WRITERS AND THEIR WORKS

About the Book

The Ballad of Pemi Tshewang Tashi is a virile translation into English of one of the most popular Bhutanese Lozey. In this heroic tale, the chamberlain of the title recites how he has been ordered to lead a detachment to attack a foe of his master, although his own heart is not in the quarrel. He sets off with a premonition of disaster, but puts loyalty to his lord above personal presentiments. He reflects with wastefulness and passion on the landscape ad persons he is leaving behind. After the battle, he is cornered and trapped by forces of his adversary at the formidable cliff at Thomangdrak near Tongsa.

As well as dwelling on notable features of the landscape of western and central Bhutan, the ballad reminds the reader of the romance and hardship of travel in the past and also of the nature of virtues such as courage and obedience.

Technically, the translator has demonstrated a masterful control of the metre and rhythm of this orally-transmitted tale. In his lucid introduction, he observes how the popularity of this particular lozey has fortunately ensured its survival over a hundred years.

WHY MUST I GO TO WAR ?

Towards the rising sun, among the eastern17 villages,
The hamlet of the lady of Kashi:
Like golden scripture, its upper reaches
Like silver dish, its lower stretches.
In the middle, within something of palace:
Brother of one, festooned with coral necklace
A husband and companion of Phurchung Zam,
A great father, father of daughter Lhaden Zam,
The trusted son of mother Sonam Pem,
I, the Chamberlain Tshewang Tashi-
Upper lip like a lotus petal,
Lower lip like a coral flower;
Between, in what is like a temple
The boneless tongue can turn well.

The crests of Phanyulgang like Tibetan hills;
Tibetan hills and plateaus are reserves of gold.
The foothills of Komathang are like Indian places;
Indian place and plains are reserves of silver.

Up in the lap of Khujuk mountains
Down on the neck by sumthuet bridge
Where Dzongothang has been levelled
Where Thangochoten has been constructed

Where chorten and mani18 are circumambulated
Where the mani, in clockwise direction, is rotated
Where gayshing19 is in profuse blossom20
_________________________________
17 There is a double entendre on the word 'nima Sha'. Sha (east) is the name of a group of villages. This makes sense only because it lies in easterly direction from Thimphu region. It is east (Sha) in the geographical sense but also in the direction of sunrise. However, when Pemi Tshewang Tashi talks about going east, facing east or capturing the dzong in the east, he means central Bhutan which lies east of Wangdi. Thus the geographical point of reference for east is a shifting one. This can be confusing for those not familiar with the landscapes mentioned in the ballad.

18 Bothe chorten and mani or reliquary mounds

19 An evergreen tree, which provides deep shade, found in sub-tropical areas. It was identified as ficus concinna.
_______________________________________

Where the blossoms are offered to gods
Where the tail of the dzong ends on cliff
Where the cliff is braced by the river lake
Where the river lake is beautified by turquoises
Where turquoises are offered as mandala21
Where the dzong is painted white
Where the red-brand22 is painted vermilion
Where the door frames are painted dark blue
Where the entrance is through a single gateway
Where inside, individuals have their own chambers
Where each chamber has an antechamber.23
In the chamber with its balcony to the east
Dwells Aum Wangmo's24 Angdruk Nim
In the chamber with its balcony to the South
Dwells the head abbot25 of the abbey.

On the slopes of the mountains of Dagala,
By the entrance of the home of rish nomadic herder
Are a hundred furry yaks and a thousand wool-less yaks
And a hundred milking jims26 and a thousand non-milking jims.

So too, in the anterchamber of Lord Angdruk Nim
Are a hundred famed garp27 and a thousand nameless garp.
By leaving those nameless garp behind
On the fames ones, the lord had conferred honours;
That Kunzang Gyeltshen of Ruebesa
Is the confidant of Lord Angdruk who is up above.
That Zhelngo Dawa Penjore
Is the flower of the countryard that is down below;
That Dorji of Sha Kunzangling.

Is the chief of all those companions;
I, myself, Pemik Tshewang Tashi,
Am the gem of the antechamber that lies in between.

In the green fields of wheat

_________________________________

20 Gayshing does not flower. However there are cotton trees near the dzong which give bright red flowers. Gayshing was identified by Mrs. Rebecca Pradhan at Forest Research Institute at Taba as ficus concinna. As fodder its leaves are liked especially by elephants. Elegant gayshings which have attained hundreds of years of age are found near houses and at the sources of springs in Kashi and Nisho.

21 Mandala represents Buddhist cosmic structure. The whole universe, which the mandala signifies, is submitted as offerings during ceremonies.

22 'Kaymaar', a red band painted below the eaves of the dzong to denote that it is a religious structure.

