Kala Derma (plate)

Childhood is a an adventurious journey for children. I had my share of adventures in Deothang Primary School. I loved playing and fooling around with friends at school. I would rush out of the classroom door at the first strike of the bell for want of playful fun. I just loved breaks. We had loads of fun with friends but at the same time we used to be in conflict quite frequently. Often, we fought over trivial reasons. For instance, over a marble game. Yes this is about one of those kid fights of those diddo days. And this fight was a big fight indeed for me because my opponent was a bit taller and older than me. He was known by the name Pamo (or Pawo). I don’t remember the exact reason of our conflict but I do remember the fight scene vividly. It happened during one of the lunch breaks at the school. Our friends stood in circle and witnessed the dual combat. We wrestled and tussled, throwing each other down on the ground. One moment I would be under him and next moment on top – rolling and tossing. Up sprang on our feet again and pounced likes little monkeys at each other. Our tongues were shrieking with ego. The callous words rebuked each other amidst fast thumping breaths. Furious and aggressive as we were, the battle went on until our shivering legs were barely rigging our whacked bodies. After a vigorous judo-like wrestling we came to a halt, but still holding firmly onto our odd positions. Funnily though, we decided to pause for a moment to regain our breaths. We were dog-tired although our ego would not calm down. No more words except heavy heart throbs and hot fuming breaths. Sweat was dripping into our eyes; tears welling inside our eye sockets; our faces blushing red-hot; the crowd was dead silent! Our fiery eyes met – uncertain and not as confident as before! We were evenly matched.

Suddenly, I made a move having regained a bit of energy. Pushing and swinging sideways and tripping his legs I threw him down on the ground with a big ‘thud’. I pressed him down with all my strength. He struggled and wriggled trying to overthrow me but in vain. He was soon tired. I got him pressed under for once with firm certainty and I was determined to maintain that status. I was dead sure of my triumph. But surprisingly, amidst the calming wheeze he said to me, “Could you excuse me for a while”? I asked him, ‘why?’ He answered, “I am not comfortable because my kayra (belt) has stripped loose and I need to tie it again”. I said, “Very well, there you go” and let him loose and see him on his feet. Next moment he caught me by surprise. To my utter astonishment he pounced on me like a vicious tiger. He grabbed me by my neck and swung me head down. I fell on the ground with his body weight over me and then he had me under his control. I struggled to free myself but to no avail. I knew he cheated on me and I did try to tell him but he was deaf to my words. Rather his sudden and brief victory made him wildly boastful and rebuked me with all his egoistic vocabularies. He was sworn to defeat me and to prove his superiority to our friends and above all to me. He proclaimed, “Don’t you dare me, kid! You can’t! You can’t challenge me, I told you!” (In Sharchop: Kham tsong may nan, naie sho ja marba yek pa mai. Shuet)! Just then, ‘tring, tring’ went the bell and our friends took off. I just happened to repulse strongly at once and was freed from his grip. We let go of ourselves and rushed after our friends at full speed.

After school and later in the evening I reported to Aum Barma back home. She was not happy seeing me with my dress gone haywire and soiled with dust and dirt. She grumbled, “Why is your dress dragging and sweeping filthy? What have you been up to at school? How did this happen? Have you had a fight?” ('Otha Bulenpa' was her famous scolding). She went on with her threatening questions and remarks. I silently stood there like a statue, and simply letting her words bypass me. As usual she helped me empty my big drape pockets. She took out the few ragged books, probably pencil and eraser, and then she put her hand for the plate. To her utter shock she pulled out an oddly flattened piece of grey aluminium instead of the plate (kala derma/kala kholom). As she grabbed and took it out of my big pocket, she exclaimed, “What the hell is this?” I was dead silent. She gazed at it closely and turned her eyes at me as she raised the crumbled plate close to my face, and furiously blurted at me, “Isn’t this your plate? Oh my God, what have you done to your plate! I gave you this brand new plate earlier this morning and look what have you done now! I just bought it yesterday and you crushed it today. How can we survive if you destroy one plate every single day? I don’t have money to buy another. Oh God, what shall I do with this notorious kid.” I was staring right over my nose at the plate that that almost turned into a pulp. I realized this had happened during the fight at school. But I did not have a single word of excuse. I got the hint of damage that I had done given the thin economy of the family. Indeed, money was as scarce as winter willows. We lived barely on three square meals a day. The stock used to be sent by mother from back home. Father hardly visited us and even if he did, little did he give. Aum Barma was a nun and she was only taking care of us on sheer goodwill. We were living in one of the cheapest single rooms that were ravaged by rats and bedbugs. Luckily, the proprietor was a kind lady by the name ‘Kapchi Ama’ who was good to us.  

      

That day, I think I gave her the saddest shock of her life. She was indeed unlike herself that day. She was thoroughly infuriated and there was nothing I could do but stand there, almost frozen. My elder sister silently observed the scene from the corner of the room. Apparently she was scared too and probably she knew about the fight and communicated to Aum Barma. Aum Barma was so mad that she almost hit me or perhaps she hit me. I cannot recall it but even if she had I think it was worth it. I did not understand then or perhaps I did but I do now definitely. I deserved all her scolding (or beating) because I broke her heart. To be precise, it was not the aluminium plate that I crushed that day but her heart. It would have cost her a few bugs but those few bugs were utterly rare and precious. And yes, she threatened me that I should go to bed without eating as a punishment. But when it was dinner time she put the food on my plate and coaxed me to eat and wipe my tears because I was crying. She also threatened that I go to school thereafter without a plate. Yet again the next morning she shoved in another kala derma (aluminium plate) inside my khanang (dress pocket) with a light warning remark, “if you crush it again…” Most happily, I took to my two little light feet knowing that all is well again. But I did not know one thing for sure and that was the fate of my new kala derma. Poor kala dermas!

