A land steeped in Buddhism
Bhutan is the only country in the world which has embraced tantric form of Mahayana Buddhism. The country is dotted with humble shrines built by devotees to earn merit and protect the land.
The mournful call of a sacred horn echoes from slope to slope as we climb through fragrant pines, puffing and panting in the mid-morning sun. We meet two little boys waiting for the customers sitting on a rug among prayer beads and flags, votive bells and dorje and polished alms bowls made from human skulls. Far below, Paro is a mere sprinkling of roofs glinting on the edge of a silvery river and at last at nearly 3,000 metres, we set eyes on the dramatic Tiger’s Lair of Taktshang.
Clinging to the dark sheer face of the cliff, across the precipice, the monastery appears to close and yet so far, as we make out the frail silhouettes of the monks shuffling on a vertiginous ledge. Here, they say, in the 8th century, Guru Rinpoche landed on the back of tigress and meditated in a cave before spreading Buddhism in the valley. We sense the power of this place and gaze from a respectful distance, the pilgrims laden with offerings of flowers and rice.
Bhutan is unique in every way and religion is no exception, since the country is the only one to embrace officially the tantric form of Mahayana Buddhism. Alongside the Master and his teachings are shamanist spirits who dwell in mountains and lakes, Bodhisattvas - the ‘Buddhas to be‘ who opt to return to earth to help human kind, tantra scriptures understood only by lamas and myriad rituals to help you reach nirvana. Even sexual passion can play a part on the road to enlightenment, in the symbolic union of male knowledge and female wisdom, graphically depicted on the temple walls.
Awesome, mysterious, Taktsang set the tone for our journey where piety followed us every step of the way. It came in many guises, a red-robbed monk painting a mandala, a mystic diagram on a cotton cloth, a farmer chanting a mantra on his way to the fields, a cluster of prayer flags fluttering in the breeze, a water wheel sending prayers tumbling downstream and the clicking of prayer beads in a doorway. In Thimphu, we visited the National Library where under the watchful eye of a deity, the shelves with religious books wrapped in red and orange clothe beckoned us, then we walked barefoot on the ice around the Memorial Chorten, its golden finials and tinkling bells silhouetted against a clear blue sky.
It was erected in 1974, in memory of the third king Jigme Dorji Wangchuck by his mother. It is just one of the many chortens blossoming like spring flowers in all corners of the kingdom. You find them in different styles, Bhutanese, Nepalese or Tibetan, symbolizing the Buddha’s mind and the five elements: earth, water, fire, air and ether. We lingered for a while by the three stupas warding off evil at the confluence of the Paro and Thimphu rivers, marveled at the shrine as white as snow, rising all forlorn on the Pele La pass, and the lovely Chendebji Chorten with the Buddha’s eyes looking in every direction on the road to Trongsa. Wherever we went, our way was lined with humble shrines, built by devotees to earn merit and protect the land. From chortens to village temples aglow with butter lamps and scented juniper, from boy monks to musicians and dancers, from conch shells to lotus bloom lovingly painted on the walls, Buddhism is omnipresent, most strikingly expressed in the massive fortresses or the dzongs, which serve as religious and administrative centres.
With their gleaming roofs and sloping whitewashed walls, the dzongs are poised on strategic sites, be it a river bank, a confluence of rivers or a knoll at the crossroad of ancient routes. Strong and majestic, they follow the contour of the land. For the skilled artists of Bhutan, every stroke of the brush or tapping of the chisel is an act of devotion, performed according to established rules.
In Paro Dzong - the ‘Heap of Jewels’ mirrored in the river, we spun the prayer wheels on the old covered bridge and marveled at cosmic mandalas while two days later in Thimphu, Trashichhodzong - the ‘fortress of the glorious religion’ greeted us with verandas and cloisters and a vast paved courtyard whereby boy monks played hide and seek behind the rose bushes. We caught a glimpse of Wangdue Phodrand, named after the child who built a sandcastle at the auspicious confluence of the rivers, and reached Punakha in a golden sunset when the monastery seemed to float like a dream above the two rivers.
Here the first king of Bhutan was crowned in 1907 and in this lush subtropical valley ablaze with poinsettia and mandarin trees, the chanting of monks sent shivers down our spine, untroubled by floods and invasions along the way. Like the bamboo swaying in the breeze, the Buddhist faith never faltered and spiritual and secular planes continue to merge, aiming for the ‘gross national happiness‘ so dear to the king.
There’s nothing gloomy about tantric Buddhism. Deities may take on a fearsome appearance to frighten off evil but it’s full of color and life and even the smallest villages’ likes to celebrate its own religious festival. There are prayers and readings, music and dance, jesters and plenty of socializing around bulging picnic baskets and flasks of butter tea. In the most important dzongs, festivals are a grand affair, whether it is a Dromchoe dedicated to protective deities or a tsechu held in honour of Guru Rinpoche.
We arrived in Trongsa on New Year’s Eve to join in the tsechu, five days of celebrations, devotion and fun. Peasants in their festival best came from afar and the dzong was awash with shimmering silk and hand-woven clothes in cheerful colours.
We watched in wonder as masked dancers twirled on the flagstones and garlands or skulls whipped the air. There was much heaving and grunting to dispatch evil, drum beating, trumpet blowing and laughing when the red-clad jester pounced around, dangling a phallic rope from his mask.
But there were serious moments, time to listen to ancient religious tales, the glittering procession of Guru Rinpoche and his Eight Manifestations paraded among parasols and masks and join the devotees queuing for a blessing of holy water, bitter sweets and coloured thread.
On the last morning, a giant appliqué thangka was unfurled from the eaves by dignitaries draped in ceremonial scarves. They say that seeing the icon wipes away your sins and when the faithful prostrated on the flagstones, something passed through the air. Thought of Tiger’s Lair, call of long horns, the auspicious thread tied to my wrist, and I felt ready to share a special moment in the Buddhist Land of the Thunder Dragon.
By: Solange Hando, Travel writer based in Kent, UK.