Exercising Choice

Choice?

Last full day at Bigu Gompa. I feel a little wistful.  For 5 days I have been easily and generously accepted as a member of this community of nuns. Would I want to stay here longer? I am not sure. I am tired of the dirt and grime. I want a clean western style toilet, a hot running clean shower, food I can eat without wondering if it will give me stomach cramps. I’d like lots of clean drinking water without the fear of getting sick from drinking it.

I am dreading the walk back, but I know that I’ll make it. A- step- at- a -time. I’ll huff and puff and be miserable and will curse myself numerously for choosing to go through these hardships. But, every step will be a step  closer to getting home, as my friend Sheena reminded me. 

At 6.30am tomorrow Robin and I will start the 2 day walk that will get us to the  crowded and decrepit bus bound for Kathamandu on Monday afternoon-if everything goes to plan. And next day at midnight I’ll board the flight back to my life.




How has this trip changed me, I wonder again? In what ways will I carry these mountains and the people I met with me? Sunil the porter, the first Shaman’s little boys and his iron-willed wife, the inn keeper and her toddler on the high pass, the second Shaman and his 10-children bearing wife and of course the wonderful nuns; especially the little ones.

Washing up

I get to thinking about the nuns. I have mostly interacted with  the young novices. The youngest, 7-year old, Tenzin Sangmo is a tiny girl with a big smile, who although likes to pose for photos as much as every other young nun there, given a choice she much prefers to be taking them. Her eyes light up if you offer her the camera and she seriously focuses on taking the pictures. Neema is a nine year old cheeky tomboy, full of life and laughter.

Tenzin taking photos

Neema

Some of these young nuns, like Tenzin and Neema, are so sweet that I want to take them with me, away from dirt and hardships. As soon as this thought hits my consciousness, it gives me pause. Is it true that they are experiencing misery? They seem happy. They run about and play, smiling and laughing all day long. Still, they hardly get any education, apart from Tibetan, Nepali and haphazard English. Their diet consists of rice, dhal and potato and lacks any form of nutrition that their young bodies need to grow strong and healthy. They hardly get any affection from the older nuns and they work hard at washing the dishes by the stream water, cleaning and cooking in medieval conditions. I am not being a critical Westerner. Or at least, I try not to be. I just try to notice and think through what life will be like for them in the future. 

I try to imagine the years ahead of Tenzin and Neema, ahead of all the novice nuns I met here. I wonder the same questions I wondered when I met the baby monks in Boudha. How many of them will stay nuns? How many will stay nuns happy and knowing that this road is the one for them? How many will be unhappy enough and brave enough to leave? How many will be unhappy, but not brave and will stay in a life they don’t want and most likely didn't choose? 

I thought monasteries are pious places. I don’t find this place very pious. At puja you only see the young nuns. They are obliged to attend. Some of the adult nuns attend, but not many. There are around 70 nuns in Bigu Gumpa I am told. I am sure the number is an exaggeration. I have seen the odd old nun here and there, but hardly any of them go to Puja or to the kitchen for meals. Apparently, the old ones tend to stay in their rooms to pray and meditate and they even cook there, preferring not to interact with others much. The Rinpoche is hoping to build a community of nuns at Bigu on the foundations of the new kitchen he has commissioned. The rest of the adults, like the Head nun, the Head teacher, the Cook claim too much work and skip Puja.


My sensibilities are offended; I find it “wrong". After all, didn’t they become nuns to pray? Isn’t it their job?And praying in your room is not really the same thing, is it? Besides how about giving a good example to the new nuns?


In truth, I am in no position to judge them. I have spent 5 day here and if I am honest, I know nothing of their lives. Beyond the common reason offered "I wanted to pray and be a nun", it would a take a long time to build enough intimacy and find out how they feel about it now. It would certainly require the absence of an interpretor, or at least a really skilled female one, to get to the real answers that I glimpse flashing momentarily in their eyes, before they give me the socially acceptable responses.

