It’s a calm sunny morning and Tony and I take a walk to Braga village in hopes of getting to visit the monastery. On our way to the village we stop at a gift shop and purchase prayer flags and I find a beautiful mala necklace made out of yak bone. A mala is basically what we would call a rosary, only it’s for Buddhists. We will hang the prayer flags later today as we had promised, to honor the victims of the terrorists attacks back home.
Braga is quiet and seems like a ghost town. We climb through a maze of alley ways without seeing a single soul and make it to the top where the monastery sits. The doors are shut and it doesn’t seem like anyone will welcome us. We climb onto the roof and look out over the mountains across the dwindling Marsyangdi River. I tell Tony that maybe we should just sit and wait for a bit. Maybe we are just too early. I sketch the mountain scene into my journal while Tony quietly watches me. The lama appears on the neighboring rooftop and makes a puja of burning sage. A puja is an offering. The sage smokes and crackles in the wind while the lama quietly chants with hands clasped together in prayer. I am hoping he will notice us and let us into the monastery, but it doesn’t look like it is going to happen. He does approach us, but only to observe what I am doing in my journal. He pauses over us for a moment and studies my drawing, but does not say a word to either of us. Then he is gone and that is the last we see of him. If only we could speak Tibetan, then perhaps we could have made some progress, but maybe it was not a good time to visit the monastery. So, we head back to Manang and as we exit Braga we hear children singing behind us. It is two girls and a little boy holding each others hands on their way to school. They meet up with us full of giggles and brimming with curiosity. Tony’s watch fascinates them and they press every button on it. I tease Tony telling him he will never get his watch to work right again. The tattoo on my arm also gets attention and they talk excitedly about it as they trace each line with their fingertips. Surprisingly they grab us by the hands forcing us to skip along to school with them while they sing a playful tune. Tony and I take the boy by the hands and swing him up in the air. He laughs with excitement and now everyone wants a turn. One of the little girls sees the mala necklace I had purchased and starts rubbing her fingers together saying, “Mani, mani, mani, mani.” At first I misunderstand what she is saying and think she is asking me for money. I keep saying to her, “No, I don’t have any money.” Tony laughs at me and says, “No Robyn, your necklace!” She is saying, “Mani, like to pray!” I forgot that Buddhists chant mantras with their malas by counting each bead as a chant. That is what the little girl was doing with her fingers. When we reach the gates of the school the children say goodbye to us waving all the way until they go inside the classroom. It is little moments like those that stay in your heart forever, even if they don’t have any meaning at all. It was a nice moment that made up for not getting to go inside the monastery. I think it was meant to happen on purpose.
We had heard about a lama living in a cave above the village of Manang and decided to make the uncertain journey to see him. We were going on word of mouth as nothing was said about him in our guidebooks. The village had painted a sign of different hikes to do while staying in Manang and the only thing it had in the direction of the lama was some hand painted yellow letters spelling, Praken Gompa. Gompa is another word for a Buddhist monastery, but I was under the impression that we were going to a very small cave to visit a lone hermit. So we followed little yellow painted arrows through the narrow alleys of the town until we ended up on top of a ridge overlooking the rooftops of the village. Satellite dishes sprinkled with blowing prayer flags and cooking fires sprung up all around us. There was still a wall of mountains ahead of us but it looked like we would be crossing through a few hilly fields before we reached the steep wall of rock. The yellow arrows became few and far between, but a well worn path guided us to somewhere so we carried on. We came upon a mare and her colt munching on grasses. They took notice of us for a few moments and then the mother returned to her grazing. Tony cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a very loud, "Naaaay!" The colt took a few steps forward and nayed right back at Tony bobbing it's little head. I told Tony he was officially a horse whisperer now. We debated for a moment on going closer to the horses, but decided that it might not be wise to interfere with some ones property. There wasn't anyone we could see watching the horses, but we could have been being watched and I also didn't want to scare the horses if we went to them. Not all horses are happy to be approached by people as it usually means they have to do some work.We crossed the small field and reached a set of large stones stacked up a hill with overgrown grasses bending and blowing in the breeze all around. The stones acted as steps for us to clammer on and millions of little wolf spiders scattered