-CHAPTER 21-

Three VC in Prison

My extra rations became meager, and of poorer quality. For days on end I had no eggs, vegetables or meat; only six or seven tiny shrimp and a piece of carrot. Once I found only a quarter of an egg in my bowl, and I could plainly see the teeth marks in it where someone had bitten into it. A fellow prisoner told me that he knew that the kitchen helpers were stealing my food, which came from the restaurant, and replacing it with prison food. I refused the bowl with the nibbled egg. They called the guards. The guard angrily ordered me to eat the food, or he would beat me with my own cane. He pushed the end of my cane against my right temple; I sat calmly, as if anchored in stone. The guard didn't strike me. The entire cell gathered around us to see what would happen next. The millionaire whispered in my ear that it would be better if I took the food, or at least take the bowl, then the guard would leave. I took the bowl; the guard stood up and went out of the cell. What should I do now? I stood up, went to the toilet and threw the entire contents of the bowl in the trash can. I did not see any looks of disapproval from the other prisoners, it seemed they approved. I was hungry, and starved like the Buddha before his Enlightenment, but I would not let them demean me. Some prisoners were to be released on Vietnamese holidays, such as Ho Chi Minh's birthday, the day of Vietnam's "Liberation," Christmas and New Years. At least, we had heard this. Some of the prisoners claimed, however, that the ones to be released were only transferred to the concentration camp at Binh Hoa. We had heard that there were over 30,000 prisoners there. Is there any freedom under the Communist system anyway? There must not be, as every year thousands of people flee such countries. All Vietnam was one huge concentration camp after the "Liberation." There were a few former Vietcong among the prisoners. One had fought on the side of the Red Guerrillas for six years, and then deserted. Now he sat in a prison run by his former comrades. It would be rough for him, we thought. He tried to curry favor with the guards by making them new tables and chairs. He was a Hercules of a man, with hands like shovels; but he seemed to be good natured. I talked to him once, and discovered that he had once been a diver. This was probable, as he had a chest like a barrel. He always went without his shirt, and all could see that his body was covered with obscene tattoos. The nurses demanded that all wear shirts while they were in the cell. We laughed at this prudery, and the former VC didn't like it at all. I once read his palm, a knowledge I had picked up in India from a competent yogi, to see if there was any possibility of him being released in the near future. I have found that often the lines in one's hand can actually mean a great deal. I learned this on my first journey to India on the Polish ship "Batory." A Yogi read palms with 90% accuracy, and advised me to learn the art, as many people would expect it of me. In Calcutta I bought an English translation of the "Hast Samudrika Shastra," and studied it diligently, with the result that I was soon and expert. In Vietnam I had often read people's palms, and given them advice and warnings when something seemed to be going bad. Naturally, Buddhism has nothing to do with Palmistry and Astrology, but now, as in former times, a monk or priest cannot live unless he knows and practices this art. I could see in the VC's palm that he would soon be released from prison; if he were actually to be free was another question. His wife was also a prisoner, along with his mistress. He managed to get them both pregnant while in prison, much to the delight of his fellow prisoners, and to the consternation of the guards. One day two uniformed Vietcong were thrown into the cell. They were felons. One had spent his entire youth fighting in the jungles. Now for the first time he had the opportunity to see how good the South Vietnamese had been living under the capitalist system. He started breaking into villas and houses, stealing everything he could lay his hands on; and always in uniform, thinking to terrify his victims if he were caught, as everyone was terrified of the Vietcong in the first months of the "Liberation." Then he made the error of breaking into occupied houses and simply taking anything he wanted; so far no one had opposed him, or complained to the authorities. Then one night a young girl tried to stop him from plundering her house, and he beat her to death. The father raised a hue and cry, and notified the police, who immediately arrested the criminal. The other Vietcong had raped a young girl. He too was caught and imprisoned. Both were being held in prison until the authorities could decide their fate; both would probably be shot, as plundering and rape were serious crimes. Two half-grown boys were delivered into our cell, caught stealing tires from an auto. The boys were about eight or nine years old. They burst into tears when they saw the cell with all the chained prisoners. The Homosexuals were fascinated, and took the boys into their corner to give them "fatherly" advice. The two thieves slept in different areas in the large cell. The Vietcong did not chain