With the Thunder Dragon I

a regular sight in bhutan

Bhutan has been described as many things, from the scenic to the authoritarian. It has been made out to be the last “Shangri-La” in different representations by a cross-section of writers, commentators and film-makers. Those who are too taken by its natural beauty and splendour find it an “unspoiled kingdom” while others lament its lack of openness and freedoms given the overarching presence of Buddhist religious life. But this bind, we find, is a rather troubling one. Bhutan for us, replete in its beauty is also a land with its own complexities which cannot be simply wished away or be fossilised in a romantic antique frame. Let’s take one example of the diversity and difference that gets hidden in the romanticised narratives of Bhutan - Its languages and dialects are aplenty although the average version you’ll get is that all Bhutanese people speak Dzongkha. Languages like Lakha, Brokkat, Bumthangkha, Olekha, Chalikha, Tshangla and Brokpakhe and many others often get overlooked as Dzongkha is promoted as the national language.

The example of language is just one way in which we absorbed the overwhelming experience that is Bhutan. Our travels through Bhutan, from the Valley of Ha in the west all the way to its South Eastern borders, brought us face to face with many of the different realities in Bhutan. The valley of Ha is mostly a flat terrain irrigated by the Ha Chu River and it is here that one first realises that the broad assortment of deities in Bhutanese rural life stretches much beyond the formal and more visible Buddhist ones. One of the most famous deities in western Bhutan is the Jichu Drake, the resident deity of the massive mountain with the same name. A hike to Chele La will give anyone a spectacular view of the Jhomolhari and the Jichu Drake. Like most other great natural formations like rivers, aged trees and overgrown medicinal plants, mountains are often treated as local deities. In some cases, these deities and their singular mythical tales have been woven into the narrative of the rise in Buddhism in Tibet but in most others, they remain distinct in their presence within the stories of local village communities and sometimes even the whole valley.

prayer flags on the roadside

The rise of Buddhism in Bhutan in the last millennium is also a story of the gradual overpowering of local deities. Almost every other mythic tale that we encountered around Guru Rinpoche, the young monk said to have schooled at Nalanda and learnt his scriptures in Tibet and then brought Buddhism to Bhutan, is a tale of vanquishing undesirable local deities. Over time, Padmasambahava, as Rinpoche is ritually known, acquired a status that is second only to the Buddha in Bhutanese formal religion. Myths of different monks subduing diverse local deities who were always either too frivolous or unpredictable or unreliable lasted much beyond the Rinpoche stories themselves, as we carefully discovered, and are now part of the official narratives of Bhutan’s history. What was most heartening was that these stories of vanquished local deities did not entirely erase their presence. In terms of how fondly they are held in local cultures, we found many to be quite alive and present just like the formal Buddhist deities, although they are not as popular.

It is in Ha that we witnessed our first local archery tournament. The sport that most men play in Bhutan is also a catalyst for great social interaction. Two teams of thirteen players each battle over a strip of four hundred and sixty feet with each archer getting two shots per round. The teams had their own families and friends and other locals supporting them. The groups of supporters and fans often tried to sledge the other team and pass hilarious comments on missed shots and faulty postures of the members of the opposing team. Intermittent shows of local dances and the regular call of hawkers selling different snacks to the spectators entertained us thoroughly, a lovely distraction from the noise that accompanies cricket matches back home. Some of the dances are also ritualistic ones which are performed on other occasions for different spirits and deities.

an archery match in progress

To help you get a hang of the broad nomenclature, here is our small reference list – ‘Lu’ are mostly aquatic deities residing in the abundant water bodies in Bhutan, ‘Nyen’ are the deities of trees, ‘Tsen’ are the spirits of rocks and mountains and ‘Za’, the deities of different stars and planets. Together, they form a cosmology of faith that is quite complex. One small example of this complexity is the free flowing sexual humour associated with these archery tournaments. The wild and contagious laughter from both men and women that followed someone yelling at their favourite archer in the tournament - “Get that shot right or you will have many lonely nights in bed” – told us that all the religious symbolism around us didn’t quite create an atmosphere of formal tight-lipped reverence. The spirit of the ‘popular’ was well and alive in this case.

We hiked from there to the Taksang Dzong, otherwise called the Tiger’s nest, redone completely after it was burnt, most recently, in a fire in 1997. The hike up the hill slowly unfolds along the way, the spectacular beauty of this dzong, its dusty yellow and white facade shimmering atop a 3000 feet high cliff. Dzongs are like fortresses which also perform important religious functions. Each valley has its own dzong which is the central seat of most annual events. Festivals in Bhutan are placed around a yearly calendar, which depends on the date which the highest authority of monks in the Kagyu order, patronised by the state, decide to announce as the first date of the year. The other dominant order is the Nyingma order, which allows laypersons to perform rituals and is not as strongly hierarchical as the Kagyu Buddhists.

A jeep ride to the famous Punakha Dzong, standing atop the confluence of the scenic rivers Po Chu and Mo Chu, was our next plan. The oldest dzong in the country, this trip brought us face to face with the seat of Buddhist tradition in Bhutan for the last five centuries. The six storey tower dominates the skyline and within it holds massive golden statues of the Buddha, the Guru Rinpoche and the Shabdrung Ngawang Namgyal, the ruler who built the Punakha dzong and assigned it as the winter capital of Bhutan. Its original sixteenth century structure has been modified over the years, the most notable one being the two cantilever bridges across the rivers leading to the Dzong. From the doors of the dzong, we walked barefoot to the edge of the waters and sat there for what seemed like hours. Time didn’t seem to catch up with the tide of the rivers at Punakha.