I find myself repeatedly asking each of them (and every monk I come across) why they became a nun and why they stay one. In my questions I notice a judgement and catch the shadow questions behind the ones I ask out loud. Do they stay nuns because they really like it and want it, or because they know of nothing else and have nowhere else to go? Did they become nuns because their lives outside the monastery offered nothing more than hopelessness and unhappiness? Did they escape a life of abuse and misery with this choice? I realise that the deeper question I want an answer to, is why anyone would choose to live such a life. I ask if there are statistics on how many of the little ones remain nuns once they are old enough to understand and make a choice for themselves. Of course there are no statistics and even if there were they wouldn’t tell me.

Embarrassed at my own judgemental closed-mindedness, I probe further into what I really object to. It is this: The choice for the young nuns, like Tenzin, like the baby monks in Boudha, is made for them; and it is made for them, at a very early stage in their lives. I wonder if that is so different for Western kids. Parents and teachers and the education system drive their choices for them: what school they will attend, what exams they’ll take, what sports they’ll do. Yes, I know, somehow there is a difference. Or is there...? 


I reflect some more and realise that the main issue here for me is “choice”? Then I laugh at myself. We are so conditioned in the West about “having” a choice” and about “exercising that choice”; about taking the "responsibilty of our choices”. How appalled was I when Grandpa said he was happy about not having the responsibility of earning a living, of having property, of dealing with desire! Yet, a little voice nudges me, how many people in our so called "civilised" society would very much like to abdicate (marvellous judgemental word) their “choice,” in exchange for no responsibility? 


My head hurts from these musings. I have no answers. I still have an unease about these children being herded (judgemental again!) into the monasteries at such an early age, but I don't know enough about their lives. Really, I don't know enough about the monastic life to make a sensible judgement. Maybe in time I'll go looking for more answers. 


For now I let go and give in to the positive energy of the place. It suddenly occurs to me that maybe, this energy is what brings and keeps these children and women here. 


I am going to the afternoon Puja. I have asked the Head nun if they would pray for my family and friends, the living and the dead. She happily said yes and adds that Pujas for the Dead are done in the afternoon and for the Living in the early morning.


A Puja for my Dead

5pm.  The conch boooooo-ed and the gong gong-ed. 

Going to Puja

The littles nuns are busy running around, posing for photos and playing.The patient nun ringing the gong, rang it again and again, well beyond the call of duty, until the nuns started to treacle into the monastery temple.

The chanting is well under way and still little burgundy whirlwinds rush in, stop abrubtly at the entrance, press their hands in Namaste,  kneel and prostrate to the Buddha, get up up again and repeat the process 3 times, before hurrying to their pre-assigned seat and picking up the chant.

The butter tea urns arrive. The kitchen novices pour cups of butter tea along the long rows of nuns, having first of course made tea offerings to the Buddha and the Rinpoche's photo. The older nuns are praying using their rosary beads to keep count. The young ones are chatting  and looking over my way. I wave and they wave back giggling behind their hands.

The big drum

The chanting stops and silent praying and meditation starts. Occasionally you hear a voice, often very young, very quietly reciting Om Mani Padne OM...

I open my eyes from my own meditation. The afternoon sun is streaming through the windows on the polished blond old knarled floorboards. Shadows play on the painted Buddha wall images and the smell of the newly applied vermillion paint of the wall skirting is strong.

In the monastery temple

More big pots of tea arrive, carried aloft above her head by tiny Tenzin, struggling under the weight.

Time passes and the room begins to chill and darken in proportion to the weakening sun rays outside.

Silk hangings in the monastery temple

There is a peace sitting here in this room full of young spirits who by whatever route have devoted their lives to cleansing the sins of this world through prayer. There is a peace in the atmosphere, in the immobility of the hanging tapestries and the Buddha images and the big Buddha statue. There is a peace in the wisperings of the mantras. There is a peace in the slowly dimming light. It brings a stillness inside that lets you know that you don’t need anything and that the world is as it should be. 


