A Day of Wonder: Pashupatinath Temple in Kathmandu

Kathmandu, Nepal
November 14, 2012
Altitude: 4,445'

It was my first full day in Kathmandu and I was sitting of the wide-tiered steps facing the 6th century temple of Pashupatinath--the most revered Hindu temple in Nepal and a powerhouse of Hundu spiritual power.  Across the fetid and polluted Bagmati River I was watching two families prepare their loved ones for open-air cremation.  As filthy as the River was, this river is extremely sacred and it is to Nepal what the Ganges is to India and it is considered a spiritual powerhouse for Nepali Hindus and, to a lesser extent, Buddhists. For devotees of Shiva, this is the place that most choose to be cremated.  Cremations run non-stop--through the day and night and at any given time one can watching five or six simultaneously, all at different stages. The ghats--the stone platforms for burning--are separated by a walk bridge.  The ghats directly in front of the temple are reserved for the royal family, but preparation for anyone can take place there, but the body would then be moved to one of the nine ghats on the other side.

Both of these people had just died.  Cremation occurs directly after death.  There would be no calling hours, no funeral in the Western sense of a funeral.  All rituals take place during the preparation prior to the cremation.

First to arrive was a Hindu family,and it is with this family that I will focus this writing.  The body arrived wrapped in a blanket. I was sitting with two women and their guide, and they were more than willing to allow me to ask their guide questions.  We were all fascinated and would watch the entire process.  The guide assumed the man had died at home.  This is an option,but there is also a hospice attached to the temple,and people are often brought there in the final stages so they can die close to the temple and close to the river.

Over a period  of about an hour, friends and family arrived.  One by one, these people placed a saffron colored piece of fabric over the body. Many did this.  The body was then lifted and placed, feet first, on a sloping stone.  The feet were submerged int he Bagmati River and people often scooped up water and poured it on the face of the deceased, washed its feet or sprinkled it on the saffron fabric. The guide told us that the deceased person's sins were being cleansed by Gaga--the Hindu goddess of water.  All of this was done to purify the body as well as the soul.  Prior to this, a jug of milk had been poured on the slab.  This was very confusing to us, but the guide explained that the milk had been blessed in the temple and represented the god Shiva.

At one point water--possibly brought from the Ganges in India, was poured into the mouth of deceased.

On top of the multiple layers of saffron fabric, people began to put long garlands of marigolds, wrapping them around the head which was always exposed.  Many, many garlands were placed on the body.  All the time, people mingled. Others place flower petals on the fabric and on top of the garlands. Some sat by the body which was still laying on the sloping slab, feet submerged in the water.  All the while men circled the body with incense and, at times, they appeared to be praying.

After about an hour, the body was placed on a wooden bier and lifted by a group of about eight men and carried away from the temple to the ghats where cremation would occur.  Friends and family followed.  By now, numbers had swelled to about 50 or or more people.  The guide told us that the work place is very flexible when a death occurs. Because all of this occurred just after the death, in some cases people had to be notified and leave work rather suddenly.

This was our cue to shift sides.

Each ghat had a cremation in process.  Some had just begun and others were in the final stages where there was but a small pile of ash.  The guide told us that the entire process could take four to five hours.

The pyre had been prepared in advance.  Two long pieces of wood were placed lengthwise on the ghat.  Eight smaller pieces of wood were placed horizontally with two more longer pieces on top of them.  Below the pyre were thick bundles of straw.

The men carrying the bier circled the pyre three times. before placing the body on top of the pyre.  Now, one by one, the garlands of marigolds and the the multiples layers of saffron fabric were removed.  All were thrown into the river.  At that point, one of the women present threw bangles on the white-shrouded body.  The guide told this was his wife, signifying the end of the marriage.

Large bottles of ghee--clarified butter--were opened and slabs of the thick fat were lathered on the body with a knife. This was not only an offering to the gods, but a type of fuel as well.

A straw torch in flames was brought from the temple to start the actual cremation.  This task fell to the eldest son, and if there was no son, a nephew or oldest male relative.  By now, the body was covered in straw and no evidence could be seen of a body, thus providing dignity for the one being cremated.