Thine little angels falling - a letter to God!

Dear God,
I ask you, how can it be?
Do you see or don't you?
Or are you simply closing your eyes?
Are you simply turning your back on them?
Are you on a long long holiday?
Or is it your divine plan?
God, open your omni-senses, please!
Thine little angels are falling:
One every now and then;
Very many in a day or two;
We 've already missed the count:
Numbers still counting - every fall,
And woe my heart - breaks with each fall.
Alas, thine little darling angels -
Bombed in their mothers' breasts,
Shot in their fathers' arms,
Sweet tender minds and bodies
Thumped with weapons of war,
Frail organs mutilated with steel -
Suffocated with venomous dusts;
All the hell's pains and pangs
Breaking loose upon the little angels;
Orphaned forever and now,
Hungered to bleeding intestines,
Wandering soullessly in endless war fields
And succumbing to treacherous deaths.
The weeping and the crying souls
Seek for the lost angels - endlessly,
Dead or alive, all the same,
Dearests are always dearests!
You know better than I do...
I always thought so and I think so!
Because you are the almighty God!
Come on, do something dear God.
Are you there? I beg you, please!
No more war! No more killing!
Save thine little angels, thine own little angels!
Don't let them fall! Not anymore!
Because when they fall, you fall!
And I know you wouldn't, shouldn't and couldn't fall!
Because if you fall, we all fall.
Oh dear merciful and compassionate God
Please send some peace back home -
Ans please, please save thine falling angels.

Yours most sincerely,


KDG, Bhutan, Earth

NB: May Peace Prevail on Earth!
My sympathies and condolences to the children who lost their lives in the war torn zones. And to the children who are going through immense sufferings in these zones. My prayers!

Four Ngultrums

Reminiscing of this trip I muse with great delight. My first visit to the first city of my dreams with Re.4/- in my big dress pocket. In fact, Re.1/- only belonged to me. Re.3/- was meant for the rat poison shopping. Samdrup Jongkhar was the big city of my dreams and I was dying to be there. 

I was a young boy of eight or nine years studying in Class I in Deothang Primary School. I had a friend who was a few years older than me. He was my tenant’s son. He was by far much well off than me in all ways that I knew of. I was just myself – a good pauper boy with nothing but my shabby self. That’s why he nicknamed me ‘Ngongtorpai’ – not so funny as is supposed to be. Actually, I used to wear loose cotton short inside my dress (gho) which he happened to see while I was defecating in the bush below the road, and so he called me thus. By the way, his nickname was ‘Ganthi’.  Anyways, one day he said he was going to Samdrup Jongkhar and he asked me to accompany him to Samdrup Jongkhar. Without a thought I said ‘yes’. I was deeply delighted because I had never been there, only heard about it. He was visiting his foster parents living in Samdrup Jongkhar (if I remember correctly). 

In the evening, I asked my maternal aunt Aum Barma for permission to go to Samdrup Jongkhar. At first she was shocked to hear me say that and did not agree but she did when I told her that I was going with ‘Ganthi’. I jumped with joy. Saturday morning came and it was almost time to leave. Aum Barma called me and gave me four blue notes. It was the old Indian one rupee notes. Wow, I could not believe my eyes. I was so delighted that she gave me four rupees...FOUR. It was too many and too much for me indeed. Suddenly, she blurted, ‘not all are for your use’. I looked at her, little surprised but not saddened. She continued, ‘with one rupee buy some things to eat for yourself and buy rat poison with this three rupees and if you cannot find rat poison, bring back the money’.  I nodded quickly and took off. She muttered after me, ‘phidara khi yidka mamay na' (don’t forget the rat poison).  

Finally, we were there in the so-called city of Samjongkhar. I don’t remember how we traveled but we had arrived there. I was not delighted as expected. There was nothing much to see anyways except for few buildings and shops. We walked into his foster parent’s home. It was a scanty snacks shop located in lower market just beside the huge drainage and below Punjab Hotel. We enjoyed the snacks treat they served us with. My friend was gifted with few other things, probably some toys for him and some edibles for his family back home. Sadly, nothing for me but it was alright. Then I think I did my shopping – the rat poison. Most probably, I paid 1 rupee (or 2 rupees) for a packet of rat poison. But I bought nothing for myself. We said goodbye to Samdrup Jongkhar after a couple of hours. Don’t remember seeing anything worthwhile then.  Perhaps we didn't have enough time to explore.

Back home, I happily delivered the shopping good to Aum Barma – mission successful. More importantly and more happily, I handed back the balance three rupees to Aum Barma. Aum Barma took it with a broad smile commenting, ‘you are the best’. With that ‘shamu kam’ I would be happy throughout the day and night.  In fact, I was always happy to not spend …for the family. I would not spend a penny just like that because it was rare as gold dust for me and my family. And I would never ask for money from Aum Barma, my mother, father or anybody for that matter. As it is, I was happy without it. That is why Aum Barma would always shower me with her encouraging words, ‘Ata is such a good boy…he does not ask for money’. That’s why I think I learned to value every Ngultrum.

But I never forget my most memorable first trip to Samdrup Jongkhar with Re.4/- in my pocket and  back without spending it. Wow! So I say, if you can’t give to others, at least don’t take from others.  

Note: In memory of Aum Barma, my second mother. 

