PART III
  
  
  We left Chieng Dao Cave three days later and then split up for a 
  night, one of us staying in Paak Phieng Cave, the other in Jan Cave.  
  These were very relaxing places to stay.  No incidents.  After that we 
  set out for Fang, to stay at Tab Tao Cave, which at that time had no 
  villages nearby.  There we met an old monk, Grandfather Phaa.  
  Reaching the base of the hill, we found banana and papaya orchards and 
  a clear-flowing stream.  There were two large open caves and one long 
  narrow one.  In one of the open caves were rows and rows of ancient 
  Buddha images, and another enormous Buddha image that Grandfather Phaa 
  was building himself.
  
    When we first went to his quarters, we didn't find him, so we then 
  went east, following the stream up the mountain.  We came across an 
  old man wearing maroon shorts and a maroon short-sleeved shirt.  He 
  had a large knife in his hand, with which he was cutting back the 
  forest.  His movements were vigorous and strong, like those of a young 
  man.  We walked towards him and called out, "Do you know where 
  Grandfather Phaa is?"  When he caught sight of us, he came quickly 
  towards us -- with the knife still in his hand.  But when he sat down 
  with us, his manner changed into that of a monk.  "//I'm// Grandfather 
  Phaa," he said.  So we paid him our respects.
    
    He led us back to his quarters, where he changed from his shorts and 
  shirt into a dark set of robes with a sash tied around his chest and a 
  string of rosary beads in his hand.  He told us the stories behind 
  each of the caves.  "If you want to spend the Rains Retreat here with 
  me, you can, seeing as you're students of Ajaan Mun.  But you can't 
  take me as your ajaan, because at the moment I'm growing bananas and 
  papayas to sell in order to raise enough money to finish my Buddha 
  image." [*]  Still, he ate only one meal a day.
    
      * [Many of Grandfather Phaa's activities -- wearing lay man's 
      clothes, planting and gathering crops, buying and selling goods 
      -- are forbidden by the monastic discipline.]
    
    
    That evening he showed us around the banana and papaya groves, which 
  he had planted himself.  "If you feel hungry," he said, pointing to 
  the trees, "you have my permission to take and eat as much as you 
  like.  Ordinarily, I don't allow other monks to touch them."  It 
  hadn't occurred to me that I'd want any of his fruit, but I 
  appreciated his kindness.  Every morning before dawn, he'd send one of 
  his disciples to where we were staying with bananas and papayas for us 
  to eat.
    
    I noticed a lot of strange things about the area.  The peacocks in 
  the forest weren't at all afraid of Grandfather Phaa.  Every morning 
  doves would come to where he'd be eating, and he'd scatter rice for 
  them to eat.  Sometimes they'd allow him to touch them.  Every evening 
  monkeys would descend in hordes to eat the papayas he had spread out 
  for them.  If any villagers happened by on their way to worship the 
  Buddha images, though, the animals would all run away.
    
    To enter the long narrow cave, we had to light a lantern and climb 
  up and down a narrow, crooked passageway.  After about 30 minutes, we 
  came to a small chedi, deep in the cave.  Who built it, or when, no 
  one knows.
    
    After we had done what we felt was enough cave-exploring, we set out 
  across the jungle and stopped at Kok River Village.  This was a 
  good-sized village with a tall hill to the east.  At night it was very 
  cold.  All you could hear were the roars of tigers passing back and 
  forth along the side of the hill.  The village had no temple, but it 
  did have a sacred Buddha image, a little less than a meter across at 
  the base, and very beautiful.  Someone had brought it from the middle 
  of the jungle.
    
    After two nights in Kok River Village, we said goodbye to the 
  villagers and set out across a large tract of virgin forest.  We 
  walked for three days before coming across another village.  As soon 
  as the people in Kok River Village had learned that we were planning 
  to go, they tried to dissuade us because there were no places in the 
  forest where we could go for alms.  So I said, "That's all right.  
  It's only two days.  I can take it.  All I ask for is enough water to 
  drink."  The morning of the day we were to leave, just as we were 
  returning from our alms round in the village, we met a man who 
  informed us that he was going to leave for Chieng Saen that day, and 
  so would be able to accompany us through the forest.
    
