by Ami Bhat
Lone cenotaphs, dried wells, and crumbling walls are all that you will see in Kuldhara today. A reconstructed home and a central pavilion will help you picture the story whispered by the deserted homes of the Paliwal Brahmins.
Additional Reading
Discover the Ghost Town of Kuldhara - https://thrillingtravel.in/ghost-town-kuldhara-jaisalmer-rajasthan.html
Return of the Souls
Phobjikha Valley, Bhutan
Gangteng Monastery – Late 1600s
Whirr! Whoosh! Flap!
The fluttering prayer flags broke the eerie stillness of the ever-silent Phobjikha valley. The chilling winds blew the multi-colored prayer flags in all possible directions, spreading their warm vibes across the flatlands. At the same time, the faint pink glow crept through the surrounding Black Mountains and aroused the muted colors of the valley with its morning kiss. The magic touch had slowly started to transform the grays into soft greens and pale yellows.
Pulling his red monk habit tighter, Jigme stood at the end of the cliff and watched the dawn brighten up the plains. He blew into his palms in a futile attempt to warm his fingers. The cold wind hit his face, making his eyes water. He closed his eyes and murmured a small prayer. The first recitation led to the next and then another and one more until he heard the sound he was waiting for.
Clank! Creak! Clank! Creak!
He opened his eyes and hurried to the source of the sound that was his Guru, his master—The Learned One.
The wrinkles on his face broadened into tiny smiles, and his eyes started to twinkle as he saw his apprentice rushing towards him. He nodded in acknowledgment and raised his hand to bless the young man and then began the ritualistic decline.
“Let me take that from you,” began Jigme, attempting to lighten his burden.
The Learned One declined by shaking his head. “Child, you know my answer, yet you ask every day.”
“I hope that someday you will let me help you. I keep waiting for it,” Jigme replied respectfully.
The Learned One beamed, “Bless you, son. That someday is coming soon, and you will not have to ask me for help. I shall seek it myself. For now, shall we?” And with that, he tapped his walking stick forward and hobbled towards the prayer hall.
Clank! Creak! Clank! Creak!
The tap of the stick and the jostling of the objects in a red bundle on The Learned One’s shoulder struck a rhythmic chord that echoed through the silence of Phobjikha valley.
No one, not even The Learned One, knew how old he was. He became an apprentice of the first Trulku9 of Gangteng Monastery, long before the monastery itself came into existence. Highly revered, The Learned One was often sought by the locals for various blessings. Every child born in Phobjikha was brought over to be named by him. Farmers flocked to invite him to their lands, for they believed his holy steps gave them good harvests.
The Learned One never said no to his believers. Be it snow or rain, he would take out his stick, put his mysterious red bundle over his shoulders, and set off to his destination. Fiercely independent, he never took help from his young pupils, especially when it came to holding the red bundle. The package went everywhere with him. No one knew what was in it.
Clank! Creak! Tinkle!
“Om Mani Padme Hum!”
Clank! Creak! Tinkle!
“Om Mani Padme Hum!” hummed The Learned One as he moved from one prayer wheel to another. It was a part of his morning ritual where he would walk along the line of Prayer wheels10 surrounding the temple - not once but thrice. After that, he would meditate for some time in the temple before going about the other chores. Every evening, before he retired, he would walk the circumambulatory path three times.
“Why do you circle the temple thrice?” Jigme had once asked him.
“One for the revered souls of the Great Lamas, one for you all, and one for the land and its beings.” The Learned One had winked at him.
“And why do you carry the red bundle with you? What is in it? It slows you down. Let me carry it for you,” Jigme had asked. To this, The Learned One had mysteriously replied, “When the time comes, I will tell you myself.”
Jigme had shaken his head, but, out of respect, kept silent. However, he was worried about his teacher, who appeared to be getting frail with each passing day. Today, not only was he stopping to catch his breath, but his otherwise harmonious humming was interrupted by a hoarse cough. Just as he was about to complete his last circle, he jerked forward. Jigme rushed and caught him in time.
Looking at him with concern, Jigme said, “Your Holiness, I think you need to rest. You are not well!”
Panting heavily, The Learned One looked at his worried pupil. He closed his eyes and remarked, “I am afraid you are right! The time is near. Here, hold this and help me finish this round. Your one day has arrived sooner than I had wished!” And with that, he held out his red bundle to Jigme.
The young pupil carefully secured the bundle onto his shoulder and then slowly helped his teacher up. Supporting him by his waist, he helped The Learned One finish the remaining circle and then led him indoors.
His color seems to have come back, thought Jigme as he watched his teacher slowly sip the water he had got him. Maybe it was the winter chill that made him breathless.
Putting down his glass, The Learned One signaled Jigme to take a seat before him. He then turned to his side and pulled out his red bundle.
Jingle! Jangle!
Some objects clanked within as he slowly put it down. Unknotting the red fabric, he gently pulled it open to reveal numerous white Tsa Tsas11. Then, he looked at the perplexed Jigme and spoke, “You know what these are, don’t you?”
Jigme nodded. “Tsa Tsa. But so many? And whose are they? Why are they always with you?”