them. Late that night I heard a terrible cry from the oldest of the boys; undoubtedly the homosexuals had tried something, but the boy would have none of it. The next day the two boys were released with a stern warning; they would not return, as one could see the terror in their tear-stained faces. Out of boredom or malice, one of the guards took to pushing his rifle under my nose in front of the other prisoners. He said: "You West German, very bad! we should shoot you. I will put you against that wall and execute you soon!" I answered coolly: "What are you waiting for, then?" Answers like this irritated the guards, who were used to people being terrified of them. Another time one of the three worst guards took my cane away from me, pushed it into my throat and bore down so hard that my neck was sore for a week afterwards. I knew immediately what they were up to; they wanted me to rebel or lose my temper so that they would have an excuse to shoot me, and thus solve the problem of my illegal imprisonment. Also, the guards were becoming bored; it had been a long time since any of them had used their weapons. I didn't react to their abuse, rather I thought: All powers in spite you maintain Never bowing down, showing courage, Thus you link arms with the gods. Yes, never to bow down, always showing courage. As long as I could hold to this maxim, the Buddhist Protective Deities would not fail me. Every accusation and criticism would bounce off of me, and return to the one who had originated it; like dust, when thrown against the wind, will blow back to the one who throws it. One day Rigolo, who had become much calmer, said that his wife had been executed by the VC. No one knew anything about this. I asked one of the friendlier guards, but he opined that Rigolo was having one of his hallucinations again, as his wife was well and in the next cell. I said that they should let her go for a walk in the yard, so Rigolo could see her. The VC did this, and we could all see that there was nothing wrong with her, other than being half starved and miserable like the rest of us. Not the least surprised, Rigolo grinned when he saw her. My hair had grown to my shoulders by now, and was snow white. My beard had reached my chest, as they had only let me shave and trim my hair once since my imprisonment. There was an inmate barber in the prison, but he was in another barracks; once he cut the hair of all the prisoners in the yard. No one needed a shave, as the Vietnamese have very little body hair, only a thin beard which they pluck with tweezers anyway. The VC were very curious about my beard, which was very thick and full. They got a big kick out of pulling my beard. Many of them were, in spite of the war, very childish in demeanor. One of them, for instance, had a habit of juggling his rifle in order to impress the female prisoners. But this suddenly ceased; one day as he was juggling his rifle went off, luckily only hitting one of the roof tiles. The women ran back into their cell in terror. The guard stood there unbelieving, apparently unaware that his rifle had gone off. Soon another guard came and he was replaced, I could meditate quite often, in spite of the noise in the cell, but could not sit in the Padmasana (Lotus Position). I rather sat casually in the Bodhisattva position. That is, with the left leg drawn in, and the right knee bent with the leg drawn up. I held my meditation band in my right hand. I quite frequently had visions during these meditation periods. In Tantric Buddhism we call this visualization. It is a process whereby inner visualizations are projected outward, somewhat like the manifestations of the Christian Saints, except that the Tantric Adept knows his creations are a manifestation of his thoughts. A Christian mystic does not know this, thinking his visions are really god, or Jesus, or Angels speaking to him. A genuine Yogi, and such is the Tantrika, knows that it is his own thoughts given form that he sees before him. When I desire to, I can let the Buddha, or any other personalities appear before me during intensive meditation. Calling forth spirits belongs to another sphere; one should not confuse the two, the difference is clear. I once asked a materialized spirit: "Is the spirit world a reality, or is it only imaginary, a fable?" The spirit answered: "The spirit world, or better said "worlds" are just as real as this world of the third dimension, only with the difference that by us there is a fourth, fifth, and even an eighth dimension, something impossible for an earthly intelligence to comprehend." One inmate, a Cambodian who had fought for the Vietnamese, had an inclination towards all sorts of superstitions including the summoning of spirits. He wanted to hold a seance to find out how long he would be in prison. Late one evening, around midnight, he sat in a circle around a candle with his friends. They covered their heads, and the "magician" mumbled secret incantations, trying to cause a spirit to appear, which of course never happened. They were not honest, and had only selfish goals in mind. The next day Phuong came to me, and asked that I give him instructions in summoning spirits. I laughed at his naivete. He pressed me, and said that all Vung Tau knew that I could summon