    Before we left the village, an old man came to warn us:  "On your 
  way through the forest," he said, "you'll come to a spot where there 
  are a lot of spirit shrines.  If it isn't yet dark when you reach 
  there, don't stop.  Go on and spend the night somewhere else, for the 
  forest spirits there are really fierce.  No one who spends the night 
  in that area can get any sleep.  Sometimes it's a bird, sometimes a 
  tiger, sometimes a deer -- always //some/thing to keep you awake all 
  night."
    
    So the three of us -- Phra Khien, the lay man and myself -- set out 
  across the forest.  And sure enough, along the way we came across the 
  spot the old man had mentioned.  Phra Khien, who had heard the old 
  man's warning, said to me, "Than Ajaan, let's not stop here."  But I 
  told him, "We've got to.  Whatever's here, we'll find out tonight."  
  So we stopped and pitched camp by the spirit shrines.  I had the lay 
  man tear down all the shrines and set them on fire.  "I'm not afraid," 
  I said.  "I've never seen a spirit who was any match for a monk" -- 
  but glancing over at Phra Khien, I could see his face turn pale.
    
    Night fell.  We built a fire and chanted the evening service.  Then 
  I said, "We all have to believe firmly in the virtues of the Buddha, 
  Dhamma and Sangha."  I made a vow to look for no more shelter that 
  night than the shade of a tree, and found a piece of wood to use for 
  my pillow.  I was going to be tough with myself, and not shrink from 
  any hardship.  I ordered that we sleep fairly far apart, but close 
  enough to hear if one of the others called out.  "Don't be too intent 
  of getting any sleep tonight," I said.
    
    After that, each of us entered his umbrella tent, feeling really 
  exhausted from the long day's journey.  I sat for a while, doing some 
  more chanting.  The lay man slept.  Phra Khien lay snoring and 
  mumbling in his sleep for a while and then fell quiet.  I began 
  feeling really tired and so lay down too.  After a moment, though, a 
  sound like someone whispering came to me and said, "Get up.  
  Something's going to happen." 
    
    I got up with a start and, sure enough, heard a rustling noise about 
  ten meters from where Phra Khien was sleeping.  Lighting a candle, I 
  called out to the others to get up.  I then lit a fire and we sat 
  there -- the three of us, in the middle of the vast, silent forest -- 
  saying our chants.  A moment after we started chanting there was a 
  very peculiar-sounding birdcall.  The old man in the village had said, 
  "If you hear this sort of birdcall, don't lie down.  Otherwise a 
  spirit will come and suck your blood dry."  So we all went without 
  sleep, sitting up until daybreak.
    
    In the early morning darkness, the lay man fixed rice porridge for 
  us, and after we finished eating we went out for a look around.  We 
  found tiger tracks, marks of its digging, and a fresh pile of its 
  dung.  Nothing else happened that night.
    
    We waited until it was bright enough to see the lines on our palms, 
  and then set out through the forest.  We walked all day until at 
  nightfall we reached a small hill with a crystal-clear waterfall.  The 
  sound of falling water echoed throughout the area.  We stopped here 
  and rested for the night without any incidents.
    
    The next morning, after we had finished our rice porridge, we set 
  out again.  At about 1 p.m. we stopped for  rest under the shade of a 
  tree.  This is where the lay man said goodbye and hurried on ahead of 
  us.  We never saw him again.  Phra Khien and I walked on until it was 
  almost dark, when we came to a village.  We asked the people there if 
  they had seen anyone walk past their village earlier that afternoon, 
  but it seemed that no one had.
    
    The next day we left for Chieng Saen, where we spent a few days 
  staying in an orchard before heading on to Chieng Rai.  In Chieng Rai 
  we stayed at a small cemetery outside of town and there met an old 
  monk, Grandfather Myyn Haan, who had been a follower of mine before 
  his ordination.  He  introduced us to the chief of the Chieng Rai 
  provincial police so that the chief of police could help us on our way 
  back to Lampang.  The chief of police seemed happy to help.  He got us 
  on a bus that we took as far as Phayao, where we got off and traveled 
  on foot past Phaa Thai cave -- the trail was really overgrown -- and 
  then on into Lampang.  We spent one night at a small temple just to 
  the southwest of the Lampang railroad station, and the next morning 
  set out on foot along the railroad tracks.
    
