Boy to Monk

Boy to Monk

When I asked Lama Jamyang’ why he became a monk, he said that in his village, Mustang, the middle son must become a monk.  Then he smiled cheekily and said: “But I am not a middle son”.

On his 7th birthday he become very ill and the local doctor could find no cure for the child. A Lama from the nearby monastery, who came to their house often to do puja and was his parents’ friend, advised them that for the boy’s suffering to end he must become a monk, or else he would die. As their son had lapsed into unconsciousness twice already, his parents conceded and dedicated his life to the monastery.

His health improved immediately.  At the time, the monastery was poor and could not afford to feed more mouths, so the boy that later became Lama Jamyang, continued to live at home and went to the monastery to learn to read from an old monk. As he grew older, he spent more time at the monastery, but still remained living at home.

When the little monk was 9 or 10 years old, the Rinpoche of the monastery at Lumbini, birth place Prince Siddhartha Gautama who later became Buddha, visited the Mustang monastery. The Rinpoche had been there many times and the little monk’s father knew him well. This time, he asked the Rinpoche to take the little boy to Lumbini with him.

Lama Jamyang was quick to defend his father’s decision. “My father had two reasons for sending me away. Firstly, I was very naughty and my parents could not discipline me to study. Secondly, at Lumbini I would receive a very good education”.

The Rinpoche accepted the boy in his care and they set off for Lumbini.

Was he scared? “ No, I wasn’t scared. But I was very upset. I was leaving my home and family. I was leaving my mother and everything I knew.  Besides, food at the monastery in Lumbini was scarce and of poor quality. I was not scared, but most of the time I was very hungry” said the now rotund monk.

Did he ever regret being a monk? Lama Jamyang smiled ruefully.  “ No regrets…but, well, living with a lot of other people can sometimes be difficult.”

I thought of the baby monks I met the other day in Boudha, bound for a monastery in Varanasi.  New surroundings, new country, new language. I remembered their haplessness in draping their robes, their frowning foreheads and trembling lips. I imagined their loss of their family at their age. I wished that, just like Lama Jamyang, they will look back one day and have no regrets.





Will be back soon...

At 6am tomorrow I am setting on the trek in the mountains to go talk to the Shaman in Photeng and the nuns in Bigu. I don't think there will be internet; I'll be lucky if I get phone reception.  There are no  comforts, including showers and yes, I will wear my grimy clothes day in day out. I am excited and apprehensive in equal measures. And I hope I have the strength and determination to make the most of and laugh at myself in any situations I find myself in.