The Learned One chuckled, “So many questions all at once.”
Jigme looked abashed as The Learned One continued to speak. “Today, I will answer them all. These Tsa Tsas contain the holy ashes of the great Lamas who have brought wisdom and prosperity in this world.” He then picked one of the white clay pyramids and bowed his forehead against it. “One of these belongs to the Great Terton12, the famed treasure hunter. Then there is one of his son, his grandson, and the last Holiness of Gangtey and my own teacher. It is these revered souls that continue to spread the good vibes and fortune to all those who believe in their teachings.”
Jigme bowed his head in reverence. The Learned One smiled and blessed him. He looked into the warm, concerned eyes of the young man and said, “You always ask me why I carry the bundle with me?”
The Learned One paused as Jigme looked up and nodded. “Well, these Gurus still continue to bring good luck where they are taken. When I circle the temple thrice, it is to spread their blessings to the surrounding valley. Taking them to the farms of our people bestows them with good fortune. I am just the messenger, the carrier of their blessings to the people who need them.”
The wise teacher began to bundle the Tsa Tsas together. “The journey of,” he continued after a pause, “these Tsa Tsas is slowly coming to an end.”
Jigme looked up, confused and concerned. “But, Your Holiness, I can help you carry the bundle.”
“No, child, you misunderstand,” responded The Learned One. “I know you can help me, but I am the last messenger, and my time is near.”
Jigme looked alarmed. “O Learned One, there is nothing wrong with you. It is just the weather.”
Shaking his head, the old monk smiled and said mysteriously, “Death is but a new beginning. And you will see it for yourself. My end will bring a new life to not just me but these departed souls too. We will come back year after year to bless this valley.” He smiled at the look of bewilderment that Jigme gave him. “As I always say, when the time comes, you will know.”
The young apprentice shook his head and said, “O Wise One, your words are always a riddle to me. For now, just rest and don’t worry about your legacy. I will always honor it.”
The Learned One s
miled and concluded the discussion.
His health deteriorated over the next few days. However, that did not stop His Holiness from carrying out his daily rituals. He still continued to visit farms and homes, but now, he allowed Jigme to support him.
“O Great One! It is time to rest. Let me take the bundle and be the messenger while you rest,” pleaded Jigme. The old monk was getting ready to travel down the mountain to the flatlands to visit one of the farmers. His cough had become so bad that he could not walk even a few steps without doubling over.
“Jigme, son, you will always be my messenger. But for now, I have to do my last duty.” The Learned One hobbled along.
Jigme looked on with concern. The path down was slippery owing to the first snow of the season. The old monk descended slowly, taking longer and longer breaks. Halfway to the flatland, he slipped. Jigme caught him in the nick of time but could not grab the red bundle. The cloth sack got knocked over as the old monk fell and hit a sharp rock before falling over a ledge.
The Old Monk grabbed his pupil’s habit and whispered to him, “Son, don’t worry. We will be back next week on the same day!” And with those mysterious words, he breathed his last in the arms of his beloved student.
The new His Holiness slowly peeled out the new Tsa Tsa from its mold. He turned it around in his hand to check for any cracks. Satisfied that it was all good, he took a feather and scribbled ‘Om Mani Padma Hum’ on it. Giving it one final look, he put it away into his pocket and left the Gangteng Temple.
He climbed down the slippery ledge where his Guru’s precious bundle had fallen off the cliff. Lowering himself down, he looked around to find the sacred red package. It had been a week since the mishap, and it had been snowing constantly. Fearing that the bundle might have got buried, the new His Holiness Jigme began scraping the ground.
He wished that he had gone back sooner, but the funeral and the ceremonies had made it difficult for him to leave the monastery. After an hour of futile searching, Jigme sat down on a stone. He closed his eyes and recollected the last time he had seen The Learned One alive. The red bundle was on his shoulder from where it had flown down the cliff after hitting the big stone.
Jigme opened his eyes, retraced his steps to the stone, and looked down. Far below, a level down from where he had been searching, he caught the sight of the red cloth stuck between a bush and rock. Jigme lowered himself once again and slowly hiked his way to the spot. Using a stick, he managed to grip the end of the fabric and pull the bundle towards himself. The package seemed to have lost its usual shape.
Carefully securing the package on his shoulder, Jigme made his way back to the main landing. He sat down at the very place he had held his teacher and slowly opened the package.
Whoosh!
A gust of wind came from nowhere and blew the dusty remains of the broken Tsa Tsas from the bundle. Before Jigme could do anything, the ashes soared high above him and flew towards the valley. Jigme looked at the bundle and saw there was nothing left other than the broken pieces of clay. His eyes filled with tears, and he looked up at the sky. “I failed you, O Learned One. I could not save your legacy.”
With that, he reached into his pocket and brought out his teacher’s Tsa Tsa. He looked at it long and hard and then, without hesitating, broke it open. “It is only befitting that you join the ones you protected,” he whispered. On that cue, another gust of wind blew the small heap of ashes within and carried it in the same direction to the valley.
As Jigme watched the last speck of dust fly away, he heard them.
Kurrr! Kurrr!
