Bai Ta (White Dagoba)

Early Spring, 1981	September 29, 2005
This little white dagoba, sitting in a construction site, caught my eye one day on the ride to an English teaching job I had at the Capital Iron and Steel Company, on the western outskirts of Beijing. The company would send a car and driver to get me each week, and we drove past this one day. I went back on my bike to explore and take some photos. This little piece of history seemed so forlorn and lonely sitting in the midst of a construction site, and dwarfed by the crane and multi-story building under construction nearby. One of the four Buddha carvings that faced in the cardinal directions had been defaced, probably during the Cultural Revolution. Seeds, probably deposited by birds, had sprouted into shrubs or tree seedlings and were growing out of cracks and crevices all over the structure. It was emblematic of the juxtaposition of old and new that characterized China at the time. Since the end of the Cultural Revolution the government was not actively trying to rid the country of all vestiges and reminders of the “feudal” past, but there was little reverence for such things either. The government clearly was beginning to see the economic value in preserving some remnants of the past for tourists, but I was not so sure that a small, apparently abandoned relic like this would be considered worth saving if it impeded “progress” in any way. I got the feeling that old shrines like this were considered so unimportant that few people would be concerned about losing a few here and there to modernization. The Cultural Revolution had eradicated many such shrines, and few people were studying traditional religions and culture. It was virtually certain that nobody was actively practicing any sort of religious observations of such shrines. Even at very well-known sacred sites one rarely saw ordinary Chinese worshipers. A few monks had survived the tumultuous years, but religious practice among the masses was virtually unknown. Although religion had not been completely stamped out during the Cultural Revolution, certainly few people I talked to held any strong beliefs in much of anything. Most had been true believers in the Party and in Communism, but after the excesses of the Cultural Revolution, most seemed to have realized that the ideology they had believed in had more to do with keeping certain leaders in power than it truly had to do with “serving the people.” There are few people more cynical than a true believer turned agnostic, and many people felt truly lost, without anything at all to believe in. All the “-isms” had turned out to be just another means to subjugate the masses, and that included “Socialism, Marxism, Leninism, and Mao Zedong Thought,” as well as Confucianism, Buddhism, Taoism. The Capitalism that was the enemy of the people had become the thing that would save China, and by now few people were willing to believe in any “–ism” at all. Although many people were still very idealistic in their thinking, they could find no system or leader which deserved their trust. People seemed simply numb.	I did not have a clear memory of exactly where this dagoba was; only a vague notion of the general area. I rented a bike and rode around the general area, but saw nothing. I asked around a bit, to no avail, and the area had changed so much, I gave up looking for this little white dagoba. At the hostel where I was staying, I showed my photos to the three brothers who ran the place. The photos of this dagoba caused quite a discussion among the brothers. Two of them thought it was almost certainly gone. They said what would often happen is at first the construction crews would not disturb such a site, but would pile things up against it and wait to see if anyone noticed or objected. If no one did, they’d come in with a bulldozer at night, and level it. The third brother agreed this was possible, but said it would be a terrible shame if that had happened. He had studied some history, and he said the style was that of the Ming dynasty, which meant the dagoba was around 300 to 600 years old. He suggested I inquire at the Office of Cultural Relics for Hai Dian District, the western area of Beijing. He called the telephone information line (a recent innovation) for me, and got the address. The next day I took a cab to the municipal building, asked around to find the office, and walked in. I showed the young fellow in the office my photos and the general area on the map that I thought it was in. At first he didn’t seem very interested in my project, but then he thought of a possibility. He said he didn’t really think this looked like the dagoba he was thinking of, but it was the only one of that style in the general area that could have been seen from a main road 25 years ago. He pulled out a book and found an entry, with a picture. It was pretty hard to tell from the photo—the tower was surrounded by trees—but it could be the one… The next day I caught a cab to the place. It is now known as the Academy of Chinese Painting, and the dagoba is in the back of their compound. The security guard at the gate took a look at my photos and said he didn’t think it looked like the dagoba they had, but I was welcome to go look for myself. Inside the Academy grounds were several beautifully done gardens, with small ponds and peaceful, covered walkways. A perfect site for peaceful contemplation, and nothing like the dusty construction site in my photos. I walked all the way to the back of the compound, and there, through the trees, I saw it. I drew closer and compared it to my photos. I looked at the cracks in the rocks on the corner, and they matched! There was no doubt that this was the same little white dagoba. As I looked closer and closer, an uncanny feeling came over me. This was undeniably where I had stood 25 years earlier, but the little white dagoba was the only thing that had not changed beyond recognition. The building that had been under construction was a dingy-looking dormitory-style building just like thousands of similar ones built around that time, and now it is definitely showing its years. All around were more buildings, though. The back wall to the Academy compound was only about 3 feet from the brick wall surrounding the base of the dagoba. Immediately behind that wall was another dormitory style building. A block to the north was a towering new high-rise apartment building probably 20 stories high. Residents of these buildings, and students at the academy were probably the only people who normally would be able to see the dagoba, or to even know of its existence. The dagoba was surrounded by an 8-foot high brick wall with no door. From the looks of it, the wall was built right up against the base of the dagoba, with scarcely a gap between. The bushes/trees that had been growing on the dagoba were mostly gone, but that was the only visible sign of maintenance or restoration. The shrine was in nearly the exact same condition as in 1981. From the description in the book at the Office of Cultural Relics, little is definitively known about the construction or purpose of this little dagoba. Local legend has it that it was built to honor the second emperor of the Ming Dynasty, Jian Wen. Jian Wen ascended to the throne in 1399, but was forcibly deposed by his uncle four years later. With the palace in Nanjing on fire, Jian Wen disappeared, but it was rumored that he shaved his head and became a monk, ultimately coming to Beijing as an old man, to be buried in the Fragrant Hills northwest of Beijing. This dagoba was built on his instruction after his death. Or so local legend has it. If the legend is accurate, this dagoba is over 500 years old. 建文帝種菜歌 二申野錄 菜根青兮。菜色辛兮。菜兮菜兮。似余情兮。 A song sung by Emperor Jian Wen when he was growing vegetables, after being expelled frompower by his uncle. The words express his bitter feelings for having become a gardener. 方孝孺絕命詞 明史方孝孺傳 天降亂離兮。 孰知其由。 奸臣得計兮。 謀國用猶。 忠臣發憤兮。 血淚交流。 以此殉君兮。 抑又何求。 嗚呼哀哉兮。 庶不我尤。 Words said by Fang Xiao Ru, who was loyal to Jian Wen Emperor, before he was executed by Emperor Cheng, who took away Jian Wen's throne by military force. In these words, he said he did not regret dying for the cause of being loyal to his emperor.