23 Antechamber is usually known as 'at the door' since it is the room before enterng into the chamber.

24 Aum Wangmo is the mother of Chamberlain Angdruk Nima.

25 Lam Neten
26 Female yak

27 Garp are attendants. By the time of Pemi Tshweng Tashi, I do not think that there were significant professional differences between garp and boet. Garp were originally recruited from the monks, and performed the role of messengers. Boet were originally recruited from among the villagers, and deployed to exact fines and levies and to impose penalties.
_______________________________________

Bloom the white flowers of buckwheat
Yet before the tip of white buds could open
The stems were ravaged28 by backness.
In the fortress of Wangdi dzong
I, my mother's Pemi Tshewang Tashi,
Though my body appertains to that of a lord
My mind still belongs to that of a garp.

Behind the high pass of Pelela
In the dzong29 that lies in the lap of a mountain,
One who was born to the princess of Dungkar:
Choije Dungkar Gyeltshen.
And in the lap of Kikila30
In the fortress of Yujel dzong31
One who was born to the princess of Tamshing:
Choje Pem Tenzin.

With power of their own minds32, neither did appraise;
Overpowered by others33, their own views were trampled down
From a holder made of a reed of bamboo
Were produced a pair of mellifluous kongthang34.

The golden thread that arose from Bumthang
The silken thread that arose from Mangde35
Were spun and drafted clockwise together
But the threads were not drafted equally.
As the threads were attenuated differentially;
Their discord36 was blown as high as the sky
As their discord was blown as high as the sky
He, Choje Dungkar Gyeltshen
To the Desi of Punakha, dispatched a letter
With the Zongpoon of Wangdi, sought a talk
The main purpose of the consultation
Was to seek support in the war.

The command of Zongpon Angdruk Nim-
To dismiss it, is as dear as gold,
To carry it out, is as heavy as the hills-

Was that is should go to support the war.
To gain a small fortress in the east
Hope for reinforcement was pinned on me,
Since I am the hope for reinforcement
I now have some inner thoughts that I would like to bare.

"If turn by turn we should go,
_________________________________
28 In the original, the expression is 'tilted towards blackness', which conveys a sense of rot that has set in, as well as the consequent crumbling.

29 Tongsa dzong.

30 The mountain dividing Choskhor and Chumey valley in Bumthang.

31 Jakar dzong.

32 In the original, the literal expressions is "not observing with the power of ones' own eyes".

33 Probably, this means that they were misled by other people to induce disagreement between them.

34 A musical instrument made of bamboo.
35 The name for Tongsa district, deriving from Mangde River.

36 The literal expression in the original is a compound phrase, 'victory-defeat'
_________________________________

My turn it surely will not be.
Though there are countless, nameless garp
There are many other more reputed ones.
All the fames ones honoured by the lord
Now, all must go, and all should go."

There is here in the fortress of Wangdi,
A descendant of a learned occultist.
To this learned son of the occultist
We went to seek his divinations.
When the son of the learned occultist
To the ground had cast the die
And then also concluded sarideo37
The horoscope pointed straight at me.

Though it was made turn by turn
The turn now fell on me.
Even in my dream I did not see.

Yet, the foreboding turn fell on me.
And since this foreboding turn has fallen on me

As battle reinforcement, I must go.
It is too early to go tomorrow
Too late to go the day after the day after tomorrow
At dawn the day after tomorrow
Towards the east, the riding horse must turn.
"Aum Dolma's Kunzang Dorjy
Shall make my armour ready."

The Ballad of Pemi Tshewang Tashi

_________________________________
37 A form of divination that is invoked to make difficult decisions. It is still practised in Jala and Ula in Sha Ruebesa.

The Hero
With A Thousand Eyes

A historical novel

This novella is set in the Himalayan Kingdom of Bhutan in the recent past. Nevertheless, it reflects an age and a set of manners - mostly set about the court and central administration - which is now almost completely changed. This is a book about a courtier, who represented a mode of life and living which had vanished overnight, and not about the kings he served, but the reader will find rich detail on all aspects of life in Bhutan.

The plot is a relatively simple one. An reincarnation is born in central Bhutan with prospects of a quiet and uneventful religious life in a small but lively rural community. By happenstance, he is allowed to serve first at the court of second King, and later in the wider administration of the country retirement, Bhutan is already caught up in increasingly rapid economic, social, political, and cultural changes.
Within this outline, the author weaves a sensitive and detailed account of daily life and court ritual, of loves and intrigues, with an abiding nostalgia for an era from which even the shadows are fading daily. The reader leaves this book feeling enriched by the sheer vitality of the lives, emotions and landscapes so faithfully portrayed, but tinged with sandiness for the passing of such a vigourous sense of community. Long after the volume is put down, The Hero with a Thousand Eyes remains hauntingly with us and teases all our senses, like the early morning scent of juniper smoke from a temple in that far away land. For young Bhutanese

especially, the volume stands like an old thangkha backdrop to contemporary life, while for older generations it will be savoured for the bitter-sweetness of a full yet gentle life in the midst of often unexpected complications.

