Up, up and ahead!
A rocky cliff with a vertical drop of several thousand feet. A difficult, steep, slippery track that asks you to tread cautiously for two hours from the base to reach it (the easiest route available). Thick forest all around. A monastery perched atop and at the edge of the cliff, overlooking a majestic, gurgling waterfall – an architectural wonder not because of its design but because of the superhuman efforts that would’ve taken to build it. The most sacred place for all the believers in Bhutan. And, that’s the place I trekked to the last weekend.
Taktsang Lakhang – Meaning the ‘Tiger’s Nest’ – is the most sacred shrine of the believers in Bhutan. Like most holy places in India, this too is rather inaccessible and adds flesh to the theory of the Gods being pricey as ever! I find no reason otherwise for the harbinger of Buddhism – Guru Padmasambhava (Guru Rimpoche in Bhutanese) - into Bhutan to land in Taktsang on a flying tiger (now, hold your horses of disbelief) and the tiger was none other than one of his consorts (Gawd, mounting wasn’t ever this imaginative) – to slay a demon! As though this wasn’t enough the place boasts of a cave where the previous head of the religion in Bhutan was born – I wonder what made this woman to climb all the way up to give birth! Many more myths abound (talking statues, holy waters et al) but I’d not go into them and let everyone fly away. One isn’t a myth though – that Guru Padmasambhava was a Punjabi munda! I only wish he’d brought the blistering pace of Bhangra along with him (watching the slow-motioned dances of Bhutan would make you almost believe that it’s your eyes that are slow while the world’s proceeding at the regular speed)!
So, the entire organisation went to trek – including the reluctant head of the organisation (no, he’s not reluctant to be the Head but reluctant to climb). Most women declined to stand behind their successful (don’t ask me, ‘in what? ‘how?’ ‘where? Questions) husbands in this venture but for the most devoted (or the suspicious)!
Since army officers were there, could their servants be far behind? No, just a step or so! So, we had a retinue to hold the high-and-mighty ones’ bags, umbrellas (!!), water jugs, toffees, biscuits, knickknacks, juices and what-have-you! Every now and then the pot-bellied but much-adorned officer would tire and sweat and the bearer would humbly run with his head (and the torso) properly bowed with a glass water on a tray (and serve it without fail, with one arm behind him)! And, there was no scarcity of a tiring officer (or his wife, in some cases)! The children had set a scorching pace in climbing (and a few fit and young officers and one father ran behind them to keep them from harm’s way – rather keep the children from doing any harm to the harms that’d scare others). I was left with two weaker young ones – those that tired physically but willing still to run! I carried them on my back every now and then – more to prove that I was the FITTEST to the rest of the crowd – and marched ahead of others! Ah! How happy was my ego when everyone noticed and made appreciative noises, snide asides and jealous sighs! Of course I was wearing a singlet trying to show off my non-existent bulges of biceps and triceps too!
It took the fit and the children less than two hours to reach the monastery but the rest of the crowd trickled in – panting and cursing. A few didn’t make it to the top – found it too steep for their discomfort!
I ensured whenever we stopped while climbing (and during the snack-break after the visit to the monastery) I fed all around me biscuits that were lying at home without being consumed. Made out of sea-weed, they were as edible as hay and husk together. I was very happy and relieved when the entire cover got over – for good measure I’d tell everyone that they’re energisers and exhort them to eat! I saved the chocolate and vanilla filled biscuits for my greedy self.
While the most important shrine is the smallest, all officers – prompted by one who’d seen it already – wanted to visit the largest shrine (assuming it to be the most important; size DOES matter to men). The roly-poly monk at the shrine gave me alone a scarf – one’s considered to have attained great merit to receive it – and that caused enough heartburn among the crowd that I could feel the scarf cinder away in hands. I went to great lengths to explain the meaning and significance of receiving the scarf to anyone who was even reluctantly lending an ear.
Climbing down was easier and thankfully faster too – but I still was saddled with the burden of carrying a young girl! In my eagerness to prove something, I’d proved to be a good beast of burden – a donkey (that was rewarded by the parents of the kid with a brunch on return)!
Lunch – with games and drinks – was organised at a riverside resort (called Kichu Resort, named after a famous monastery nearby – famous for its orange trees that bear fruit throughout the year). The second in command let his handle fly – for no particular cause but to show his authority and nuisance value. The one who bore the brunt sulked enough to make the ice cold water in the river grow warm – but as a just reward for his sulking, his wife won the jackpot in the games.
