sleepless night. The next afternoon the Cambodian nurse came and fixed me something to eat. She then examined my swollen foot and left again. She promised to come as often as she could. She was a real Florence Nightingale.

On the 21st of April my other American student, Rev. Ananda, came for a short visit, together with his wife. I gave him the first Ordination. Reverend Ananda was Ordained a Priest of the Western Buddhist Order, of which I was the head since 1973. Reverend Ananda was later also given the Ordination of the American Buddhist Mission. After the short ceremony they went back to Saigon, and were able to escape to the US, flying out that night. They were courageous people, to travel under such dangerous conditions; the road had been blocked several times by the Vietcong; Reverend Ananda escaped by hiding under the seat. Later that afternoon my Vietnamese student told me that the town of Baria (between Vung Tau and Long Binh) was in the hands of the reds!

I thought immediately of Reverend Ananda and his wife; was it possible to reach Saigon if Baria had already fallen? I hoped for their sake that they had made it. Now we were cut off from Saigon. There was no other road; only the sea was still open. We saw swarms of boats fleeing over the sea to ships that were waiting off-shore. The nurse told me that they had found 50 or 60 corpses on the beach, mostly rich Chinese from Cholon. The bodies were missing arms and legs, some even headless. No doubt their boat had capsized, and the sharks had attacked them in the water. A gruesome death. The nurse had seen the bodies in the hospital. Far off shore one could see a large American ship - about 50 kilometers away. It was taking on any refugees that could reach it. Many did escape this way, but many died in the attempt. One tragedy after the other played itself out on the South China Sea. Through my telescope I observed part of this tragedy. There were no enemy ships to be seen; the Vietcong had no fleet worthy of the name, only armed junks and fishing boats, and these kept to the back waters as they could not stand against either American of Vietnamese warships. The thunder of artillery and bomb explosions became louder; the war was knocking on Vung Tau's door

On the 25th of April a Vietnamese Lieutenant visited me. I knew him from previous visits. He came in civilian clothes, as he was on leave. He begged me to give him the Upasaka Ordination, and accept him as my disciple. I agreed, and gave him the Ordination before the Buddha shrine, during which we could hear the explosions from artillery fire. My new disciple received the Buddhist name Upasaka (Layman) Anuruddha. After the ceremony he left in haste. I doubt that he ever returned to his regiment in the Mekong Delta. The war was lost; why let it cost more lives? Let him who can save himself do so.

The combatants seemed to agree to halt during the lunch hour; from 12 noon to 2 there was no sign of combat. Then the pounding resumed until six in the evening, when all was quiet once more.

-CHAPTER SEVENTEEN-

The Fall of Vung Tau

Around eight in the morning of 30 April, I heard a rocket coming from the direction of Long Thanh. I was standing in the kitchen making my breakfast. I thought: "Here it comes, the beginning of the end for Vung Tau, and perhaps for me also." The thought was scarcely finished when the rocket slammed into the road at the base of the mountain, sending up a geyser of dirt, smoke and stones. I stood in the kitchen looking out the front door, for an instant speechless. Luckily there was little damage done, the only casualty being an empty house at the bottom of the hill. Most of the people in the area had fled for fear of what was to come. More rockets were launched, and more explosions came one after another; things were getting serious, I thought. I closed all the doors and windows of the Institute, and lie on the floor, covering myself with a mattress as precaution against flying debris. The bombardment continued for the rest of the morning, many of the missiles striking so close that the entire Vihara shuddered. Stones and shell fragments ricocheted from the roof of the Vihara, and clattered on the walls. I was in a perilous situation indeed! The lightly built roof fell down at one corner, right where I was sitting, but I was not harmed. Dirt and wood splinters fell all around me. I felt the Protective Deities all around me, and I had no fear. Also, I had long since given up all clinging for life.

Suddenly I heard a terrific metallic clang on the front door; that was close!

The bombardment lasted the entire morning, then, about noon, everything ceased and all was quiet; lunch time.

I went into the kitchen and made my lunch. The Vihara was a shambles; all the pots and pans had fallen to the floor, all the cups and glasses were broken, and everything was covered with a thick coat of dust. All of the pictures had fallen from the walls, and the windows had all opened from the pressure of the blasts. I looked outside; the Tibetan Chorten was undamaged - so far.

