Rukha Village, somewhere in Central Bhutan, 15 November 2015 – I am sitting on the deck of a house –
seeping coffee and reading a book – and occasionally looking away towards the
village – spread in front of me - as it slowly comes to life from the long Autumn
night. From the horizon, the Sun is slowly climbing up from behind the Black Mountains throwing
a sharp ray towards the valley. In the distance, farmer Sanga is harvesting his
rice while another farmer, Bechu, is singing to his oxen as he ploughs the field for the next plantation.
“Kuzu zangpola”, a voice comes from behind me. I turn around and see a face smiling at me. “Kuzu, Kuzu. You look familiar but what's your name?” I ask him. “I am Kado from Lamga,” he replies. “Oh, Lamga! Yeah! I am
supposed to visit this afternoon. You have come up very early,” I tell him.
“Daw Gyeltshen insisted that I reach here early,” he informs me. “I think he
wants to make sure that I visit Lamga this time,” I tell him. We both laugh.
A hearty breakfast, with the American students I had brought along to Rukha, is followed by a visit to the Rukha temple where I am
building a house for the monks. By mid-day we head for Lamga.
Kado insists that he even carry my camera besides my bag.
The bridge built specifically for my visit |
Lamga is a new settlement at an hour walk from Rukha through the
subtropical jungles filled with spiders, scorpions and snakes. The people here
are of different ethnic group with distinct language of their own – Phojib.
They shuttled between Phobjikha and Lamga until, in 2005, the government made them choose
between the two places to settle them permanently. Strangely, they chose Lamga.
“Why did you guys give up Phojikha,” I ask Kado. “It is warmer here and the
land is more productive,” he replies. “But Phobjikha is more developed now,” I
continue. “I don’t know. We followed our elders like Ap Mindu, who died last
month,” he says with a little remorse. In fact Aap Mindu was the only sharp guy
in Lamga. He passed away at 73 leaving the village without his wisdom and
guidance. Because of inter-marriage within just four families, the people of
Lamga are not the brightest. "We feel lost without him," Kado tells me sadly. I also feel their pain. I had known Ap Mindu too. He considered me his friend and mentor and often visited me in Thimphu.
They offered me everything they had. |
Yes, the village has not only gathered there but they have pitched a
tent in the field, have prepared a grand feast and have lined-up to greet the guest of
honour (me!). I wish each and everyone of them – by names of those who I remember. As is a tradition in Bhutan, the women welcome me with a heap of rice, eggs and
incense stick in a basket containers – as gifts. I accept them and offer Nu. 100 each
for every woman in return. Then I take my place inside the tent and ask them to join me. A
small sacred marchang (wine ceremony) follows and then suja (butter tea) and dresi
(rice with butter and saffron).
“Thank you all. I don’t know what I have done to deserve all these, but
thank you,” I tell them. “Well, you have done so much for us and we were very
sad that you stopped visiting us. We heard that you came to Rukha several times in the last few years but by the time we knew, you were already gone.” Daw Gyeltshen
replies. Everyone nods with him. I feel a sense of guilt.
With my people - in my land |
The Lamgaps now only have one dream. They don’t have a community hall
or a temple. And with their wise man gone, they turn to me for help. I obilge. “Let’s do
that! Together, we will build one. A small tshokhang (community hall). I will supply all the materials and you will put everything together,” I tell them. The village, I am told, hold their annual
rituals under tarpaulin sheets. Lunch follows and dances and songs to celebrate my visit - and the project that we have agreed to do together.
As the Sun starts its descent towards the distant mountains I bid
goodbye to the Lamgaps and make my way towards Rukha - promising to return to celebrate the Bhutanese New Year with them. I make
the vertical climb uphill - looking back at the village from time to time, and some strange thoughts cross my mind. “Who am I? Why
am I so happy, contented and satisfied when I am in this area? Why do I
feel so close to these people?”. Then I just conclude, philosophically, that maybe I was one of them in my previous life. In fact I feel so home out here.
Now I am one of them. I feel that I am back to my people. This is my land. And with my friend, Ap Mindu, gone I am their leader.
I feel like the new Wise Man of the village.
Now I am one of them. I feel that I am back to my people. This is my land. And with my friend, Ap Mindu, gone I am their leader.
I feel like the new Wise Man of the village.
I had a wonderful and emotional time reading your blog.
ReplyDeleteYou are their saviour. You gave them a life perhaps could have been neglected and they wouldn't have survived the loss they were going through at the end.
I assume you were happy and contend because there is more happiness in giving than in receiving. You are giving your hand to them. For them, you are a SAVIOUR.
Please do update on how the temple construction is going on Would love to read it. Something is better than nothing.
Hats off to you for doing such a wonderful noble deed.
Cheers
Yeshi
Your post thrilled me right to my heart, i wish Bhutan has abundance of new Wise Man so that the GNH is practically realised. Keep visiting them and make them even more happier. Nice read.
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