Sacrifice

Young 21-year old Phnom had no idea about what outcome today’s protest would yield, as he walked quietly, with the hundreds of Buddhist monks and nuns, who were a part of today’s peace protest. 

It was the 11th of June, 1963. A peaceful protest had been going on in Saigon, South Vietnam, since the morning. The motive of the protest was to request the President to lift the ban on flying flags on the top of the statue of their Holy Father, Gautama Buddha. There had already been many protests, which had various reasons. However, the main reason was the sudden increase in popularity of the Catholic minority over here in Vietnam. The protests had some bad outcomes: Nine Buddhists were killed, due to shots fired from the police (later the Vietcong would be blamed for it)

So, Phnom really had no idea about what would happen today. The procession of monks and nuns continued to walk silently. Peace was maintained till they reached an intersection of two roads. They were about to turn left, when they suddenly stopped.

Phnom saw a blue car pull up beside them, and (about whom I almost forgot) the reporters, who had been there from the beginning of this sudden phase of Buddhist intolerance. They had come with energy and high hopes for some hot incidents to occur. As the days passed – however – their spirits went down, for nothing interesting had – as of yet – had happened. Today would also be such a day – thought American photographer and journalist Malcolm Browne to himself. However…

He did not yet know what was about to happen.

The car which had just pulled up was a blue-coloured 1955 Austin. The door opened. Three monks came out and stood on the road. Phnom recognized one of them to be a devout Buddhist monk – Thich Quang Duc. He held a string of wooden prayer beads in his right hand, and there was a smile on his face. It also caught the attention of Malcolm, who now began to fidget with his camera.

One of the other two laid a cushion on the road, where he was standing. Thich sat down on the cushion, in a position similar to a lotus. Then, the other one took out a petrol can from the car. It was filled with five gallons of gasoline. Phnom and Malcolm held their breath. What was going to happen no one knew…

Then, the man opened the can. The smell of gasoline was nearly intolerable. Phnom then saw something which made his eyes stay fixed to the spot. Malcolm stood there, his face was becoming pale…

The five gallons of gasoline were poured over the monk! Phnom saw the gasoline continue to pour until the can was fully empty. Duc – now drenched in gasoline – chanted homage to Amitabha Buddha:

‘Nam mô A-di-đà Phật’

Then, turning to the mesmerized and confused crowd, he opened his mouth to speak. Phnom felt that his voice came from a very far distance…

‘Before closing my eyes and moving towards the vision of the Buddha, I respectfully plead to the acting President of Vietnam, Mr. Diem to take up a mind of compassion towards the people of the nation and implement religious equality to maintain the strength of the homeland eternally….I call the venerable, reverends…., members of The sangha, and the lay Buddhists to organize in solidarity to make sacrifices to protect Buddhism….’

Having said this, what he did next made Phnom’s head suddenly spin. He saw darkness for a while. Malcolm’s eyes wanted to come out. What had he seen!

Duc struck a match from a matchbox he had in his pocket, and in front of a thousand eyes, he threw it towards himself. The flames danced high up around his body. He was burning himself to death!

Phnom couldn’t take it anymore. Others gasped out in horror, began crying, while others came down to their feet, speechless. The monk was sacrificing – himself so that thousands of Buddhists can be saved!

Malcolm – astonished at this shocking event – saw that the monk did not flinch, cry or gave out any indication that he was being literally burnt to death. He still had the warm smile which he had put on after getting down from the car…he took photos of it, but most of them came blurred, due to uncontrolled shaking of his hands…

After ten minutes or so, the flames stopped, replaced by a small mound of ashes. The monk was no more on Earth. He had left…

‘LORD! FATHER...!’

Some monks couldn’t bear it anymore. They rushed over to their dead master and cried aloud…

***

11th June, 2013

Jung had always wondered about whose memorial was it that was placed about 200 metres from his school was. He was a bright 8-year old Vietnamese boy, who was always full of questions.

After school, when his grandfather – Phnom – came to escort him, he asked him:

‘Grandpa, I’ll not go to my house today.’

‘Why, what’s the matter?’

‘You have to tell me whose memorial it is.’

‘Ok, ok. But where is it?’

Jung tugged the old man to the spot where the statue stood. ‘This one, Grandpa. Who is it? What did he do that he got himself a statue?’

Phnom felt a tear slide down his cheek. It had been fifty years since that terrible – yet heart-breaking – incident had occurred. He had fainted on the spot after some of the protesters kneeled down beside Duc. When he woke up, he heard only voices…voices of remorse, pain, and sorrow…’

Adjusting his glasses a bit, he sat down on one of the benches beside the statue, and he said, ‘Jung, I have told you that I have never cried or had become frightened at any point of time, right? But, there was one incident that made me feel both of these…’ 

He began narrating the story. Jung listened to it with deep concentration.

Somewhere, a large bell had begun to ring, and the low voice of a monk came…in the cold breeze, his voice felt like coming from a distant place…

‘Nam mô A-di-đà Phật….Nam mô A-di-đà Phật….Nam mô A-di-đà Phật….

***

M.Macabre

30.07.2020