I’m not religious. I tend to think that religion is a coward’s way of avoiding responsibility for our own actions. Lets blame it all on God. But Bhuddism always struck me as more philosophy than religion. Its tenet one of peace, respect, simplicity and taking responsibility for your actions. But is it?
Over the last few weeks, we’ve had a greater than normal interaction with monks through visits to three dzongs – the administrative / monastic castles of Bhutan. Actually, the first experience wasn’t at the dzong. It occurred at Taktsang Goemba, a temple perched halfway up a tall cliff above Paro. Legend has it that Guru Rinpoche, one of the great religious leaders of Bhutan, landed there on the back of a flying tigress and it’s one of the major religious sites and tourist attractions in the country. Although there is paperwork involved in gaining permission to enter and a long hot hike to get there, it’s well worth the effort to stand among the rambling buildings overlooking Paro valley. After entering two altar rooms, praying, making a small donation and getting blessed, we entered one presided over by a monk of about six years. Marie and Michael (a Kiwi friend) headed straight up another set of stairs to see what lay there, while May and I stayed to perform the ritual, guided by a friendly Bhutanese we’d met on the way up. I prayed, offered my money and turned to the monk to receive holy water from the canister he was holding. He looked dubious but poured some into my cupped hands at the order of our guide. I took a sip then spread the rest on my head as we’d done so many other times, but the young monk wasn’t convinced. “Are you Bhuddist,” asked our guide, though I didn’t realise that it was translated from the monk. “No,” I replied, laughing, fully expecting him to compliment me on my knowledge of the traditions. Instead I was told to leave.
My first feeling was of outrage. I’d been to a lot of effort to get there and was doing my best to respect their traditions and I was being rejected. Next came a thought that this monk was headed for high places if he was so strict and confident of being obeyed, but that didn’t last long. What happened to the tolerance and respect for all life that Bhudda preaches. This monk had showed nothing but pride, intolerance and disrespect. I’ll be following his career closely.
Our next experience was at Trongsa Dzong, the largest and allegedly most impressive dzong in the kingdom. Marie had been asked to do an economic study of the dairy business for a group of farmers in Bumthang and we’d decided to turn it into a bit of a holiday. This time we had to battle not only the Bhutanese bureaucracy, but the French as well. On the evening before we left, they told Marie that she had to wait for permission to travel. It came (after we’d started our trip) at noon on Saturday. We sighed with relief and headed off to Trongsa for the first night. On Sunday morning, the dzong was almost deserted and the policeman at the booth in front didn’t speak English well enough to tell us where we were meant to enter or even if we were allowed. A passing elderly monk, whose English was no better, at least understood sign language and took us inside. We expected him to leave us to look around the courtyard, which is generally the limit for foreigners, but he took us on a tour, was visibly disappointed that the temple was locked, then found another monk who had a key to an obscure room. Inside, we found two prayer wheels and followed the monks in three revolutions of the 8-foot high wheels.
Our monk then directed us up to the balcony levels to walk past their cells and as we looked back, we could see the monk shaving in the window of the prayer wheel room. While we’d been praying for the French Embassy to grant full payment for the business part of the trip, it seems that our monk had been praying for nothing more than a clean shave.
That evening we arrived in Jakar, the capital of Bumthang, in time to visit Jakar Dzong. There we met a couple of monks standing outside enjoying the view of a rainbow. With the hospitality of the Trongsa monk and the simple, peaceful air of these monks, my faith in Bhuddism was restored. But inside, we’d find the unexpected. This dzong was quite small and our circumnavigation of the courtyard lasted only minutes. By the time we were ready to leave, the younger of the monks was back inside with another his age, both about 20. They were fluent in English and wanted to practise so they invited us for suja, a salty butter tea and directed us to their friend’s room, which had a door directly onto the main courtyard. We passed through a humble kitchen into his bedroom. The bed was simple and the altar ornate, as was to be expected. But the walls were covered in posters of US scenery and Bollywood stars. On a shelf was a ghetto blaster and on the floor a DVD player and TV. What happened to the simple monk’s life void of material possessions?
“We have puja (religious music) every morning and every evening and it’s boring. But we have Sunday evening off and we all gather here to watch movies.”
It wasn’t as it seemed, though. These rooms were only for Sunday evenings or when families came to stay. The dzong had capacity for 150 monks and they all slept together under the temple room.
Our final insight into Bhuddist attitudes came later in the week in a drinking session with Marie’s colleagues. I was telling them how I’d been embarrassed in my French class one day to have killed a mosquito without thinking, only to see the Bhutanese students doing the same. It had made me think about their respect for life and its limitations. Obviously non-monks are happy to kill mosquitoes when they’re particularly vicious and most will eat animal flesh. But what about monks? Where did their respect for life end? Officially they’d never kill a mosquito or flea, but wasn’t bacteria a form of life? Did their respect for life lead them to avoid cleaning or washing?
“I don’t think Bhudda or his followers knew about bacteria, so it doesn’t count,” said one of the locals. “But I think we have to walk a middle path. We can’t survive without meat – the land doesn’t provide enough to feed everyone on vegetables – so we have to open our minds to the idea of killing animals. We just have to make sure that we only kill what we need to survive.” The answer suddenly seemed obvious. He was describing the values of nature. A lion kills only what it needs and the leftovers are taken care of by lesser animals. That philosophy, as well as helping improve the target species by eliminating the weak, showed respect by not wasting life and appreciating its ‘sacrifice’ in the purest way. Therein may lie the answer to the Bhutanese conflict between religion and life.