The Lotus and the Cross

Ravi Zacharias has written a short little book called The Lotus and The Cross, Jesus Talks to Buddha. The prologue to the book is a good set up to our experience and some of the issues encountered here in Bangkok…

"It is the first blush of dawn as I step into this long-tailed boat after haggling with the boatman for a suitable price. He has agreed to take me on a journey along the famed River of Kings. We wend our way through back canals that teem with life, dotted by the corrugated iron rooftops along shores that house a large part of this megacity. The morning air is fragrant with aromas ranging from lemon grass to fish sauce, all being prepared for the day’s consumption. Yes, the food here wins the palate of virtually every traveler. It’s people are among the most winsome in the world. The smile, the graces and the charms exude as in no other land. A carefree attitude toward life is writ large in the cultural ethos, and strangers make you feel very welcome, even when one may have just cheated you into buying a fake name brand watch or a pirated copy of the latest movie.

There is a reality here that compels me to ask some hard questions about life. Within this culture, the most reverent of expressions mix with the most unashamed abandon for the sensual. I see a monk walking in the distance, a bowl for begging in his hand, but I also see a man who spends most of his day waylaying tourists and seducing them with pictures to come visit a nearby brothel. He does that from dawn to dusk, seven days a week. It is quite a juxtaposition: the monk, austere and in pursuit of nirvana; the man, with a roguish smile, promising a different kind of bliss.

Here a cultural immersion would be impossible without visiting a host of temples – the Emerald Buddha, the Reclining Buddha, the Golden Buddha and a long list of others. But here, too, the newspapers sound a somber tone. The income from prostitution, they declare, exceeds the entire national budget. Here, drugs and AIDS have ravaged the population, and sincere politicians are trying desperately to deal with it. But this very city is exploited by money-hungry opportunists who bring in planeloads of men, promising them orgies to fulfill every imaginable craving.

And so as I sit in this sputtering boat, smothered in a misty spray, I feel nearly drowned in a sea of emotions. How does one talk about the eternal when both religion and riotous living argue that nothing is permanent? An odd mix of the glory and the shame of humanity within this microcosm ignites a series of difficult questions.

As we make our way down the canal, I cannot shake the memory of a newspaper article on the front page the previous day. It told the story of a young attractive woman who left home to earn a living, only to pay the heaviest price of all. At seventeen, young and beautiful Priya decided to head to the big city to work. Within hours of her arrival, the very friend who had enticed her with the promise of big money mercilessly raped her. Thus began a fourteen-year stretch of untold heartache and tragedy. [. . . ] She was soon being used and abused to deviant ends, only with a new twist – she was paid for satisfying their perverse pleasures. By the age of twenty-three she had become a full-fledged prostitute, managed by a handful of thugs who shared in the spoils.

She discovered that she was HIV-positive. She could not discontinue her lifestyle, for she needed the money to treat her disease and hang onto life. Hardened, calloused and almost vengeful, she continued to sell her services to hundreds of customers, including bankers, businessmen and doctors, of whom she kept a detailed record. She knew she was signing each man’s death warrant, but she was drowning in despair, and her life had lost all value.

Eventually she could no longer hide the disfiguring marks of her disease. Blisters blanketed her body. She resorted to desperate methods in search of a cure. She made numerous attempts to kill herself, only to fail each time. Finally Priya poisoned herself once more, and this time she set the house on fire and lay down for the last time, enshrouded in flames. Her once beautiful body was reduced to ashes. No one would even come close to her charred remains for fear of infection. She died alone. And not far from her others played the same deadly game, thinking that this same end would never be theirs. "

He goes on to ask the question – What Lord Jesus, would you have said to Priya, had she brought her decrepit body and aching heart to you? And what would Buddha have said to her, this being a land where 95% of its people are Buddhists?

It’s a small book, published in 2001 if you want to find a copy. I thought the introduction laid a good foundation for the beauty and devastation that we see in this city.


Duncan