Within a short time the first spread to all corners of the pyre.  It was then that the majority left, including all of the women.  The remainder of the job fell to the men in the family. Only some would stay until the very end.

I asked the guide if public cremation was the norm and he explained that electric crematoriums were available, but from a religious point of view they are rarely used.  The soul needed to be properly released, and It can only be done so in public.

I lingered a bit longer.  The women I was with left.  I did walk closer to watch the final stages of another cremation.  Once the fire had burned down, and only ashes remained, all was swept into the river.  Then the ghat was cleaned and made ready for another cremation.  All of this was done in a cool, businesslike fashion, although I'm sure there was far more emotion involved than we could see.

By late afternoon storm clouds had been building on Kathmandu and I left the burning ghats when a light misty rain began to fall.  Pasupatinath is more than a crematory.  I climbed the many steps above the river, past complexes of temples decorated with skeletons and erotic figures, past sadhus--holy men--quite willing to pose for a photo for the right price.  Monkeys darted back and forth and up and down the steps.

At the top of the temple complex I found a seat under the canopy of one of the 50 Shiva shrines at the edge of a forest.  I waited out this very rare mid-November rainfall. Perhaps the rain would clean out the dirty air.

It certainly wasn't unpleasant, what with the monkeys scampering about and children asking me for rupees, sweets or pens.


But it was getting dark, and whether real or imagined the smell of burning wood, and possible burning flesh, lingered in my nostrils.  It had certainly permeated my clothing.

After the rain let up I made my way down to the streets, caught a cab and returned to Thamel.

I threw my clothes in a plastic bag, showered, handed my dirty laundry to reception and set out for dinner.

But the images of both cremations, all the rituals involved and the power of watching multiple cremations along the sacred Bagmati River had left their mark.

It had been a rare and unusual day and I felt privileged to be part of it.

Stupa-fied in Kathmandu

Kathmandu, Nepal
November 14, 2012
Altitude: 4,504'

Whatever serenity I achieved in Bhutan ended abruptly once back in Kathmandu.  I was back in the belching, exhaust filled air of this filthy city.  With each step in the crowded tourist section of the city, Thamal, I felt as if I was taking my life into my hands. traffic was horrific, drivers followed now rule.  I was a jangled mass of nerves three hours after touching down.

Earlier, I written to my Aunt Gloria that I'd have more time to write once I got back to Kathmandu.  

"Oh, Dan," she wrote back.  "Kathmandu!  It sounds like something our of a Humphrey Bogart film."

Well...I suppose it's easy to see it that way.  It certainly does have its share of amazing sites, if one takes the time to get out of the tourist ghetto.

I spent three days there and that was enough.  One day was spent at the most important Hindu temple in the country--Pashupatinath. Another was spent in Patan, a medieval city-state that is now part of the city.  O spent a delightful day navigating tiny alleyways, getting lost, wishing I had popcorn to drop so I could find my way out.  A third day was spent at Bhaktapur.  All three of these are UNESCO World Heritage sites and all are astounding.

But it was best fortune to be in in the city during the three day festival of Thiar--the festival of lights which celebrate good over evil--the second most important holiday in Nepal.  In India it's known as Dewali--the celebration of light.  The goddess Laxmi would be honored..."worshiped" was the word most often used.  She is the Hindu goddess of material and spiritual wealth. She is believed to protect her devotees from all kinds of misery--both physical and financial.

I'd first seen glimpses of it that morning when I saw intricately designed mandalas in front of shops.  But it was while I was navigating the pack streets of Patan that I saw how the average Nepal prepared for the day.  In front of doorways was a large drawn square made of mud.  I say mud, but it was a thin layer that simply made the pavement brown.  On top of that the mandala was drawn--an intricate geometric shapes filled with different colors,flowers and flower petals.  And by each door there were a series of small tiny clay pots--palas--that would be filled with oil then lit that that evening.  Every nook and cranny of homes would be lit up with colorful decorative lights in the belief that the goddess would only visit homes properly illuminated.  

