The Root of All Suffering

Let it not be said that nothing good ever came of a case of the runs, as on the morning that Manoj Singh hitched up his dhoti, pulled down his underpants and squatted at the edge of a field in Bodh Gaya, bare bottom kissing the air, to release the putrid contents of his small intestine, amongst other excreta, a seed was also expelled and a tree was born. Later on, people would make all kinds of grand claims about this tree. That it had been planted when Hanuman, the monkey god, made a pit stop to pick up a flower when flying Sita around. That it had been put into the soil by an old and wise saint who knew it would change the world. That the naughty blue skinned Lord Krishna had used it in place of a counter to play pachrang with his pal Sudama, and left it there to take root. But all that is just so much crap, bosh, nonsensi-cola. It all came down to a case of a guy who ate too many paani-pooris, those little puffy deep fried bits of pastry filled with spicy water, that a fly had alighted on, oh so briefly, leaving behind a nasty stomach bug.

Manoj’s grand-daughter Aparna was but a wee lass of six when all this went down. In the next decade, both creatures grew: Aparna into a lovely young woman of sixteen, and the seed, into a majestic Bodhi tree. And it would be an understatement to say that many, many, many generations of the common fly, that played such a critical role in the events to come, were born and died, so some new, more evolved flies could buzz around, annoying man and beast alike, at that spot.

Aparna and her girlfriends, Manju and Sanju, often hung out beneath the Bodhi tree in the late hours of the afternoon, after doing all the things that womenfolk did in those days. Tending the fields, milking the cows, drying the chillies, grinding the wheat to flour, kneading the dough, cleaning the house. Actually, come to think of it, women are still doing all that stuff while the men smoke their hookahs, drink, and think deep thoughts. That afternoon, Aparna was wearing a large pair of silver earrings with little spikes, and when she tossed her hair to attract the attention of a passing Lothario, Pankaj, her left earring fell off. Given her left ear was suddenly free of this weighty burden, she should’ve noticed, but with her entire focus on Pankaj, she didn't sense the loss. But that evening, when she returned home to turn the dough into chappatis and make some dahl, her mom noticed. 

“Where’s the earring in your left ear?” she demanded.

Aparna raised her left hand to her ear. “Oh!” she said. “I guess it fell out?”

“Fell out?” said her mother. “It’s made of pure silver, you know that? You will go back out there and find it.” As Aparna got up to leave, her mother stopped her. “Not now," she said. “Tomorrow, first thing. Now the chappatis have to be made, the onions chopped, the dahl cooked, there’s work to be done.”

The silver earring lay beneath the Bodhi tree, shimmering in the moonlight.

    *    *    *

Who should walk by that night but the Buddha? At the time, he was just known as Siddhartha, or to get the honorifics right, Prince Siddhartha. The Prince who’d grown up with all the comforts of a princely home, good food, luxury palace, servants and all, but one day, on a ride through town, had seen an old man, a sick man, a dead man, and an ascetic, and decided to scram, get out of town, leave his wife and kid behind...to find Enlightenment. Maybe he was just another guy who realized royalty and marriage aren’t all that they’re cracked up to be. We’ll never know the truth. 

But after wandering and wandering forever, the Prince was tired. He wasn't used to going that far without his carriage. So when he saw the Bodhi tree with its wide canopy and generous branches, he let out a sigh of relief. Time to seek some enlightenment, he thought, and what better spot than this. He knew that once he sat down, he was in for the long haul, and that he’d have to sit still for a long time without food or water or other conveniences. So he was keen to ensure he had at least a sheltered spot. Finally, after taking a deep breath, he positioned himself squarely under the tree and sat down. 

He closed his eyes and started to focus on the breath. In and out, in and out, I can do this, he said to himself. He didn’t feel it immediately, but after a few minutes, he knew something was poking him. It was the silver earring. In the dark of night, Siddhartha hadn't seen it and had settled squarely on top of it. He was about to shift his position when he reflected: Isn't the point of meditation to overcome the minor annoyances and inconveniences of life? How would he ever get enlightened if he couldn't cope with a minor pokey feeling? He told himself, I’m going to embrace this pain, I’m going to feel the pokiness of it, and this will be the path to enlightenment. And so he stayed in that same position.

*    *    *

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Aparna jumped out of bed, washed her face and tore out of the house. She had to find her earring. She ran all the way to the Bodhi tree; she was sure she had dropped it there. When she got there, she stopped dead in her tracks. Who was this? A man sat under the tree in the pose of a yogi, eyes closed. Damn! She walked gingerly all around him to see if she could spot the earring. 

But there was no sign of it of course. It was squarely under the Buddha’s bottom.

Aparna went home and reported back to her mother. “I think a man is sitting on my earring, mom,” she said.

“Nonsense,” said her mother. “Just ask him to get up,” she said.

“I did, but he wont move,” said Aparna.

“Well go back and try again,” said her mother.

So Aparna went back the next day. And the day after that. Every day she hoped the Buddha would move, but of course he didn’t. Hours turned into days and days turned into weeks. Siddhartha prayed for Enlightenment and Aparna prayed that he would move. Flies buzzed. Sometimes Aparna felt sorry for the man and swatted the flies away. The Bodhi tree stood above all and watched. 

Finally, after seven long weeks, the Buddha opened his eyes. Some say he got enlightenment but others claim he just couldn’t sit on that earring any longer. The first thing he saw was Aparna, standing there, watching him.

“Young woman, you have been my most faithful disciple,” he said. “I have felt your presence the entire time I have been meditating, being of wonderful service.”

“Well, yes, I’ve been right here alright,” said Aparna, hopping from one foot to the other.

“I am Enlightened and I want to tell you all about the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold path,” said the Buddha. “All life is suffering--,” he began.

“That sounds great,” said Aparna, interrupting him, “but there’s just one thing.” 

“What is it, my child?” said the Buddha.

“Would you get up so I could look for my earring? I think it’s under your bum,” said Aparna.

To her great relief, the Buddha laughed. He got up and retrieved the earring. He studied it for a moment, this small, shiny, metal tormentor. “The root of all suffering,” he said, handing the ornament to her.

“Well really, you should have looked before you sat down,” said Aparna. She didn't know she was talking to the Buddha. But she was right. And the Buddha agreed. While this isn't included explicitly in the Eightfold path, one of the unspoken tenets of Buddhism is, you really shouldn't inconvenience other people on your path to Enlightenment. 

Aparna’s mom was delighted to see the earring. But when she heard that a man had been sitting on it for seven weeks she had a fit. “That’s disgusting! Throw it out immediately,” she shouted. “Buddha or no Buddha, you are not wearing that earring ever again."

 But Aparna refused to throw it away. She hid it in the mouth of an old shoe. 

Years later, when the Buddha was famous, and Aparna lived with her husband, Pankaj, in their home, she would wear her silver earrings and toss her hair about. 

“You see this earring right here?" she would say to her husband, pointing to her left ear. "Along with the Bodhi tree, it was responsible for the Four Noble Truths, the Eightfold path, and the whole Buddhist kit and kaboodle.” 

And her husband would say, “Right you are, dear. Can you get me another cup of tea?”