For the international audience which can also access this volume, the tale can be read on its own merits as a biographical novel; but it can also be read as both a record and an exploration of aspects of Bhutan's recent past, reminding us of how novel is the material aspect of much of our development, and how its foundations often are laid through the forethought and imagination of outstanding leaders such as the late and revered third King of Bhutan, Jigmi Dorji Wangchuck.

A Priestly Grooming

I came from a hereditary lamaist family that stood out from the community. Its status lay half way between households of the commoners and of the nobility. Such families were considered higher than households of the commoners, who had to pay taxes, but lower than aristocracies who received some of the taxes. Hereditary lamaist families are a vanishing social institution, if not already extinct. Its distinctive privileges were annulled some three decades ago. In my youth, such families could claim special dispensations.

Like other such families, our family of Shingkhar Lam was exempt from a variety of taxes which were levied on ordinary households. Being a part of the network of lamaist families did not free us from other obligations and specialized responsibilities. The eight lamaist families in the province of Bumthang were obliged to perform periodic rituals in Kurje and Jakar. Almost all taxes were honoured in either services or goods, and rarely in coin-money. The type of taxes our family faced involved performance of rites in the temples of Kurje and Jakar dzong, the administrative centre which was a day's walk from our village.

My father joined lamas of other families to conduct the annual Sondep Bumdi ritual in Kurje for about ten days, and read volumes of Kanjur in Jakar dzong for about seven days. Kanjur comprises a hundred or so volumes of Buddhist teachings. The ritual took place on the same dates every year. There were about forty of us representing eight lama families in Bumthang. A set of Kanjur was read for seven days, during which food was served by the administration in Jakar dzong. A week was the prescribed duration for provision of our sustenance. But it was not possible to read the complete set of Kanjur by the end of the week. The rite would end abruptly after seven days without all the volumes being read. The compulsory participation in these two annual rites was part of the taxes on cleric families.

My father and I were delayed once on the way to Jakar, and were late by a day for the rite. He had to go through a disconcerting punishment for not arriving on time. My father, who was deeply venerated as an eminent lama in several districts, had to pull his clothes up to his waist and bend, and he was flogged in public three times on his bare posterior. Then, he had to lug around rather heavy stones from one spot to another for five days to no purpose. As I recall, my father performed this penal service with the same dignity as he would observe during a ritual to sanctify a place.

Another onus on us as a lamaist family was that my father had to call on the monarch within three days of the latter's arrival from his winter capital. The court migrated to Kinga Rabden Palace in Trongsa in winter and back to Wangdecholing Palace, Jakar, in spring. It was customary at the time of calling for each lamaist family to pay a fixed levy of one yathra, the famed woolen textile of Bumthang, with a pitcher full of araa to greet his return from the winter palace. Yathras, a textile specialty of Bhumthang, were useful as gifts from the elites of Bhuman to the nobles of Tibet. Through a suitable means of communication, the royal family disclosed the choice of size and patterns of yathras they preferred, so that the nobles and lamas could bring more agreeable tributes. Quite often, the King inspected the quality of yathras. God once was sent as gifts to high-ranking Tibetans. The tribute of one yathra and a pitcher full of araa was reciprocated by the Kind with three balls of tea and five metres of broad cloth. This exchanges of gifts within three days of the court's arrival was bound by tradition.

Another responsibility of the lamaist families was to nurse back health and strength emaciated horses belonging to the court stable. Scrawny and weak horses that required too much care for the Tapon (chief of stable) had to be revived by the lamaist and other well known families. Such horses were also assigned to the managers of royal estates in Trongsa district. I was intrigued by the convention, and wondered how horse rearing came to be associated with the expertise of lamaist families.

We had to go to a great deal of trouble to rejuvenate such horses. We were very wary that they might fall victim to the wolves, tigers and leopards which haunted the ranges above the village, or be impaled by oxen and yaks with whom they could not avoid contact in the narrow confines of village streets. We fattened them by feeding a raw egg or two whenever we could spare. Buckwheat, wheat and maize filled their troughs as frequently as possible, until the chief of stable asked for them. The horses were voracious and consumed a great deal of grains, which could have been used as our own food. My parents had the honour, thought it now seems dubious, of many sickly horses for the royal stable.

As the lamaist family of Shingkhar, we had a certain respectability in the community. My father, Lama Kenchog Gyeltshen, was the astro-practitioner in the village as well as the main custodian of the shrine of the community. He was consulted and had a significant role during occasions of birth, death, marriage, journey and celebration. But the prestige of the family was not backed up by any tangible wealth. The members of our family wore handed-down clothes from my grandfather, who was richer than us. Our grandfather gave a set of clothes to each of us every few years.