 

Above each door was a garland of marigolds--bright orange and hung like Christmas garland.  Even dogs had a marigold wreath wrapped around their heads.  It was all really quite magical.

And it was this was at every home.  Families were busy preparing the mandala, mothers went to street stalls to buy specially baked sweets for the holiday, and some children were expecting "gifts'" from the goddess.  It's been likened to Christmas, but only in a remote sort of way.

That evening, when I got back to Thamal, it was dark.  In front of each shop--and there are thousands, were the tiny palas lit with candles.  Strings of lights--much like we have for Christmas--but inthe country's national colors--were lit up everywhere. It almost felt like Christmas Eve.  

Kids were out in abundance and most of them were chanting..."Deusere.  Deusere.  Deusere."  Pronounced doo-ser-ay, it means money.  "Money. Money. Money" they chanted at the doorsteps of shops. And each shop keeper would give them a few coins.  I imagine this went on in neighborhoods as well.

Older kids huddled in groups dancing--beautifully choreographed Indian dances set to music they'd brought with them.  They seemed to be entertaining themselves. Both the groups of boy and the groups of girls were really quite accomplished.  For those of who watched, they did come round at the end with a basket.  It wasn't hard to throw a few dollars in.

Thihar went on for a few more days, but by the end of my stay in Kathmandu the lights had come down, the candles put away, the mandalas washed from the front of homes and the garlands tossed.  Thanks god, I thought.  Unlike Christmas which goes on and on and on, Thiar lasted but less than a week. 

Despite the chaos Kathmandu can subject a traveler to, it's still a fascinating place--if one leaves the tourist district.  How many places in the world have five UNESCO World Heritage sites in an hour's radius?

But...I had to get out of the city.  It was just a bit to intense, and there was a lot left to do.  I always know when it's time to move on, and three days in the capital was sufficient.  Maybe I'll come again, but not for awhile. 

Photos of Amazing Bhutan

November 2, 2012

Three stupas greeting new arrivals from the airport

                                                                    Paro, the capital

A temple at a 10,000 foot pass

                                                                An ancient fortress

                                                             Farming still in November

                                     A lovely day hike to a temple overlooking a deep valley

J                                                   Just one of many gorgeous valleys

                                               Clean, clear rivers ran off the Himalayas

                                                    The lovely town of Punhaka at dawn

                                                       Yeshay, my driver, and his family

                                                    Monks turned praayer wheels all day

                                                              The iconic Tiger's Nest

Monks and Novices were everywhere

Bhutan: In the End

Kathmandu, Nepal
November 11, 2012
Altitude: 4,445'

In the end, how do I compress into mere words the almost mystical, almost sacred experience I had in the Himalayan Kingdom of Bhutan. Even those words...Himalayan Kingdom...evoke a sense of mystery.

In the end, how does one express the power of seeing the highest Himalayan peaks and epic vistas while driving over 10,000' mountain passes or of seeing forests carpeted in rhododendrons.

Mt.Everest on the flight from Kathmandu to Paro

In the end, how does one tell of winding country lanes, driving through long passages of willows at full peak autumn color, all set against the lustrous blue, brilliant high altitude sky.  Or of clean and clear vallyes--one aftr another--all tucked away between igh Himalayan peaks with rivers--wild and clean--running through them.

In the end, how can I tell you of the magical power of prayer flags blowing in the wind, of prayer wheels at the base of mountain streams, of chortens and stupas dotting the landscape and of temples hundreds and hundreds of years old.

In the end, it is still difficult to express the joy of sharing a road with herds of cows, or seeing groups of yaks and black-necked cranes.

In the end, I will always remember the color--of bright red, yellow, green and blue flags, of fields of red barley, yellow mustard and roofs layered with red, red chillies and of long, white strings of yak cheese drying in the warm autumn sun.

In the end I will remember always the legions of red-robed monks walking to temples, whose temples are full of gold Buddhas and silver Buddhas and red and black prayer wheels.