The first lesson of compassion

Once upon a time, when I was a little innocent boy of 6 to 7 years old, I used to have a saintly maternal aunt. She was known as Ani Barma (Nun Barma) because she was a Buddhist nun. We used to call her just Barma (middle). In fact, she was the one and only nun in all of dozens of villages that stretched on either sides of the Neyra Ama river in south eastern Bhutan. She never married but became a nun since her teenage years. She lived all alone in one of the mountain tops far above all the villages. Occasionally when her stock ran out she would come down to the village. Whenever she did, she lived with us since she was closest to my mother. She also loved us (the three siblings then) dearly. Sometimes, my sister and I would accompany her back to the mountains and stay over with her in her tiny hut for days. We would help her with firewood collection and vegetable gardening. At times, she would travel to other villages for alms begging and we would accompany her. One particular time, I was travelling with her on her yearly alms routine and she taught me something which I could not forget even today. As a child I neither quite took it seriously though, until recently.

We were walking on a narrow footpath that led to another village like all the footpaths did. I was in front and leading as always because I would hardly ever dare to walk behind for fear of some unknown creatures. As I was walking wantonly there was a stone on the middle of the path. I just rolled it down the slope carelessly. It went tumbling and rumbling through the thicket for quite some time until it stopped at some point though it was almost immediately invisible. I would look down with sheer awe and wonder, and derived great delight and pleasurable joy in the whole thing. Actually, I would do the same thing every time I saw a stone or a wooden block on the way. That day, that moment, she scolded me for doing that. She raised her bold voice and gave me a stern look that was almost threatening. I was quiet. Then she told me never to do such a thing in future. I nodded without uttering a word but deep inside I wondered why she had to get mad because of a useless stone. I thought there was nothing wrong in sending the lifeless stone rolling down. I did not see any logic in there. Of course, I had seen her a lot of times picking up the stones and gently placing on the ground, always above the foot path and never below. Whether big or small, she would always pick up the stones as gently as possible and place it on a stable ground. She treated the stones like a fragile egg. I found it absolutely foolish but could not comment on her because I was always scared of her. She was quite strict with us as much as she loved us.

Disappointed, I walked silently for quite a distance. Inside I was still pondering about the why-not of the fun of the stone rolling down. She was reciting mantra all along. Suddenly there was another stone right in the middle of the foot path but I just crossed over despite the strong temptations. Just as I was stopping to turn around to observe her, she called me by my name. She said, ‘every time you see something on the path, be it rock or wood or anything, carefully pick it up and place it on the safest spot above the path.’ So saying, she demonstrated it to me. I nodded in agreement again. Perked up by her amicable response, I mustered some courage to ask her why we had to do that and be gentle as she did. The answer she told me shocked me as a kid. She said there are minute insects living in and around the stone, underneath the stone and on the ground which is why we have to be slow and gentle. The rock is non-living but home to millions of invisible living beings, and so treat it with utmost care, she said. She added, ‘if you handle it roughly these insects will die.’ I went ‘oh I see’, believing outright to what she said. Amazed by the information I almost instantly committed myself to do like her, always. Innocent as I was I also asked her, is that why we should not roll down the stones? Absolutely, she said. She also told me how it was also dangerous for people, animals and insects living in the jungle below, which are obviously, unseen because of the jungle and the bushes. Hearing that, I was deeply sorry and filled with guilt for all the stones that I sent rolling before. I was imagining how the stones might have hit some heads, cracked some bones and smashed some tiny creatures as it went rolling. I even asked her to confirm if many would be death and obviously the answer was ‘yes.’ Filled with remorse and empathy I promised myself and to her that I will never push another stone down the slope.

At this point of time, after about 3 decades, I am not sure if I have been living this promise or not. I think I have but I might have forgotten at times I fear. But I do remember another time wherein I definitely lived up to my own promise. It was in Nganglam School. I was a teenager by then and studying in class seven. We had to cross a narrow valley of forest with a stream to get to the school and back to the hostel. Since the valley was a dark jungle it had high street lights along the path. These street lights used to be targets of destruction for some of my friends. They would pick a stone and fling it at the street lights. If they saw birds on trees, they would just go crazy. If they saw rocks and boulders perched on the roadside or the footpaths, they would tumble it down without any hesitation. But I held it back with ease. Thanks to my Barma who taught me the value of life, of manners and of compassion. And of course, this seemingly insignificant act could not be recognized in a big way as it is, by me due to my ignorance. It is only due to my spiritual friend who, upon sharing this story to him, told me that it was simply a genuine lesson of compassion.

(In fond memory of Barma – The Nun)   

The story of a local hero – the Bodhisattva Gomchen

No long ago, in a remote village of Khoyar in eastern Bhutan there lived an old Gomchen (lay Buddhist practitioner) popularly known as “Phajo” because he led all the religious functions and the funeral rites. In particular, no funeral ritual would take place without him presiding over. There were two reasons for this: firstly, no other Gomchens were qualified to execute the job; secondly, the Gomchens refused to take up this specific task as it was believed to burden them in their present lives as well as after death. But Phajo was a brave heart and a compassionate person owing to which he wholeheartedly shouldered multiple responsibilities for the good of the society. He was also the local astrologer (Tsip) and to top it, he was conferred the head teacher (Tshowa Lopen) title by a high lama from Wamrong since he was supposedly the most learned, the most experienced and the senior most in the remote region. As such, the highest seat was always reserved for him during religious and spiritual activities irrespective of whether it was a minor ritual or a major ceremony. He was a very highly respected figure not only in his own society but in the whole region. In fact, he was the most important person in the whole region.

