Part 6
We know not the path to take
Places. Each portrays a different character. Each a different
expression. Some places move you. Some places touch you.
And some places leave you in the middle.
Middle is where
Nanjing leaves me. Perhaps it's the cold, which bites into
the senses, perhaps it's the sleepy roads, which echo a
different rhythm from the throbbing music of Shenzhen, or
perhaps it's the bane of the traveler. The bane of expectation.
Or simply perhaps the result of starting the journey in
the infinite horrors of war.
The Nanjing Massacre Memorial. The site dedicated to victims
of the Japanese invasion and occupation of China during
World War Two. A visit undertaken on a bleak foggy day,
and roaming through the museum, the day turns into the dark
black of a murderous night. Screaming aloud muted, dead
shouts of pain. Screams which echo and ring through an abyss
of skulls. Skeletons. Bones. Human. Human killing man. Human
killing woman. Human killing child. You can feel the pain,
the agony and the mindlessness of it all. Membranes of life
strewn apart. The sinews of life ripped. Slaughtered. Yes.
Graphic reminders of a past that repeats ceaselessly in
the present.
300000 dead.
Numbers. That's life reduced to numbers. And you feel responsible.
For tearing the soul of another. Even though it wasn't you.
Yet another who eats, drinks, sleeps, just the same as you.
"Warning," says the signs everywhere. "Disturbing
scenes and images. Warning." Warning. Warning. They
were wrong. The scenes weren't just disturbing. They were
mind breaking, heart breaking, and soul breaking devastating.
Warning. Warning. Will the message ever reach? Lesson Eight,
hurled through the pain. Learn. Learn the lessons.
Stepping outside. Longing for air. From the reminders of
the pain which is still alive. And I am glad for the cold
that nips. That makes me feel again. Yet the numbing of
the massacre stays. Oppresses. Weighs. Until, in despair,
we decide to head away. To one of Nanjing's lakes. To see
the crumbling old city walls. No guidebook is followed.
Just a walk on the wall. Seeing the city through these walls
that have seen many a feet tread across since centuries.
A mindless walk. Trying to desperately forget the ruins
visited in the morning.
And we reach
the end of the wall. But not the end of the walk. There
it is. A little mountain that begs to be climbed. Steps
inviting. And the 10 Yuan is paid. The climb begins. Past
little trails. That seems to lead everywhere. We know not
the path to take. And I think, isn't that like life? Trying
to find the path, to find a way. Perhaps we run in circles.
But the circles have to meet somewhere. Till then, we play
on the swings, while the real children wonder at these crazy
'laowai', these crazy foreigners. The fog is lifting. And
the circle meets.
Meets at the top, where lies a beautiful monastery. And
yes, there he is, the messenger of peace, the Buddha. Monks
gather around us curiously. We feel guilty, breaking their
meditation. But they smile. And give us cages. Cages with
little birds. And ask us to release the latch. Set the birds
free. A precious gift, freedom. And even as we open the
cages, and the birds fly away, above, the sun breaks through
the clouds. The blue sky peeps at us. And the birds sing.
Sing that there is still so much beauty in life. That life
and beauty is infinite. Can never be destroyed or 'disturbed.'
Can never be disturbed. Warning. Warning. To all those try.
Can never be disturbed, this life.