 

In the end, we travelled from the urban west to the less inhabited center of the country, travelling a total of 1,830 miles, over bumpy roads that, at times, scared me to no end. Up and down serpentine roads that zigzagged up and down high, high mountain passes.

In the end there is no doubt that it was an expensive trip.  Bhutan does not want what has happened in Thailand and Nepal where legions of backpackers have altered the very culture of the country.  Tourism is government controlled and I paid $290.00 for the privilege of visiting it.  But..to be fair..for that money I had superb hotels, fabulous meals three times a day and a car and driver at my disposal 24 hours a day.

In the end I could never keep track of the complexity of Bhutanese Buddhism, what with its Buddha, and Second Buddha, its five Dhyana Buddhas, its Past, Present and Future Buddhas let alone the eight manifestations of the Buddhas, the Bodhisattvas, its monks, and gurus and magicians and consorts and flying tigers and subdued demons and cannibal demonesses or the multiple protector deities that oversaw each valley and home. It was totally baffling, but totally enchanting.

In the end I think all my sins are cleansed. "If you walk around this temple 108 times," Yesehy would tell me once, "All your sins will be cleansed." Another time he suggested I wear a 100 pound coat of mail and walk around the temple three times.  That was just too much work and I couldn't imagine my knees after that.  Everything seemed like too much work until one day we came to a lovely 17th century covered bridge.  "If you walk across this bridge all you sins will be cleansed," he told.  Finally!  Something I was willing to do.  So I did just that, and I walked back, so I guess all my sins are cleansed twice.

In the end it was hard to leave Bhutan.  I'd developed a real fondness for the people and the diversity of the landscape.  There was a surprise around every corner.

In the end it was hard to leave the cocoon of five star hotels, daily buffets and a car and driver.  Poor me.  I'd have to duke it out alone from now on.

In the end Bhutan was rare and unusual, clean and unpolluted, full of warm and open people. It was destination very far away and seemingly like some lost Shangrila.

In the end, Bhutan ranks very high on the list of world marvels.

In the end, though, I'm not sure I'd return.  It was wonderful, but very expensive and, as Robert Frost wrote, "I have miles to go before I sleep."  There are heaps of other places left to see and only so much time to do it.  But I did make a promise to my dear friend, Glenda.  And I am a man of word, so perhaps we'll go there together in the next few years.

Bhutan! In the end, it was amazing!

 

 

 

 

 

Back to School

Punhaka, Bhutan
November 9, 2012
Altitude: 4,300'

It's not often I want to go back into the classroom, but that's what I did on the morning of November 9th.

Yesehy's wife, Choden, whom I'd met earlier, is a secondary English teacher and I'd asked her if it was possible to visit her class. She was more than happy to have a foreigner meet her students, letting them hear properly spoken English and giving them the chance to ask questions. I was told that they see a lot of tourists, but never really get the opportunity to talk to any.

So at 9:00 a.m.we arrived at the Khuruthen Middle/Secondary School in the small city of Punhaka.

The Bhutanese school system is patterned after the Indian system which is patterned on the British system. Mid November begins the end of the school year and final exams. School will officially be over on December 17th and resume in early February.

I would be in two classes this day. Chowden, as well as a young Canadian woman from Ontario, who also teaches English, would be my hosts.

My first class was 6th Standard--a shy and pleasant group of 40 11-13 year old students packed into a small classroom. Chairs were uncomfortable, most without backs. It was clear that education in Bhutan did not have the funding more developed countries had.
 

 

Each student was dressed in identical school uniforms. Boys wore the gho and the girls the kia--traditional clothing that everyone was required to wear at work or in official functions.

When I walked in the classroom, the students immediately stood up and sad in unison..."Good morning, Sir." I was a bit taken aback. I'd not seen something like this since my days as Saint Peter's more than fifty years ago. We'd always stand when the priest walked in and said the same thing. Actually, it was kind of nice to see.

I introduced myself, told them I lived in the United States,but also in Mexico. They told me that Barrack Obama and just been reelected and that there had been a big storm in New York, but they knew nothing of Mexico, so I took this as an opportunity to teach them a bit about my adopted country.