Indeed, time was such that no one person was wanted more than him. He was the most sought after man in this part of the world and that made him the busiest man too. People sought him in good times and bad but mostly during sickness and death. He did not have any time for himself and his family because all his time was dedicated to the local communities. He hardly had any time to eat or sleep or idle away at his home sweet home. Indeed, it was his way of life whether he liked it or not. He had no choice but given his compassionate nature he loved his job. Anytime of the day, anybody could just knock on his door or show up in the field or follow him to the meadows or mountains to get his religious and spiritual services. Sometimes, people woke him up in the middle of the night or before dawn for want of his crucial services. Normally people would visit him at such odd hours with emergency cases like someone is suddenly ill, dying or dead. But there are no sufferings that he has not seen or attended to in his life and there is not a single household wherein he has not serviced. He knew it best and people knew him well. The best thing about him was that these things never bothered or irritated him. Instead, he welcomed his clients at any time and any place without the slightest disregard. He was such a cool person and maintained his coolness throughout. And he hadn’t the concept of thinking or saying “no” to anyone. He would never refuse anyone the help required especially concerning the religious, spiritual and ritualistic matters in which he was a master.

Indeed, he was so kind hearted that he would say “yes” instantly without the slightest hesitation. Normally, he would first check the astrological calendar of the sick person to find the causes and of course the possible remedies or solutions. He would then gather his essential stuffs and take off to the sick person’s place escorted by the client. If he was up to something personal he would leave it then and there and head for the public service. In case he was already engaged with some clients he would finish the task at hand and then attend to the requests later. Sometimes, two or more people from different villages would be there for him at the same time. During such times he would use his experience and skills to work out the best possible ways to answer all their requests and not to disregard any one of it. Basically, he would consider the convenience of the clients and most particularly the seriousness and urgency of the matters. For instance, he would choose to attend to the most critical patient first and then the next in line. Another good thing about him was that he never chose between rich and poor, neither between his own people and people from other villages, nor between good and bad people. In his opinion, everyone who came to him for help was same because all of them were suffering. And he believed that it was his sacred duty to serve them to his best of abilities as his forefathers had done so. Another good thing about him was that he offered his services for almost free. In fact, he would not bother about payment especially from the poor lot. He wouldn’t either take payment from rich except when the hosts force him to take little something on the basis of gaining merit for the giver.

Day and night he would be running from one house to another, one village to another, performing one ritual or more, tirelessly. The services he offered varied from client to client depending on the needs. Sometimes, he would be called to perform annual religious ceremonies for celebrations while at other times it would be for the sicknesses and deaths. He would perform almost all kinds of rituals ranging from brief recitation of tantric mantras to very long rituals and ceremonies with elaborate decorations and offerings. Some rituals would last for many days and many nights. Normally during bigger and longer rituals he would be accompanied by a team of lay monks. Occasionally, he would perform specific rituals exclusively late at night assisted by a few followers or none at all. The late night rituals are normally executed when suggested by the horoscopic readings based on the patient’s birth signs. It involves cooking flour into dough and molding it into shapes of deities or demons and then recitation of specific sutras and making certain offerings. The purpose of these powerful rituals is mainly to drive away the evil spirits or to counter the negative forces that cause the sicknesses or diseases. At times, he would perform two or three such rituals for different clients in different places which left him with no time to sleep or rest. At the end of the ritual, he would just spell out his signature line “Don’t worry, you will be alright. Pray to the triple gem and recite mantra,” as always. Surprisingly, he maintained his reputation of having his clients recovered after the "Bokpi Phansa” or “Binang Phansa” rituals. Of course, some might have survived while some made remarkable recoveries but whatever may be the case, he was all people had as their immediate hopes. For some reason, it was believed that the people’s power of faith and devotion placed on him and his wholesome goodwill and commitment resulted in magical recoveries more than the rituals. 

With the passage of time, he grew older but he still carried on his noble duties as best as he could. At close to 80 years or so he became terribly ill. His family tried to persuade him to be taken to a good hospital but he refused saying that he wanted to die at home. But the village folks wouldn’t leave him at peace even at such a hard time. He still had to continue performing the religious activities especially the funerary rites despite his poor health. People would carry him on their backs and put him on the seat to initiate and conduct the ceremonies and funeral proceedings. He would silently and secretly bear the unbearable pain inside him. He would just close his eyes and doze off for some time only to spring back to full consciousness and be on the same page as others, surprisingly. When the agony of pain gripped him he would curl down on his seat and stay still until the pain subsided. Sometimes, he would just close his eyes and mediate. He was suffering terribly but he made it look like nothing mattered to him. Perhaps, it didn’t matter to him at all. After completion of the funerary services he would be carried back to his home to rest but not for long as others would soon come and pick him up for some other service.    

Eventually, his folks forcefully took him to Samdrup Jongkhar hospital but there was no sign of recovery. Later he was referred to Mongar Referral hospital where he succumbed to death. It was said that he gave up his breath upon the advice of his blood son Daw Penjor and his disciple who was with him. His children and grand children came together from far off places to pay their deepest respects and gave him a much deserved and befitting cremation in Rangjuing. Back in the village, the people still hoped for his return not knowing that he was no more. 

Eventually when the news reached his village the hopes of many people were shattered.  It broke their hearts. What would the people do now that their Phajo was gone? Who do they turn to when in times of trouble? They realized more than ever that their Phajo was everything to them and his loss was irreplaceable. He was not a doctor but more than a doctor. He was not a shaman but more than a shaman. He was not a lama but more than a lama. He was simply a Gomchen – lay practitioner but a symbol of loving kindness, a true Boddhisattva Gomchen. He was their true local hero.

Mother's mantra

Everyone who have had the fortune of a childhood with his/her mother would have many endearing moments to reminisce. The mother's endless love for her child and vice-versa is, I believe, made of the most undefinably dearest moments, which is almost divine and magical. As we grow and age, some moments vanish wihtout a trace while others remain imprinted deep down the memory lane. I have one such unforgetable incident as a child with my dearest mother.