There is an intangible something, a spaciousness, an openness that goes far beyond the four walls of this room and the vastness of the mountains and plains surrounding us. There is a presence that is not present and can't be seen or touched but is palpably felt. A presence that fills you up and yet leaves you empty of sorrow and sadness. it  is a longing already fulfilled. Here in this room, there is peace of mind. 

Puja for the Dead

In the monastery temple

The chanting has restarted. The Head nun approaches me and says “your Puja just started”.  I am a bit disoriented and not sure what I am meant to do. She extends her arm and I get up and join her in bowing to the Buddha 3 times, just like I have seen the nuns do. We then approach the main altar where she gives me 2 ghee candles to light. "Say a wish for them" she says and I wish that "May they be at peace wherever and in whatever existence they are".

The candles' flames sputter as the Head nun flicks some liquid on them  from a tiny urn. "To remove any obstacles"  she says and she then pours a bit of it in my palm, instructing to sip. It is bitter, overstewed, cold sage tea. Then, she takes a stack of rupee notes, converted from the offering I gave her earlier, and passes a white scarf over them. She hands me the scarf and a few notes to place on the altar and indicates I should bow to the Buddha. We do the same to the Rinpoche’s photo, as well as to the photos of a couple of, what I assume to be, earlier Rinpoches or important Lamas.

Then we move along the rows of chanting nuns. I put notes infront each one of them and I bow Namaste. They Namaste back and bow their heads. Some of the little ones smile and say thank you. All of a sudden they don't look like children anymore. I notice a focus and a solemnity in their chanting. Their faces are intend in saying a prayer for my Dead souls. As I move along, I feel my tears welling and my breath catching. I sit back in my place and remember them all, one by one. The ones long gone and the ones that are still recent; and the tears come and run freely. The little nuns opposite me look alarmed. I smile through my tears and they smile back with relief. They are still children...

Their chanting has now changed to melodic singing. To my ears it sounds joyful and light and matches the release that I feel inside. I get lost in their singing and forget myself in their voices; i am not aware of any thoughts or feelings.

I can see little Neema, 7 years old and tiny beginning to sway. Her pretty little head moves from side to side, turns a semi circe and back. She seems floppy and far, far away…I watch amazed and I am sure that this young child has dropped into a trance. She gives a big yawn and sits up…I try not to laugh at my fanciful mind. No trance, just a tired sleepy child that has been up since 4.30am that morning! The day is drawing to an end and probably only her growiling tummy is  standing between her and bed.

Now, the nuns are back to their rhythmic monotonous chanting. We’ve been in puja now for 2.5 hours. The soleminity is now fast seeping out of the nuns.Their childishness is gradually returning. They are begining to chat and be restless once again.

The older nuns begin wrapping their scripute books in saffron coloured cloths and all nuns start clapping rhythmically as their chanting becomes more and more of a deep mumbling. The clapping stops and starts again 3 times.

The chanting and clapping stops abrubtly and the little nuns scamper to the kitchen for their last meal before bed.


At the Head nun's
I head for the kitchen too in search of some warmth and tea. I sit and chat with the cook who is making momo dumplings for our goodbye meal. The Head nun comes in and motions me to follow her. We go to her room. Tashi and Robin are already there. She hands me a mug of milky coffee. I understand this is a luxury here and I don't have the heart to tell her that I don't drink coffee. I sip it slowly and relish the love and care that was poured into it. We have a snack of hard boiled eggs and fried bread dough. 


I feel a pull to stay a few more days. There is pace here and there is friendship and an acceptance that goes beyond words. I felt the same earlier that afternoon when Nwang, the Head teacher, took us to her room and offered us deliciously tangy-sweet lemon tea. And when Tenzin and a few other nuns came to our room to play memory game with little picture squares of things they'll never see or know about, like ice-cream cones, castles and diamond rings.


I don't know in what ways I will carry them in my heart, but carry them I will.

Tenzin

Doing the washing up

Making momos

Playing the memory game

Making momos

The generous Head nun