spirits. I said: "That is pure insanity, and if I could call spirits, that would not mean that I could teach you to do so. It is possible only through meditation and discipline to contact Spirits, Gods, and Demons, and such is not our goal, or should not be. There are higher goals than merely summoning spirits!" The boy was sad, and said that I didn't want to teach him, as he was too young. "Yes, that is true," I said: "You are very young and inexperienced, there is no trace in you of religion or other spiritual interests, isn't that right?" "Unfortunately, yes. My parents believed in nothing, although they are nominal Buddhists. One of my uncles is even a Vietcong Major, but he does nothing for me." I said: "What you want is for a ghost to tell you how long you must stay in prison, beyond that nothing, right?" Phuong nodded in agreement, all the while staring at the floor; he appeared very ashamed. To pacify him, I told him that I would try to call a spirit, but he would not be able to see it. I would ask the spirit questions in his name. Phuong folded his hands in happiness - and went right to the other side of the cell and told everyone that I was a psychic and could summon spirits. I was very angry because now I would have no peace. All of the inmates would want to know how long they were to be in prison. As I had read the palms of all of the inmates and most of the Guards, I could tell much about their future tendencies and events that would likely occur. That night I sat under my mosquito net ( I had finally been given one by a prisoner that had been released) meditating, or better said concentrating my thoughts on the old ghost I had seen in the Vihara. Would he receive my telepathic message? As he had said himself, we were on the same wave length. After about half an hour he appeared before me. He was astonished by my call, and as soon as he thought to answer, he was there in my cell. This time the old ghost didn't laugh, but made a compassionate face and said: "There it is! I told you years ago that you shouldn't stay on that mountain, now you sit here in misery." I answered: "You were right, but you didn't tell me that I would be arrested." The ghost answered: "As you rightly know, we are not omniscient, we only have strong hunches." I said: "Good. Now answer a few of my questions. First, how long will I stay here?" The old ghost scratched his head and thought for a while, then he said: "If I am not mistaken, you will be released in one or two months, and then will leave the country. All of your possessions are confiscated. You will probably go back to your home to recuperate, beyond that I can't say." "Thank you," I said, and questioned him further: "The young boy over there wants to know how long he must stay here." The ghost concentrated and finally said: They probably won't punish him officially, but send him to a "Re-education" camp, where he should stay for one or two years. He will eventually wear the Vietcong uniform." We talked for a while, then the old man disappeared, but first wished me good luck and "Bon Voyage." I lay down to sleep, and had wonderful dreams of my homeland, Sweden, and Spain. Would I ever see these countries again? After breakfast, which came at the same time as lunch, the young prisoner came over and asked if I had spoken to the ghost; I affirmed that I had. He sat down beside and listened to my report. When I told him what the ghost had said he was discouraged. He cheered up later, however, and said that at least he knew now that the Vietcong would not shoot him, and he would be free in two years. He gave me some bananas that he had filched from the millionaire. As I had thought, in the next days many prisoners came and asked me to find out how long they would be there. Even the woodcarver came and asked for information. Playfully, I told him that he would be released in 1987. He blanched; he thought I was serious. All of the prisoners standing around howled in glee. The carver took my hand and pled with me to tell him the truth. I said that he had a "couple of years" to go, I couldn't tell exactly. It was now April of 1976, and I felt that something would happen soon, but I didn't know exactly what. Freedom? It didn't look like it. I was interrogated again, as was Rigolo and his wife, separately. The new interrogator, a younger man who spoke good English, said again that he did not believe that I was a German, but was an American spy. He said that the Americans had many Germans in their Army, which was true, but they are all American citizens. The last interrogator seemed to be a bit mentally disturbed; one could see that he had lived in the jungles for a long time. The other interrogators were only "Desk Heroes," as one could tell by their pale faces. In spite of the accusations, the interrogator remained friendly and correct. He did not force me in any way. Back in my cell I wracked my brain for a plan. What to do? One of the VC had told me truthfully that he had seen a list with my name, Mr. Muoi and Rigolo on it. We were supposed to be released on the first of the year. Something was not right; perhaps they had forgotten us. To draw the attention of the authorities, I planned to fake a suicide attempt. Perhaps that would cause something to happen.

