The Dhamma of Little Ones (2024)

Shortly after my arrival at the Thai-style Theravada monastery Munivihara in Bhaktapur, I was promptly assigned a comfortable room on the upper floors of their newly built guesthouse with a view into the monastery's courtyard. Munivihara runs a Thai-sponsored novice ordination and education program, initiated by the late Supreme Patriarch Nyanasamvara with royal support decades ago. The monastery, which houses up to 70-90 young boy novices at a time, mostly from poorer rural backgrounds, provides them with basic Buddhist and secular education to enhance their opportunities for a better, more moral, and eventually Buddhist life.

The abbot, Ajahn Vipassi, who was not present during my visit, divides his time organizing the program between here and Wat Boworn in Thailand, the royal headquarters of the monastic Dhammayut tradition. This monastic bilateral program seems to be quite fruitful, as the majority of Nepalese monks we find in Thailand started out in Munivihara. Some might go on to graduate with doctoral degrees and/or hold ecclesiastical titles and administrative positions in organizing the Thai-Sangha. Also, my monastic friend Ajahn Gunakaro, who organized my stay here from Thailand, started out as a young boy in this program. Their novices are trained for a few years in basic monastic discipline and different skills until their middle school graduation, after which, if they wish, they proceed to Thailand to become monks and further their studies at monastic institutions and universities, etc. Naturally, like in the majority of monastic systems, the survival rate as celibate monks in robes in the long run is quite low (personal estimation maybe 1-5%). To ‘celebrate’ the celibate life is understandably not an easy task. Therefore, the majority of graduates disrobe and reenter lay life. The bhikkhu survivors might stay on in Thailand to study, practice, and teach Dhamma, or return to their native Nepal to help spread Theravada Buddhism in their home country. Some rare cases we find, like Ajahn Gunakaro, who want to deepen their practice in the Dhamma and enter the realm of the Thai forest tradition of Ajahn Mun Bhuridatto or other meditation traditions, to study and practice in a more Vinaya-conform and simplistic lifestyle of a forest monk. The closer adherence to the Vinaya, the original Buddhist monastic code of conduct for monks and nuns, helps to create a personal internal and communal external environment conducive to tranquility meditation, introspection, and contemplation, needed for deepening one's understanding of Dhamma at the experiential level. Training in the more frugal and austere lifestyle of a forest bhikkhu is naturally difficult and not everybody's cup of monastic afternoon tea. Not everybody can or needs to choose that particular monastic path. Some monks thrive in the Pariyatti side of Dhamma, the study of suttas and commentaries, Vinayapitaka, the Pali language, etc., thereby keeping these invaluable knowledges and skills alive and teaching them to the next generation. Others, with fine organizational skills, build monasteries or manage and teach monastic communities. Historically, both forms of Sanghas, the city/village-based Sanghas, which give more importance to study, dissemination of the Buddha's teachings, and serving their local Buddhist lay communities with religious expertise on the one hand, and the forest/wilderness-based Sanghas, emphasizing more the personal liberation practices of frugality, seclusion, meditation, and insight on the other. Both communities need and complement each other. Historical research shows that one without having a balancing and controlling influence on the other makes the quality of the Sangha deteriorate over time. The forest dwellers seem to overemphasize meditation practices and de-emphasize the theoretical study of Dhamma. That often leads to the corruption of the right path since meditational experiences and dimensions of psychic powers are manifold and without a validating orthodoxy to test one's meditational experiences against, one easily gets led astray and corrupted by wrong views and self-overestimation. Magical practices, indigenous beliefs, fortune-telling and healing services, amulet cults, etc., slowly creep in, constituting common historic corruptions that tend to befall the unchecked forest traditions and hermit monks. Without a certain knowledge of and faith in the orthodoxy prescribed in the Pali Canon, meditation traditions often go rogue after not many generations. The famous Chinese Tang-dynasty Chan master Guifeng Zongmi (宗密 圭峰) (780 - 841) already urged his contemporaries to give importance to “ the scriptures to validate the practice”, seeing some of his Chan sects' iconoclastic tendencies.