At four that afternoon it all started again. From the radio I knew that Vung Tau harbor had fallen, therefore the reds were just outside the city. I had noticed that no one was returning the fire from the Vung Tau side; all of the firing was being done by the Vietcong. The Vietnamese had lost all will to fight.

That evening I heard on Radio Hanoi that Saigon and Vung Tau had fallen. It was suddenly very still around me. What would happen now? Vung Tau was in the hands of the enemy; would they arrest me? Or would they shoot me in the confusion of the first hours of the defeat? They would certainly be bitter toward the Americans and Europeans, so anything was possible. I was in a perilous situation.

I listened to the radio during the entire time. Radio Hanoi, and BBC and the Voice of America. The latter said nothing about the fall of Saigon and Vung Tau. With the fall of these two cities, the war was as good as over. The reds had won! Thirty years of war was over.

That evening Radio Hanoi said that there were only a few pockets of resistance left in the Mekong Delta.

The President and his family, along with hundreds of his cabinet ministers and officials had fled the country to Taiwan. Nguyen Cao Key, the former General of the Air Force was one of the last to leave; I believe he went to the US. "Big Minh," the old General who overthrew Diem in 1963 took over the Government, but capitulated a few days later to avoid a blood bath in Saigon. Some "Hard Line" Catholic troop units, mostly in the Mekong Delta, held out for a time; they preferred death to imprisonment.

An old lady came to the Vihara one morning, and said that it would be better for me if I flew the Vietcong and North Vietnamese flags; she had brought both with her. Unwillingly I hoisted the Vietcong flag on the mast by the Buddhist flag, and the North Vietnamese flag over my office. Would these flags protect me? I doubted it.

That afternoon two Vietcong appeared at the garden gate; both wore green uniforms and pith helmets, and carried Russian assault rifles. One of the VC smiled. I went out to open the gate for them, and invited them in for tea. They stood outside the gate and wouldn't come into the Institute. They looked nervously to the mountainside behind the Vihara. They had good reason to be nervous; I had watched a long column of Vietnamese troops and vehicles go up the mountain on the 29th. Also the soldiers of the Military Police compound at the bottom of the hill had moved up the mountain. They had probably not given up yet which was a dangerous situation for me; I might possibly be caught in the middle of a fire fight. The night before I had heard footsteps behind the Vihara. The Vietcong all wear rubber sandals that are practically noiseless, it must have been Vietnamese soldiers, probably looking for water.

The two Bo-Dois (jungle fighters, as the Vietcong call themselves) were apparently young, one about twenty- five, and the other not older than 18. The first had already served ten years, and the younger two. The older man asked me if I was an American; I told him that I was German, and he grinned wider. They turned to go, saying that they would return the next morning unarmed.

Well, my first encounter with the VC had gone well; I was neither shot nor arrested. Unbelievable! Later I heard on Radio Hanoi that an order had been given that no temples or churches were to be entered, nor any foreigner molested. Would all the North Vietnamese and Vietcong obey this order?

The Cambodian nurse came and brought medicine and news. Few houses had been destroyed in Vung Tau. A few soldiers and police who had not surrendered fast enough had been shot immediately, and the bodies dragged to the marketplace. A pair of policemen had been burned in their jeep. The VC had committed no acts of terrorism. The Cambodian nurse was very impressed with them. I thought: "Just wait; they know that the entire world is watching them, and want to make liars of the Americans, who had been saying for years that there would be a blood bath if ever the Vietcong won the war." Nothing of the sort happened - it would all take place later, and secretly.

The Vietcong did clear the streets of prostitutes, pimps, thieves and other criminals. Those that were caught were often shot on the spot. A cardboard sign with the words "I am a thief, therefore I must die" was tied around their necks, and the corpses left for all to see as a warning, so that passers-by could see that the reds were cleaning up the city. No honest citizen was molested, and the streets of Vung Tau were safe for all citizens.

A North Vietnamese officer, recognizable by his holstered pistol and insignia on his green pith helmet, visited me. He was the new commander of the Military Police Station. We conversed for a time. He noticed my swollen foot, and declared that I needed immediate medical attention, which he would arrange; but no one ever came, and the officer never returned. I began to receive visits from many VC and North Vietnamese, both in and out of uniform. Once a heavily armed officer came accompanied by a civilian, I recognized the type immediately; he looked like a Gestapo! Why is it that One can recognize that type of ruffian, even in another time and another country?