-CHAPTER 22-

A Suicide Attempt

I immediately set about putting my plans into action. One day, as I was walking in the courtyard with a group of prisoners, I passed the cistern near the bath house. Two prisoners stood there; one was dipping water out of the cistern with an ammo can, and pouring it into a bucket held by the other prisoner. I slowly lifted my right leg to climb into the cistern, asking the prisoner, as if I was demented, if it was permitted to jump into the cistern. The two were speechless, and as I grabbed the leg of the inmate standing on the cistern, to haul myself up, both came to and realized that I was attempting suicide. They raised the alarm and held me fast. The guards raced into the courtyard. I decided that it would be better for me if I suddenly passed out, so I relaxed and fell to the ground. The guards picked me up and carried me back to the cell. There I waited a half an hour before coming to. As I opened my eyes, I saw that the guards had brought a stretcher, and were about to place me upon it. Two prisoners picked up the stretcher, and rushed outside where a jeep waited. A driver, two guards, and a VC nurse escorted me to the Le-Loi hospital. Right in the middle of the city we had motor trouble. The jeep coughed and died right in the middle of the market place. I was made to lie down on the floor boards so passers by wouldn't see me. This didn't work, as a whole group of school children noticed me in the jeep, and were chattering about the "white man" that was a Buddhist monk. They peered into the jeep with curiosity while the VC tinkered with the engine, trying to get it running again. I saw that the children did not laugh, but looked at me with sober and sympathetic faces. This was much different from their former ways. As I said before, everyone in Vietnam used to laugh, even when something was serious. Now laughter was gone. Some of the children looked at the VC with anger in their eyes. The guards growled back at the kids, who fled across the field, no doubt to tell everyone that the VC had arrested a Buddhist monk. I was elated. Now more of my friends would know that I was in the hands of the VC. After a considerable time, they got the vehicle started again, and we finally reached the hospital. There I was placed in a room with only one other patient, a young boy. No doubt his mother had been staying in the room with him, as she was put out on my arrival. I saw that she had been preparing meals for the boy in the room. She had a small round stove with her, in which she burned charcoal; this soon filled the room with smoke. There was a large sign on the wall stating that cooking and making fires was forbidden. Perhaps the old woman couldn't read. She stayed by her son that night; my presence did not seem to bother her. The boy was released the next day, and I soon had the room to myself. This time I was treated exceptionally well. All of the nurses came and welcomed me. They brought me clean sheets, pajamas, handkerchiefs, etc. They even gave me bananas, bread and other food, so that I was never hungry. I was never sick, didn't even get a stomach ache. Only when the doctor and the unfriendly medic came in did I have pain. And then in all of the 240 bones of the human anatomy. Eight days had passed, and I was living like a king compared to my former state in the prison. Friendly Buddhists, and even Catholics appeared and brought me food. articles of clothing, and even a pair of sandals donated by a gentleman who had also been in the Vietcong prison. He had ben in since the first part of 1975, and had been an officer in the South Vietnamese army. I heard much news; among other things that the two Vietnams were now united. The capital was Hanoi, Saigon was no longer a capital city. The standard of living fell rapidly. The regime in Hanoi did not want their soldiers to see that the south had had a far better living standard than the proletarian north. Now they were trying to make the south as poor as the north in order to conform to Communist theory. The VC were very keen to buy wrist watches, something that was very scarce in the north. They buy everything that they cannot find at home. They VC were still plundering vacant houses, I don't know if the North Vietnamese took part in this, as it is very difficult to tell one from the other. The VC were very disappointed with their North Vietnamese mentors. The North had not kept its promise of a large reward to all those that had supported them. The "Bo-Dois" only received a small badge to wear on their pith helmets. Most of my friends complained of missing relatives, and spouses that were still in prison. No one knew their fate. The doctor only examined me once, and again ordered that I be given a thin rice soup. The nurse, who was in the room agreed, but as the doctor turned and left she gave him the finger. I was impressed by her courage. On the 14th of April the prison warden came with one guard. As he approached my bed he held out his right hand for a handshake, as though we had been friends for years. The other VC only grinned. The warden made it clear that I was to be released in the morning. I asked him if I must return to the prison. He waved his hand in negation, and said no. My day of freedom was at last here. Was this true? Or was it only another cruel joke? With the VC anything was possible. It was difficult to believe that I was soon to be free once more. But, did not the Old Ghost say that I was soon to be released? I told the nurses, who were elated. They all wanted to hug me, but being a monk this was not proper.

