Lamini
….. S. Balakrishnan
“Two rupees, please”, she demanded sternly when I expressed my desire - in fumbling Nepali – to snap her, snap her with my camera, of course. I fished out a two-rupee note from my fast thinning money purse and gave it to her reluctantly (change was difficult to come by in those days in Sikkim). “Okay”, she beamed gladly and readily posed beside a gigantic prayer wheel. “Must send a copy”, she told me with high expectations in her eyes, having mellowed down a bit by then. “Oh, that is not at all a problem”, she waved her frail hand confidently in the air and told me to hand over the photograph to the SNT (Sikkim National Transport) bus crew to be given to her at the Manilakhang (prayer house) in Geyzing.
Geyzing is a place tucked away in the far-off West Sikkim. A place which can neither be classified as a village nor as a town. But it is an ideal place to live in. For, it has the advantages of both --- a village-like peaceful and pollution-free atmosphere with a trunk-road winding its way further westwards, passing through it. Nearby lies the most revered Pemayangtse Monastery from where I was returning after attending the Tibetan New Year ‘Losar’ festivities. On the other side is the holy Tashiding Monastery, famous for its annual ‘Bumchu’ festival.
“Shall I make tea for you?”, the ripe-old Lamini (Buddhist nun) enquired concernedly, seeing my travel-beaten look. “No, thanks, I just had a lousy special tea at the bazaar tea shop”, I lied, not wanting to drag that elderly Lamini into earthly duties. “Cheats!”, she cursed the hotelwallahs in general and insisted on preparing some tea. I declined the offer half-heartedly, craving within to taste the Tibetan-style salt tea with yak butter.
“Well, may be the next time”, she took my diplomatic refusal seriously and invited me into the Manilakhang. Many a slip ‘twixt the cup and the lip’, consoling myself philosophically, I followed her like an obedient lamb. Once inside the small, dark prayer hall, which had its own special fragrance, she turned out to be a good guide explaining about the deities. After mumbling some prayers before the statue of Guru Rimpoche, she offered holy water, measuring it as if by drops. As it tasted good, I felt like asking for more. But it was holy water and she seemed to be an equitable distributor, a fine quality which our economic ministers lacked, I thought.
“Dorje Den! Dorje Den!”, the Lamini exclaimed joyously, pointing out to a framed picture of some religious structure. “But… that is Buddha Gaya, no?”, I muttered confusedly. “Ha, ha, Gaya, Bodh Gaya! I had just returned from that holiest of holy places. Oh, what an experience!”, her whole face lit up as she talked about her month-long stay there. She was as glad as if she had returned from a visit to heaven itself. Probably, she had been nurturing that wish for a very long period, I felt. She opened a heavy wooden box, satin-blackened by constant use, and offered a tiny piece of candy. That was given to her at a shrine in Gaya, she assured me. Whatever its source, I again wished she had given a bit more of it!
Then, like a strict police officer, she asked me which place I belonged to and if it lay beyond Gaya. For a moment I wanted to tell her that Madras (now Chennai) was not anywhere near Gaya. But I changed my idea of teaching geography to that old, gentle lady and, instead, told her that I had to cross Gaya every time I went home. “Oh, how nice indeed!”, she exclaimed like a child, with her eyes wide open. I was glad my lie made her happy.
I was taken aback when the Lamini caught my neck suddenly. Finding no sacred thread around it, she chided me for being so unreligious and kept on searching for a suitable place to tie a small piece of cloth. She would not listen to my mild protests and explanations. The cloth, she emphasized again, was given to her in Bodh Gaya. I suggested that it could be kept safely in my money purse, to which she agreed readily without having an inkling of my materialistic intentions. Contrary to my high hopes, the money purse remains to be an undernourished baby!
The Lamini then pointed out to a packet of offering containing yellow, ribbon worm-like noodle pieces and said in a sad tone that it was not available in Geyzing. At that moment, she appeared to me like a baby complaining about non-availability of her favourite ice cream. Could I send a packet of it from Gangtok, she requested. “It doesn’t cost much … a mere five rupees a packet”, she announced in a matter-of-fact tone. “It can be sent through the SNT crew as explained earlier”, she went on.
Though I did not have much faith in the SNT crew delivering the items to her, an old lady that she was, and particularly the noodle packet, I promised to obey her orders. “Naughty boy”, she remarked lovingly, having developed a liking towards me, as I had towards her. A beautiful relationship had blossomed by that time.
As I took leave of her, she again offered to make tea for me. I knew she did not have gas or electric stove and that lighting a firewood stove would be much troublesome for her. So I politely declined her kind offer once more and promised to come some other time which, I knew, would never be.
“Om ma na pad mi hum”, she spelt out the prayer for me as I started moving out of the compound, rotating the row of prayer-wheels fixed on the outer wall of the sanctum.
As I closed the creaky wooden gate, I saw her seated at the doorsteps of the Manilakhang and methodically reciting the sacred mantra, counting with a 108-bead rosary. The music was scored by her pet dog. By the looks of it, I could guess it was from the plains. Even though I too belonged to the plains, it continued its unfriendly barking till the end.
Will I be ever able to meet this child-like gentle lady? With this question troubling me, I wearily continued my travel.