I might have been around three or four years old back then. Being the youngest then (before my brother came forth) I think I enjoyed the priveladge of being the closest to my mother. Even as I was on my feet, though naked as any village kid, I would follow her whereever she went, 'like a tail', as Bhutanese saying goes. I bet this is the time when a child gets as sticky as anything can be to his/her mother. In other words, as anybody can imagine, a child at this age can hardly be at ease in the absence of his/her mother's sight. In fact, this must be the universal case with all mothers and child (if not at least in Bhutan). In this case of mine, it is even more endearing owing to the fact that there was no father in the house. My father existed in name but in person he was an unseen stranger who lived in far away places with his new-found loves and families. Abandoned by a husaband and a father, my and me lived in a fairly big but empty traditional house in the mountains. By then, my elder sister had already been taken to a school in another faroff district. As I can imagine, it must have been a distantly lonesome life that my mother lived through except for the occassional company of her young children. And yes, I still rememer we used to live in constant fear of something or the other.

One afternoon, my mother was working in our field. Most probably, she was harvesting buck wheat on the slopy side of the field, some hundred yards away from our house. I was playing by her side with soil, stones, twigs and whatever was available on ground. We were silently busy in our own littlest worlds - she in her work and myself in my own play. Suddenly, a loud and piercing thunder jolted our senses. In fact it was a huge successession of thunder gushing from one end to the other end of the sky. It was so loud that the whole ground underneath us appeared to shake. Awe struck, I paused, looked up and then looked at her. She looked up and briefly scanned the sky. The sky was heavely clouded. It was dark and gloomy. She resumed her work and as she did, it was followed by a simultaneous recitation of 'Vajra Guru Mantra.' Her tone was unusually bold, heavy and genuine, with a unique rythem. I could not undertsand what it meant at that time but one thing was sure. It brewed trouble, worry and fear. Curious as I was, and little terrified, I asked my mother what it was (that exploded)? Pausing in between her mantra my mother replied to me saying, 'it's a dragon roaring.' But her hands never stopped working rather her hands becme faster. Perhaps she was trying to finish bit more of the job. She began reciting her mantra again but I interrupted her again with my foolish questions, 'what is a dragon, mother?' She said, 'it's a giant creature that lives in the sky'. 'Have you seen one?' 'No, never,' she said. I went on, 'how come we cannot see it, mother?' She said, 'we cannot see it because it lives beyond the clouds, far away.' 'I see!' I nodded my head although still bewildered a bit. As the dragon roared again, the ground shuddered again. As I observed her, she was looking up to the fast approaching dark clouds. Her hands were going faster and faster. Her mantra maintained the rythem but it got louder and bolder. And then there was one big crashing thunder with a flash of lightening splitting the firmament into two. Terrified as I was, I thought the sky really cracked bad that day. That very moment, my mother dropped everything, picked me up by her arms and rushed for our home. Her mantra now hastened almost as fast as her feet. Just before we reached the shelter of home we met with the downpour. Luckly we made it though we were soaked a bit. And a thought went through my mind, 'wow', a dragon is so powerful that it can really tear apart the sky and make it leak heavy.' My imagination of a dragon went wild - imagining all the possibly fearful and deadly faces of a dragon.

Well, that was one lesson I learned which changed with my modern education. I mean, we now know that there is no dragon roaring and cutting open the bottom of the sky and pours rain as a result. At least, science has taught us that though I still wonder sometimes avout dragons. But more importantly, it is not the supposedly powerful work of dragon but the simple power of a woman with a mantra. I like to call it, 'my mother's mantra' because this has been one of the earliest lessons in my life and learned from my own mother. The way she recited the mantra was so intensely devotional that I, even as a young child felt it quite strongly in my heart. I can vividly remember that. The tone and the rythem - mysteriously unique. In fact, it got imprinted in my memory so permanently that I could never forget it, even if I want to. When I recall the incident now and analyse it with my little knowledge on dharma, I can tell that, a mantra if recited with such pure devotion, with such longing pitch and cadence, no Guru would remain unheard. Or rather any Guru would appear in an instant to help you with the problem. It sounded so powerfully demanding and fulfilling. Even as a young child.

It may be a case of blind faith to certain extent as she hardly knew the literal meaning of the mantra. Nonetheless, her faith in the mantra and her belief in Guru Rinpoche was all she needed to face and overcome the hurdles in her life. That was her ultimate refuge and strength which was unshakable, and still remains so. That is why, even today her best advise to us, her children, is that, not to forget to recite the mantra. She always says, 'Baza Guru Drang Cho Na' or 'Mani Drang Cho Na', particularly when we are on the move. As and when you walk out of your door, she will come shouting, 'do not forget to recite the mantra on the way.' I alwasys respond half heartedly, 'yaya I  will', but the moment later I find myself in my own world. So not like her but I am beginning to practice it.