    We came to a cave at one point -- a place named Tham Kaeng Luang 
  (Grand Rapids Cave) -- where we spent three nights.  It was a 
  comfortable place to stay, very peaceful and quiet.  We went for alms 
  in a nearby village, but no one paid much attention to us.  For two 
  days we had nothing to eat but rice -- not even a grain of salt.
    
    The third day, before going out for alms, I made a vow:  "Today if I 
  don't get anything to eat with my rice, I'm not going to eat at all."  
  Sure enough, I got nothing but a ball of glutinous rice.  When we got 
  back to the cave, I sat thinking about the trip ahead of us, and then 
  said to Phra Khien, "Today I'm going to donate my rice to the fish.  
  Even if somebody comes to donate heaps of food, I'm still not going to 
  eat.  How about you?  Are you with me?"
    
    "I'm afraid I can't go along with you," he answered.  "I've had 
  nothing but rice for two days now, and I'm starting to feel weak."
    
    "In that case," I said, "I'm going on ahead.  If you want to eat, 
  you can stay here.  Maybe someone will come with food for you."  So I 
  gathered my things and left.  I told myself, "Today I'm not going to 
  ask anyone for food, either by going for alms or by out-and-out 
  asking.  Only if someone invites me to have food will I be willing to 
  eat."
    
    After walking for an hour I passed a small village of three 
  households.  A woman came running out of one of the houses, raised her 
  hands in respect and invited me into her home to have some food.  "My 
  husband shot a barking deer yesterday and I'm afraid of the sin.  So 
  I'd like to make merit with a monk.  You've just //got// to come to my 
  house and have something to eat."
    
    I was feeling a little hungry from having had nothing  but rice to 
  eat for two days, plus not having had anything at all that morning, so 
  I said to myself, "Okay.  Go ahead and have a little barking deer."  I 
  accepted the woman's invitation, left the railroad tracks and sat down 
  in a grove growing near her home.  She invited me into the house, but 
  I said, "This is where I'm sitting, so this is where I'll eat."  She 
  brought out two trays of food plus a basket of glutinous rice, and I 
  ate my fill.  When I finished I chanted blessings for her and then was 
  on my way.
    
    After two days of walking along the railroad tracks, I reached the 
  town of Uttaradit.  Although I had quite a few followers in town, I 
  didn't want to tell anyone I had come, so I went on past the town and 
  stayed in a cemetery near Wat Thaa Pho.  I then spent two nights at 
  Wat Thaa Sao, waiting for Phra Khien to catch up with me.  When he 
  didn't show up I decided that we had parted ways, and that neither of 
  us had to worry about the other any more.
    
    From there I went to stay in an old temple near Baan Dara 
  (StarVillage) junction, south of Uttaradit.  One afternoon at 2 p.m., 
  after just a few days there, I happened to be sitting in the sala, 
  passing the time of day, when two people came in out of the sun to 
  join me -- a monk and a lay man.  We started talking about what we 
  were doing and where we were going.  The two of them, it turned out, 
  had a buried treasure map and were on their way to dig for the  
  treasure, which according to the map was in Phitsanuloke.  The lay man 
  said that his name was Lieutenant Colonel Sutjai, and that he was a 
  retired army officer.  As evening came on, they left -- where they 
  went to stay, I have no idea. 
    
    Early the next morning, before dawn, I heard someone calling me from 
  outside my room.  "Now who could that be?" I thought.  So I got up and 
  looked out.  There was Colonel Sutjai.  "What are you doing here?" I 
  asked him.
    
    "I haven't been able to sleep all night," he said.  "Every time I 
  close my eyes, I see your face and I keep wondering how you're going 
  to get all the way to Korat traveling alone.  I can't help feeling 
  sorry for you.  So I'd like to give you ten baht towards your train 
  ticket."
    