…
Though I have heard of the saying that a barking dog seldom bites, more so a pet dog of a Lamini which might have been influenced by the principles of peace-loving Buddhism, I was still careful. Her black dog stood at a safe distance – safe for both of us, I calculated mentally. I was not ready to experiment either with the saying or with the dog. Visibly, the Lamini was not there to shoo away the bothering dog. Where could she have gone at this twilight hour and with such a poor eye sight? With this thought worrying me, I did a ‘pradakshana’ (going around the sanctum in a clock-wise route) of the Manilakhang, rotating the prayer-wheels and keeping an eye on the dog as well. After a full circle, with the mystic six-syllable mantra ‘Om ma na pad mi hum’ on my lips (which she had taught me last time), I came out of the compound and walked towards the bazaar. Darkness was slowly blanketing the area.
“Tashi Delek”, (‘Good Wishes’ in Tibetan) I paid my respects as the Lamini approached, struggling with a gunny bag. She stared for a while and mumbled back a feeble Tashi Delek, not recognizing me. Some ten days had passed by then. I pulled out the noodle packet from my rucksack and asked if she recognised me at least then. “Oh, my child, how nice of you to remember this old lady and your little promise to her!”, she was overwhelmed with love and joy. “Come, come, you must have a cup of tea at least this time”, she stressed fondly. I was only too glad to hear that and readily gave a helping hand to pull that gunny bag. I did not want to miss again the chance to drink Tibetan tea. Her goats welcomed her with happy bleatings and surrounded her. She had brought waste vegetable stuff from the bazaar for them.
The Lamini enquired about my welfare and added that she was pulling on, God knows for how long. After groping with her key bunch for some time, she opened the lock of her two-room accommodation. It was just opposite Manilakhang within the same compound. The first was a kitchen-cum-store-cum-goat-pen, and the other was bedroom-cum-prayer place. I was seated on a ‘moda’ covered with a piece of skin, which I imagined to be yak’s. She placed a ‘chokse’ (Tibetan-style wooden tea-table with wonderful carvings of local motifs of dragon, phoenix, etc., painted in vivid colours) in front of me and offered Tibetan ‘roti’ (a biscuit-like snack made of flour). Scenting the roti, the dog became friendly with me; also came from nowhere another dog and a cat (both of Tibetan stock with lovely white fur) to share the snacks with me. I wondered how she was patiently putting up with so many animals around. Buddhism must have trained her that way, I thought.
Contrary to my belief, she had a kerosene stove. To my full satisfaction, she gave me buttered salt tea in the traditional big Chinese mug, with fried wheat powder to go along. Being a novice to Tibetan food, the powder stuck to the jaws and rendered me speechless. Like an innocent baby, she had a good laugh at my pathetic condition and advised me to gulp down some tea along with the powder.
That helped me tell her the purpose of my visit – to attend the ‘Bumchu’ festival the next day in the nearby Tashiding Monastery. Since it was many years back that she had attended that festival, she was also too eager to attend it, she said. Would any transport be available from Legship, she enquired eagerly. As I was not sure myself, I made a sad face and, instead, asked her if there was any track from Geyzing. “Of course, but I will not be able to accompany you on foot. You see, I am too old to climb the ups and downs all the way to Tashiding”, she said and, to my amusement, made some funny steps.
However, she was hopeful of getting some vehicle from Geyzing itself and was, therefore, all prepared for the journey. She outlined her strategy: the dogs and the cat would be let free to fend for themselves for two days; the goats would be tied up in the pen with two gunny bag loads of fodder, which she had just collected from the vegetable market. “Marvellous”, I appreciated her plan and wished her all the best. With no vehicle at my command, that was all I could do.
As the photo (taken during my last trip) was not ready, I promised her to send it either by post or through some reliable person. Looking at the noodle packet, she smiled as if to say that she had faith in my words. It was only after I told her that I was like her grandson, could I prevent her from paying for the noodle packet. Love, respect and reverence overwhelming, I touched her feet. “You must call on your grandmother whenever you come this side”, she blessed me. “Hope to meet you in Tashiding”, I said as a parting remark. “God willing…”, she added. But God was not willing, it seemed, because I could not meet her in Tashiding.
There was nothing more to talk about. I was just picking up courage to speak even in broken Nepali, and her Nepali was more of Tibetan accent. With her shaky voice, I could not understand much of the rest either. Though, to make her happy, I was constantly nodding my head and showing my teeth in smiles as if I understood every word of her. Words failing, I bid “la su la” (the Tibetan way of saying ok, bye) and stepped out of the warm atmosphere into the chilly darkness.
“As long as this old lady lives, she will pray for you, my son”, the Lamini waved a half-hearted la su la. Her black dog, too, wagged his tail, as if to say good-bye. Had he recognised me as a friend from the plains or was it for the crumb of Tibetan roti I gave him, I still wonder.
As I set the prayer-wheels in motion, they agreed with the lovable Lamini and sung the eternal prayer: ‘Om ma na pad mi hum’, Om, the Jewel in the Lotus!
About two decades have rolled by since our encounter. In the meanwhile, I have also been transferred from the lovely hills of Sikkim to the hot and humid Chennai. Yet, in a corner of my heart I am nursing a fond hope that one day I would go along with my family members to that kindly Lamini and get her blessings. And, I also hope to sip the Tibetan tea after presenting her with lots of yellow ribbon worm-like noodle packets!
-.-
S. Balakrishnan
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