..续本文上一页 but confident in the power of the Dhamma and of my teacher.

　　I stayed for two nights. The first night, nothing happened. The second night, at about one or two in the morning, a tiger came — which meant that I didn”t get any sleep the whole night. I sat in meditation, scared stiff, while the tiger walked around and around my umbrella tent. My body felt all frozen and numb. I started chanting, and the words came out like running water. All the old chants I had forgotten now came back to me, thanks both to my fear and to my ability to keep my mind under control. I sat like this from two until five a.m., when the tiger finally left.

　　The next morning, I went for alms in a small village of only two households. One of the owners was out working in his garden, and when he saw me he told me that a tiger had come and eaten one of his oxen the night before. This made me even more scared, so finally, after my meal, I climbed to the top of the mountain.

　　From the top, looking out, you could see the chedi of Wat Phra Dhatu Haribhunjai in the town of Lamphun. The mountain was named Doi Khaw Maw — Thumb Mountain. At its summit was a deep spring — so deep that no one has ever been able to fathom it. The water was crystal clear and surrounded by heads of old Buddha images. Climbing down about two meters from ground level, you reached the surface of the water. They say that a person who falls into the spring won”t sink, and that you can”t go ping down under the water. Women are absolutely forbidden to go into the spring, for if a woman does happen to enter the water she”ll go into convulsions. People in the area consider the whole mountain to be sacred.

　　Ajaan Mun had told me that there was an important spirit dwelling in the mountain, but that it wouldn”t harm or disturb me because it was acquainted with the Dhamma and Sangha. The first day after reaching the top I didn”t have anything to eat. That night I felt faint — the whole mountain seemed to be swaying like a boat in the middle of a choppy sea — but my mind was in good shape, and not the least bit afraid.

　　The next day I did sitting and walking meditation in the area around an old abandoned sanctuary. From where I was staying, the nearest village I could have gone to for alms was more than three kilometers away, so I made a vow: "I won”t eat unless someone brings food here." That night I had a stomachache and felt dizzy, but not as bad as the night before.

　　At about five the next morning, just before dawn, I heard huffing and panting sounds outside the sanctuary. At first I thought it was a tiger, but as I listened carefully, it sounded more like a human being. That side of the mountain, though, was very steep — not too steep to climb up, but I can guarantee that it was too steep to go down. So who would be coming up here

　　 I was curious, but didn”t dare leave the sanctuary or my umbrella tent until it was light outside.

　　When dawn finally came, I went outside and there, by the side of the sanctuary, was an old woman — about 70 — sitting with her hands raised in respect. She had some rice wrapped in a banana leaf that she wanted to put in my bowl. She also gave me two kinds of medicine: some roots and pieces of bark. "Take this medicine," she said, "grind it down and eat it, while making a wish for your health, and your stomachache will go away." At the time I was observing the monks" discipline very strictly and so, since she was a woman, didn”t dare say more than a few words to her. After I had finished eating — one lump of red glutinous rice and the roots and bark — I chanted some blessings for her and she left, disappearing down the west side of the mountain.

　　At about five in the afternoon a person came to the top of the mountain with a letter for me from Ajaan Mun. The letter said, "Co…

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