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.