-CHAPTER 23-

The Day of Freedom

My stunt with the simulated suicide attempt had directed the attention of the authorities to my case, and this accelerated my release which had already been delayed five months. My time of suffering at the hands of the Vietcong was now ended. I found that I had passed the last test on the Bodhisattva Path with honors. During the night I meditated, and called the Old Ghost; he appeared almost immediately. I told him that I was being released from the prison in the morning. The old man was happy, and said: "So? What did I say? I have again given a correct prediction." On the morning of the 15th of April all the nurses came to wish me farewell. The prison warden was coming to take me away. The nurses brought me shirts and handkerchiefs, and other things for my coming trip to Europe. This was very moving, as most of the nurses were Catholic; very few were Buddhists. There was no discrimination among them. The warden arrived at 8AM accompanied by an armed policeman. As we left, all the nurses stood at the door and watched. As the jeep pulled away they all waved and wished me good luck. We drove swiftly through the city. At last; I am leaving Vung Tau, my beloved city. I would never see it again, but in my heart it is ever my home. We went first to the Police Station, and then to the prison office. The usually evil tempered Commandant shook my hand and invited me to sit in an easy chair. Tea was brought, and a list of all the items which they had taken from me. A guard entered, and placed a broken flashlight on the table. I immediately stated that it was not mine. The guard took the light and disappeared into the next room. A policewoman who spoke French handed me the list of confiscated items, and told me to sign it. I refused to sign it until all the items had been returned to me. She laughed, and turned her back to confer with her colleagues. Another policeman came in, and counted out my confiscated money on to the table. 50,000 Piasters and the foreign money that I had been carrying. So, it was not illegal to have foreign currency, as my friend in Saigon had said. The guard came back with another flashlight, but this also was not mine. I took it anyway, to eliminate any further difficulties. I asked them for my glasses, which had a built-in hearing aid. They had taken them as they thought the hearing aid was some sort of surveillance device. They brought the glassed, but the hearing aid had been taken apart, and no longer worked. I took the glasses and threw them in the trash can. The VC gave me dirty looks and started muttering to themselves. The French speaking Policewoman informed me angrily that all of my manuscripts and documents had been confiscated by the Communist Government, along with the Institute and all of its furnishings. I had thought this would happen, therefore it was no surprise. I demanded to be taken to my Vihara to get my Monk's robes. The Commandant said angrily: "No, you will go to Saigon immediately. There is a car outside from the French Consulate." I rose and went to the door; the others followed. A Vietnamese sat behind the wheel. We shook hands, and I got in beside him. There were no VC in the car; they preceded us in another car along with two policemen and the policewoman. Then, suddenly it seemed, we were at the outskirts of Vung Tau, and on our way to Saigon. In contrast to earlier times, there was almost no traffic on the road. Gasoline was in short supply, and rationed; much too expensive for the Vietnamese. I did regret that I had not been able to say goodbye to my fellow prisoners. What would they think? That I had escaped? Or committed suicide? They were probably telling all sorts of tales and rumors about my whereabouts. The Vietcong would never tell them the truth. I looked at myself, and saw my blood stained yellow monk's trousers, and the American shirt I had been forced to wear. In my yellow bag I had a pair of pajamas, and two more shirts. I would change clothes in Saigon, there I could also obtain monk's clothing, The driver told me that I could thank Professor Simonet for my release. He had worked long and hard to get me out of prison, even placing himself in a dangerous position. He had notified the Provisional German Embassy in Hanoi of my imprisonment, who then negotiated with the Communist Government. Development aid was more important than a German prisoner, so they released me. Professor Simonet could not get permission to pick me up, so he had sent the auto instead. On the way to Saigon we passed many burnt out and destroyed houses; bridges were demolished, and hap-hazardly repaired. I did not see the large statue of Kuan Shih Yin, the Bodhisattva of Mercy; had it been destroyed? About half way to Saigon the police car had a flat tire. amused, the three policemen got out and looked at the tire in consternation. After the tire was changed, we went on to Saigon. We were not stopped by any of the military check points; they saw the police in the leading vehicle and passed us through. Before noon we reached