Now That I Have That Out Of My System

Omigod omigod OH MY GOD.

Guess what I saw today.

This is amazing, even considering that I have virtually no interest whatsoever in Tibetan Buddhism outside of idle and semi-ethnological curiosity.

Today I saw, up close and personal, individually, the Tibetan Book Of The Dead.

The One. The real, 100% bona fide original handwriten version.

Not in a museum or at a special show at the NY Public Library. Not a really amazing reproduction. Not in a line of fawning whiteys waiting to go listen to the Dalai Lama speak or take a Transcendental Meditation course. Me, the feeble old Lama who runs the monastery, our breath hanging in the air*, and le book.

OK, let's rewind.

So I was skimming the Lonely Planet's list of things to do in and around Darjeeling. Tea estates, Tibetan handicraft collectives, the godawful idea** of a 4AM drive out to Tiger Hill to watch the sun rise over Kanchenjunga. In a list of the dozen or so Tibetan gompas in surrounding villages, there was a sentence or two about the Bhutia Busty Monastery (I know, here we go again with the unfortunate names). Something about nice murals, and the place was actually within walking distance of the center of town, unlike the rest which involved daytrips. There might have been a mention of the book, but it was directly followed by "but it's off limits and nobody can see it so don't bother mmmkay?"

I headed down towards the gompa, thinking it would basically be a nice walk in the mountains, with the gompa a good stopping point in the middle, some cool Himalayan photo ops, and a stop at one of those Tibetan handicraft workshops on the way back. Good way to spend a damp and chilly Darjeeling afternoon.

The walk really was beautiful, and I managed to warm up a little and get some good pictures. I didn't even get lost (or fall off the side of the mountain) on the steep and winding footpaths. I got to the gompa, and it seemed to be pretty much what I expected. Interesting architecture and artwork, and a wonderfully atmospheric place to catch my breath before schlepping back up the mountain.

There were some monks playing badminton (Priceless!) in the yard, and after a polite "Namaste" I asked them if it was true that the original Book of the Dead was kept inside. Monosyllabic affirmative between volleys. "Do you think it's possible to see it?" Monosyllabic negative between volleys. "Oh, OK. Well namaste, then..." And I headed for another pass around the side of the monastery to make sure I'd gotten a good look at all the paintings of demons and boddhisatvas and such. On my way out, I nodded in greeting to a woman who looked to be a devotee. She looked me up and down, turned around and called out something in Tibetan***. An old man dressed in secular clothes came out and stopped me. "Wait here. I go get keys."

I had no idea what I was going to see. More Tibetan art? Just the quotidian, if neat looking, grounds of the lamasery? Even if what he wanted to show me was boring, I'd never actually been inside a Tibetan gompa before and thus it seemed silly to pass up the oppurtunity.

He came back with a set of keys and asked me to take off my shoes on the porch. When I was stockingfooted on the frigid stone, he opened an ornately carved and painted wooden door and we went into the inner sanctum of the monastery. There was a huge shrine in the center, with the requisite huge statue of Buddha, as well as piles of what looked like fancy shaped puris, white scarves, and other offerings*4. There was a big garlanded photo of the Dalai Lama, and smaller photos of some other important lamas I'm not too familiar with. Amazing gold and silver flecked murals covered the walls, and every surface was painted with auspicious charms. There were smaller shrines with other statues in different corners of the room, and the pillars in the center were covered with Thangkas*5.

This is the part where I start kicking myself for knowing approximately nothing about Buddhist art or iconography - trying to explain what I saw is like coming across the Mona Lisa in someone's attic and describing it as "a pretty nice portrait".

Along the wall on either side of the main shrine were glassed in cupboards containing dozens of identical bundles that sort of looked like bricks wrapped in fabric. I assumed they were more offerings or some symbolic item of little interest to me.

After taking me to different parts of the room and explaining all of the art as best he could in his limited English, as well as the history of the lamasery and his own family's role in its upkeep - apparently he's the direct descendent of caretaker monks who've maintained the gompa since it was built in 1760 - the man who I had by then learned was named Purva Lama (probably mispelled) and despite the civvies really is a Buddhist lama - turned to the glass cupboards.

"This is our sacred book. 100% original."

About a third of his statements about the murals, paintings, sculptures, ritual objects, etc. were followed by this clarification, which is actually important here in India where religious practitioners think nothing of replacing beautiful and ancient devotional artwork with shoddy reproductions in acrylic house paint, brass, or concrete.

"Achcha*6! I've heard about this! This is the original, then?" So much for the Lonely Planet's warning and the badminton-playing monks' denial.

He repeated his catchphrase. "Our book has been kept at this lamasery since it was brought here from Lhasa in 1682. Of course there were no cars or planes back then, so it was carried on horseback and by porters all the way from Tibet. My family have been keepers of the book since then."

He opened one of the cupboard doors with a key and took out one of the bundles, which I could now tell definitely weren't bricks but stacks of manuscript pages about the size of a postcard or 35 millimeter snapshot, carefully wrapped in the same white silk scarves that draped the main shrine. This, and its 100-odd mates, was the real "100% Original" Tibetan Book Of The Dead.

Understandably, Purva Lama couldn't open the bundles to show me the individual pages. Maybe if I were a fellow monk, or if I had demonstrated a huge level of knowledge and interest in Buddhism, I could have convinced him. But if they unwrapped a hunk of sacred manuscript for every silly gora who happened by on her way to look at shawls, there soon wouldn't be any 100% Original book left, because sunlight and damp air and the oils in our hands would erase the whole thing, or break down the paper, or whatever it is that happens to incredibly ancient manuscripts when they're out in the open for anybody to paw at.

After talking a little more about the book, he replaced the bundle in its niche and closed the glass doors of the cupboard. He showed me some other rooms containing more shrines and art, and after a little idle chatter I put my shoes back on and headed uphill and on my way. And that's how I came to see the "100% Original" Tibetan Book Of The Dead.

~~~~

* It's COLD here! Have I mentioned that yet?

** Maybe if every single morning I've been north of Kolkata hadn't been completely opaque with mist - I'm lucky if I can see my breakfast, let alone a faroff mountain range, and if I'm getting up at 3:30 AM I want guaranteed payoff.

*** I think? I'm back in a part of India where I'm never sure what language people are speaking.

*4 Even including packets of cookies still in their flashy plastic wrappers, which is a refreshing approach coming from a religion where our offerings aren't commercially available at the corner bodega.

*5 Incredibly ornate devotional paintings which are done on paper and mounted on silk hangings.

*6 Hindi for "good", which is a garden variety way of saying "OK", "Thanks", "That's fine", "Oh, really?" and the like in most parts of India.