Bhutan has three official languages--two indigenous languages and English as the common demoninator. Children began to learn it as soon as they entered school at age six.

These middle schoolers were good. Really good. They had excellent comprehension skills and were able to ask me reasonably intelligent questions. They wanted to know about my culture, food, sports and holidays. They also wanted to know my age. "I'm 63," I told them. There were a few gasps and I'm not sure why. I figured I was a pretty old guy for a Bhutanese.

For three years I taught Spanish and marvelled at how little American kids could actually do in the language. Here in Punhaka I was having a conversation with students whose language abilities exceeded those of graduating Seniors.

The second class--a small group of 25 15 year olders, were far more inquisitive. With them I spent more time on Mexico, speaking some Spanish. Actually, Bhutan and Mexico share some common traits. Both Mexico City and most of inhabited Bhutan is above 6,000' and both Mexico and Bhutan lie on the 27th parallel, so the weather is very similar. Fruits and vegetables have much in common and,like Mexicans, the Bhutanese love their food hot, spicy and full of chillis.

It had been a wonderful experience. When I was still teaching and travelling during the summer with Glenda, I always avoided this type of things. She, on the other hand, always embraced these opportunities and I was always happy to photodocumenting her storytelling to Indonesians, Koreans and Thais.

This time it was my time to embrace it.

"Adios mis amigos," I told them in Spanish. "Fue un placer y un privilegio." I think it was the first time they'd heard Spanish.

"Goodbye my friends. It was a pleasure and a privilege."

And it really was.

Ling Gyser Festival--Jakar, Bumthang, Bhutan

Jakar, Bumthang, Bhutan
November 6, 2012
Altitude: 9,058'

It was the morning of the US Presidential election and there was a knock on my door. It was 7:15 a.m. and 61 degrees in my room and I didn't want to crawl out from under my warm down comforter.

We were high in the Bumthang Valley of Bhutan.  The fire that had burned so warmly the night before in the room's fireplace had dwindled to ashes. 

I shivered as I opened the door to find Yeshey, my guide and driver.  "Good morning , Sir.  Today is an auspicious Buddha day.  There is a new temple opening today and there will be dances and ceremonies for two days.  Would like to do that instead of what we planned?"

Auspicious indeed, I thought.  Auspicious for the Buddha.  Auspicious for me and auspicious, too, I hoped for President Obama.

"Of course, Yesehy."  I always grab at opportunities like this.

Two hours later we arrived at the temple, in Chumey Valley about 30 minutes from Jakar.  Hundreds of local people were there.  I found a seat and joined the multitudes as the dances began.

This was the Ling Gyser Festival with dances and music that traced its routes to Tibet more than 400 years ago.  All the Bhutanese knew the story of the warrior-king, Ling Gyser--that would unfold as its part of the cultural folklore.  I, on the other hand, would need a guide through the entire performance.

It was a day of brilliant deep blue and clean, clear sky.  The sun blazed hot and I was go have on sunglasses as well as a cap.

Emerging first from the temple were the four protective deities of Bhutan, each represented as warriors and dressed in elaborate costumes.  Each deity has a specific purpose.  Chenmizan, from the west, guards Bhutan against demons and earthly treats.  Yulkhorsun, from the east, represents harmony--the Buddhist concept of the middle path.  Namthose, from the north, provides wealth and prosperity.  And finally, Phagchepo, from the south, guards against enemies. 

They seated themselves at the four corners of the staging area while the Buddha emerged from the temple. He was followed by the second Buddha and his two consorts.  Their presence would be felt for all witnessing this pageant.

The story that unfolded for the next six hours retold the story of the three Tibetan invasions in 1644, 1648 and 1649.  Had I not had Yesehy and others around me to explain what I was seeing, it would all have been just a colorful spectacle.

To purify the ceremony, a large urn was placed in the center of the square. The urn was filled with pine boughs and incense. With great ceremony, one of the warriors lit the pine boughs. Billowy white fragrant smoke filled the air, scattering any demons who might be present. 

The urn was removed, a "target" was placed where the urn had been.  The Bhutanese national sport is archery, and its origins date back centuries, and the target would hold supreme importance during this reenaction.