Saigon, the former Capital of South Vietnam. Everything seemed to be as before, but instead of American soldiers we saw green uniformed VC. All of the police wore khaki uniforms with pith helmets. The Navy wore blue uniforms with wide collars, much like German sailors. They wore green pith helmets. I didn't see any Europeans or Westerners. We went to the house of my friend on Phan Thanh Gian Street, which the Communists had renamed Dien Bien Phu Street in honor of their great victory over the French. The French Consulate is also on this street. My friend, Professor Simonet, waited at the gate with open arms. At first words failed me; I was so overcome with emotion I couldn't speak. My eyes were full of tears. Free at last! The policemen and the driver left. I did not say goodbye to them! they left us without saying a word. Now, finally I felt free. What a feeling after so long in prison. The months in jail would certainly take years off of my life; I felt that my health was broken. My friend had rented his house from Air-France. It had formerly been a stop over hotel for pilots. The house was not large, but had two stories. I got the bedroom on the second floor so I could read and meditate undisturbed. My friend showed me a stack of papers that were copies of the correspondence relative to my release. I was impressed by his courage; it signified true friendship. Professor Simonet had lost his position at the University because of his efforts to free me. Luckily, he soon found another position at a French girl's school which was still in operation. He was, however, going to leave the country in July, as his five year contract with the former government would expire then. A renewal was not possible, as the Communist Government would not allow any foreign Professors to teach. The Vietnamese people would have welcomed either the French or the Americans back in their country. Life was much easier, and the people were freer than under the communist regime. Most of the retired bureaucrats sat at home now, those that had not been sent to "re- education" camps, and waited for their promised pensions, which never came. Many were reduced to selling their watches and jewelry, furniture, etc. in order to live. Household servants were dismissed; no one had money to pay them. Professor Simonet asked me to stay with him until my hospitalization. I was in dire need of medical treatment, and was ordered to the hospital by the German Embassy. I had brought many diseases from the prison with me. Above all, I suffered from shortness of breath, which caused me to snore loudly when I slept. In prison, the other prisoners had thrown things at me during the night because of my loud snoring. I also had many infected sores on my hands and feet, and a rash over my entire body. I was malnourished, and could easily count my ribs. I looked like the famous statue of the Buddha from Taxila, which depicts his time of fasting before his Enlightenment. We went to a barber shop, and I had my hair cut and beard shaved off. Once again I looked like a monk should. I saw a few Europeans on the street, but not many. The Communist countries had not sent their "Advisors", etc. yet. Professor Simonet had gone to Vung Tau a few months after my arrest, and broken into my now deserted Institute. He had brought back some of my books, and my monk's robes. My friend experimented in the kitchen, as he didn't have a cook now; the results were disastrous, our daily meals horrible in spite of his good intentions. We had to start eating in a vegetarian restaurant in the neighborhood. I rode in a bicycle rickshaw, the Professor leading the way on his moped. The food was very good, but expensive. I was amazed at the high prices, which seemed to have risen dramatically since my arrest. Was this also an attribute of Communism? It seemed so. I saw few monks on the street, and no Catholic Priests or Nuns, which were part of the street scene before the "Liberation." Before one could see the Sisters going to market every morning; no more! On the way to and from the restaurant I had the opportunity to observe many things. For example, I saw a troop of young boys marching in formation down the street. they all wore short pants, white shirts, and bright red scarves. They were the Young Pioneers, future Communists, the hope of the red regime which had immediately started "brain washing" the school children after the "Liberation." The children I saw were all around ten years old. they carried large red flags, the flag of North Vietnam. A VC led the troop. Once I saw something more sinister. I sat in the rickshaw as we were passing a large villa. Suddenly I saw an old woman peering around the half open front door. She made a sign, and a VC in uniform with a bulging rucksack hurried out into the street, where he marched swiftly away. Robbery in broad daylight! The old woman was probably a servant which had been left behind by the owner, who was either a prisoner or had fled. The VC was probably the woman's son. So, what I had heard in prison was true; the VC