    I told him I'd be pleased to accept his money, and had one of the 
  temple boys come and take it to put in safe keeping.  Later the 
  following night the thought occurred to me that Colonel Sutjai might 
  be playing a trick on me.  "I bet that bill is counterfeit," I 
  thought, so I asked the temple boy to fetch the bill and take a good 
  look at it to see whether or not it was fake.  He assured me  it 
  wasn't.
    
    The next morning, before dawn, Colonel Sutjai came calling for me 
  again.  "I'm worried about the money I gave you," he said.  "I'm 
  afraid it won't be enough."  Then he added, "When are you leaving for 
  Korat?"
    
    "Tomorrow," I answered.
    
    So he promised, "I'll take you to the station and buy your ticket 
  for you."  Then he left.  The next day he went and bought the ticket 
  -- it cost eleven baht -- and put me on the train.
    
    The train pulled into the Nakhorn Sawan station in the middle of the 
  night.  I didn't know where I would stay until  I spotted an empty 
  sala. I went there and hung up my umbrella tent, put down my bowl and 
  sat down to rest for a while.  A middle-aged man came along and asked 
  if he could join me.  "If he's a thief," I thought, "I'll be stripped 
  of my bowl and belongings tonight, because I'm dead tired.  I'll 
  probably sleep like a log.  But what the heck.  Let him stay." 
    
    As it turned out, nothing happened that night.  In fact, early the 
  next morning the man bought some food to donate to me.  At seven we 
  boarded the train together, heading south.  He was a native of 
  Kabinburi, in Prajinburi province, and had been up to see his daughter 
  in Phichit.
    
    When we reached Baan Phachi junction I changed trains for Nakhorn 
  Ratchasima (Korat), arriving there at six in the evening.  I went to 
  stay with Ajaan Singh, who had founded a monastery and been living 
  there for three years.  I asked for news of Ajaan Mun, but Ajaan Singh 
  had no idea of his whereabouts.
    
                                 * * *
    
    
  I  decided to spend the Rains Retreat that year in Nakhorn Ratchasima 
  province.  Just before the rains started, a lay person from Krathoag 
  (now Chokchai) district came and asked Ajaan Singh for a monk to come 
  and stay in his town.  The layperson was Khun Amnaad Amnueykit, the 
  District Official there in Krathoag.  Ajaan Singh asked me to go, and 
  I decided to accept the invitation.  As it turned out, I stayed on, 
  teaching the monks, novices and lay people in Krathoag for two years.
    
    At the end of my first Rains Retreat there, I got news from home 
  that my father was very ill, so I made plans to return home to visit 
  him.  Before I left, Khun Amnaad Amnueykit invited me to give a sermon 
  at his home.  This was the eighth day after the end of the rains 
  (October 12).  At about five in the evening, before I left for Khun 
  Amnaad's house, there was a peculiar incident.  A swarm of more than 
  100 squirrels came running into the monastery and gathered on the 
  porch of the hut belonging to one of the monks, Phra Yen.  Nothing 
  like this had ever happened since my arrival in Krathoag, so before 
  leaving the monastery I called all the monks and novices to my 
  quarters for a meeting.  "There's going to be an incident tonight, so 
  I want you all to be on your toes.  After you've finished the evening 
  chanting,
    
      (a) you are to return to your quarters, sit quietly and 
      meditate. Don't sit around talking.  Each person should keep to 
      himself.
      
      (b) If you have any personal business to take care of, like 
      sewing robes, save it for another night."
    
    I then left for the District Official's house.  At seven that 
  evening, after I had been on the sermon seat for half an hour, 
  preaching to the District Official, civil servants and other 
  townspeople about the virtues of the Buddha, Dhamma, Sangha and one's 
  benefactors, two lay men from near the monastery came looking for me, 
  but since I was sitting there preaching with my eyes closed, they 
  didn't dare interrupt.  After the sermon was over they informed the 
  District Official that someone had tried to stab Phra Yen, but he had 
  received only a surface wound.
    
