T HU S CO ME , T HU S GO NE
Sai Laet are puzzled why there aren’t many people? They come to me and whisper, “Pa Paung said that there’d be a big festival in the village, but we hardly see any people or Pa Paung either.” The donation bowl custodian looks right through us and says, “Hey, Ying Huan Auon! Take these boys to see Pa Paung.” We turn around to see Ying Huan. Sai Pan looks, at the same time, astonished and frightened. Sai Nuat and Sai Laet laugh out loud, “Is this the Ying Huan our Sai Pan is always dreaming about? She can’t be more than ten or so, ha, ha… !” What happened? She’s not the same Ying Huan. Are we being haunted again? All the people in the compound of the monastery just look at us. “Hey! What’s everybody laughing at?” We turn round to see who spoke. “Oh, Pa Paung!” “You’re late,” Pa Paung says to us. “Most have already gone to the festival. You’d better follow Lon Pae. Come, come, I’ll take you to see him.” “What about our motorcycles, auntie? Can we leave them here?” “Drive to my house, you can park them inside.” *** We jump in the back of a flatbed tractor owned by a Wang Lon villager and ride to a nearby hill. At the top of the hill we reach a crowded pagoda. We hadn’t realised the festival would be held on the hill. After paying homage to the pagoda, we go to take a rest in the shade of a big tree. “You want to find inner peace, don’t you? Just look over there,” I say to Sai Pan, pointing to a hermit meditating under a tree close to us. “Yes, you’re right,” agrees Sai Pan, “Let’s go and pay our respects so we may find peace as well.” Afterwards, we ask the hermit, “Ashin Hpaja, have you always lived in such a state of peace and tranquillity?” “Dajaka, I’m just trying to find peace, too.”
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