On the other side, when the city/study/administrative monks get too academic, politically involved, hold too much power, prestige and wealth, which can easily accrue especially in urban environments through serving society as religious professionals, the emphasis and knowledge of proper meditation practices and respect for the Vinaya seem to deteriorate and the Sangha slowly corrupted. Without timely and constructive criticisms, challenges and especially, inspiring revitalizing examples of monks from one side or the other respectively, they tend to fall for the specific corruptions in their specialized field of practice. (For further information on this topic and particularly the history of the Dhammayut order of Thailand and the revitalizing effect of the Kammathana-forest tradition of Ajahn Mun and Ajahn Sao, see Ajahn Geoff Thanissaro’s “Customs of the Noble Ones” https://www.accesstoinsight.org/lib/authors/thanissaro/customs.html or more in detail here https://www.dhammatalks.org/Archive/Writings/CrossIndexed/Uncollected/MiscEssays/The%20Traditions%20of%20the%20Noble%20Ones.pdf

I stayed around ten days in the Vihara and had a pleasant and relaxing time. Ajahn Dipakh, the main senior monk teaching the novices, started himself as a young boy in that system, then went to Thailand for training as a Bhikkhu and came back to serve as a teacher for the next generation of aspiring little monks. Observing the monastery routine from a little distance as a senior guest, I quickly understood how much blood, sweat, and equanimity and sacrifice of their personal freedoms is needed to supervise, teach, and nurture this large number of children and adolescent boys in monastic robes. As one can imagine, boys will be boys, and not seldomly one glimpses the energy of playfulness and unruliness suddenly getting released in outbursts of physical activity: jumping around, shouting, playing catch me if you can, and teasing/bullying each other. But the action is always short-lived, as a shout or a clap from a senior monk or lay caretaker restores order. Tough love, discipline, and a lot of patience are needed to keep the herd united, safe, and secure. Personally, I couldn't imagine doing that job. I'm impressed with the Ajahns. But having lived through the same experience, these teachers know how the children feel, what they need, and how beneficial that training will be for their future. The novices have a full schedule during school terms, and I'm in awe of these little samaneras and how they manage it with smiles and actually quite a bit of fun.

They have an hour of chanting in the morning at 5.am, with a few minutes of breath meditation at the end. At six o'clock is breakfast, after which they go on Pindapata, sometimes for 1.5 hours or more. Then they go to school a few hundred meters away from the monastery and return for lunch at 11:30, after which classes resume. Afternoon cleaning and refreshments around 16-17 o’clock. At 18:00, evening puja with a bit of meditation, followed by homework until 21:00 or later. Rising again at 4:30. These novices are well trained. Some speak a bit of English already, and some a few words of Thai, looking forward to soon moving on to Thailand.

They are well trained and master chanters already. They chant beautifully and energetically. I thoroughly enjoyed their rhythm and cadence but could not manage to properly chant along so meditated instead.

In my last few days, I was invited to go along on Pindapata with the novices. At first, I declined since they receive mostly money and raw rice from the villagers, and I, as the most senior monk first in line, would basically confuse all regular donors, rejecting all offerings. That, I thought, was not skillful. So we agreed that I go along just as an observer and walked without a bowl next to or behind the novices through the city. It was an inspiring sight.

Seventy novices walking barefoot through the ancient town of Bhaktapur with the leading helper carrying a loudspeaker looping the famous Indian style “Buddham saranang gachami” refuge mantra, echoing through the streets, squares, and shrines of Bhaktapur.

I walked along the rows of novices on the right side, and like a captain inspecting his troops, moved a bit further ahead of the line then let myself fall back again, checking if the samaneras were behaving and tried to keep them a bit safer from closely passing vehicles. As I enjoyed the beautiful and solemn morning alms round, taking a few pictures along the way, one of the novices started laughing at two regular schoolboys on the other side of the road in a bullying, condescending fashion. I gave him an admonishing tap on the head and started to point the finger at him and imitate his laughter directing towards him. He was chastised, but his look said he didn't like it. I told him we are Samanas, we are not laughing at people. That is not fitting for a Buddhist novice. Now, more restrained, but with a rather sulky face. I padded his shoulders and smiled at him to ease him off a little. The sulky expression seemed to abate.