We left Punakha for the Trongsa dzong, another extremely intricate structure, knowing that we had just made half our way from the west of Bhutan towards its eastern borders. And as the green and blue became a speeding haze of colour against our car windows, Bhutan seemed much more familiar than when we had first set foot in Ha.

of thunder and dragons - through Darjeeling and Bhutan

All ye who enter!

We all remember that time in the bar when people are drunk enough to disclose their past lives. Some were daughters of Persian kings. Some were sons of Persian kings. Some were Persian kings. Most of the others were either Einstein or James Dean. Well, I have recently realised that I was the last dragon. There is something about Bhutan that is so much better than erstwhile Persia or the US. I couldnt have been anywhere else. And the fact that I was born and settled in the plains is simply God's way of playing a joke.

A land locked away and kept a mystery to most who cannot afford it, Bhutan has been my preferred Shangri La after Ladakh. The water is pure. The people are pure. The alcohol is cheap. The cigarettes are illegal. Its how life should be. The fact that I love it is cliched and quite an understatement. After you have somehow escaped Assam, Bhutan feels like one of those lost paradises that movies keep talking about. A four-hour journey from Agra to Delhi felt taxing. A 6-hour journey from Gelephu to Wangdue felt like a dream.

The people have their priorities right. The king has his priorities right. To match the abstract notion of Gross National Happiness in such a way that you see the tangibility on the people's faces... I dont believe that even the most famous address on Janpath could do that.

The custodians of Wangdue

I started off in Gelephu. The border town is just waking up. No one really knows about it. None of the drivers at the Guwahati airport knew where it was. I was in love with it already. A 6-hour drive through villages where women wore their Sarees like the latest Chanel evening gowns, and I was in. The mystery was backed by this elaborate gateway in the middle of no-where and with the hills just rising beyond it. It is only in Gelephu that you can see some of the smaller factors that contribute to the happiness - the Druk and army distilleries. A Black label here and I am ready for whatever Bhutan throws at me.

The next day was reserved for Wangdue. Another 6 hours and I was finally at a place where the only sound I could hear is of the river, where there is no mobile network and where "no wireless networks found" is a very prompt message that has undertones of "what the hell are you thinking!!". This considering the fact that the place I am staying at is only 5 min away from the road. And this is not my vacation. A walk through the old dzong brings out laughing novices, stern monks and a walk outside brings out the colourful bazaars. Wangdue is where the heart is. Do you remember the old worn posters stuck behind the back of autos, the ones that you chuckled on and considered cliches just because it was virutally impossible to find such a place ? Well, this is what I saw from my balcony . The green river roared and tumbled. Behind it, a hill rises that is covered by creepers and trees that I have to say are lush and green for lack of creativity in finding a better description. I was home, and there is no other place that I would rather be.

From Wangdue, I headed towards el capitol... probably the biggest city in Bhutan. Thimphu is known for a lot - for the dzong, for the king, for the medicine, for the crafts, for a lot. But Thimphu is incomplete without the night. It is only then that the oysters and the oyster bazaars come out. It is only then that you can get to clubs called Om Bar that boast of Thimphu's budding and awesome nightlife. While you spend the night on blues and druk 11000, it is only now that you realise that the whole issue about Bhutan fighting its past with its present is not really a fight, but a gradual blend. The same women looking so homely in their kiras do let their hair down and groove to Joplin and CSNY. What would life be without drinking under the stars listening to Clapton in a land known more for not being known about that much.

The Punakha dzong

Thimphu also opens the gates to Paro - where they built a monastery in a crack on the mountain face more than 200 years ago. With such names as the tiger's nest and the whole buildup to the nest (you can only hike up to the place... a hike of 3-4 hours), you can see the glamour that stems from the mystery. And it all seems worth it. When the monastery does unfold in front of you, you do not miss the lost fat or the fact that you had to wake up early. All you realise is that it is not hard to gain enlightenment if you stay in a place like this.

Phuntsoeling turned out to be my last stop in Bhutan. The gateway city again humiliates you. On this side is a bit of Europe, except that the theme for the day is Himalayan Buddhism. Clean roads, smart places for beef and red rice, ordered gardens, prayer wheels.... on the other side is a an absolute mess, with too many people and too many paan stains.

Bridge over the river Teesta

Darjeeling turned out to be better than usual. The killing and the apprehension of a strike helped take all the Mr. Bannerjees and their chunnu munnus out of Darjeeling, leaving the place very British and very likeable - the way it should have been. It is only when you dont have to see where you are going that you can actually lift your head and check out the former movie theater that is now the municipality building and the post office.

It is only then that you thank god that Bhutan is not an Indian state and realise that West Bengal does not deserve Darjeeling. As I follow my route again, I am reminded of the discussion that I was having with the editor of NGT-ZA. We were discussing why two sides of the border were so different and I said that it is because of the number of people. Bhutan had only 934000 people to manage compared to India's 1.1 billion. "It might seem like a very good reason, but it isnt", was her reply."Its the reason alright. Its just not a good enough excuse", observed her photographer. These were the opening statements while we dived back into the land of the thunder dragon.

It is very weird. The other day I was reading this article by someone from somewhere who said that the environment was not his primary problem as he was bothered with bigger issues like poverty etc. The only difference between Bhutan and India is that we have not yet realised that all the problems are interconnected. In fact, we would have had a more effective government only if politicians travelled more.