Homage to Baba

By S.N. Goenka

"One is always more attached to the interest one receives than to the capital one loans." This Hindi folk saying expresses the common belief that a grandfather always feels stronger attachment to a grandson than to his own son. And perhaps as a reaction, a grandson is likely to feel more attachment to his grandfather than to his father.

From my own experience, this belief seems to me to be quite correct. Perhaps it explains why the most distinct memories I have of my childhood focus on my grandfather, Basesarlalji, even though I was only seven or eight years old when he died at the ripe age of seventy-three.

Some of Baba's words etched themselves deeply on my young and impressionable heart, leaving a lasting stamp on the course of my life. He had a high regard and respect for the land of Burma and its people. To this day, some of his reminiscences of Burma live and remain fresh in my memory. Here is one incident that he often recounted.

He used to travel from place to place selling textile goods, and for transport he would hire horses and mules. One part of the country that he visited in his rounds was the mountainous Shan Plateau of eastern Burma. There each locality organized a weekly market, and for the convenience of merchants like my grandfather, the market days were staggered in adjacent areas. This made it possible to sell at the market in one town, then travel two or three days to the next place and be in time for the market there. In this way Baba gradually made his rounds, selling at all the markets along the way, and returning at last to the family home in Mandalay.

While on his travels, he would make camp every night at a public resthouse. These resthouses, called zeyat in Burmese, are still in use today in some parts of the country. The accommodation is quite basic: a high, roofed platform, without any enclosing walls. The traveller keeps his belongings on the platform and rests there overnight, continuing on his way in the morning. There is no charge for staying at a zeyat. Each is built by local villagers as a service to travellers, and in the same spirit of service the villagers keep the zeyat neat and clean, and provide water nearby.

In those days, Baba said, silver coins were the accepted currency in which all business transactions were conducted. He used to keep his silver in a money belt around his waist. When he went to bed at night, he would take off the belt and put it under his pillow. One morning he had planned to begin his journey before sunrise, but instead he overslept. When he awoke he hurriedly collected his belongings, loaded them on the pack animals, and started on his way. After five to six hours of travelling he suddenly realized that the money belt was not around his waist and that he must have left it behind in the zeyat. In a panic to recover it, he immediately asked the horsemen to turn back, but they flatly refused. "You'd better continue to the next market and then return," they insisted; "your money belt will be waiting for you when you come back."

Despite his fears, Baba had no choice but to accept the advice of the horsemen. It was only after four or five days that he was able to return to the zeyat. As he rode towards it, his heart pounded at the thought that he had probably sustained a heavy loss: the money belt had been full of coins, and by forgetting it he had not only wiped out the profits of the trip but had cut deeply into his capital.

An anxious moment awaited him when he reached the zeyat. But there was the money belt on the platform where he had left it. Baba counted the coins with growing amazement: not a single rupee was missing. No one had even touched the belt, neither the people of the village nor the hundreds of travellers who must have passed a night at the zeyat since the belt was forgotten there. It was no wonder that Baba always had such a high opinion of the honesty of the people of Burma.

Another incident of which he often told us occurred in the marketplace of the city of Mandalay. There a woman had dropped a diamond earring, evidently without noticing it, and it lay on the footpath in front of the shops. Every day many people passed the earring which lay in full view, but no one took it. Each morning a woman came to sweep the street; when she reached the earring she would lift it, sweep the ground below, and then put it back in the place where it had fallen. This continued for seven days until a government officer took it into safekeeping, and it was announced by public crier throughout the city that whoever had lost a diamond earring should come and claim it. Such was the honesty of the people of Burma.

Baba told us that within living memory it had been the custom never to lock the doors of houses in Burma. People would bolt their doors to keep out stray animals, but they felt no need of locks, no matter how rich they were. This custom had persisted until the overthrow of the Burmese monarch in 1885. Once control of the country passed into the hands of the British, many foreigners came to settle there and the entire social structure gradually was subverted. Thievery began, against which people tried to protect themselves by using locks, and the next step was that burglars would smash locks to enter and rob houses. When the social order is collapsing, a lock on the door will not provide security.