Pragmatically, the mantra might not have stopped the thunder, lightening and rain but the trust, faith and devotion in it can save one from those impending troubles. In deed, as we Buddhists believe so, the mantra recitation is not only capable of saving one from just these three  (thunder, lightening and rain) but all kinds of perils, present and future. Therefore, I would like to thank my dearest mother for this invaluable lesson of life. And pray that a mother like you should be there for all sentient beings. A mother like you, as unique as you are. I know of course, every mother is great. Salute to all mother of the universe. I love you but I fear I can ever repay you for this little-big lesson, forget about others. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Broken wisdom ii

Who am I? Who are you? Who is who? I have a name. You have a name. We all have a name. One  each or more. Some real, some fake. By names we are known. That's certain. But what's a name? Just a label may be. A sound or enery. Or simply a word. To me, its nought but a game. Used like in hide and seek. That we play to win. But we loose or win. Or draw sometimes. You won't agree? I don't mind. Because time 'll tell. Just wait and see. It won't be long. We w'd be gone. Just like the goners before. Time brings us. Time takes us. Nothing stays the same. Neither name nor fame. Life is a game. Change is the rule. Follow it or quit. It is tough. It is rough. But it's worth a play. Play good or bad, play real. Never fake. Play not with brain but with heart. B,cause brain knows no feeling. Only the heart does. You know? We are bound togehter by our hearts. Not by our brains. So, when time comes, it's better to go smiling. Rather than weeping. Intelligence can pass science and math exams but not life's test. Knowledge can buy money. Money can buy beau girl/boy friends, big houses and gadgets. A lots indeed. Money is power. Yes, right. But it's not all powerful. There are many things money can't buy. Money can't buy love. Sure you know this. More. Money can't buy life. Money can't buy a piece of mind. Forget about happiness. Money can't buy family, parents and siblings. Friends? I don't know. May be or may be not be. But I 'd say no. B'cause true friends stick around you forever. Even when you are penniless.

Well, let me get back on track before I go too far. Let me not astray. Actually, that's the whole point here. That's what I am trying to tell. That's, let's not go astray. Let us not be slaves of our names. Let's not be defined by our names. Let's not just be identified with it. I say, let's rise above our names. We can if we want. Let's be defined by our way of life. Let's be identified with our deeds instead. Of course, I mean by being a good human being. By good I mean, good to self, good to others and good to the world. To be more specific, be kind, loving and caring.  Everybody needs it. In fact, more than money. More than anything. More than ever. And by doing that or by giving that you give the best and the most. When you do that you don't need a name. I don't know what one would be known as then. Perhaps, a great person. If not, at least a good/kind person. But one thing I am absolutely sure. One will be carrying enough tickets to pass through the gates of karma. Besides, if you want to be remembered a bit longer on earth, it's never because of the name rather because of how well you lived you life. Not so much for self but more so for others. I believe so.

The Citizen

What does the word citizen mean? The dictionary meaning of the word citizen is ‘a person who has the legal right to belong to a particular country.’ If we go by the above statement we are undoubtedly the bona fide citizens of the kingdom of Bhutan. Yes, we are all citizens of Bhutan because we are born here and we live here in this country. This single fact makes us true Bhutanese. Our citizenship identity cards authenticate our citizenship.

On the contrary, hardly anybody knows or care to know what a true citizen means and what it takes to be one. As a matter of fact, it is a silently overstated cliché to us, the Bhutanese. Almost everybody takes it for granted. It is thought to be everybody’s birthright and enjoys it to the fullest but with little or no realization and obviously without gratitude. Of course, it is a birthright in a way but the birthright owes its existence to our past leaders and forefathers. It is a pity that we cannot feel its everyday essence. To add to that, it does not have a tangible face value for all of us, that is, to see, touch and to feel it. We get it for free – not having to pay a *chetrum. And we are used to not valuing things that come easily to us. That is why, we do not give due importance to our own citizenship. Besides, it is our forerunners who paid the price with their dear lives which is why we do not know its price. Even if we do, we do not care. They experienced the pain first and then the pleasure of citizenship but we experience only the pleasure. That makes it our greatest boon and the rarest legacy of our forefathers. So, it surely comes with a price meaning it is not free and is intangible. It has value but cannot be measured. It is indefinitely infinite. It is priceless. Its value is like that of the sun that brightens our land everyday. Its value is like the earth that causes all lives, air that keeps our lungs pumping, water that runs in our blood veins, and fire that warms our very being. Its value is our very existence as Bhutanese and as human beings.

Further, it does not mean that being a citizen is enough to be a citizen. A citizen has sacred duties to perform, roles and responsibilities to shoulder. Citizenship does not mean just being born and living in a particular country. It is more than being born and living in a country. It is more than possessing a citizenship identity card. It is much more than being a civil servant working eight hours a day and drawing salaries at the end of the month. Perhaps the changing times have altered the mindset of the people. The modernization has made our minds forget our values. We seem to have forgotten the principle saying “having drunk the water of the country one must abide by the laws of the country.” It seems to become more difficult every passing year to adhere to our old beliefs and old ways. It seems a lot easier to jump to new beliefs and adopt new ways. Unlike the past, it is easier for us to speak in outright manner but very reluctant to perform it. Unlike our ancestors, it is easier for us to make promises but difficult to keep it. Today, almost anybody and everybody says, ‘I love my motherland and I can die for my fatherland’ but nobody (but just a handful) loves ones motherland quite as much and is ready to die for ones fatherland. Everyone is a brave patriot in times of peace but everybody is a selfish coward in times of war (except a handful). If anyone thinks this wrong or offensive, just recall the December 2003 national operation against the Indian insurgents. Our brave king fought the world’s deadliest militants with just a handful of soldiers. Fortunately for Bhutan, the militants were thrashed out and our national sovereignty and identity was reinstated. Indeed, we are living today as proud Bhutanese because of our beloved king and our brothers who stood up against terrorism and defended our country. They were the real sons of soil, the true citizens of Bhutan - Drukpas through and through. I am certain that we have not forgotten it because it is too fresh an incident to be forgotten easily by our minds. Besides, it was the most modern and a historical war of all wars ever fought by Bhutanese for Bhutanese.  