    On hearing this, the District Official called his assistant and a 
  number of policemen, and they went to see what was up at Bong Chii 
  Cemetery Monastery.  I went along with them.  The officials were able 
  to trace the suspect -- a man named Nai In -- to a village where they 
  found him hiding out in a friend's house.  The District Official had 
  the police take both Nai In and his friend into custody.
    
    The police continued to investigate the matter for several days, 
  while we at the monastery ran our own investigation.  We learned that 
  since my coming to spend the rains there at Bong Chii Cemetery 
  Monastery, the way I and the other monks in the monastery had 
  conducted ourselves had received a great deal of praise from the 
  District Official, civil servants, townspeople and most of the people 
  in the nearby villages.  Other temples in the area had become jealous 
  as a result and, not wanting us to stay on there, had laid plans to 
  frighten us away by doing us bodily harm. 
    
    As for the police, they tried to interrogate Nai In, but didn't get 
  anywhere because he wouldn't confess.  So finally the chief of police 
  came and told me, "Whether or not he confesses, I'll still have to 
  keep him behind bars for a while, because he's in my custody.  
  Tomorrow I'll take him to the provincial prison."
    
    Hearing this, I felt sorry for Nai In.  To tell the truth, he was a 
  scoundrel from way back, but I had had him run a number of errands for 
  the monastery, such as helping us find firewood, so in a way he was a 
  follower of mine.  I thus asked the chief of police to bring Nai In 
  and his friend to see me later in the day. 
    
    At about three in the afternoon the chief of police brought the two 
  of them to the monastery.  I said to Nai In, "If it's true that you're 
  involved in this, I don't ever want you to do it again.  No matter 
  whether it's a case of a monk or a lay person, I want you to stop. If 
  it's not true that you're guilty, then it means you're a good person.  
  So today I'm going to ask the chief of police to give me Nai In.  From 
  today onwards I'll ask Nai In not to cause the monastery any trouble.  
  May the chief of police please let Nai In go, so that there'll be no 
  more animosity between us."
    
    That was the end of the matter.  From that day on, Nai In became 
  very close to the monastery.  If we ever had any errands to be run or 
  work to be done, we could always call on him.  As for the people in 
  Chokchai who had once resented our presence, they now began to hold us 
  in awe.  The word got around:  "One of Ajaan Lee's students, Phra Yen, 
  was stabbed full force with a scythe, and yet the blade didn't even 
  enter the skin -- just gave him a foot-long scratch.  If his student 
  is that invulnerable, just think what he's like!"
    
    Actually, the truth of the matter was nothing like that at all, and 
  had nothing to do with Phra Yen's being charmed or invulnerable or 
  anything.  What happened was simply that Phra Yen had taken a chair 
  and a sewing machine that evening and placed them on the porch of his 
  hut, which was about a meter off the ground.  As he was sitting in the 
  chair, sewing his robes, the attacker standing on the ground tried to 
  stab him in the left shoulder with a long-handled scythe.  The handle 
  struck the chair, though, so the scythe left only a surface wound.
    
    Afterwards I called the monks and novices together and drew a number 
  of lessons from the incident.  I finished by saying, "Don't lose your 
  nerve if there are any more incidents.  I want you all to stay here in 
  peace.  I'm going to go visit my father in Ubon."
    
    I then set out for Ubon.  Reaching home, I found my father seriously 
  ill, wasting away from old age -- he was now 69.  I stayed close to 
  him, nursing and caring for him for several months until the rains 
  grew near, when I returned to spend a second Rains Retreat back at 
  Bong Chii Cemetery Monastery.  I later received news that he passed 
  away in the middle of the rains, on September 8.
    
    
                                 * * *
    
    
  Towards the end of the Rains Retreat, I began thinking more and more 
  often of Ajaan Mun.  I decided, without telling anyone, that I would 
  have to leave the monastery that dry season.  I went to Wat Salawan in 
  Nakhorn Ratchasima to take my leave of Ajaan Singh, and he gave his 
  permission for me to go, which pleased me immensely.  I returned to 
  Chokchai to say farewell to the monks, novices and lay people there.  
  One of my very good friends, a person who had given a lot of solid 
  support in helping to build and look after the monastery, told me, "If 
  you don't come back here for the next Rains Retreat, I'm going to put 
  a curse on you, you know."  That was Doctor Waad, the town doctor in 
  Chokchai.  So I told him, "What do you want, after all I've taught you 
  about impermanence?"
    