I do not know whether Baba had settled in Mandalay while the Burmese King Mindon-min was still on the throne, but certainly he was living there during the reign of the last King of Burma, Thibaw, whom he used to call the phongyi-king, that is, monk-king. I never knew why Baba referred to the king in this way, whether it was because he had been a monk for some time or because he had been of a very religious temperament. British historians have drawn a very black image of this king, perhaps for political reasons. The man himself may well have been quite different.

At least in the judgement of Baba, this was the case. He had witnessed the snatching of Thibaw's kingdom from him, and had seen the fallen monarch in a pitiable condition, led as a prisoner from the royal fort to the bank of the Irrawaddy, and on into exile. Baba would tell this story with real sorrow showing in his face and voice. He grieved for Burma's loss of independence, and felt that British rule was a calamity for both Burma and India.

Baba had great respect for the last Burmese king. According to him, Thibaw and his government functionaries showed such friendliness and regard for Indian traders that those from Britain and other countries became very jealous. At that time goods being brought from southern Burma up the Irrawaddy had to pass a customs inspection on their arrival at the river port of Mandalay. The Burmese customs officers would treat Indian merchants very politely, simply asking what goods they were bringing without opening or searching their boxes. Whatever the merchants said to the officers was accepted on faith, and the customs duty was fixed accordingly. People from all other countries, however, had to undergo a thorough inspection.

This preferential treatment of Indians aroused the animosity of other traders. As a result of their protests, the Burmese government officers began to open the boxes of Indian traders too. But they would look without disturbing the contents, so that actually they would see only what was on top of each box. Indian merchants received inspection in name only, and their word was still accepted without question by the customs officers.

This state of affairs continued for many years. Finally, however, a few Indian merchants started deceiving the Burmese officers and so shattered the confidence that had been placed in them. In a box full of valuable velvets these merchants would place a few pieces of cheap, unbleached cloth on top in order to fool the customs inspectors and to escape paying the full duty. Their trickery at last became known and because of the dishonesty of a few, the integrity of the entire Indian business community became suspect. One or two decaying fish will spoil the entire tank. One or two drops of vinegar will curdle a pot of milk. One or two rotten apples will spoil the whole barrel.

Baba used to say that in ancient times in Burma, people used the term kula (kala) for Indian people as a mark of their respect for them. (Perhaps this usage was in accordance with that found in old Pali literature, for example Maha±-kula An±thpiº¹ika and Maha-kula Visakha.) But now, within a few years, the foolish actions of these greedy merchants caused the usage to change totally, and the word became a pejorative. When a businessman loses his honesty, he loses his reputation, and when he loses his reputation he has lost everything.

Baba felt that honesty must be the basis for doing business. It is only honesty that can bring prosperity and peace. Although he had retired long before I was born, his views on the proper way to conduct business continued to exert influence. He used to say that the customer is the prop and support, the provider of the businessman. He was aghast at the idea of being dishonest to one's supporter; that for him was biting the hand that offers food. Everyone in the family accepted his views and followed his principles in business; one of my uncles even took them to extremes.

In many other ways Baba had a strong impact on my life. For example, he greatly enjoyed the daily newspaper, but his eyes had grown weak in his old age, and so he would ask me to read the paper to him every day. He used to follow closely political developments in Burma and also India. His interest influenced me so deeply that reading the daily newspaper has practically become an addiction for me.

Baba had a great love of literature and a vast store of folk tales and poems in his memory. He told us countless stories, and his dohas (rhymed couplets) in his native Rajasthani made a deep impression on me. Fortunately my teacher in elementary school, Shri Kalyan Dutt Dube, shared Baba's love of poetry, being himself a poet. In order to introduce the Hindi language to me, he started by giving me not a children's reader but a book of dohas. This first book that I read in Hindi was called Rahimana Sudha, a collection of dohas of the medieval Muslim poet Rahim.

Inspired by reading this work, I composed my first doha at the age of seven or eight and eagerly recited it to my Baba, expecting that he would be proud of me. To my surprise, he took such pleasure in this first effort of my pen that he laughed loud and long. It was only after many years that I understood what had provoked his mirth. I had noticed that in each doha of Rahimana Sudha the name of Rahim appeared (it being a popular convention for a poet to include his name in any poem that he composed). In my youthful simplicity I thought that the name of Rahim must appear in my doha as well, and so I included it. No wonder Baba had laughed! Perhaps it is just as well he never knew that this naive budding poet would one day compose a collection of dohas in memory of his grandfather, and that every one of these poems would include the name "Baba."