In fact, it was the greatest call of duty in the 21^st century after many decades of peace and prosperity but only one percent of the so-called citizens stood up by the king and 99 percent did not stir from their peaceful dreams. This in my opinion is not a true citizen’s character rather it is a character no less than that of a traitor. In all clear conscience, a true citizen will not sit and watch nor stand silently still nor still hide behind closed doors when called for national emergency and let its country fall in front of ones eyes. Instead, a true citizen will not even think twice to attend to the national duty such as that and shall fight till death to defend her/his fatherland. We as Bhutanese citizens have failed in our duties - we failed to serve the *Tsa-wa-sum. We (many of us) failed to serve our king, we failed to serve our country and we failed to serve our fellow countrymen. We failed in 2003. 

Some might argue that they also served their country by way of praying, reciting mantras and burning butter lamps to the Gods and the Guardian Deities. It does help and might have helped a lot during the operation but I must say that the country needed more people in the battlefield than in temples or homes. The country had enough monks, nuns, senior citizens and young students to pray and make offerings.

We must remember with our hearts that our beloved Drukgyal Zhipa has never failed us, not even once. He was there for us since 1972 and he has been there for us till now and certainly he will be there for us hereafter. He was there for us everyday, in good times and bad. He never turned his back on us, never. He did not fail us as a king. He did not fail us as a citizen. He performed his duties as a king well. He performed his duties as a citizen well. He has been the first and the foremost to stand up for his country whenever his country and his people needed. He has always been our loving father, our caring brother and a true friend, and more so as our supreme protector.

I for one know this much and can say this much that he is the greatest leader, the best teacher and the truest citizen of Bhutan. He is the greatest leader because he rules his country and his people with absolute goodness that the country is continuously developing and the people are happier everyday. He works hard everyday to ensure continuity of peace, prosperity and sovereignty for his people. He carefully studies the needs of the country and makes sure that every need whether big or small is answered. He ensures the overall wellbeing of his subjects with his noble set up of good governance system. Most of all, he has led us on the road to democracy which no monarch has ever done in the history of the world. Besides, he has opened a door to greater peace and happiness for the Bhutanese people with his unique concept of Gross National Happiness (GNH) which not even the wisest man in the history of mankind might not have thought of.

He is the best teacher because he teaches us and shows us the good ways to bettering the nation and the lives of his subjects. Like Buddha, he teaches us to follow middle path in all things that we do. He teaches us to be good citizens and shows us how to serve the nation with honesty and dedication. He teaches us to be patriots and shows us how to answer the call of duty. He teaches us to not to be corrupt and shows us how to volunteer for good movements. He teaches us to be good human beings and shows us real examples.

He is the most ideal citizen because he has never asked his country for anything but instead he has always done everything he could and given everything he has to his country and people. He attends to all his duties, big or small, and most willingly. Indeed, he lives his life absolutely for his people and his country. Nothing in the whole of the universe can come between him and his duty. His duty comes before his life. That, he believes and says is the substance of his life. He said once, “What is the use of a king if it is not for his people.” Thus, he is aptly comparable to God and his creations: God who loves his creation dearly.

I, as a citizen of Bhutan wish to confess to my fellow citizens that I had once failed in my duty just as many others have. Like others, I was too busy relishing peace and prosperity at home while duty called. I had turned my back on my country when needed the most. Honestly, I did wake up to the call of the duty but it was too late. Perhaps, this might seem like an excuse and it may be a lame excuse with most of us. What I mean is that we have failed once. We failed to attend to the most important duty as a citizen to the *Tsa-wa-sum. We may never get an opportunity to redeem ourselves because it is already a history. Nonetheless and more importantly, we have other equally significant duties to perform, now and in future. So let us rededicate ourselves for our future duties and not fail again as Bhutanese. It only takes an inner urge to do it. It is time that we ask ourselves whether we are failing in our duties or living up to it as a citizen of Bhutan. With the historical transition of monarchy to democracy in 2008, we the Bhutanese have a moral responsibility to make it successful. Since it is aspired and articulated by our most beloved Drukgyal Zhipa for the best interest of the people of Bhutan, we cannot afford to let his noble vision in vain. We as the citizens of Bhutan have a sacred duty of exercising the voting right given to us and choose the right leader or party. Choosing the right leader or party means choosing the right government for (we) the people of Bhutan. Casting vote is our individual duty. Fighting corruption is our individual duty. Serving *Tsa-wa-sum is our individual duty. So let us think as citizens, act as citizens and be real citizens. If we are true citizens, we should, would and could vote for the right leader or party. Let us just ask ourselves, ‘are we true citizens?’

Karma D. Gyeltshen @2008

DYS, THIMPHU

17619322/ 325084

Broken wisdom

I would like to call this a broken wisdom. Broken, because it's a collection of some broken thoughts.  Besides, my English is quite expected to be not in good order because of scanty past writing. This is my first real blog writing. And wisdom, because whatever I write comes from years of my personal experience. Yet I know it may not be worth a wisdom. Never mind.

So I tell myself, 'better be ready for the bumps, boy.' Yes life is full of errors. Just learning to tackle each in my own crazy little ways. Sometime it succeeds, sometime it doesn't but why care. Who cares actually. Life goes on and so you must. Go with the flow...that's how I encourage my spirit. This, I learned the hard way and so it's difficult to forget. I think so! I remember where I tried swimming against the current and it was painstakingly impossible. It really was and it really is. I can bet on that. You might have gone through such experiences too. I bet. Or may be not. Anyways, you know what? It's the science of life. To be more specific, you can call it biology. But not mathematics please.  There is no calculation what so ever. You can be logical but not calculative. Actually, I don't even know the difference between math and logic. So much for my education. What can you say about my wisdom. That's the irony of life, my life. Funny!