The trek came to an end with a round of vegetable shopping in Paro. The best moment was when another officer from Karnataka spotted AVARE KAI and screamed in ecstasy – now that was no short of miracle, all thanks to the blessed scarf given at the monastery!
Taktsang Lakhang – Meaning the ‘Tiger’s Nest’ – is the most sacred shrine of the believers in Bhutan. Like most holy places in India, this too is rather inaccessible and adds flesh to the theory of the Gods being pricey as ever! I find no reason otherwise for the harbinger of Buddhism – Guru Padmasambhava (Guru Rimpoche in Bhutanese) - into Bhutan to land in Taktsang on a flying tiger (now, hold your horses of disbelief) and the tiger was none other than one of his consorts (Gawd, mounting wasn’t ever this imaginative) – to slay a demon! As though this wasn’t enough the place boasts of a cave where the previous head of the religion in Bhutan was born – I wonder what made this woman to climb all the way up to give birth! Many more myths abound (talking statues, holy waters et al) but I’d not go into them and let everyone fly away. One isn’t a myth though – that Guru Padmasambhava was a Punjabi munda! I only wish he’d brought the blistering pace of Bhangra along with him (watching the slow-motioned dances of Bhutan would make you almost believe that it’s your eyes that are slow while the world’s proceeding at the regular speed)!
So, the entire organisation went to trek – including the reluctant head of the organisation (no, he’s not reluctant to be the Head but reluctant to climb). Most women declined to stand behind their successful (don’t ask me, ‘in what? ‘how?’ ‘where? Questions) husbands in this venture but for the most devoted (or the suspicious)!
Since army officers were there, could their servants be far behind? No, just a step or so! So, we had a retinue to hold the high-and-mighty ones’ bags, umbrellas (!!), water jugs, toffees, biscuits, knickknacks, juices and what-have-you! Every now and then the pot-bellied but much-adorned officer would tire and sweat and the bearer would humbly run with his head (and the torso) properly bowed with a glass water on a tray (and serve it without fail, with one arm behind him)! And, there was no scarcity of a tiring officer (or his wife, in some cases)! The children had set a scorching pace in climbing (and a few fit and young officers and one father ran behind them to keep them from harm’s way – rather keep the children from doing any harm to the harms that’d scare others). I was left with two weaker young ones – those that tired physically but willing still to run! I carried them on my back every now and then – more to prove that I was the FITTEST to the rest of the crowd – and marched ahead of others! Ah! How happy was my ego when everyone noticed and made appreciative noises, snide asides and jealous sighs! Of course I was wearing a singlet trying to show off my non-existent bulges of biceps and triceps too!
It took the fit and the children less than two hours to reach the monastery but the rest of the crowd trickled in – panting and cursing. A few didn’t make it to the top – found it too steep for their discomfort!
I ensured whenever we stopped while climbing (and during the snack-break after the visit to the monastery) I fed all around me biscuits that were lying at home without being consumed. Made out of sea-weed, they were as edible as hay and husk together. I was very happy and relieved when the entire cover got over – for good measure I’d tell everyone that they’re energisers and exhort them to eat! I saved the chocolate and vanilla filled biscuits for my greedy self.
While the most important shrine is the smallest, all officers – prompted by one who’d seen it already – wanted to visit the largest shrine (assuming it to be the most important; size DOES matter to men). The roly-poly monk at the shrine gave me alone a scarf – one’s considered to have attained great merit to receive it – and that caused enough heartburn among the crowd that I could feel the scarf cinder away in hands. I went to great lengths to explain the meaning and significance of receiving the scarf to anyone who was even reluctantly lending an ear.
Climbing down was easier and thankfully faster too – but I still was saddled with the burden of carrying a young girl! In my eagerness to prove something, I’d proved to be a good beast of burden – a donkey (that was rewarded by the parents of the kid with a brunch on return)!
Lunch – with games and drinks – was organised at a riverside resort (called Kichu Resort, named after a famous monastery nearby – famous for its orange trees that bear fruit throughout the year). The second in command let his handle fly – for no particular cause but to show his authority and nuisance value. The one who bore the brunt sulked enough to make the ice cold water in the river grow warm – but as a just reward for his sulking, his wife won the jackpot in the games.
The trek came to an end with a round of vegetable shopping in Paro. The best moment was when another officer from Karnataka spotted AVARE KAI and screamed in ecstasy – now that was no short of miracle, all thanks to the blessed scarf given at the monastery!
posted by Quintessential Critic (Sudhir Narayana) @ 10:33 AM
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