Dateline: 26 November 2025. The only reason I can think of for our group to be in Shravasti, after travelling almost eight hours west into Uttar Pradesh, was to visit Jetavana. Saw See and I had come to India with open minds and few expectations, but even so, seeing Jetavana for ourselves came as a shock. This was an archaeological park, not one which we might normally associate with. The air felt dense with time, and the ground heavy with memory. For more than two decades, Jetavana had been the Buddha’s principal residence, the place where over 800 discourses were delivered. It was not merely a retreat but the intellectual and spiritual centre of early Buddhism.
When we reached the Gandhakuti, the Fragrant Chamber where the Buddha had lived and meditated, a large group of Thai monks had already gathered there. They occupied the space completely, chanting in unison, unhurried and intent. There was no question of us squeezing in, our group of 38 monks and lay people, so we moved on and drifted towards the Anandabodhi Tree.
The Anandabodhi Tree is said to be a direct descendant of the original Bodhi Tree at Bodhgaya. It was planted during the Buddha’s lifetime so that when he travelled, those who remained at Jetavana would still have a living focus for their devotion. When we arrived, there were few people around. The quiet gave us room to pause, to chant and sit for a while in meditation. Standing beside the tree, the logic of its planting made immediate sense.
Jetavana owed its existence to an act of devotion. Anāthapiṇḍika, a wealthy merchant whose name is usually translated as “feeder of the orphans”, was searching for a suitable place to house the Buddha and his monks. He found it in a park owned by Prince Jeta. The prince named an impossible price: the land would be sold only if it could be covered entirely with gold coins. Anāthapiṇḍika took him at his word, laying coin after coin until only a small patch remained. At that point, Prince Jeta relented. He donated the rest of the land and supplied timber for the buildings. What began as a challenge ended as an act of shared generosity.
We eventually returned to the Gandhakuti. The Thai monks were still there. We waited a while, then paid our own homage quietly by lighting candles and offering flowers at the foundations that mark where the kuti once stood. Nothing remains of the structure itself, yet the place still draws devotion.
Walking through the ruins, we became aware of how often this sensation would return during our time in India: the feeling of stepping across layers of time. Jetavana, in particular, is bound up with stories of transformation. It was here that Angulimāla, the feared bandit who wore a garland of fingers, encountered the Buddha and found redemption. Such stories feel less abstract when you are standing on the very ground where they are said to have unfolded.
Jetavana today is no longer home to thousands of monks. It is a quiet archaeological park. Yet it is far from empty. By the time we left, more monks and visitors had arrived. It was clear why Jetavana has become an essential stop on any Buddhist pilgrimage. Some places do not need to be reconstructed. They speak well enough through whatever ruins remain.
We left the Tulip Inn Hotel in Shravasti at nine o’clock, setting off on yet another eight-hour road journey, this time eastwards towards Kushinagar. Our destination was a different kind of sacred ground: the place where the Buddha attained Mahāparinibbāna.
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