I was a charlatan in India

Looking at the sea of ​​faces below the stage, Mahata felt a wave of suffocation wash over him.

The rosary beads on my fingertips felt slightly rough.

He recalled many years ago in Rajagaha, when the Buddha preached on Vulture Peak, and the disciples below had clear eyes, as if gazing up at the stars.

At this moment, the eyes below the stage are like pots that have been boiled dry, just waiting for rice to be thrown in before they boil over.

Can……

He couldn't tell whether listening to the Buddha or begging for rice was more foolish.

Mahata chanted a Buddhist mantra in a low voice, trying to suppress the inexplicable unease in his heart.

It felt like seeing a solemn mandala.

He knew that every single transaction was in accordance with the law, but he always felt that... something was off.

Even the Buddha could not know where every fallen leaf would drift, let alone a mortal monk like himself who had not yet attained enlightenment.

"Amitabha."

The news spread like the Ganges during the rainy season, flooding every street and alley in Varanasi in half a day.

But soon, troublemakers also emerged.

After all, Shenhe's actions were extremely impolite!

The religious order has its own territory. Even if your so-called Great Black Heaven has Surya backing you up, we are not without our own support!

For decades or even centuries, no one has ever so blatantly plundered believers under the very nose of the heavens.

If everyone did what you do, how would the other cults survive?

Answer me!

South of the city, in the shack area behind the leather workshop.

Several Dalits were gathered around a broken pot, which was simmering a thin bean paste so thin you could see your reflection in it.

The bean paste had cooled down, but no one touched it.

"Uncle, have you heard?"

A younger man with a hoarse voice said, "The newest Mahakala cult is recruiting followers. I heard that if you do well, you can get into the inner city!"

"That's the inner city!"

Although they didn't know what the inner city meant, it was clear that only gentlemen were allowed to enter.

Does this mean that if a believer does good deeds, they can become a master?

I've heard that some ascetic can become a Brahmin!

"Bah, into the inner city?"

An old man with only a few teeth left spat out, "I think he's going to wash the Brahmin's feet, isn't he?"

Then another Dalit chimed in, half-jokingly and half-sarcastically.

"Haha! They complain you're dirty and ugly even when they want you to wash their feet. They want young girls!"

"It's not washing feet! It's listening to a sermon!"

The young man emphasized, "It's...it's that...prophet!"

"Yes, to be a prophet!"

The old man stared with his cloudy eyes.

"Dalit the prophet? You believe that nonsense?"

These words of encouragement to back down actually carried a hint of disappointment and frustration.

He shook his head, which had very little hair.

"Sigh, still too young."

The young man had little hope to begin with, but upon hearing this sarcastic remark, he began to argue anxiously.

"Really... I'm planning to give it a try, and then..."

"When you become a prophet, don't forget your brothers! Hahaha..."

A burst of laughter erupted.

Suddenly, a middle-aged man with a scar on his face approached and spoke.

"Two bags of millet and a handful of salt, that's true."

The shack fell silent.

Two, two bags of rice.

Mixed with wild vegetables and tree bark, it's enough to sustain a family of three for ten days.

Salt... I don't even know what it tastes like.

"However, we most likely won't get it."

The scarred man added, "I went to look outside the prayer hall this morning."

"Someone actually signed up. A Shudra shoemaker handed over... half a dog skin, and his name was registered."

"Do we still have to pay for the dog skin?"

The young man stopped in his tracks.

He can't get his hands on dog skin.

"It's said that it's not required, but there are too many people signing up. If you don't give gifts to curry favor, you can only slowly wait in line..."

Only the bubbling sound of bean paste remained in the shack.

After a long pause, the young man murmured, "Then...then I'll go too. I'll go to the river and try to catch something; I'll be able to..."

"What a load of crap."

The old man sneered, "Do you know where the scripture hall is? Do you know how to speak? Do you know how to kneel before the master?"

"We Dalits don't even let you through the temple gates, and you expect to be superior to others?"

"Keep dreaming!"

The young man's face flushed red, and he stood up abruptly: "It says on the board! Caste doesn't matter!"

"What's the point of writing that!"

The old man also stood up; his hunchback made him appear somewhat short.

"I wrote it today, and I can revise it tomorrow!"