    So then, with a handful of followers, I went deep into the Ijaan 
  wilderness, passing the branch district of Nang Rong and reaching 
  Phnom Rung mountain just inside the borders of Buriram province.  We 
  climbed the mountain and stayed for several days high on the summit.
    
    There on the summit were a number of ancient stone temples and large 
  stone pools filled with water.  The mountain was far from any 
  habitation.  One day I went without food, but my meditation went well.  
  A few days later we climbed down and spent a night by a pool at the 
  foot of the mountain.  The next morning we went for alms and then 
  walked on for a number of days until we reached Talung district in 
  Buriram.  It so happened that Khun Amnaad Amnueykit had just been 
  transferred here to be the District Official.  We were both very happy 
  to see each other.  After staying for a few days, I took my leave of 
  Khun Amnaad so that I could go into Cambodia.
    
    On this trip there were five of us altogether -- two boys, two other 
  monks and myself.  Khun Amnaad arranged temporary passports for us.  
  We went down into Cambodia, traveling first to Ampil, then passing 
  through a large jungle to Svay Chek, and from there on foot to 
  Sisophon.  After our arrival at Sisophon, a number of lay people came 
  to discuss the Dhamma with me. They became very impressed and began to 
  follow me in throngs.  When the time came to leave, some of them -- 
  both men and women -- began to cry.
    
    While I was at Svay Chek there had been one person who held me in 
  great esteem and who brought his daughter to talk with me every day. 
  [*]  His daughter told me that she was unmarried.  The tone of their 
  voices told me that they wanted me to settle down there.  They'd be 
  willing to help me in every way, they said.  Just please stay.  As the 
  days passed, we seemed to take more and more of a liking to each 
  other.  When I could see that things were beginning to get out of 
  hand, I realized that I'd have to be going, so I said goodbye and 
  headed south for Sisophon.
    
      * [There are not a few people in Southeast Asia who, like the 
      father and daughter in this incident, regard well-behaved monks 
      as ideal eligible bachelors.  It is thus up to each monk to 
      decide whether he wants to devote himself full-time to his 
      meditation, and thus remain celibate, or to oblige such people 
      by becoming an eligible bachelor after all.]
    
    
    From Sisophon we went on foot to Battambang, where we stayed in the 
  cemetery at Wat Ta-aek, about a kilometer from town.  In Battambang I 
  met a lay man who knew Khun Amnaad Amnueykit.  He gave me a hearty 
  welcome and introduced me to a lot of people in town.  After staying 
  there a good while, we said goodbye and headed for the province of 
  Siem Reap.  We camped for a while at a cemetery in the forest, where a 
  number of people came to donate food. From there we left for Angkor 
  Wat, where we stayed and wandered about, looking at all the ancient 
  ruins.
    
    We spent two nights there.  The first day we had a meal, the second 
  day we decided not to, because there was hardly anyone to place food 
  in our bowls when we went out for alms.
    
    Leaving Angkor Wat we headed for Phnom Penh.  Along the way we 
  climbed a huge, tall mountain:  a nice, quiet secluded place with 
  plenty of drinking water.  The mountain was called Phnom Kulen -- Wild 
  Lychee Mountain.  At the summit were scores of wild lychee trees, 
  bearing bright red fruits.  About 20 small villages surrounded the 
  base of the mountain. We stayed there a few days in a Vietnamese 
  temple that had a Buddha image carved into the rock of a large 
  overhanging cliff.  While there, I took advantage of the opportunity 
  to explore the nearby caves.
    
    Near the temple was a village of about ten households that we were 
  able to depend on for alms. Staying in the temple were two people -- a 
  Cambodian monk, about 50 years old and with only one good eye, and a 
  lay follower.  Whenever I had nothing else to, I'd sit and discuss 
  Dhamma with the monk.  As for the caves, there were two of them:  one 
  where I stayed with my following, and the other, about ten meters from 
  the Buddha image, where a large tiger lived.  At the time, though, 
  since it was April, the tiger had gone down to live in the lowland 
  forests.  When the rains began, it would come back to stay in the 
  cave.  One afternoon I left the cave and returned to stay at the 
  Vietnamese temple.  Altogether we stayed there for about a week.  We 
  then left, going down the west side of the mountain.  It took ten 
  hours of climbing to get through the mountains before reaching the 
  flatlands.
    
