The Country Teacher – Part Two

“The waters of the four oceans are fewer
That the vast expanse of water, in tears shed,
From the heart of the man who complains touched by pain.
For whom are you wasting your life, basking in bitter complaints?”
(Therigatha, 47)

Punnee got up before the ceremony was over.

She walked gently towards the exit while at the back of the temple hall some women were preparing white rice to offer to the monks.

She slipped her shoes through the door and headed for the lawn surrounding the prayer room.

She could no longer be in a closed environment. She needed light and air. All those memories had made her melancholy.

She went to a small building, where there was the kitchen and the dining room, and sat on the low wall while women were cutting small green lemons for lunch.

“Sawadee jaa,” they greeted her. “Dee jaa,” Punnee replied with her hands joined and the tips of her fingers brushing the chin.

Her eyes wandered from the lower level where the women chatted and laughed in circles to the rhythm of knife strokes on the stone, to the larger room at the back where the long tables were being laid for the faithful.

But if she with her body seemed to be sitting on that wall, her soul was still wandering in the memories of the past.

Punnee came to herself when she noticed that the monks were slowly leaving the hall; then she stood up, greeted the women, adjusted her silver belt, and with her hands pressed to the fabric smoothed out the folds of the long burgundy red skirt with batik-style designs.

She went to meet the monks; as soon as she was near them she knelt on the grass, quickly took off her shoes, and bowed with her hands folded as they passed.

“Yong Punnee...”

She held her breath, the forehead pressed to two thumbs, then lifted the face and saw Surimedo in front smiling at her.

She waited for the other monks to be away and returned to her feet.

He smiled at her and said in a calm voice: “Let's walk...”

Punnee nodded and followed him without being too close, just behind him.

He was thin but toned and his head glowed with the brown color. His hair was once blacker than night and thin.

They reached a small hillock in the lawn where the trees stood strong and solid.

Surimedo sat at the foot of a tree with branches falling towards the ground, with his legs crossed and his palms facing up, on the orange fabric of the kesa, his back straight and a smile was drawn on his face like a parenthesis.

Punnee reclined in front of the monk with the legs bent to her right and took off the shoes – skin contact on the fresh grass was pleasant.

With the fingers of her hand, she tucked the one lock of hair that had come free from the bun behind her ear. Her face slightly turned down.

There was a long pause of silence: one second for each year they hadn't seen each other.

“I didn't know you became a monk...,” Punnee said taking courage and looking at his face.

“We haven't met for many years,” he replied in the same tone of voice.

“I knew you were studying at the university,” Punnee continued as she stroked the tips of the grass with her left hand.

“Yes, it's true. While I was completing my studies in Sisaket, I started following my older brother who had entered the sangha of this monastery.

“I went almost every day to listen to the lectures of the senior monks. I liked it a lot, so I decided to start the novitiate journey as a samanera*. Eight years ago, there was my upasampadā* and here I am,” he said, smiling.

“Little Theerapong has become Phra Ajahn* Surimedo,” Punnee replied with a small laugh.

The monk shook his head amused and embarrassed: “No, no, so many moons will have to pass before you can call me like that...”

© Ishu Patel

“And you?” The monk asked her.

It seemed that his entire existence was resolved in the movement of his lips and eyes, the rest of the body lying as still as the tree behind him.

“Me?” Punnee began fiddling with the blades of grass near her legs.

“I also studied at Sisaket University. You'll never believe it...,” she told him, planting her eyes in Surimedo's, which remained impassive, “...I became an elementary teacher, you bet, in our school!”

She paused briefly and continued. “In the end, I didn't go very far...”

“And your family?” Surimedo asked with interest.

“My grandmother is fine, who kills her!

“My father still does the same job in Bangkok, while mè is almost always at home, when she can she does small sewing jobs for the neighbors: she is not so well, she always has a bad cough.

“My little sister, nong Tawan, has never wanted to study, she has always been fascinated by Bangkok and by the dream of meeting a beautiful farang who would take her to Europe or America, for a while she went to study to be a masseuse but still not understood what she wants to do with her life, she is always glued to the smartphone. My brother nong Sombath has been moving for years now to live in a boxing camp of a famous Nak Muay of the Golden Era of Muay Thai in Nawanakon, near Pathumtani, just outside Bangkok. He seems to be very promising, every now and then we also see his tournaments on television, then he always sends us pictures on my sister’s phone, when he finished a match and won, with a packet of money between his teeth and a bloody eyebrow that pity mother never knows whether to laugh or cry!” Punnee concluded with a loud laugh.

“You don't have a family?”

Punnee was silent and caught her breath. Then she lifted her face and smiled.

“Yes, yes. I got married. My husband is a tuk-tuk* driver in Bangkok. It seems to be the destiny of the men in our family,” the woman exclaimed, smiling with her hand covering the lips. “We see each other a couple of times a month, you know like it was with my dad. He drinks a little too much, but after all, he is a good man even if at times I feel like I'm sleeping with a stranger.”

Punnee concluded, smiling as if to convince herself more than Surimedo.

“I also have a little girl, she is now eight years old, Khob, and she goes to the same school as me. Our school. That's funny! Think about it? It looks like a wheel... 

"Imagine that most of the time, when she doesn't want Grandma to carry her, we walk the road together: I watch her as she hops in front of me with her backpack and blue skirt, among the green plants. Sometimes I feel like shouting at her: be careful! That now Theerapong jumps out and gives you a heart attack.” 

And she erupted in laughter which she immediately cut off by turning her face to left.

"How stupid I am...” 

She felt like a stone in her throat and hot temples.

