Chapter 18 — Vegetarian Restaurant Behind the Temple Gate

Many months ago, there was something Master Thien Tam had not told anyone other than monk Thich Giac Vien: every time he held a wooden planer in his hand, stood in the shade of an ancient Bodhi tree, repaired a crooked door or built a bench for a guest house, he felt a stillness that was deeper than the hours of meditation in the main hall. It wasn't because he was tired of chanting, and it wasn't because he lost faith in the path he had chosen since he was twenty-six years old. But because I realized, more and more clearly, that the place where I felt the most vivid Dharma was not within the four quiet walls of the meditation hall, but where my hand touched a rotten board to turn it into a sturdy step for an old man to walk up to the temple to worship Buddha, where I sweated while helping a family in the neighborhood rebuild the roof after a storm, where I sat next to a crying person without saying a single verse, just being silently present.

The teacher brought those concerns to the monk last month, on a rainy afternoon, when the two teachers and students were sitting next to a teapot in the ancestral house. He said, his voice still hesitant, that he felt like he wanted to be more deeply involved in the lives of the people around him - not standing from within the temple grounds, looking out, giving blessings from afar, but stepping right into their midst, living at the same rhythm of their lives, working with them, sharing the same worries about food and clothing that a monk, no matter how dedicated, could hardly fully understand without experiencing it himself. At that time, the monk just quietly nodded, did not object or immediately advocate, just told him: "You just let that wish mature, don't be in a hurry. A decision like that, must come from real calm, not from a moment of impulsiveness."

During the following weeks, while the whole temple was reeling under pressure from Dai Phu Khang Group, while Yen Nhi and Uncle Nhan Duc Phong were busy with the signature campaign, Master Thien Tam still silently carried that question in his heart, letting it subside, letting it prove to itself that it was not an impulse born from external circumstances. He knows better than anyone else that if he returns to secular life right in the middle of a troubled temple, people will easily misunderstand that he is running away from responsibility, or worse, that his decision is related to something else — someone else. For that reason, the teacher was even more careful, more quietly contemplating his mind, so that when he stepped out to talk to the monk for the second time, he could say with unshakable certainty: this is the call from his own path of practice, not an escape route, not a diversion due to any personal feelings.

"Have you thought it through?" The monk asked, in that second meeting, his voice was still weak after the illness but his eyes were clear and penetrating.

"Yes, I have been thinking about it for more than a year, sir," Thien Tam replied, clasping his hands in front of his chest. "I do not leave the Three Jewels. I just ask for permission to practice Buddhism in a different form - no longer as a monk wearing robes, but as a lay person with the wish to serve right in the middle of the daily life of the people around the temple. I want to use my hands, using the carpentry skills I learned during the years here, to help directly, specifically, to those in need. I believe, that is also a way of practice, sir, no less diligent than the path I am on."

Monk Giac Vien was silent for a long time, long enough for Thien Tam to clearly hear the birds singing in the yard and the wind gently shaking the bodhi leaves. Finally, he smiled, a gentle smile without any problems. "I have practiced for sixty years, do you know what I have learned the most? That Buddhism is not in the form of a robe or shaved hair. It is in the mind we treat towards sentient beings. Some people have to wear monk robes to keep that mind pure, others have to step out into the market, roll around in the dust of the world, to see that mind fully develop. You are the second person. I have looked at you since the day you first came here, I have seen that your hands are suitable for me. wood, with soil, with things that require a worker's strength and patience, are more suitable for closed hours of chanting.

The ceremony was scheduled for a weekend morning, when a night of rain had just ended in Ben Truc, leaving the air unusually clear, the smell of damp earth mixed with the faint scent of incense from the main hall. The news spread in the religious neighborhood without any noise, just word of mouth from person to person, yet by the time of the ceremony, the temple yard was already crowded with people attending - not out of curiosity, but to see off, to witness, to express respect for a decision that everyone felt the seriousness and sincerity behind it. Yen Nhi stood with her grandmother, with Mr. Lanh Van Dat, and Ms. On Bich Ha, in the crowd of blue-shirted Buddhists quietly lining up on both sides of the yard, everyone's eyes were filled with an emotion that was hard to name.

Monk Giac Vien, although his health has not fully recovered, still insisted on presiding over the ceremony himself, sitting on a rattan chair in the middle of the main hall, with Venerable Thich Tue Thong and novice monk standing on both sides. The monks in the pagoda lined up, chanting a dedication sutra, the gong sounded steadily, the bell rang between silences, blending in with the smoke of incense under the mossy curved roof of the main hall.