"Who is Lord Surya? He's a Kshatriya! You dare believe a Kshatriya's words? He might use you today, and chop you up and feed you to the dogs tomorrow!"

That's going too far.

A dog that gets chopped up and fed to the dogs in the Surreys' house must at least be a Vaishya.

Dalit, dirty.

What if my dog ​​gets an upset stomach?

"Millet? Bah! Giving you chaff mixed with sand is already a mercy!"

"Can……"

The old man had an imposing presence.

"What do you mean, 'what do you mean, 'what do you mean!' I've lived for fifty years and I've never seen millet fall from the sky!"

"If anything's going to fall, it'll be a rock that crushes a brainless idiot like you!"

The young man shrank back after being scolded, his eyes reddening.

The scarred man slowly stirred the bean paste in the pot, as if he had found an opportunity, and continued to incite others.

"They're just saying nice things; they're not going to actually give us a chance."

"When I was young, I also worked outside the house of a priest."

"The master said, 'Good job, reward me with a piece of cloth.' I worked like crazy, until I vomited blood. And what was the result?"

"The master said that the work you did was only worth half a piece of cloth, and I used that half piece to offer as an offering to the gods on your behalf."

"In the end, I didn't even see the end of the thread. After arguing with them, I got a beating."

He scoffed.

"If you ask me, this surname system is designed to trap us at the bottom of society for life."

"Their leader is a Kshatriya, how could he possibly give up his advantages? You've all seen the ways of those lords before."

"It's better not to go and suffer humiliation for nothing."

These are words that a Dalit could never have uttered.

Clearly, someone is directing and instructing them behind the scenes.

However, the story about collecting dog skins wasn't something he made up.

After the person in charge of this matter was decided, someone went over and tentatively opened the door.

Corruption takes time to grow on its own, but with someone leading the way, it can be devastating.

"Besides, those are rice and salt; do you really think you can just take them for free?"

As he spoke, he picked up some beans and placed them in the young man's hand.

All the Dalits looked at this person.

Only the old man leisurely sipped his bean soup.

"You've probably heard about merit points. The better the donation, the higher the points. If you don't offer anything in return, how can anyone give you anything?"

"Moreover, they not only have to donate, but also memorize scriptures and recruit people into the church. The more people they recruit, the higher their merit."

"As for recognizing characters and reciting scriptures..."

He clicked his tongue and said, "Who here can even write their own name correctly?"

"Are those winding, convoluted characters in the scriptures meant for us? They're clearly just obstacles set up for us!"

"I'm just telling you, look, it's not that I don't want to give it to you, it's that you can't reach it!"

He paused, then emphasized loudly.

"If the effort is rewarded, that's fine. But what I fear is suffering a huge loss, being made a fool of, and gaining nothing in return!"

The old man was startled, then his voice became sharp as if he had grasped something.

"Did you hear me? Did you hear me!"

"They make you pay, then use something you can't do as an excuse not to give you anything!"

"Recite scriptures? Can you even read? Try to pull someone? Who are you going to pull? Your bedridden old mother?"

"This is a trap! A trap to ensnare the very marrow of you idiots!"

He became more and more excited as he spoke, and he even sprayed his saliva into the pot.

But nobody cares.

"Suriye and that so-called divine messenger are just using every trick in the book to plunder!"

"It used to be taxes, now it's 'merit'! The name sounds nicer, but it's all the same at heart! We can't fall for it!"

Upon hearing this, the Dalits all slumped their heads, looking listless.

But the scarred man had quietly disappeared without a trace.

Someone slowly ladled out a bowl of pea paste and handed it to the old man: "Uncle, have some."

The old man, panting heavily, took the bowl.

My hands are still shaking.

Most people squatted back in the corner, sipping their drinks slowly.

Sudden.

The young man stood up, hesitated for a moment, and then spoke.

"I'll go take a look."

The old man suddenly looked up.

"I'm just going to take a look."

"No, I won't sign up, I'll just take a look!"

After the young man finished speaking, he ran away as if fleeing.

The old man stared in that direction for a long time before slamming the bowl heavily on the ground.

"Look! What are you looking at! You'll lose your life sooner or later!"

He then turned to the commoners around him and spoke in a harsh and nasty tone.

"Eat, eat, all you do is eat! Leave him a bite!"

"Wait until he slunk back home, then he'll be starving!"