“Why do you say that? There is nothing stupid: I was stupid to scare you like that,” the monk said in the deep tone of his voice as he tried to look into her eyes.

“Do you still think about the white elephant?” Punnee whispered with the face still slightly slanted.

“Of course, I think about it. That was the most unforgettable day of my life,” Surimedo replied.

Then, Punnee looked back at him. “Really?”

“It is impossible to forget. As well as that long train ride, the King, the two of us sneaking between people's legs...”

Punnee's smile returned, she pulled the lock of hair back behind her ear and stared at him.

“Are you happy?” she asked him.

“I'm serene,” he answered her without a shudder in the muscles of his body.

“And you, Punnee, are you happy?”

She didn't know what to answer.

“Then go and find out what happiness is! I think yes. I do the job I have always wanted, I have my family, I still live with my mother and my grandmother who I take care of. You know that I have never yearned to go far, to wealth... I have always been a country teacher inside,” Punnee said with a smile.

“Not your mother not your father
nor anyone of the family
can give you more precious gift
of a well-directed heart.”

Surimedo exclaimed slowly.

“This is one of the teachings of the Dhammapada. We must know how to let go of what anchors our heart.”

Punnee looked at him for a long time, as if to look for the child Theerapong in that cultured one.

“And you no longer have anything that holds your heart anchored?” she asked him sadly.

“I have freed my heart and it's the exercise I do every day; but as you can see now, we are here talking.  This moment is like a fish that leaps out of the water, then dives back and disappears into the river. I'll go back to my room and you to your family.”

Punnee became even more melancholy, but she knew he was right. She nodded.

“Anyway, I was surprised to see you and I'm happy that you still walk that little street towards our school.”

Punnee felt a rush of heat in her chest and eyes.

She was about to say something when she saw Surimedo stick a hand into the fabric of his robe; he pulled out a small thread of ochre fabric: the saai sin, the sacred thread*.

“Don't leave before you got yours,” the monk told her with his imperturbable smile.

Punnee looked around, she knew that the two of them couldn't have any kind of physical contact.

She almost fearfully brought her left hand towards him, keeping it away from his body.

He took the ochre thread between the two ends and placed it gently over her wrist.

Punnee held her breath as she counted the centimeters that separated the sacred thread from her wrist. Surimedo gently laid the thread on the woman's brown skin while with his thumbs and forefingers he began to tie a small knot; when he tightened the knot, for a very brief moment the tip of his index fingers brushed the skin of her wrist, then he returned with his hands to the usual position, one on top of the other as in the meditation mudra, back straight

“Make it last a long time.”

Punnee was already tightening the knot more, with difficulty, her face warm and eyes wet.

“If it were up to me, I would make it last a lifetime,” whispered the woman.

“Now go, and be happy.”

Punnee looked at him one last time; even if the whole world was devoured by a chasm, she would have wanted nothing more at that moment than she would hug him as much as she could.

She folded her hands and bowed slightly.

She took her shoes and stood up, walking barefoot on the grass, deciding it was best not to turn back.

Theerapong was in that ochre thread.

Once again, he had been as quick as lightning.

As she walked out of the monastery gate she thought of her grandfather and the story of the snake.

It was true. That poison leaves no way out – lethal and gentle.

She went to the bus stop that would take her back to the village humming an old banook song* by Vongcian Phirost.

She got on the bus and went to sit by the side of the window. The air was humid and the vehicle was crowded with people returning to their villages.

Punnee rested her forehead and cheek on the glass, contemplating the green plains whizzing in the opposite direction.

Then suddenly there was an abrupt stop with screams, the thud of baskets and bags falling from the shelves above, and various curses.

Punnee also nearly hit her head on the seat in front of her.

The driver apologized loudly, saying it wasn't his fault.

The woman saw people get up and go on, then she too tried to make her way through the crowded bodies in the small central corridor. The closer she got to the front of the bus, the more she listened to noises of wonder and amazement.

Finally, she managed to get her head out among a small group of men who were beside the driver and, with equal astonishment, she saw beyond the large windshield a gigantic elephant with very pale skin crossing the road from right to left, with the trunk and big ears that seemed to greet the dozens astonished faces beyond the glass. He stepped into the tall vegetation at the edge of the road and walked away disappearing.

The driver started the bus again and everyone returned to their seats. And so did Punnee.

She gripped the ochre thread on her wrist between the index finger and thumb of her right hand and looked out the window again. With a sweet smile.

Tomorrow would be another school day.

* The samanera is, etymologically, a small samana, or ascetic. This term identifies the novice monk (the novice nun) who observes the ten precepts in view of acceptance in the community of the monks (nuns), the bhikkhus (the bhikkhuni) who make up the sangha. The ceremony in which the intention of abandoning the lay life to become part of the monastic community is confirmed to the sangha is called pabbajja, usually rendered with the caption: “to go beyond”, in the sense of passing from home life to the life of the homeless, being in the canon often defined the Buddhist monk an anagarika, a “homeless” (from a (n) -, negation prefix, and agarija, man of the house).
* Upasampadā is the ceremony with which the acceptance of the samanera in the monastic community is formally sanctioned.
* Phra Ajahn is the appellation with which it is addressed to wise elderly monks who have studied for a long time.
* Tuk-tuks are the distinctive three-wheeled taxis used in Thalaindia and other parts of Asia.
* Holy thread is a bracelet made of thread blessed by monks. It's carried until the string breaks, then it must be thrown into a stream of water.
* Banook, means countryside, and refers to the country style of the old traditional Thai songs.

Vongcian Phirost:

I want to thank for helping me write this story and for allowing me to use some of their personal photographs: Leonardo “Singto”, Punnee and Luck.

Italian version