About ten miles from Mandalay in the village of Tagundaing was a gosh±l±, a place where pious Hindus offered shelter and protection to cows. Every year on the auspicious day of Gopastami (the cow festival), a big fair was held at this cow shelter, to which Baba brought the children of the family. All day long we had free rein to satisfy our childish desires. In the evening would be a public meeting with many lectures and speeches, in which Baba took keen interest. One year Master Dube prepared a speech of seven or eight pages for me to read at this meeting. When Baba came to know of it he said, "Why read? You must speak from memory; that will be really impressive." Obediently I learned the speech by heart and declaimed it at the meeting without any notes. Baba was very pleased with my performance. Perhaps he was giving me training for the future.

In our home, lunch was served between twelve and one and dinner from seven to eight, as is customary in Indian households. Baba, however, preferred to eat these meals earlier, as do the Burmese, and so he would regularly have lunch at ten in the morning and dinner at 5 p.m. Although this gave extra work to his daughters-in-law, they were happy to satisfy his wishes. This earlier meal schedule is followed in Vipassana courses, and it seems to me much better for the health. In fact I often feel uncomfortable if I eat too late at night.

We never saw Baba praying, or reciting scriptures, or chanting, or fasting, or performing any rites or rituals. In the city was a Hindu Satyanarayan Temple, but he was never seen inside it. On the yearly festival day of the temple people would come in crowds and elaborate decorations were erected, but Baba ignored it all. Baba's daughter lived with us, being a young childless widow. This aunt, Chanda-bai, was always very affectionate to the children, but sometimes she would become irritated with Baba over a trifling matter and would take him to task, saying, "Oh Father, for you there is no reciting the name of God, no rosary, no beads, no pilgrimage, no fasting! You will certainly waste your whole life doing nothing!"

Baba would smile at her words without replying. In fact this supposedly irreligious man would often take the children with him to visit the Arakan Pagoda, four or five miles from Mandalay, where the famous Mah±muni statue of the Buddha is enshrined. There he would sit silently for some time. I have no idea whether he was meditating or simply sitting and doing nothing. Perhaps it was just the atmosphere of the place that appealed to him. In most places of worship it is impossible to find peace or even clean, orderly surroundings. They have been polluted by the commotion of the constant chanting and praying, the muck and rubbish left behind by countless rituals. But here at the feet of the Mah±muni Buddha we found nothing but pure cleanliness, pure peace. This atmosphere of purity naturally affected all who came to the place; I remember that I would always feel very calm and peaceful there.

Sometimes Baba would also take the children on an outing to Mandalay Fort, in order to show us the former palace of the kings of Burma. He carefully explained all the different structures of the palace to us: throne room, audience chamber, private apartments of the royal family, etc. After inspecting the entire palace he would invariably take us to an old bodhi tree which grew not far away within the grounds of the Fort, and there he would rest for some time. I remember distinctly that under this tree I felt the same peaceful atmosphere as at the Arakan Pagoda. In fact I became so attracted to this place that in the ten days' study holidays before my high school matriculation examinations, I spent the time under this tree. Each morning I took my bicycle, and equipped with books and lunch box, I headed to the Fort. Although it was a long journey from my house, I was undeterred. I would spend the entire day studying under the bodhi tree within the Fort, returning to my home only in the evening. The peace I found under this tree left a lasting impression on me.

In this way Baba planted seeds of literary inclination and pure Dhamma in the receptive soil of my young mind, and in due season they sprouted, blossomed and bore fruit.

I was born in the auspicious land of Burma because Baba had migrated there. I was born in a family of businessmen, and might well have earned great worldly wealth in any country where I happened to live. But in that land of Dhamma I had the unique opportunity to encounter a true saint who nevertheless lived within the world: Sayagyi U Ba Khin. This great teacher helped me to earn the priceless gem of the Dhamma, which has enriched my life immeasurably.

None of this would have been possible had it not been for my grandfather. He has been a great benefactor in my life. Endless salutations to the sacred, living memory of Baba!