Think what you may. Say what you may. Do what you may. But I love this life. I am happy. It's so bad not to be happy. Bad I mean, not sad! It's so impossible not to be joyful. There is so much in life than you can imagine. So much that a single lifetime is too little to explore the goodness glory of the world. So much that all the languages of the world cannot stand a chance of just description. So much so. Yes of course I cry sometimes. Both with tears and without. I even curse people, time, life, self and others. I try not to but it happens, you see. Old habits die hard. But my point is, there is treasure in these tear drops. There is priceless value in these water drops. It's the home of golden moments. Its magic and miracle. How sad we don't see it, feel it or value it. If you notice, it is born of great emotions.  Emotions of happiness and sadness which is the true face of life. Or the body of life. Two togehter makes one. We are made of that. Really, I mean it. Yet we don't realize that. We tend to detest tears, but why? I just wonder. Look carefully and you will see that there is nothing more beautiful than a tear drop. It is more beautiful than the Zen garden or the coral reef or the mount everest. Even more beautiful than the most beautiful lover. How romantic! So, come my dearest friends let us live life. Let us explore life. Let us seek some adventure...real adventure. But I warn you: no expectations. Not even a single expectation please. Please!

A simple inspiration letter to younger brother

Thursday, April 30, 2009

My Dearest Dawa,

Let me begin by asking how you are doing? I can only hope that this letter will find you in the best of health and happiness. Here in Thimphu, both of us are doing just fine. I have heard from Ana last week and they are all fine in Punakha. Ama is fine as well. I am also certain that Ata Sangay and Mathang Pema are fine in Kanglung. I also mailed to Ata Dorji and he is doing very well in all regards. Thanks to the blessings of Kenchosum, harmony of Tsawasum and love of our parents. Oh…..for your information Ata Dorji has finished his final examination and he said it went well. He has been relieved from his college but he said he would stay back in India until the result is out. I am very happy for him.

Now let me come to the point straight away. I am sure you know why I am writing to you.  Actually I wanted to write to you much earlier but due to my busy work schedule I couldn’t. I beg your pardon for that. Well I have been telling you often times how important this present stage of your life is particularly being in 12^th grade. You also do know very well that you are standing on a pivotal point of your life now. You know that this year, year 2009, will decide what you will be and where you will be in your future. This means your academic performance in class 12 will basically determine your career. This is one of the most important points in your life but the most important in your educational life. If you perform well in class 12, you are headed for further education which means you are looking at bright and happy future. On the contrary, if you don’t do well in class 12, it might be the end of your education and worse is you are looking at a dark and gloomy future. So my dearest brother, the dice is in your hand. It is how you cast it. We are always by your side but remember “you are the architect of your own future/life”.  If you want to be a doctor, it is you who can make yourself a doctor and not your teacher or parents or the government. If you want to be a scientist, only you can make yourself a scientist. If you want to be an engineer, only you can make yourself an engineer. Remember, teachers can only guide you and help you to achieve your dreams but they cannot make you what you want to be. It is as the saying goes, “you can take a horse to the pond but can not make it drink.”  

My dear brother, I am not ordering you to do something for me or for our mother or for anyone for that matter. In fact, we are not asking you to be successful for us but it is for yourself, your own good. We know what life is like and what it takes to stand up as a man in these modern times. I for one have not only seen it but lived through and you bet life is not easy. You too have seen with your own eyes how the level of education affects the quality and type of lifestyles people lead. Therefore, having known the truth and seen things I am hoping that you would have realized why you should study hard and become successful in life.

There are so many things I want to tell you but I will tell you just one more thing today and that is about now or never. I can tell you for sure that I regret for not pursuing my higher studies during the opportune time. It is not that I was not given a chance but it is that I had forsaken the chance due to my short sightedness. Now I wish to do it but it is not possible. Firstly, chance is so rare for my qualification and secondly I have grown older whereby I do not qualify because of age restriction, and thirdly I have to work and earn and so I can not afford time. There is no way I can buy time or opportunity. It is as rare as water in desert. Thus, you must understand that this is your golden chance which you must grab it and make the best of it. You must also keep in mind that if you let it go now, it might never come back to you. My boy, opportunity knocks only once! My brother, it is now or never!

I also had a look at your last year’s mark sheets and I was really disappointed in you. It is far from anybody’s satisfaction. On the average I was hoping at least in seventy’s line but I was shocked to see your marks in 40s and 50s line except for Dzongkha. It is unlike your class 10 result which was quite good. If you remember, I told you that you must do much better in class 12. Perhaps you must have forgotten it. Nonetheless, I am reminding you now and am ringing a bell into your ears that it is high time to wake up to the reality. It is high time you realize that class 12 examination is not far away. It is already May, almost half way through the year and December will be here even before you realize it. PB Shelly said, “If winter is here can spring be far behind.” Likewise, if May is here can December be far behind? Remember, time really flies! So forget about everything and focus your whole attention to studies from now until class 12 exams are over. I tell you it is not too late to start now BUT if you do not start now it might be too late. Waste no more time on other things and put all your efforts into studies. Other things can wait but not studies. If you do this, I bet you will never regret it.

Lastly, Ama, Ana, Ata Sangaya and Ata Dorji, all of us are hopeful that you will do your best and come out with colourful results. At the same time we are really concerned about your performance this year. We are concerned because you are the youngest in the family and we don’t want to see you do badly and ruin your future. We are hopeful because you are a good boy and you proved us in class 10 that you can do. Above all we know that we can count on you as a responsible person and that you will never let us down.

Our prayers and good wishes are always with you. We love you.

On behalf of our uniquely beautiful family.

Ata Karma D. Gyeltshen

DYS, MoE, Thimphu