"How many lives and unanswered questions are buried under the earth? Who can tell the deceased and the living why the tragedy took place?" Sister Lin Ting-chun, a Tzu Chi commissioner in Taipei, went to help earthquake victims in Tungshih, a formerly prosperous town on the beautiful Central Cross-Island Highway. The massive earthquake of September 21 left many questions for the people of Taiwan to ponder, and it taught Lin a lesson in life.

I finally understand now why two years ago a Tzu Chi member refused to share in public his experience of helping in a typhoon-devastated community where twenty-eight people were killed. He told us that he was extremely reluctant to relive that experience by recounting it to us. At this moment, I have the same heart-broken feeling that he did.

I arrived at Tungshih on September 24, when over one hundred and twenty bodies were to be loaded into refrigerated containers for storage. The task of moving and carrying the bodies had been assigned to some soldiers, who looked rather pale to me. These boys were only teenagers or in their early twenties. How could they face such great misery without fear? They were frightened to death, but they dared not express their uneasiness, since soldiers are expected to obey their commanders without question. But we knew they were afraid. So every time we saw soldiers gather for work, we would walk over to them and try to say something to cheer them up. "If these bodies could speak, they would say 'thank you' to you all." "Those younger than you are your brothers and sisters. Those older than you are your older relatives. They will bless you, because you are here to serve them." We tried to encourage the soldiers by telling them that they were doing a good thing and an admirable job.

In a small tent beside the makeshift morgue, we saw a man with badly swollen feet. We wanted to take him to the doctor at the aid station, but he refused. He told us that on the night before the earthquake, his wife was doing the laundry when he went home. It was already very late, so he took over the job and told his wife to go to sleep. At around one thirty in the morning of September 21, he finished the washing and went to bed. Only when the roof collapsed did they wake up and realize that there was an earthquake. He heard his wife lying beside him crying for help, but his legs were jammed under the collapsed roof. All he could do was listen as his wife's voice became weaker and weaker and then completely inaudible.

"If you Tzu Chi people had not cared for us and helped so much," he said, "who would want to talk about the painful experience? To many other people, our tragedies are merely stories. Does anyone really care about us?" He walked on his crutches as though nothing much had happened, but heaven knows what deep sorrow was weighing on him. His only wish now was to stay with his wife and little son until their funerals were over.

The man also mentioned that he had a new apartment in a downtown Tungshih apartment building. It was also destroyed by the earthquake and many people died there. "I believe that whatever happens is predestined. Even if I had moved to my new apartment, I still could not have changed my fate." From this sudden catastrophe, he has learned the Buddhist law of cause and effect. "People say that cause and effect are more punctual than time itself. How very true!"

There was a woman who learned from the newspaper that her three sons had died in the earthquake. She hurried to Tungshih and on the name list of the deceased posted by the local government she saw the three familiar names. Even then, she was still unwilling to accept the fact. We accompanied her to the morgue and helped her look for the bodies of her sons. Like the poor mother, we also hoped we would not find them, because then there would still be a ray of hope left. Unfortunately, her sons were lying there among all the other bodies. We did not know how to tell her, and we could only lead her to them. Seeing the corpses, she fell to her knees and wailed, "My babies, my babies!"

After she calmed down a little bit, she told us that she had divorced her husband six years ago. At that time, she was willing to let him have custody of the children since she knew he would take good care of them. Never had she imagined that she would meet her husband again under such circumstances. When she saw him walking out from behind the containers, she cried out his name and ran toward him. She embraced him tightly and kept asking, "Why?" He remained silent. The couple could only cling to each other. As for her question, no one could answer her, not her husband or anyone else.

At Tungshih Junior High School, where the Tzu Chi service center was located, we met an old man who had trekked for hours from a small aboriginal village in the mountains to ask for assistance. We quickly drove into the mountains with relief supplies. On the way, the old man kept pointing out places, telling us how many people had died here, how many people were buried alive there. He related all this to us as if he was just telling a story, but every word he uttered stung our hearts. I dared not imagine how many had died here and how many unanswered questions were buried along with them. They had also cried out, "Why?" But their voices will never again be heard.

Standing on the line that separates life and death, I realized all the more clearly that life is impermanent. An incident in my own life also testifies to this profound Buddhist tenet.

Several years ago, my husband and I owned a business enterprise, but my husband's younger brother slowly gained control by buying up most of the stocks. At that time, we were already enthusiastic members of Tzu Chi. We asked Master Cheng Yen how we should deal with the situation. She replied, "Since you do not have control of your business any more, you might as well just give it to him." So we gave up our companies and factories, the total value of which amounted to several billions of NT dollars. We only got NT$34 million, which we used to set up a Buddhist art gallery to introduce Tzu Chi and Buddhism to more people.

Several days before the earthquake, my husband asked me, "Do you think the Master was right when she told us to give up our business?" Even as the question still lingered in my husband's mind, the calamity hit and my brother-in-law's five-story factory in Taichung was turned into rubble overnight. His decade-long maneuver to take over our properties ended up in vain. Hearing the news, my husband sighed, "There is indeed no escaping the law of cause and effect." He provided his brother a space in our Taipei office and office systems such as a telephone, computer and copy machine so that he could handle matters relating to the reconstruction of his company.

When I was in Taichung, I told Master Te Tun what had happened. "It is because you were willing to let go at that time," she replied. "If you had not done so, you and your husband would be the victims now. Owing to your willingness to give, you are now able to help." "It is more blessed to give than to receive" was just a cliche to me before, but now I understand how true it is.

Life is impermanent. Not long ago when we were raising funds for earthquake victims in Turkey, Master Cheng Yen instructed Tzu Chi members to protect Taiwan with love. "Don't think it impossible for our land to be damaged by earthquakes. Remember, Taiwan is also located in a seismic zone. Today we extend a helping hand to other countries. One day when we are in need, they will come to our aid." Her speech was still echoing in my mind when, as if to testify to the Master's words, the earthquake struck and took its toll of over two thousand deaths. We cannot allow any more harm to our homeland and our countrymen. The Master said that we have to set our love in motion so that our land can be revived. We must take this opportunity to unite in spirit and together rebuild a promising future.