We had to land holding of paddy fields in warmer places, which was the first conventional yardstick of the well-to-do. The size of both our herds of yaks and cattle were below fifteen head, which was the second measure of wealth in such pastoral communities. We owned yaks only after my mother was brought as a bride from Ura. My maternal grandfather gave her a small breeding stock of both yaks and cattle. But the seed stock failed obdurately to multiply and we lived within the means provided by an extremely small heard.

We had a small flock of sheep, as did most of the households in our village. Our sheep were tended by another family in the village, along with their own flock. I went occasionally with my shepherd friends. They would let their flocks out late during rough weather, or when there was snow cover on the ground. In spring and autumn, they let the flocks out only after the morning sun melted away frost.

Some of my most recurrent memories of childhood are associated with the days with my shepherd friends. Along with them, I remember chasing rams, as soon as we crossed the threshold of the village. I could catch only a few docile rams to ride, especially the spotted one. The spotted ram and I developed a sense of companionship. We would advance on our rams in a column after a great mass of sheep. We got off near the village, when we returned in the evening, so that our parents would not know that we had been riding them. We suffered from several injuries, getting tossed in the air, before we could master how to remain astride a running ram. It was generally agreed among knowledgeable shepherds that it was more dangerous to be thrown of by a ram than pony.

The rolling slopes round the village, now thoroughly encroached by forest, provided wide foraging grounds for the sheep of our village. The flocks were usually driven in the same direction, so the shepherds could keep each other company throughout the day. We pooled our lunches, usually made up of roasted black barley, popped corns, buckwheat khurwa (a type of pancake) and keptang (wheat or buckwheat pancake). It was a great temptation to eat our lunches early and then return home with our flocks because we found ourselves hungry.

While not rounding up the flocks which strayed into fields or forests, we sang songs, spotted lice on each others' scalp and clothes, held games meets among children, fought with each other, set up fights between dominant rams, told stories, hunted for moulted feathers of pheasants to flesh arrows, collected firewood, bamboo, lichen, mushrooms and flowers to take home in the evening.

Sometimes, the news of the presence of major predators like leopards and grey wolves reached us from the next village or rangeland sheds where livestock had been maimed or killed. We had to be especially watchful over our flocks of sheep, cattle and horses during such times. But keeping patrol over flocks did not really help, for the predators frequently out foxed the child-shepherds.

For my shepherd friends, winter and lambing seasons were the most demanding part of an otherwise fun-filled time. After the ewes lambed, the child-shepherds were forewarned about the lambs that had far less sense and did not keep up with the wandering flocks. The lambs would be left behind, beneath bushes, though the ewes would then become inconsolable and bleat all the time. Foxes were a constant threat to the lambs.

The most calamitous event for one of my shepherd friends occurred one night in winter. A sheep pen made up of a stonewall enclosure stood near his house. Small gaps were kept between the roof and the wall to let in air and light, but these gaps also tempted prey. In a night raid, during which we did not feel the slightest disturbance, eighteen out of seventy-one sheep were killed, perhaps by leopards. When he went to release them in the morning, he found mangled bodies. Some were about to die, and lay with their necks stiffening with pain. My favourite spotted ram, one of the few I could catch and ride, was also a casualty.

We had a darkened, crumbling, three storeyed house. I grew up in my first ten years, in its soot and smoke-filled rooms. It was very drafty and did not provide good protection against the fierce and frigid wind. The speed and the ferocity of the wind blowing against the windows and doors gave me the impression of someone invisible forcing them open. The death of person in the village intensified that impression and I would not dare to get up and go to bolt the door. During such moments, I rushed to sit by my mother's side.

The ladder up to the middle storey was perilously steep and the corridor and landings did not get a ray of light. I was frequently gripped by fright when I had to through the corridor and down the ladder on my own, a fear which was reinforced by my tumbling down the ladder several times when descending it. It is a common childhood experience among the Bhutanese that often leaves marks in the form of scaly scars and protuberances in unlikely places left behind by numerous falls during childhood were made worse by the scares added during the handling of knives from a young age.

The thought of waking up alone at night filled me with an aching fear. I felt petrified whenever I woke up at night. During those interminable moments, I held my breath for too long out of fear, and after many such instances, I sweated and had to come up from under the heavy duvets for air. Never did I require greater courage than to push my head out of the blanket cover so that I could breath properly. But as my head popped out on the pillow, the sinister sound of snoring overwhelmed me. A priest and a shoemaker, who often slept in our house, were champion snorers. Instead of feeling reassured by those sleeping close by, the sniffing and snoring that reverberated through the silence of the night only worsened the vivid fright I suffered. The room would become dead silent for one moment and full of snoring the next, as people spasmodically snored in unison.

_________________________
The Hero With A Thousand Eyes