Thien Tam walked out into the middle of the main hall in his robes for the last time, knelt down in front of the Buddha statue, then turned to kneel in front of the monk, raising both hands the alms bowl that had accompanied him for eight years of practice. The teacher read the words, his voice trembling slightly but clearly, each word rang out in the quiet space: "I - Lang Thien Tam - before the Three Jewels, before the master, before the public, would like to sincerely express my wish to renounce the precepts, return to the lay life, to continue the path of serving Buddhism in another form. I am grateful to the master for his teachings, grateful to the public for supporting me during the years I studied at Tinh Lien Pagoda. I vow, even though I am no longer a monk. monk, my mind is always directed towards the Three Jewels, I always keep the five precepts, I always use awareness and compassion as the guideline for everything I do from now on."

Monk Giac Vien reached out to take the alms bowl from Thien Tam's hand, placed it gently on the altar, then placed his thin hand, trembling due to age, on top of the head of the disciple kneeling in front of him. The whole temple yard seemed to hold its breath.

"From today, I am no longer Master Thien Tam of Tinh Lien Pagoda," the monk said, his voice resounding slowly but strangely warm, not at all sad, not at all regretful, just full of the peace of a person who has gone through too many reunions in his spiritual life. "But you will always be a child of Buddha, a person who carries in his heart the seed of compassion that this temple has planted over the past eight years. I will not send you away. I will only widen the gate, allowing you to step out into a larger yard, where you can bring what you learn here closer to those in need. I believe, you will be a good layperson, just as you were a good monk. Go, my child. Go with steady legs, go. with the mind that I have purified myself over the years."

Tears rolled down Thien Tam's face as the teacher - no longer a "teacher" anymore - bowed down and bowed to the monk for the last three times as a monk. Many people in the crowd could not hide their emotions, soft sobbing sounds were heard here and there. Yen Nhi stood still, holding her grandmother's hand tightly, her heart filled with a complex feeling that she had not yet been able to name - not happiness, not sadness, but a deep respect for a person who dared to fully follow the deepest calling in her heart, even if that meant leaving a path that many others considered the final destination of religious life.

After the ceremony in front of the Buddha's palace, Thien Tam was taken to a small room behind the ancestral house to change his clothes. When he stepped out into the temple yard again, there was no longer a bright brown robe, but a simple brown cloth outfit that Little had prepared, his newly shaved, shaggy hair had not yet grown long, his posture was still calm as usual but something, very slightly, had changed - like a person who had just put down a familiar burden to lift another burden, not necessarily lighter, but a burden he voluntarily chose to carry.

Venerable Thich Tue Thong was the first person to step forward to shake his hand. His face, which had been filled with worry lately, rarely showed a sincere smile. "The temple lost a good monk, but this neighborhood has another kind carpenter. I'm happy for you, Thien Tam."

Mr. Lanh Van Dat came later, patted him firmly on the shoulder, and Ms. On Bich Ha quietly placed in his hand a package of vegetarian rice cake she had just wrapped early, saying softly "Eat to gain strength, from now on we will start everything from the beginning". Yen Nhi arrived last, standing in front of him at a moderate distance, not too close, not too far - just like she had been for the past two years. She didn't know what to say, so she just clasped her hands together in a lotus bud shape and bowed her head, a gesture that was both respectful and intimate, carrying no other meaning than appreciation for a friend who had just gone through a big decision in her life.

"Congratulations," she said, her voice small but sincere. "Whether it's a teacher or not, I still see you're still you, you're still the same person, still here, with everyone, in the same temple, in this small alley."

Thien Tam looked at her, nodded, a relieved smile appeared in the corner of his tear-stained eyes. "Thank you, Yen Nhi. From tomorrow, I'll probably have to learn from the beginning how to be a normal person in real life."

That afternoon, the vegetarian meal offering at the pagoda was served simply but more warmly than usual. There was Mr. Dat's favorite straw mushroom soup, a plate of vegetarian banh it gai leaves that the monk always loved. The whole pagoda yard sat together under the shade of the Bodhi tree. The atmosphere was not heavy like a separation, but light like a reunion that had just begun. The sun gradually rose higher after the night's rain, shining through the leaves, casting sparkling streaks of light on the surface of the lotus pond in front of the pagoda, where a few late-season lotus flowers were still blooming late, proudly rising among the withered leaves.