He turned to the direction the sound was coming from and found himself looking at the Black Mountains. A flock of over fifty white birds came flying in a V formation.
Kurrr! Kurrr! Kurrr! Kurrr!
They flew strong and steadily right over him towards the Gangteng Monastery. They circled the monastery three times and then descended into the Phobjikha flatlands. Only one of them flew back towards Jigme. The bird settled in front of the young monk and stared back at him.
Tall and beautiful, the white crane had a black neck with a red crown—one similar to the red habits that the monks of Gangteng Monastery wore. It looked intensely at Jigme and then reached towards the red cloth that had the broken Tsa Tsas. Picking it up, it looked back at Jigme and then flew away to join the flock in the valley.
Jigme’s eyes filled with tears as he finally recalled and understood what the strange words of The Learned One—“Death is but a new beginning. And you will see it for yourself. My end will bring a new life to not just me but also these departed souls.”
Sobbing softly, Jigme raised his hands in prayer as he recalled the last promise The Learned One had made to him. It was a week since, and they were all back!
Gangteng Monastery – Early 2000s
“…The black-necked cranes stayed in the valley for the entire winter. Come spring, they circled the Gangteng Monastery three times and flew away to a strange land only to return the following winter. When they were here, they flew high and low over homes and farms of Phobjikha, showering all of us with prosperity and happiness. And that is why we celebrate and honor the arrival of these cranes with our festival,” concluded an old monk to the crowd of kids around him.
“What happened to His Holiness Jigme?” piped one of the kids.
“He lived a long and beautiful life. He is the one who helped expand this beautiful monastery. When he died, his soul joined his master’s. And as did the souls of all the revered lamas. Every year, the number of cranes increased.”
“When will they come, Your Holiness?” asked a cute seven-year-old girl with pigtails.
The old monk chuckled and replied, “As soon as you finish your crane dance to welcome them. Now come along, let’s get started. Everyone is waiting to see your performance.”
Bang! Clang! Poing!
The music began, and all the kids in their Black Crane costumes began their rehearsed steps. They glided down to the main square in a V formation and circled the central statue of Buddha. Spreading around, they swerved their necks to mimic the graceful cranes. The crowd applauded and cheered the youngsters as they continued to twirl to the rhythm of the drums.
And finally, with the last bang came a familiar sound.
Kurrr! Kurrr! Kurrr!
The crowd looked up to see a flock of over two hundred birds flying in from above the Black Mountains. The kids cheered as they flew over them to the Gangteng Monastery. As if they were a single unit, they circled the divine temple thrice and then flew down to spend the rest of the winter in the silent Phobjikha valley.
PHOBJIKHA VALLEY, BHUTAN
The Gangtey Monastery in Phobjikha Valley of Bhutan
No one has been able to explain the bizarre behavior of the black-necked cranes that fly all the way from Tibet to the silent valley enclosed by the Black Mountains in Central Bhutan. Every year when they arrive, they fly over the gorgeous Gangteng Monastery, circle it three times, and descend into the flatlands, where they spend the rest of the winter. Before they return at the start of spring, they again fly over the monastery and circle it thrice.
The Bhutanese believe that these cranes are messengers from heaven and carry the souls of the Lamas. If they fly over farms, those lands are blessed with a good harvest. The locals associate the cranes with longevity and prosperity. Every November, the Gangteng Monastery celebrates the Black-necked Crane festival to celebrate these unique birds that have been a part of their lives.
Additional Reading
Phobjikha Valley – Silence of the Black Mountains of Bhutan - https://thrillingtravel.in/phobjikha-valley-blackmountains-bhutan.html
The Midnight Masquerade
Venice, Italy
Venice – Year 1756
Scrunch! Scratch! Grind!
The little iron tip slowly moved in and out of the wood, deepening the crater. The constant noise had become a part of the nocturnal sounds, almost merging with the sound of the canal water and
the merciless wind that whipped the lead roof of the enclosed space. The occasional chirping of the crickets managed to drown the rhythm of wood-scraping, giving complete anonymity to its creator.
Jab! Thwack!
This time a bigger chunk flew out, making a louder than usual sound. He stopped abruptly and swiftly covered the crater with a cloth. He lay still, listening to his own heart racing, alert for any reaction to the departure from the usual decibel levels. After a few moments, when he heard the sound of the midnight revelry loud and clear, he relaxed and went back to the slow rhythm of scraping.
His hands continued doing the monotonous chore, while his thoughts raced away to the last time he had heard the clarinet at the ball.
Doge’s13 Palace, Venice – Year 1755
Their eyes followed him from the moment he walked into the festive courtyard of the Palazzo Ducale. His handsome demeanor, well-toned body, wavy hair, and the mischief in his eyes were instant beacons for the opposite sex. Even the gold and violet Venetian mask failed to obscure his charisma. In fact, the ornate façade actually enhanced his charms.
His roving eyes skimmed over every woman, making her feel that she was the ‘one.’ He serenaded them without words, and when he did use his deep baritone to utter a few, they were entrapped, ready to do anything to make him stay. It was this gift of bewitchment that he used to meet his ends.
