Well, I finally got to meet them, two rows of them, along the stately courtyard leading to the temple at Buddha Light Mountain. I had simply asked for the chance to see the place while visiting my aunt in southern Taiwan, and she said, "See it? Heck, I can do better than that. You wouldn't believe it, but your aunt here is actually one of the disciples of the master who founded that place. I could get you a pass to stay there for a night, if you'd like." Wow. A disciple. I knew she was kind hearted and all, but didn't know she was religious. Well, it turned out that she was entitled during a college summer camp, and the last time she visited the temple was almost 20 years ago. But by seniority, she and her buddies, who also attended that summer camp, ranked far above the solemnly shaved monks and nuns who managed the place and guided our way through the vast grounds of sanctity. A week or two after that phone conversation, my mom and I embarked on my southbound relative-visiting trip. By then my aunt had already recruited her buddies, and the rowdy car ride from her place to the temple promised a sleepover party of raunchy jokes and whackass stories at the Buddhist dormitory of purity and silence.

After dinner, the group decided to go for a walk. 8pm was far too early for the worldly bunch. Up the slope by the dining hall then down the stairs toward the courtyard, there was no one in sight but us. We sat down on the benches and realized how silent the place was. Access to the place was restricted after 5pm, and since all of the resident disciples kept to a strict schedule with early bedtime, the courtyard belonged solely to the stray disciples and the tag-along pair of mother and daughter. It was an impressive courtyard. Large bodhi trees bordered the garden patches and the bricked path, and 500 Lohans sculptures stood guard amidst the greens. There beneath the bodhi trees, I listened. There was the mischievous tale of a young college girl who snuck out of sutra reading lesson at the summer camp to date a newly met boy. And with that came the joke about the master's amazing foresight in giving the girl a Buddhist title that sounded like "horny" when read in Taiwanese. When our laughter came back to us in echoed form, one said "shhh…" and the hushing brought forth another's memory about her first boyfriend who always teased her for laughing so loud. Beneath the bodhi trees, I heard in various voices (sometimes of the same person) the affection for the husband, the fondness for the love that would never be forgotten, the gratitude felt for timely understanding, the bitterness infused in memories of marital betrayal, the resentment of broken promises from in-laws, and the contentment of the existing life. Beneath the bodhi trees, I and 500 Lohans listened to these memories, and the bodhi leaf seemed more heart-shaped than ever before.