on each step we took. At the top we saw a weather worn stupa and there a man and a woman stood waiting for us. They were on a small ledge that overlooked the entire Manang valley. Manang was almost invisible from where we stood as it blended in so well with the land. Had it not been for the prayer flags we would probably not even know a village was there. The woman was very old and little but she was very excited to see us and quickly waved at us to come with her. The old man disappeared into an opening in the rock which actually had a few openings one of which, I could see a cooking fire billowing out of. The woman lead us to where the old man had went and as we passed where the food was cooking 3 children of various ages peered out at us curious and smiling. Inside the cave the man was seated on the floor behind a small alter. Behind him hung a large thangka painting of the Buddha that was very dirty and weather worn. To the man's right he had a cabinet with a huge display of photographs from the many different travelers that had visited him with a mix of buddhist relics and pictures of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama. He sat behind the alter smiling at us wearing a red and gold pointed hat and a red robe with mala beads around his neck. On the alter a small candle was burning with an ornate little brass watering pitcher sitting to his right. The woman sat beside us and for a moment we all looked at each other not quite knowing how to speak to each other. It was clear we had somewhat of a language barrier, but we started out by telling them our names and then where we were from. The lama understood USA and they both shook their heads up and down excitedly when we said it. I took out the photographs I had stored in my money pouch that showed images of family and home. The woman was very happy to look at these pictures and especially liked the photograph of me with my mother. She called to the children in the kitchen to come and look at the photographs and they chattered amongst themselves at each picture they looked at. I wondered what they were saying, but they seemed to be really interested and nodding in approval over what they saw. We took one of our photos of the two of us with AB when we visited him in Yellowstone and gave it to the lama to add to his collection of photographs on the cabinet. We did our best to explain to them that AB was also on the trip with us, but I'm not sure if they understood. The lama then pointed out the entrance and said, "Thorang La?" and made a motion of walking with his fingers. We said, Yes, tomorrow Thorang La. He nodded in approval and then asked me to come and sit in front of him at the alter. He took my right hand and with the brass watering can he poured a small amount of saffron oil into my palm and made the motion for me to drink it and rub some of it on my forehead. He gently took his hands and held my head at the sides and began to chant. He then took a colorful band of braided string and tied it around my neck, touched my forehead and then took a book bound with sacred text and gently set it on top of my head still continuing to chant. He lowered the book and said, "Good." He motioned for Tony to take my place at the alter and repeated the blessing. He was sending us off with blessings for a safe climb through the Thorang La pass. I didn't know what to expect in coming here, but luckily he was very used to having visitor request this service from him. It was a very unique experience and it's something I will never forget even if it's something that everyone does when they pass through Manang.
We took a few photographs with the lama, who I later learned is known as Lama Geshe and the woman was happy to pose in pictures as well. She was very cute when we were taking pictures, putting her thumbs up and smiling brightly with missing teeth saying, "Okay, okay!!" as the camera flashed. We gave them rupees for the blessings and returned back down the hill. They stood at the cliff's edge for a moment watching us walk down and then we rounded the bend to where the horses were and they disappeared.
This was at best the highlight of our journey so far. We walked back down to Manang with the sunshine and wind blowing over the valley, turning the grasses in all different directions, We talked about organized religions and why I have problems committing to one set of beliefs. The words and actions of people like Jesus or Buddha are incredible and beautiful, but when people start making temples and organizations in honor of these people they have a tendency to loose the compassion that made the people their following who they are. I see nothing but greed, wealth, and narrow-mindedness when churches and temples are made. My idea of compassion is simple, you just love and respect all beings and treat them as you would treat yourself. Mistakes are part of life and it's not hard to understand the difference between what is wrong and what is right as we grow.
Lama Geshe lives a simple life, opening his home to all visitors without needing too much. It makes me want to follow in his lead and change how I live my life. I want a simple life of happiness.
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