The Buddha Was Here
THE NATIONAL MUSEUM in New Delhi doesn’t usually welcome visitors until 10 a.m., but on the first morning of the 2018 International Buddhist Conclave, they open their doors early for us. This, the sixth edition of the conclave, is attended by nearly three hundred people from twenty-nine countries. We are journalists and monastics, travel agents and scholars. We are Buddhists from many traditions and non-Buddhists. Our purpose is to connect with each other and explore the potential of Buddhist pilgrimage in India.
As I’m filing through security, I have no idea what treasures the National Museum houses. So as far as I know, this museum visit doesn’t have a direct connection to the conclave’s mission. It’s just a nice add-on for those of us who are interested. And I am interested—in everything. This is my first time in India, a place I have always longed to visit.
I marvel at an elegant bronze figurine of a dancer from the Indus Valley, circa 2500 BCE. I laugh when Shantum Seth, an Indian dharma teacher in Thich Nhat Hanh’s Plum Village tradition, quips that the ancient dinnerware on display looks as if it could have come from Ikea. (He’s right!) But most memorable of all, I feel a quiet thrill when I come to the Buddhist artifacts and, though I’m being hurried along, I pause for as long as I can in front of a depiction of the Buddha’s birth. As was the artistic custom in the early centuries of Buddhism, the Buddha himself is not shown—just his footprints.
Along with the other delegates, I’m ushered into a room that’s been prepared for us for meditation and I quietly take a seat on the floor. We sit facing an intricate pavilion, gleaming with gold, that was crafted from teak by Thai artists. This pavilion is roped off and behind glass, and I don’t know
