As I write this, I am living in a forest hermitage in the Ruhuna region. It has not rained here for several months now. Both reservoirs we depend on for water have dried up. In the small amount of water left in the dried reservoir, elephants bathe, animals drink, and crocodiles have settled in as well. Because the salinity has risen, fish have died and now float on the surface. In other words, more and more impurity mixes into the shrinking supply of water with each passing day. It is this very water that we filter and all drink from. And yet the water is pure. No discomfort is felt from it. In some forest hermitages in the dry zone, water is so scarce that even water for basic bodily needs must be sought from rock pools or ponds. It is with great contentment that the venerable monks pursue their path toward liberation even without such minimal comforts. A question our lay supporters often ask such monks is, "Venerable one, why do you suffer like this in the forest?" The monk cannot understand why they ask this. Living in the forest, the head and beard are shaved only once a week. The monk wears the brown robe. Because of the dry environment, the body itself takes on a dry, weathered appearance. Seeing this, lay devotees assume the monks must be suffering.

I recall one occasion, while living in a forest hermitage far from any human settlement, walking through the forest from my kuti to the alms hall for the meal. A girl of about twelve, who had come on a pilgrimage with her mother, saw me approaching with my alms bowl slung over my shoulder and asked her mother, "Mother, what is that?" — she had taken me for some strange creature. Hearing that story later, I felt a genuine, wholesome joy. I thought: this monk belongs to a different world entirely. He is unlike anyone else in this world. And yet — you should never ask a monk the question above, nor think it yourself. To think it is one of the greatest untruths in this world. I, who write this, have never once been unhappy in the forest, no matter how harsh the surroundings. It is with great contentment, freedom, and solitude that forest-dwelling monks walk the path to liberation. Where, within that solitude, is there any suffering? What our lay devotees confuse here is the very nature of suffering and happiness. They themselves are caught up in the great burdens of houses, land, spouses and children, relatives, positions, and titles. And from monks who have been freed from all of this, who live lives of release, they ask, "Why do you suffer?" We do not suffer at all. We live here in deep peace. The happiness and reconciliation that monks find through letting go is something you, perhaps, cannot fully imagine. If you too have fewer attachments in your own life, you may already have tasted this happiness. Those who have not, ask the question above only out of love and concern for us.

But this, too, must be said: even a forest-dwelling monk who lives with craving for something finds no happiness in that life — only suffering. For there can also be monks who, out of attachment to the forest itself, its wildlife, its streams, or its ancient ruins, exhaust themselves seeking these things out, exploring them, guarding them. But for those who truly walk the Noble Eightfold Path, there is no suffering at all in forest-dwelling life.

From an article by Ven. Rajagiriye Ariyagnana Thero.