were also plundering. Everywhere were painted placards with slogans such as "Vietnam is Re-united," and "Long Live Ho Chi Minh." The portrait of Ho Chi Minh was everywhere. A personality cult, such as surrounded Stalin and Mao Tse Tung had also started in Vietnam. The streets of Saigon were cleaner than before, and one saw no sign of prostitutes, pimps or thieves; they were all in Chi Hoa prison, or in the concentration camp at Bien Hoa, where they were supposedly taught manual labor. The American advertisements and signs on all the bars and night clubs had disappeared. In their place were signs in Vietnamese. All of the bars and night clubs were closed. Some monuments had been destroyed, and new ones had not been erected as yet. Nowhere could one see a mini skirt; all the girls now wore the traditional Ao-dai. All traces of Western culture had vanished; there were no English language newspapers, magazines or books to be found. All book sellers had to get rid of al their western literature. The Young Pioneers collected them all, and burned huge piles of them in the public squares. It reminded me of the Hitler era in my country. High Schools and the two Universities were also emptied of all western literature; only purely scientific and technical material was left intact. All organizations were prohibited, even the few Christian sects which had been formed by missionaries; their prayer halls and churches stood empty. It was now dangerous to admit being a Christian. The formerly influential Roman Catholic Church had suffered the most, although the Government did not hinder their services. Most of the priests, both European and Vietnamese, had fled the country, either to France or America. Many thousand of war refugees that had fled to Saigon were now being sent back to their homes, whether they wanted to go or not. Other Saigonese were enrolled in work battalions, and sent to the rice fields or the forest. Anyone who did not work got no rice, and rice is the staple of the Vietnamese. Many small Buddhist Temples were closed, and the monks and nuns pressed into social service; many gave up their robes. In order to forestall any difficulties for my Buddhist friends, I didn't visit any Temples or Viharas. However, many came to visit me in my friend's house. They brought me many robes and clothes; soon I had too much, so I shared my bounty with other monks that had nothing. I found that material was expensive, and of poor quality. The textile factories were working at full capacity, so said radio Hanoi, but the people were not benefitting from it. Everything was being sent north to Hanoi. The north was plundering the south. After living in the Professor's house for about a week, I was admitted to the French Hospital. There I was in a first class room, and alone. The one French doctor that had remained, Dr. Henri Pelloux, visited me daily. I was treated very well, and given excellent food to build up my strength. The staff there was excellent; all spoke fluent French. The hospital was very large. a complex of many buildings arranged in a square. In the middle was a garden of palms, tamarinds and flowers. The Professor visited me every day, and I was also visited by many monks and lay-Buddhists. There were no VC to be seen. The hospital remained in French hands until the 25th of May 1976, then it was given over to the Communist government. All patients, whether well or not, had to leave the hospital by the 21st. After fourteen days in the hospital, medicine began to run out. Everything was used up, and no more was being shipped from France. A young man was in the next room, very ill with tuberculosis; there was no medicine for him, and he thought his end was near. He had a charming wife and very nice children. After I was discharged from the hospital, Professor Simonet bought an airline ticket for me to Paris. I was to leave the next day. Professor Simonet went with me to the Passport Office, where I was quickly given an exit Visa, and from there we went directly to the airport. I said farewell to my good friend, and boarded the Air France plane to freedom. Note: after the Venerable Dr. returned to France, he was admitted to a hospital for treatment of his various illnesses. From Paris he went back to Germany, where he was again admitted to a hospital specializing in Tropical Medicine. After a stay in Germany, he traveled to the United states where he visited his Disciples in Florida and California. He returned to Asia, where he traveled to Singapore , Bali and New Caledonia. He finally passed on in 1980, in Noumea, New Caledonia, where his remains are interred One of his Disciples, Mr. Don Sparks, visited Vung Tau recently. Of the temple there is no sign; another building has been erected on the site, and a Vietnamese family living there. The Stupa is still standing, although it has been broken into, and the contents rifled It was teachers wish that his ashes be interred in the stupa, which so far has been impossible to accomplish. Taranatha

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