Mumbai-Bhopal | Bhopal-Mumbai (round trip)
[Stone and Faith: Chronicles of the Pagoda at Sangchi]
Most Chinese who come to Bhopal come for the Sanchi Pagoda.
The sun was high overhead, like a fire. I stood in front of the Sanchi Stupa and looked at this huge stone building. It stands there quietly, and has been so for more than two thousand years. The tower is sandy in color and looks a little pale in the sunlight. Four stone gates stand in four directions, like guards or some kind of mysterious reminders.
I stepped onto the hot stone steps, the heat of the stone coming through the soles of my shoes, and the air was filled with the smell of dust and dried grass. A monk walked slowly past me. He was wearing a red robe, with steady steps and a calm look. He knew where he was going, and it showed.
I stood there and thought of the story of Ashoka. Once upon a time, he was a king who conquered all over the world and killed countless people. Then one day, he turned to Buddhism. Perhaps people must first experience countless deaths before they begin to desire peace. These things are always like this.
The main tower is 16.5 meters high, like an inverted bowl, sitting firmly on the foundation. There are four square railings on the top of the tower with stone pillars in the middle. Simple shapes, precise proportions. The ancient Indians knew how to turn mathematics into a symbol of faith.
I stood in front of the first stone door, stroking the reliefs with my fingers. Elephants, lions, dancers, merchants, all carved in stone, vivid and alive. There is no image of the Buddha. They used a tree, a wheel, and a footprint to represent Buddha. Sometimes absence is more powerful than presence.
The stone was rough but polished to a shine in places, where the hands of tourists had long left their marks on it. The stone will remember these traces, just like remembering the body temperature of countless people, and remain here from generation to generation.
At noon, the sunlight became dazzling. Tourists retreated into museums. I sat down in front of the tower, my shadow shrank into a small piece, and it was very quiet around me. The wind blew gently, as if the stones were whispering something.
This tower has seen a lot. I have seen dynasties rise and fall, and religions flourish and decline. I've seen the jungle consume it, and I've seen humans find it again. The stone cannot speak, but it knows that it has enough time to wait until everything is over.
In 1818, a lost British officer discovered it. The pagoda had been forgotten for hundreds of years, with trees growing in the cracks of the rocks and vines covering the reliefs. But still it stood there, waiting.
Now, people come from far and wide with cameras in hand, hoping to understand the tower's secrets. Want to find those past years. But we all know that the past cannot be peeped into. We can only stand here quietly and let the sun, breeze and stone tell us the story they want to tell.
I stood in front of the tower again, and my shadow became very short. Birds fly over the top of the tower. They don't care where it is. To them, it is just a place to stop for a moment.
At 2pm, I left. Maybe I'll come again next time, maybe not. To the Tower, it didn't matter. It will still stand here, guarding its story until the next dynasty, the next civilization.
The Pagoda of Sanchi is a poem written in stone, a fable about eternity. It doesn't need fancy words. A stone is a stone, and a belief is a belief. Time passes, but some things never change.