Time Flows Still

There are one hundred and eleven wooden planks on the main span of the wooden cantilever bridge at Nemey Zampa, as one approaches the Paro Rinpung Dzong. As a kid, I counted it almost every day on the way to and back from school which was within sight of the bridge, some fifteen years back.

Much water has flowed under this bridge since and when I counted that day, I smiled when I got off the final plank with the same number, one hundred and eleven.

The Nemey Zampa wooden cantilever bridge

The dawn was jostling for space with the night sky and the air had the remnants of the winter chill. My breath came out as vapour as I made my way up the granite flatstone-paved path to the Dzong; these are the same stones on which Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru and his daughter Indira Gandhi once walked on, back in 1958. I have no idea how old this path actually is; the Dzong itself was built in the 17^th century.

It was the last day of the Paro Tshechu and I was making my way up the path to the Tshechu grounds to witness the Guru Thongdrol.

Tshechus are festivals held in honour of Guru Padmasambhava, also known as Guru Rinpoche (the precious teacher). The dates and duration of the Tshechus vary between different places but almost all of them are held on the 10^th day of the month according to the Bhutanese lunar calendar.

Monks as well as laymen perform the various dances (Chham) during the Tshechus. The dancers personify the compassionate as well as wrathful deities, heroes, demons and even animals. Deities are invoked by these dances and onlookers are blessed and protected from misfortune. It is also a yearly social gathering for people to come together and rejoice.

My personal favourite is the Dance of Judgement of Death (Raksha Machham), where the Lord of Death (Shinje Chhogyel) pronounces the verdict for a good man and a sinner after they’ve both crossed the Bardo (an in-between period of wandering after death).

Shijne Chhogyel, Lord of Death, who presides over the Judgement of Death

The Guru Thongrol is displayed for a few hours at dawn on the last day of the Paro Tshechu. Thongdrol stands for “liberation at sight” (Thong = to see; Drol = liberation). The Guru Thongdrol of Paro is one of the largest in the world and is almost 350 years old.

I walked up this stone-paved path at the crack of dawn as a child without knowing why or understanding its significance; today, I realize its importance enough to have come all the way from Thimphu in the wee hours of the morning.

Walking with me were the local people of Paro, decked in their finest clothes, most noticeable among them the Goechey (brocade) ghos and tegos. At such festivals ghos and kiras with intricate patterns, some of them passed down as family heirlooms, are worn with pride.

A majority of them were carrying packed lunch with them, a meal that’ll be shared between the family members after witnessing the Thongdrol. This is an age-old tradition where the only change over time has been the way the food is carried; Bangchungs (cane basket containers) have now been replaced by plastic hot-cases. Bangchungs are now sold as “decorative pieces” to visiting tourists.

As I approached the Tshechu grounds I noticed that the temporary stalls that used to line both sides of the grounds before were conspicuous by their absence. The stalls used to sell food and drinks, hosted games for prizes, and sold handicrafts to tourists.

The stalls used to give the Tshechu a fair-like atmosphere and used to be a way for the local people to indulge in fun and frolic, a break from the normally serious routines on their farms. To maintain hygiene at the Tshechu grounds the stalls are now located near the Paro town.

Save for the stalls not much had changed from fifteen years back. The Lhakhangs that host the Tshechu and Thongdrol, the way the ceremonies are conducted, even the number of people in the crowd, seemed the same as before. And of course, the Guru Thongdrol itself stands as a living testament to the timelessness of such traditions and customs of our country.

The Guru Thongdrol

 I moved silently with the crowd towards the Guru Thongrol and sought blessings. As I walked away from it to look at it from afar, I was just as mesmerized by the majesty of the Thongdrol just like I had been as a small child. I silently looked on as the first rays of the sun came streaming through the trees and the Thondrol was rolled up for the year.

When I approached the bridge on my way down I was ushered by policemen to take the exit path which led to a make-shift bridge over the river, solely for people returning from the Tshechu. I was disappointed by the fact that I could not count, once more, the unchanging number of planks on the wooden cantilever bridge.