The round faced monk with the smiling eyes opened the battered tin so I could deposit my offering of 100 Ngultrum. He took out the worn dice and via the translation of our guide Neten, he encouraged me to throw the dice onto the pile of dirty notes. A total of 8. The two men conversed a little, then Neten said ‘throw again’ and it was 12. The monk nodded and Neten said ‘that is auspicious.’ I asked a little more about the process and was told that you get three rolls of the dice, basically until you throw an auspicious number. So I asked for another go but got the original 8 again. Oh well. And I never really did find out in what way the 12 was auspicious.
Then it was Neten’s turn. He put his offering into the tin, held the dice tightly in his hand, then clutched them to his forehead, eyes closed. First throw was 14. Second throw was 14 with a different configuration. Third throw was 14 in another configuration altogether. Tim and I were looking at each other with wide eyes that said ‘that’s pretty amazing’.
Soon after we left the solitary monk who was there to meditate and mind the monastery and we walked back down the hill.
‘So 14 was auspicious?’ I asked.
‘Yes, very,’ said Neten. ‘It is the number special to the monastery we visited yesterday.’
This was a particularly magical walk through a mist covered rhododendron forest that was dripping in moss and tree ferns and sprouting funghi everywhere. In his typically reticent way, it wasn’t until we were actually at the top, after a muddy two hour walk, that Neten told us how important this small temple was and how meaningful it was for him to visit it.
‘And you rolled 14 three times in a row, and it is linked to yesterday’s temple. Doesn’t that all make it extra auspicious?’ I was looking for amazement, joy, something apart from Neten’s serene pragmatism. He just nodded and smiled, mainly to appease me I think.
This says everything to me about Buddhism in Bhutan, in my extremely short experience. Buddhism is all pervasive, infusing every part of life and dripping with ritual, fantastical myths and magic. Entire communities turn out for days at a time for major festivals. The times when Neten became truly animated and passionate were when he was telling us either about his religion or about Bhutan’s royal family.
And yet, at the same time there is such a casualness, a matter-of-factness about how people in Bhutan practice their religion.
We were at a festival in Gangtey, arriving just in time to see the final two dances and the procession of the golden statue of the Guru Rinpoche, who had first brought Buddhism to Bhutan. At this point everyone there began clamouring into a long line for a blessing from underneath the statue’s hand.
All the important monks were lined up on a platform, some still wearing the masks. One of the young men looked very impressive and impassive, until he blew a big bubble from the gum he was chewing.
As a tourist in Bhutan you visit a LOT of temples, monasteries and dzhongs, but the walk to the Tigers Nest monastery is especially spectacular, holy and important. We were joking with Neten that Bhutanese Immigration on the way out of the country would mainly be checking to see if all tourists had made the pilgrimage to Tigers Nest. ‘You haven’t? Back you go and when you are done, THEN you can leave the country.’
We joined the other pilgrims – the local family groups comprising three generations, the loud Indian women in pastel plastic ponchos, the groups of tourists in adventure wear – to walk for a couple of hours through the mud, up a steep hill to where the monastery clings to the side of the mountain. We walked in and out of the cloud and mist which swirled around the mountainside, the dense forest and the monastery itself. Which made the sounds of the monks chanting from up in the monastery even more magical.
Mountains and monasteries, monasteries and mountains.