The Officer was young and good looking, probably having a good portion of French blood. He came into the Institute, the civilian stayed outside and watched me mistrustingly. I invited him in, but he declined, and strolled around the Vihara, probably looking for a radio antenna. The officer asked me politely if I had a radio. I had only a small transistor radio, and showed it to him. He said: "That's number ten," and laughed. Shortly they both left. "They don't trust me, why?" I thought; probably because I had not fled the country. The uneducated Vietcong could not comprehend why someone would stay in such a poor country, when he could live in comfort in his own. There must be something wrong. I saw black; they would not let me live here long. I would either be deported or imprisoned.

The weeks crept by. A few friends from Saigon visited me, most of them had fled. A Chinese Buddhist from Cholon came with his family one day, and tearfully said goodbye. He wanted to go to America, as things were going to be rough for him, as he had dealings with the Americans. I wondered, how could he leave the country now? He said that with money all things were possible, even the Vietcong could be bribed, and there were still many seaworthy boats available. A boat was to bring them far out to sea, where they hoped to meet an American ship. The trip would cost them a half million Piastres. As he was leaving, he turned and gave me a package containing another half million Piastres, saying that the money would be worthless in a foreign country. That was true; even the banks in Singapore and Hong Kong were refusing to accept Piastres, and the rumor was that the new regime was going to change the currency, replacing it with North Vietnamese money. There was a healthy black market in Piastres, the Viet Cong were even taking part in it. I hid the money behind the kitchen cabinet; perhaps it is still there today.

I went into the city every week to go to the market and the post office, riding my old bicycle which I kept at a friends house at the base of the mountain. Many Vietcong looked at me in shock and surprise, but never said anything. One day I went to the city administration to register myself. I showed them my German passport and my Vietnamese "brown book," a form of identity document. After a half hour they gave me my papers back and said that everything was in order, and that I could stay in my Institute, but could not leave Vung Tau without permission of the Police. This policy included everyone, both foreigner and Vietnamese. No one was free to go from one city to another without permission of the Vietcong secret police. They feared the formation of new partisan groups, which had actually been happening. The fight went on, but on a smaller scale. The rumor was that Nguyen Cao Ky had secretly returned to Vietnam to lead the revolt against the Communists. He was supposedly in the mountains between Thailand, Laos and Cambodia. Without the active support of the USA such a revolt would be impossible, and only lead to more bloodshed and misery.

All of the banks were now closed, so it was impossible to withdraw my money. The half million Piastres that I had on deposit in the Dai-nam bank were evidently a total loss.

After a time, I don't remember the date, the postal service was restored. I had a post office box (Nr. 34); one day as I took a letter out, a Vietcong policeman snatched it from my hand, and scrutinized the return address. He showed it to the girl at the counter, who only laughed and handed it back without comment. 99% of the Vietcong understand no other language than Vietnamese.

One of my Vietnamese friends told me that shortly before the fall, the Mayor of Vung Tau, a former Army officer, had been shot on the street by a Marine, after he had himself shot another marine that was robbing a store. Another version was that the Marines had stormed his office and taken him to one of their ships and murdered him there. The South Vietnamese Marines were known as ruffians, and widely feared. They and other soldiers plundered for days before the fall, throwing grenades into shops and stealing watches, gold and diamonds. They acted like vandals. When the Vietcong took Vung Tau, they did not do the same. Hanoi had given strict orders for them not to smirch the name of the "revolution." Then more and more of the prominent people began to disappear; arrested by the Communist secret police. They did their work between 9PM and 6AM when no one could see what was happening. Their favorite time was from 11PM to midnight. It was certain that the VC police and soldiers were breaking into the houses of those who had been arrested or flown the country, and stealing everything in sight, but always secretly. Burned out autos and jeeps lined the streets; I saw one side street that contained a mountain of wrecked and burned autos, mostly of American make.

Buddhist monks and hermits were banned from the mountains; the entire area was being classified as a Military Zone, as it was suspected that there were many South Vietnamese soldiers hiding there. I saw a group come down with their arms in the air, followed by several Vietcong with assault rifles. Once I heard a salvo of rifle fire from the top of the mountain, and thought it was probably some Vietnamese soldiers that refused to surrender and had been shot.

A group of soldiers visited me. They drank tea with me and showed me pictures of their wives and families. All of them had hard eyes and cruel lips. A young officer told me that most of them had killed at least one "number ten yankee." I must say, however, that all of the VC that visited me were correct and courteous, but I was not fooled; when I was arrested the mask would fall, of this I was sure.