First to enter were then warriors--lavishly dressed in long brocade robes, ornate helmets and multi-colored boots.  Each warrior was outfitted with a bow and arrow.  The dance was a slow, methodical circle dance with each warrior mimicking the shooting of their arrow.  After about ten minutes, they formed a line.  Each warrior approached the target and pierced it with his arrow.  Finally, in the end, the warrior representing the king did the same--thus "defeating" the 1st Tibetan invasion.

Following this was a slow but joyous dance of Thanksgiving.  Twenty dancers--male and female--carried banners of red, yellow, green, white and blue.  Their dance reflected the joy in this first Tibetan defeat of 1644.

This marked the end of the first part of the pageant. For more than two hours I'd sat cross-legged watching this magnificent performance.  But it was noon and time for lunch.  Yeshey had arranged with the hotel to pack a hot picnic for us.  There was roast pork, potatoes, rice, vegetables and tea.  We found ourselves a place near the river and enjoyed this special meal.  A friend of his was there--a young man from the area who was studying in Calcutta--and I asked him to join us.  He was able to explain more of what I had seen and would see in the afternoon.  I commented to both of them that the landscape we were were looking at--lofty pines, high mountains and blue, blue sky reminded me of the Sierras of Northern California.

The vast majority of people present had brought lunch, fully planning to spend the day.  The monks of the temple, on the other hand, had prepared a simple meal that was given freely to many local people who'd come empty handed.

When I got back to the square, it was still early.  I found a seat dead-center to the show, my back against a stupa.  I was early, but I was curious about a long, snaking line of people to my right.  I stood up, walked to the front of it, and noticed that each person approached the man responsible for constructing the temple.  According to local belief he was the reincarnation of a Tibetan monk who'd come to Bhutan in the 8th century.  Each person bowed, made a financial offering and received a blessing.  The line never seemed to end.

 Two subsequent dances replicated the first.  Swords and shields were used in the second and colorful banners, that became spears as they were rolled up, were used in the third dance.

At the end of the third dance, each warrior furled his banner, wrapping the flag around the spear, symbolizing victory over the 1649 invasion.

The most dramatic dance followed.  The "target," which had been present throughout all the dances, represented the enemy.

At this point, two monks approached the "target" and attached two white scarves--a representation of peace among Tibetans.  A third monk then poured kerosene on it.  The two previous monks returned with burning torches, lit the target, thus representing the final subjugation of the enemy.

Officials quickly removed the burning debris while two warriors,, the King, and the two dancers engaged in a highly staged, dramatic dance of joy.  The Kingdom of Bhutan was safe.  The enemy was on the high plateau.  Each dancer--31 in all--danced off the square, climbed the steps to the temple, bowed, and disappeared.

I was almost let down by the time this glorious pageant had ended.  I also noticed that I was the only Westerner present. The small group of other tourists had left at lunch.  We lingered a bit and I was able to get photos of the beautiful chlidren who'd sat near me. 

This was the first of the two day inauguration of the new temple.  The next day would be day of dedication, blessing the temple, the monks, and the people who participated.  For me, day one would have to suffice.

Yeshey and I set back to Jakar.  I had a thousand questions and peppered him all the way back to town. 

Poor man.  I really think he got flustered.  All the who's, the what's and the why's were too overwhelming.  He did his best, but shortly after getting back to the hotel he handed me a book--a compendium of sort--a kind of ""Bhutanese Buddhism for the Idiot."  It helped a lot.

Later, at dinner, I was the only guest.  The chef's wife sat with me and gently walked me through my many questions.

"You were a fortunate man," she told me.  "I was a guide for many years and I have never seen this festival.  In fact, this is the first time it was performed in Bhutan, thus explaining why the prime minister of the country had been present. 

By the time I got to bed, polling booths in the USA were just opening.  I wouldn't know until the next day that Barrack Obama had been elected. 

I could not have planned on a day like this. It had been an auspicious day--auspicious for the Buddha, auspicious for our President, and very auspicious for me.