Heading
in and out of clouds, whether clinging to the face as wet strands
of mist or pounding down as pea-sized raindrops, the only reward
of motorcycling on the mountainous highway during the height
of the monsoon was the sight of countless waterfalls.
Thundering
down the roads from Bhalukpung to Rupa in frothing white torrents,
the journey was nothing short of madness. But with a long-standing
invitation to spend a few days at a Himalayan hermitage in Arunachal
Pradesh and finally having a couple of weeks to spare, I wasn't
to be easily dissuaded, rain or no rain.
At Jamiri, the rain dwindled marginally and after a while stopped
altogether. Around Tenga, the eucalyptus trees in the army camps
filled the area with an aroma I first mistook for incense.
Reaching
the outskirts of Chillipam by nightfall, the tiny village above
Rupa where the Snag-Nga-Chhoikor- Dargye-Ling monastery was
located, my arrival in such inclement weather was obviously
not anticipated. As a result of the furore it created, some
unfortunate soul was displaced from his quarter and I was showed
into his freshly vacated room.
Its complex name translating as ‘a blessed place for spreading
the hidden knowledge of the Dharma Chakra’, the hermitage is
in effect a branch of the Tashi Cholling Nyingmapa monastery
at Rangapara in Assam and serves as a seminary.
Consisting of haphazard rows of barrack-like housing in a pine
forest, it shelters about 50 drapas or boy monks, and
a few seniors, some living in the meditative isolation of forest
huts as required in the advanced stages of their Tantric Buddhist
curriculum.
Housing idols of Himalayan Buddhist deities, a rich display
of butter statues and objects pertaining to tantric liturgy
such as mikangs (human femur bone flutes) and phurbas
(ceremonial daggers), and a host of musical instruments, the
prayer hall of the monastery is on an adjacent ridge.
Here, amidst the collection of Tibetan mythological figurines
rendered in vegetable fat, was also the familiar portrayal of
an old man surrounded by a crane and a deer with a tree and
mountains in the background, Dakhor Tsering, a symbol of luck.
Once settled at the retreat, I usually woke early to the prayers
of boy monks, and all through the day and occasionally late
into the night I could hear chants and drums.
On occasion, deep into the night, there were also other noises
sudden, violent and very loud. A wild scampering above the ceiling
and an unruly banging on the door was identified as the monastery
cat chasing mice with the full wrath of Padmashmbhava descending
on the enemies of the Dharma.
A second source of disturbance proved to be cows on rampage,
raiding the monastery’s store of washing powder kept on a small
shelf outside our door. “It is because the villagers don’t give
them salt,” explained Gelong, the sombre second-in-command at
the monastery. “We give them some, but all the same they come
for the Surf.”
The rain finally stopped and, having become fast friends with
the three senior-most lamas Gelong Dingla, Tsewang Dondup, Karma
Dorjee the four of us ventured out on a short monastery exploration
trip. Our expedition took us due west towards the Bhutan border
along a curvaceous and extremely scenic route.
The first village we visited, Jigaon was approximately 15 km
on the other side of a conifer-covered mountain range. Its monastery
was essentially a village shrine built in the traditional Nyingmapa
(the red hat sect of Tibetan Buddhism) style, a three-tired
structure.
Inside was a giant statue of Padmasambhava, the propagator of
Buddhism in Tibet, made by artisans from Bhutan. The walls were
covered by religious frescos alternately depicting serene and
ferocious deities, characteristic to the traditions of Tibetan
Buddhism.
In one corner of the monastery’s compound was the caretaker’s
hut, and in his vegetable patch, along with the tomatoes and
chillies, were a few tall clumps of the plant otherwise known
as Cannabis indica, growing as weeds.
Snaking through a steep gorge, the road continued to Shergaon,
the route lined by several plaques and chortens in memory of
those claimed by the perilous journey. The roar of a river,
rendered invisible by the overgrowth, stayed constantly in the
air.
The main shrine at Shergaon, one with an unmentionable name
(as it may cost one’s life or so the belief goes) was located
on a hillock across the river. We found it locked, with the
resident lama missing.
The only person around was a grizzled old-timer. “Did you notice
his beads,” hissed Gelong, “he is a practitioner of Bon Po,”
referring to the indigenous spirit-worshipping creed waging
a long ecclesiastic battle of dominance with Buddhism.
A visit to Tenzingang was like a foray into Tibet. Home to the
Gyuto Tantric University and its population of maroon-clad lamas,
the Tibetan refugee camp was founded during the mid-seventies.
The university is the largest Mahayana Buddhist educational
institution of the eastern region and has a unique curriculum
of tantric courses.
Its monks have earned international acclaim for excellence in
chanting Tibetan prayers. Thugdem Zigme, a senior monk in charge
of administration, explained that the monastery functions on
the lines of a modern institution, with a governing body headed
by an elected rector and not an incarnate Rinpoche.
The hour of our visit coincided with the timing of afternoon
prayers, so we were witness to hundreds of monks in yellow hats
sitting in rows, their droning chants soon filling the entire
hall.
A day’s trek from Bhutan, Khalaktang is the westernmost town
of West Kameng district. In a sense it lies at the end of the
road, but has a vehicular track meandering southwards through
thick subtropical forest into the plains connecting to national
highway 52 via Bhairavkunda and leading to Guwahati in the west
and Tezpur in the east.
It remains closed for the better part of the year thanks to
landslides, bridges that have been washed away, and anti-extremist
operations. High atop the towering mountainside to the west
was the village of Chingi, beyond which lay the ranges of Bhutan.
Having learned pitiful little on the study and practice of Buddhism,
I can hardly claim spiritual benefits from my hermetic sojourn.
Nonetheless, having refreshed mind and body in the clean mountain
atmosphere was gain enough, especially when returning to a baptism
with grime and dust that awaited my return to Guwahati.