    We then traveled around to the south of the mountain range and 
  stopped in a forest near a village. There a lay person came to tell me 
  a number of strange stories that really took my fancy.  This is the 
  gist of what he had to say:  About 30 kilometers from the village were 
  three mountains covered with streams and open forests. The strange 
  thing about the mountains was that if anyone went to cut any of the 
  trees, they would either die a violent death, become seriously ill, or 
  suffer misfortune of one sort or another.  Sometimes on the lunar 
  sabbath, in the middle of the night, a bright light would come 
  shooting out of the summit of the third mountain.  It seemed that a 
  number of times monks had gone to spend the Rains Retreat on top of 
  the third mountain, but had had to leave in the middle of the retreat, 
  either because of strong winds, rains or lightning strikes.
    
    This being the case, he wanted me to climb to the top of the 
  mountain to see what was there.  So the next morning we set out for 
  the third mountain.  After climbing to the top, I looked over the area 
  and found it to be a pleasant and inviting place to stay.  The people 
  in my following were afraid, though, and began crying that they didn't 
  want to stay, so in the end we had to climb back down.  On the way 
  back we passed through a village and then went on to spend the night 
  in a quiet forest nearby.
    
    The next morning, when we went for alms in the village, an old woman 
  carrying a bowl of rice came running after us, calling and waving her 
  arms.  We stopped and waited as she caught up with us, kneeled down 
  and placed food in our bowls.  After receiving her alms, we headed 
  back to where we were staying, and she followed behind us.  When she 
  reached our campsite, she told us, "Last night, just before dawn, I 
  dreamed that someone came and told me to get up and fix some food.  A 
  //dhutanga// monk was going to come by on his alms round."  So she had 
  gotten up and fixed food just as she had dreamed, and sure enough, met 
  us as we were going for alms, which is why she had been so excited.
    
    That evening the villagers had spread word among themselves to come 
  listen to a sermon, and as darkness fell a lot of them came.  By this 
  time I had been wandering around Cambodia for more than a month, to 
  the point where I was able to preach the Dhamma in Cambodian well 
  enough that we could understand one another fairly well.
    
    A few days later I learned from one of the lay people there that a 
  Cambodian monk who had studied the Tripitaka and was expert in 
  translating Pali wanted to come and quiz me on the Dhamma.  "That's 
  okay," I told him.  "Let him come." And so the next afternoon he 
  actually came.  We discussed and debated the Dhamma until we were able 
  to reach a good understanding of each other's practices and ways of 
  conduct.  The whole affair went by smoothly and peacefully, without 
  incident.
    
    I spent quite a few days in the area, to the point where I began to 
  feel quite close to many of the lay people there.  I then said 
  farewell and started back to Sisophon.  Quite a number of lay people, 
  both men and women, followed after us, forming an escort that fell 
  away by stages.
    
    Reaching Sisophon we stayed for two nights and then went to visit a 
  cave in a nearby mountain -- a fine, secluded place.  A Chinese monk 
  was living there alone, so we sat and discussed the Dhamma.  We hit it 
  off so well that he invited me to stay and spend the Rains Retreat 
  there.  None of my following, though, wanted to stay on.
    
    From there we walked to the border at Aranyaprathet, where we 
  crossed back into Thailand. After staying a fair while in 
  Aranyaprathet, we headed deep into the forest, skirting the mountain 
  ranges, intending to cross into Nakhorn Ratchasima province via the 
  Buphraam pass.  
    