Moving ahead for a while, we approached a bridge, separating two sections of the town. The leading monk and a few novices already entered the bridge as a man with a badge came out of a side booth and stopped me right in my tracks. He asked where my ticket was. I didn't know what he was talking about. I said I'm a monk living in the local monastery, not a tourist. Some of the novices also started to make commotion and defend me as I tried to walk around the guy, as he didn't seem legitimate. But he blocked my way again and said no entry without a ticket. Finally, the monk in front came back and talked to the guy. But to no avail. He didn't let me pass. Now we had a problem to solve: he was the only monk leading the novices, and I couldn't find my way back alone. So after a few minutes, he told the novices that one of them should lead the foreign monk back to the monastery, and novice sulky face stepped forward, but now with a bright smile. He stepped towards me, gently grabbed my hand, and we walked hand in hand all the way back to the monastery. A few times I tried to release my hand, since I thought it was a bit strange looking, but he did not let go, determined to lead me back safely and united. And that is how we reached there. I thanked him for his help and was proud of him for not holding grudges, like a real Samana.

The next day they asked me to go along again, since I hadn't actually entered the really historic UNESCO protected zone of the Pindabata beyond the bridge. They really wanted me to go and said they would pay for it if needed. So I went along.

And it was worth it, the center of the square full of tourists was beautiful, feeling like walking Pindapata at Asoka's time. At the ticket booth, they had to convince the officers that the monastery would pay later, which made the whole line of poor novices stand in the baking sun and wait 15 min until the ticket issue was finally solved and they let me into the square. Inside, I got hassled one time again by a woman for the ticket, but I just walked on. We went into little shrine courtyards and alleys, and surely our sight was nourishing fodder for all the amateur western tourist photographers lucky enough to feast their lenses and Instagram pages on this magnificent sight of Buddhist novices walking in the ancient town square of Bhaktapur on their even more ancient monastic duty of Pindapata.

Later on, I heard that the ticket booth guys insisted the foreign monk had to pay, but they agreed that they should come to the monastery to get the bucks. They came a day later, and the resident nuns, novices, and laypeople defended me and scolded the guys not to harass the monk who came to benefit the community. They backed off. But still a day later, they came back, and Muni Vihar graciously paid 1800 rupees for a 7-day ticket for being in Bhaktapur.

The next day, around 10 am, I was doing some reading in my room when the monastery helper knocked on my door and told me to quickly get ready for a chanting session outside the monastery. He just said outside, not far. Not being in the headspace of going to a house blessing and not being able to chant their style of chanting anyway, I kind of tried to get out of it, but he just urged me to come quickly. Still a bit blurry from my involvement in a book, I put on my robe and went out. Three monks accompanied me, and we walked 400 meters into a Hindu temple courtyard. I just assumed we were going for a quick house blessing or chanting session with a meal offering. Still not fully understanding our purpose, we walked out of the temple courtyard, and upon reaching a stinky canal with all sorts of trash and sludge in it, we turned around the corner of the last house, and there it was, the reason for our invitation: in front of my feet lay a corpse on the bare ground, just getting covered with a white cloth. Family and friends surrounded it, some weeping. Finally realizing that we were attending a funeral. The sight of the dead body caught me off guard, sending a jolt of shock through my system and snapping me out of my dazed heedless morning mood. The weeping, the sorrow, and the stink of the canal immediately made my mindfulness kick in, and I slowly absorbed the initial shock. The whole session was quickly over after another senior monk from a different monastery did the chanting alone, gave a funeral talk on impermanence, and the now less sobbing relatives made their donations to the monks. Just as we were about to rush back for our meal, I asked the senior monk if I could have a piece of the corpse's cloth. He was a bit startled but then understood our practice of collecting corpse's cloth to sew into our robes as a patch to be constantly reminded of mortality and the knowledge that we are wearing the least wanted piece of garment in the world: a practice the Buddha recommended for his monastics called pamsakula cloth, or rag robe from discarded filthy cloth, normally gathered at discarded corpses in ancient India. A piece of cloth which has no owner anymore. The monk led me towards the corpse and tried to explain to the family present what I wanted, but they didn't really understand. I asked for a piece of his cloth, but all I got was a silken thanga shawl which was placed on him as a farewell gift. Later on I learned that the man who had passed away was one of the early supporters of the monastery and had made a lot of merit with the Vihara. To be at a Sangha supporter's funeral, I felt blessed and shared my merit with him, thanking him for his last offering.

After ten days in MuniVihar, the date for my scheduled meditation retreat, which I wanted to do before my walking tour, approached and the monastery graciously paid for a taxi to the completely other side of town, Budhanilkantha, where I entered a 10-day Goenka Vipassana retreat in the Dhamma Shringa meditation center.

My dear readers,

May you all be well, happy and secure, always!

With Muditacittena

Ajahn Thiracitto