    By this point it was nearing time to stop for the Rains Retreat.  
  There was rain all along the way, leeches were everywhere, and 
  traveling was by no means easy.  We decided to come out around 
  Pha-ngawb Mountain and on along through Wang Hawk -- LancePalace -- 
  Pass until we reached Baan Takhro, Prachantakham district, there in 
  Prajinburi province.  The trail along Wang Hawk Pass, if we had kept 
  on going, would have led us through another jungle and then across the 
  border into Nakhorn Ratchasima province at the branch district of 
  Sakae Lang.  But we decided not to travel on because the rains were 
  getting very heavy, and so spent the Rains Retreat there in Baan 
  Takhro.  This was the year 1934.
    
    
                                 * * *
    
    
  Baan Takhro is set near the foot of a mountain by a large, deep stream 
  that flows down into the district seat at Prachantakham.  We spent the 
  rains at the foot of the mountain.  One member of my following -- 
  Bhikkhu Son -- wasn't willing to stay there and so headed through 
  Prajinburi and spent the rains at Kawk Mountain in Nakhorn Nayok 
  province.  This left just two of us to spend the rains together -- 
  along with the two young boys -- in an old sala at the edge of the 
  stream.  In the course of the rains there were seven flash floods, 
  sometimes with the water so high that we had to climb up and sleep in 
  the rafters. We seemed to suffer a lot of hardships that year.
    
    The village was thick with poison, and crawling with bandits and 
  thieves:  The people there made a steady practice of stealing water 
  buffaloes and cows to kill for meat.    I tried to teach them to 
  abandon their evil ways and to do nothing but good, and eventually 
  some of them actually gave up making poison and stopped killing large 
  animals such as water buffaloes and cows.  Word of this spread until 
  it reached the ears of the ecclesiastical head of Prajinburi province 
  at Wat Makawk.
    
    At the end of the rains he came up looking for me and had me return 
  with him to the town of Prajinburi.  He was in need of meditation 
  monks, he said, so I went along.  He introduced me to the chief of 
  police, as well as to the Provincial Governor, Luang Sinsongkhram.  I 
  overheard the governor say to the ecclesiastical head, "Ask him to 
  stay here in the province to help teach the people and stamp out 
  banditry in the out-lying districts."  Hearing this, I said to myself, 
  "You'd better get out of this province before they put you on a 
  leash."
    
    So I took my leave of the ecclesiastical head of Prajinburi province 
  and took my group to stay in Grandfather Khen Cave in Ito Mountain. 
  From there we headed to the branch district of Sra Kaeo (CrystalPool) 
  in Kabinburi district, where we went deep into the forest.  We went to 
  look over a cave in BigLion Mountain, but I didn't care for what I saw 
  because the air in the cave was dark and stale.  So we retraced our 
  steps back down the mountain.  That day we took a short cut through 
  the forest, heading for a certain village, but got lost because we 
  were traveling in the middle of the night.  We kept walking until 
  about 4 a.m., cutting through virgin forest so as to reach the 
  village, but ended up back practically where we had started, near Sra 
  Kaeo.
    
    The next morning, after our meal, we went into the forest, heading 
  for Chakan (YoungSavage) Mountain, which was about 15 kilometers from 
  Sra Kaeo.  Reaching the village at the foot of the mountain, we went 
  to stay in Chakan Cave.  The cave was a quiet, secluded spot, free 
  from human disturbances, because the mountain abounded on all sides 
  with fierce animals:  tigers, elephants and bears.  Deep in the quiet 
  of the night, sitting in meditation, you could hear the calls of the 
  elephants as they went about, breaking off tree branches with their 
  trunks.  There was a village about a kilometer from the mountain.  We 
  stayed there in the cave a good many days.
    
    From there we cut through a giant forest -- a stretch of 70 
  kilometers with no human habitation.  It took two days to get through, 
  and we had to spend two nights sleeping out in the middle of the wilds 
  because there weren't any villages.  We kept on going until we crossed 
  the border into Chanthaburi province, passing through Baan Taa Ryang, 
  Baan Taa Muun and on into Makham district.  From there we skirted 
  around the forest behind Sra Baab (SinPond) Mountain and reached 
  Khlung district.  In Khlung I learned that Khun Amnaad Amnueykit had 
  left government service and was now living in retirement in 
  Chanthaburi.  This I was glad to hear.
    
    
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